#and he can’t find the place where those two things meet

[kazumist]

TAKE CARE .ᐟ

✩ — in which you feel haunted by someone who you know is alive out there.

✩ — includes: caleb x gn!reader. uhh mc!reader too. SPOILERS FOR TAINTED CUTS "MIGRANT BIRDS" ENDING !!!! and a bit of tainted cuts in general haha uhm... yeah read at ur own risk pls. bittersweet. not much dialogue (literally only one line and the rest is just word vom). wc: 605. inspired by 4 songs in total, two being from niki :)

“pipsqueak? are you okay—”

your eyes suddenly shot open as you suddenly sat up from your bed. glancing at the digital clock on your bedside table, the digits for 13:06 were displayed on it. it’s almost as if life was mocking you right now.

13:06. 13/06. june 13.

june 13 was caleb’s birthday.

ever since... that day, distant memories had started haunting you. every step you take somewhat makes your mind trail towards the times you were with caleb. the way you laid on his arm as you slept together, masking up your personal relationship you had with him being the councilman...

how can a few weeks possibly make those memories so out of reach when it feels like they just happened yesterday?

sweat trickles down your neck as you take a deep breath, calming yourself down from the peculiar dream you just had. it’s all strange—every single damn thing about this is strange and frustrating. you knew you were alone in this watchtower; you knew that only you and caleb knew about this place.

you knew this, and that’s why you chose to stay here—to find peace. but the isolated echo of caleb’s voice echoes through the walls.

acceptance was done long ago; you knew caleb had to leave because if he didn’t, you would be in danger of his frenzied state as a praedator. yet as the night cuts into the day, his presence lingers in your surroundings, leaving you no way to escape. recalling the times you both promised each other home—the kind you’d never known—leaves an ironic taste on your tongue as to how things are now.

you missed him. that was inevitable. and even though you weren’t really the individual who’s used to praying, you found yourself praying to whatever god is out there to make it stop.

because how can you even live in tranquility when every glance you make, you see his face hidden in the crowd? when everywhere you go, you could feel the same pressure of his hands holding yours? 

it’s almost as if you were being buried alive—being haunted by someone who is still alive.

on nights like these where he’d haunt you in your dreams, you couldn’t escape. and all of those dreams end in the same way: he leaves. he always leaves you to wait. he always leaves with you, promising him that you’d still be there when he returns.

just how many unrealistic promises do you have to make in your dreams just for him to be in your arms again?

even when you can’t see anything due to the dim light lit in the room, the faint feeling of his touch could still be felt as a ghost on your skin. maybe it was some sort of coping mechanism you unintentionally got into to deal with caleb’s absence.

you promised to wait; of course you did; it’s caleb. but just how paradoxical it is that you’re here, left to wait for him again? caleb can't even provide a speck of reassurance that he’ll return, as this promise to wait for him is solely built on trust. 

time wasn’t a concern as you continued on hoping that he’d once again meet your wait that’s waiting for him. real love is a verb—it isn’t just a feeling. love calls for initiative, development, and commitment. so you wait for him anyway. because it doesn’t matter how or when, caleb will always come back to you.

you’ll take it and he’ll take his time—after all, it’s only fair. you both take the cake for a love so rare.

so you take care.

a/n: overall this is just my take on a more uhm. inner monologue version? of what mc's thoughts could be with how tainted cuts ended in migrant bird :) literally no one hmu that card made me scream WHY IS CALEB SOOOO JDHSFJHSDFHJSDFJF. i love him sm u guys don't get it!!!! no one gets it!!!

i just thought it would be really painful to be haunted by someone who you know is alive (dismissed the idea that caleb could be dead since AGAIN it seems more painful that way if it was implied that he's alive). the actual ending in the card's story is a bit similar to the one i wrote but i obviously love the other ending more since they were so cute in that

icb my lads debut on tumblr is this. i couldve wrote something happier but hey! where is the fun in that

[wickerwax]

to wit -- too witty (Codywan First Kiss Bingo #5)

(Shout-out to @panravenc who made a post about sick codywan headcanons that got me thinking about how I would play it! ^^)

Cody strode on deck with his helmet already in place and precisely on time, and Obi-Wan’s attention snapped onto him like a piqued nexu.

Item One: Cody was, until now without fail, a minute or two early at a minimum.

Item Two: Cody tended to prefer his helmet off when they were having this sort of intra-ship meeting, especially in hyperspace, and especially when he had more reason to glare people down than he needed access to his in-helmet comms.

Item Three: His dear Commander had the very slightest unsteadiness in his gait, which was practically screaming something is wrong.

He nodded to Cody, who signalled him to start. His suspicion went into the stratosphere and onwards immediately. When he reached out to get a sense of him, Cody’s shields felt wobbly, and there was a throbbing sort of discomfort leaking through.

Still, he wasn’t about to have an argument about it here with witnesseswhen Cody was clearly trying to fly under the sensor-net.Obi-Wan went through the updates they had – reiterated the ETA on the drop into sublight, the overview of the supply list, and requests for changes to be passed on the the Quartermaster first. Consolidation helped avoid mistakes.

Also Quartermaster Cross (apparently short for I Will Be Cross-Referencing This And It Had Better Match Or I’ll Be Taking The Difference Out Of Your Bones) was a dedicated and extremely efficient man, and Obi-Wan had no interest in making his life harder so – to him, first.

Cody sent text-comms to his ‘padd a couple of times, and nodded along, but did not speak, did not remove his helmet. He had clearly locked his knees to keep from wobbling. Obi-Wan wanted to offer him a seat but no one else was sitting and, given the entirety of the situation, the likelihood of being not only ignored but getting Cody’s active and monumental disapproval had him hesitating.

He wound the meeting down neatly, incredibly relieved that it was a short thing today, and requested (face in his ‘padd, voice deliberately absent, nothing odd about today!) that Cody stay behind for a quick conversation about a small incident in the training rooms.

Since the training rooms were the only place where incidents happened on a semi-regular basis and mostly consisted of ‘someone got elbowed in the nose again, please remind the men to be aware of their surroundings’ it was neither an unexpected nor interesting request.

The deck cleared but for the nav’ staff, and Cody, and Obi-Wan gave him a friendly gesture and said, “Office?”

The brightness in his voice and his narrowed eyes – facing only Cody – was as close as he could get to calling Cody on his bluff without making anyone else similarly suspicious. Here, anyway.

Cody paused for a long moment, then nodded slowly. Obi-Wan, with a smile like a bantha-heeler on a good day, herded Cody into the halls and towards their joint office.

He deposited Cody in his chair, keyed the door shut, and headed over to the kitchenette with his suspicions locked and loaded. “Helmet off, my dear.” he said, setting the jug to boil. “I’m quite sure it won’t be doing you any favours.”

Silence behind him.

Obi-Wan pulled out preferred mugs for the two of them, opting for comfort. “I’ve only those terrible fake-citron splemsip packets unfortunately, but they do help. Can’t expect a fresh citron-anything with supply lines being what they are.”

He twisted around to find Cody hesitating over his helmet, hands hovering. “My dear,” he said, gentle as a summer twilight, “I know you’re not feeling well, Cody. Let’s see what we can do about it.”

The release hissed, and Cody’s face appeared. Colour burned too bright across his cheeks and forehead and he was visibly sweating, his short curls lank with it. Shadows made hollows of his eyes. “Can’t – throat hurts.” he croaked. Sniffed. Congestion made it horribly bass-note.

Obi-Wan took him in and paused. “I think we might need more than splemsip.”

Cody made a sharp negative sign.

He huffed through his nose. “You have my solemn word vow to only forage through my personal supplies for flu relief.” Obi-Wan considered that for a moment, then added, “If it gets worrying, I will be telling Helix. I’m not losing my Commander to some common cold.”

He finished making the drinks and carried them over, delivering the splemsip directly into Cody’s hands. “Force, Cody, being in full armour can’t be comfortable. Or helping.”

Cody gave him one of his favoured blank-adjacent looks. This one said, I did what I had to do. Obi-Wan poked him gently in the shoulder and watched him sway far too heavily from very little provocation, then raised a slow eyebrow.

His Commander faltered briefly, then settled into the glare of a mantled hawk as he sipped at his medicinal citron drink.

Heaving a beleaguered sigh at his stubbornness, Obi-Wan investigated the state of supplies in their office. First, he unearthed a spare robe which he deposited on Cody’s lap with a suggestion that it might prove more comfortable than armour for the time being. Rustled up some mild painkillers – drew a complete blank on decongestants, but hopefully the drink would help with that.

When he excavated himself from the tiny ‘fresher with the pills, Cody had managed to remove his armour – stacked rather more messily than his wont – and was swathed in Obi-Wan’s spare robe over his blacks.

“Well done for seeing sense, Commander,” he said, amused. “Can I also tempt you to relocate to the couch?” It wasn’t sleeping length, but any amount of reclining had to be better than the hunching currently occurring. Poor Cody’s spine was in danger of getting stuck like that should the winds change. He was stoically refusing to make a face for the old adage to apply to, after all.

“Undressing wasn’t enough for you, General?” Cody rasped, though at least less painfully than earlier. He was smirking, but the lines around his mouth still read like aching.

“Anything you wish to do is enough, Cody darling, though I believe that conversation is best left for when you aren’t actively running a fever.” He fetched water, offered it and the painkillers. “These should help.”

“Is that true?” Cody asked, not moving to take them.

Obi-Wan blinked at him. “Well, strictly speaking they’re for pain, but they do tend to reduce fevers when those symptoms are happening in concert-”

“Anything I wish to do, Kenobi.”

He drew in a slow breath. “Ah. Commander, I-”

Cody stood up abruptly – and wavered, wobbling on his feet as his body objected to the motion. Obi-Wan moved without thinking, ducking under his arm and looping his own around Cody’s waist to take his weight. The metal cup clattered loudly on the durasteel, covering the much softer rattle of the pills in their soft tabs. The water was a loss, of course, although he was more concerned about it being a slip hazard. He tightened his hold.

Even through two thick layers, Cody’s skin was notably warm. “This is really not – Could we get you situated before -”

Cody’s fever-hot palms closed around his shoulders. He stopped speaking. He – well, he hadn’t meant to bring up the bantha in the room – hadn’t expected Cody to feed him so blatant a line, if he was honest. Had been playing his part according to Cody’s lead for months now, wary of crossing lines without invitation.

The weakness this cold was having on Cody’s balance and ability to reliably keep his knees locked hadn’t extended to his hands it seemed, for he had pulled them flush together and – while it was a very pleasant thing to be pressed against his very attractive Commander, now wasn’t the best time for it. Obi-Wan would have made like an eel except he was the only thing keeping either of them upright.

“I feel dreadfully manoeuvred, darling.” he tried to joke, and lost it to a wheeze when Cody dropped his face into Obi-Wan’s neck and clutched hard at him.

“The things I want to do to you, General.” he growled. At least half of the growling was congestion.

Obi-Wan patted his back consolingly.”As I said, my dear. Post-fever?”

Cody made a noise that, in a healthier man, would have taken him out at the knees. As it was, his knees were the only ones responsible for neither of them being on the floor, and his poor Commander followed it up with a nasty coughing fit.

“Right. Cody, if you don’t let me set you up on the couch at least, I am going to carry you through the halls to a bed and let your brothers’ gossip chain do what it will.” he said firmly.

“I will never forgive you, sir.” Cody choked out, breathing all rattles and lost bolts.

“I will accept your enmity if you are well enough to perform it.” Obi-Wan shot back. “Can you even stand unaided? Cody? Would you let a single one of our men get away with that?”

To his credit, Cody gave standing a valiant try. He unpeeled himself from Obi-Wan and planted himself like a reed with particularly flimsy roots, but the intention was admirable. If foolish. He wobbled dangerously.

Obi-Wan watched with steely eyes and lowered brows. “Now, let go of my tunic.”

Cody’s eyes were brilliant with frustration. His mouth curved downward. “I don’t think I should.”

“He can be taught!” Obi-Wan ran his hands along Cody’s arms and stepped back in to brace him. “Sitting down while I comm Helix, or am I parading you across the ship with as much style as I can muster?”

“I have quite literally dragged your ass out of your horrible little womp-rat nest when that dodgy-”

“Yes, yes, sometimes the biology gets knocked about unexpectedly but we still see the medic-”

“That is not-”

Obi-Wan took a moment to brace himself properly, then hauled Cody up into his arms. Cody yelped, then groaned. “High noises still bad.”

“Why, what a shock that a bug capable of overwhelming your robust immune system should be resistant to the vicious medicinal efforts of splemsip.” He shifted Cody’s weight slightly, then nodded. “If you pull the hood up, perhaps everyone will just think I am transporting a very lost fellow Jedi.”

“Sir-” Cody squeezed his eyes against the throb of his headache and slumped into him, arguments subsiding.

“Cody, if you want to have the conversation you implied earlier, I am going to insist on you using my name when we’re off-duty. And you, my dear, are so deeply off-duty.”

He nudged the keypad with a little bit of Force use, and slipped into the hall. His senses were on high-alert and he thanked the Force that their office wasn’t so far from his rooms. He only had to duck into a side-hall to avoid being seen the once, and he tucked Cody’s head against his gently while waiting for the coast to clear, worried over the thoroughly crackly breathing.

Jabbing at the door control to his rooms, he swept Cody in and got him situated on the bed. “Don’t move,” he said, pointing threateningly at him as he clicked his comm off his belt and sent off a message to Helix to request assistance for flu symptoms in his quarters. “I’m going to get water again, and this time you’re going to behave and drink it.”

“Behave is not-” he broke off to cough again, then resumed doggedly, “-not what I thought I’d be doing in your bed, Obi-Wan.”

“Post-fever, Cody, so you’re already not behaving.” He brought one of his stashed hydro-packs over. “I should have thought of these earlier really, the straw will be easier.”

Cody took it, nearly pouting as the fever got hold in earnest and his reticence slipped. “I’d rather suck something else.”

“Have you been storing these up?” Obi-Wan asked, perching on the edge of the bed and reaching to press the back of his hand to Cody’s forehead. “Oh, darling, that’s definitely Helix territory. Drink your water.”

Bright-eyed, and in the process of glazing over, Cody gave him an awfully endearing attempt at a sultry look as he stabbed his straw into the bag. “Don’ need to store anything. Look at you.”

Charmed, Obi-Wan ran his hand through Cody’s sweat-damp curls. He leaned his head into the touch as he drank, eyes sliding closed. “That’s it, sweetheart.”

His door chimed.

Slipping away for a moment, he returned with Helix grumbling behind him. “Of course it would be you, Cody.” he said, “Half the battalion gets sniffles from some lurgy incubating since our last campaign and Sir Never-Gets-Sick over here drops like a ton of duracrete.”

“Your morning has been busy then?” Obi-Wan said, “With any luck, that other half is immune or threw it off before it took, and not just taking longer about showing symptoms.”

“Sniffles.” Helix repeated. “Hardly even worth mentioning but for the volume. Couple of the Maintenance boys have a low-grade fever, gave ‘em some reducers, they’ll be right as rain. Our dear Commander, as I hear, is well past that.”

Cody, supine on the bed, made an irritated noise. It sounded a lot like a washing unit trying to chop wood. “’m not dead, unconscious, or missing from this room.”

“Give it time,” Helix said darkly, checking his temp. “What was the plan if the General hadn’t interceded, Cody? Crawl into a vent shaft for the MSE droids to find during the night cycle?”

“Thought I’d skip right to the airlock actually.” Cody returned snidely. Coughed. “Why’s there three Generals now, I didn’t think this was that sort of dream.”

Obi-Wan dragged a hand over his face. Helix barked a laugh as he sorted through his medications. “It is not that sort of dream, Cody. Should I step out, Helix?”

His CMO shrugged, preparing his shot. “Do you want the good General Kenobi and his twins to leave, Cody?” He leaned over the bed and poked at Cody’s arm.

“I want the floor to stop moving.” Cody said faintly. “When did the General get twins? I thought we had – ow, fuck, Helix!”

“Sensitised pain reception, that’s unfortunate.” Helix mumbled, mostly under his breath. “Avoid bumping against shit, vod.” He scooped up the half-drunk hydro-pack abandoned on Cody’s chest. “Sir, I need you to take these pills and finish this pack. That’s an order, copy?”

His eyelids were drooping again. “Copy, sir.”

The pill-swallowing was an experience best left to the imagination. Cody’s very unhappy throat made it into a production that took both Helix and Obi-Wan to hold him through – the pills themselves and the coughing fit that followed.

“They really are better ingested than anything I have right now that’s intravenous,” Helix said regretfully in the aftermath. “But he should be able to sleep now, and it should get him through the worst of it.”

“That’s fine,” Obi-Wan walked him back to the door. “I’ll work from in here for the day, and I can always sleep on my couch if necessary.”

Helix gave him a slightly sarcastic salute. “I’d say don’t get sick but that would only encourage you.”

He laughed, “I’m not quite that contrary, Helix.”

“Dubious, sir, I’m dubious. Comm me if he gets worse.” Helix said, and left.

Cody was starting to drift in earnest when Obi-Wan returned to the bedside, propped up on all the pillows he could find to ease his breathing. “Back?” he yawned, wincing.

“I’m back, yes. I’m going to sit at the couch and get some flimsi done, so just tap the wall if you need anything. I’ll hear it, don’t worry.” He traced Cody’s tired, familiar face with his eyes. Every line of him was precious. “I’ll come in to bother you about drinking enough, but otherwise I highly recommend trying to sleep.”

“No- wait,” Cody flailed a hand out. Obi-Wan caught it in his. “I don’t – Obi-Wan, I don’t want to have dreamed – before.”

He threaded their fingers together and squeezed comfortingly. “Which before? I’m happy to confirm what I can for you. For example, no twins.”

A smile curled slow and lazy across Cody’s face. He squeezed back with his too-hot hand. “The talk. We’re gonna talk, right?”

Obi-Wan found his own smile, quite irrepressibly, unfolding in turn. “Yes, darling.” he whispered, and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Cody’s hand. “We’re going to talk as soon as you’re not any level of delirious.”

Cody had gone wide-eyed. The fever-flush brightened across his cheeks. “Obi-Wan.” he said, longing.

“Not a dream,” Obi-Wan told him, turning his hand over to kiss his palm, to brush his lips over the sensitive pad of each finger. “I promise. You just have to get better first.”

“Suddenly I feel the urge to be a model patient,” his bedridden Commander managed, though what slipped through his shields right then was categorically not that. “You probably won’t recognise it.”

He snorted and returned Cody’s hand to his lap, patted it. “Get some sleep, Cody. I’ll be in periodically – we’ll see if I don’t give you an aversion to nurses for the rest of your life first.”

@codywanfirstkissbingo hi hello! Number Five! I used my free space as 'hand kiss' and that should be bingo twice over xD

[poppytuft]

trying not to talk too much abt the bear s2 but im Really fuckin frustrated that even with everyone demanding that they’re sooo media literate and sooo smart that no one has talked about claire and the way she sparks audience discomfort. like, she feels out of place within the show because CARMY cannot accept that he is getting this good thing—she feels out of place in HIS life. she’s actually crafted to be the ideal girlfriend, with glowy bokeh lighting in a grocery store and beauty shot close ups and a sweet instrumental leitmotif to show to you, an audience member, that she’s too good to be true in carmys eyes. if you’re an audience member, she raises alarm bells in YOUR head because she raises alarm bells in HIS. he literally tells us that—that’s the crux of his final monologue, that he doesn’t believe he can have the life of food and wines best chef and a life of love and human connection. he doesn’t believe he’s deserving of good things because his family has always been so fucked, because nothing he’s ever tried to hold together has held together—except for his cooking. it’s done this way on purpose, to make you feel that anxiety that he feels around this relationship, and to make you question why you feel it too

[affableramen]

them apologising for calling you bad names

hurt/comfort, established relationships

(Pantalone, Wriothesley, Neuvillette, Tartaglia, Capitano, Alhaitham, Dottore, Dainsleif, Baizhu)

Pantalone

You avoid him for the rest of the day but eventually in the bed time Pantalone meets you. He enters the bedroom with a grave expression in his eyes, eyeing you sit there on the bed with a book in your hands. Distracting, he thinks, she is distracting herself. 

“You know I didn't utter those words seriously”, Pantalone says, omitting the usual ‘darling’ on his lips. You roll your eyes and shake your head dismissively, showing him apparent unwillingness to chat over the issue any longer.

“Say”, Pantalone leans to the door, his fingers, at this moment of time, bare, scratching the roof edges of his antiquated mansion wall, “Are you deeply offended by my comment? It is but something… trivial.” Seeing no reaction from you Pantalone slowly makes his way to the bed and sits down, his body making an impact to the mattress, that being gently pressed on.

“I should have held my tongue.”

“Your tongue is poisonous”, you say abruptly. Upon hearing this, Pantalone reaches his hand to your hand and takes it in his. 

“Hear me out… Please, darling, I would never honestly speak so ill-mannered of you. It was out of stress. You are not… pathetic. Never have been.”

“Mhm. How about ‘brat’? How about ‘loving me only because I provide for the family?’” 

Pantalone closes his eyes and shakes his head. You can see how his own words inflicted upon you sting. 

“Nonsense! Not a single word I spoke then was truthful.”

“Pantalone, if I ever made you doubt my affections, please do let me know.”

You abruptly put your book on the bedside table and switch the lights off. 

Wriothesley

“Why do you keep insisting on these things? You think I don’t know them?”

“I think you’re simply less educated than me. You should understand, Y/N that in some aspects you may be less intelligent. Stupid even.”

“Less intelligent! Stupid!” 

Wriothesley covers his face and bites his own lip when he realises what unruly language he just used. 

“I didn't mean that-”

“That I’m stupid?” Your patience blows up and you decisively start strutting to the exit door of his office.

“I didn't mean to sound that harshly!” Desperately Wriothesley follows; but to no avail. You already shut your door before his nose.

A few hours after Wriothesley finds you in your two’s favourite café, of course it would be the place where you’d go to reflect on your irritation. 

“Here, your favourites”, he puts the bouquet of vivid red flowers on top of the coffee table, next to your hand, and does it with such carefulness of behaviour you would least expect from him.

You look at him, facing Wriothesley’s eyes at last and as if having your thoughts read the duke says with regret:

“And sorry.”

You take a look at the flowers, your fingers caressing the petals.

“Okay”, you respond quietly. Wriothesley receives approval from you and takes a seat, his attitude nothing but amiable, a far cry from his roughness in the morning.

Neuvillette

“I told you that some matters I unfortunately, willing or not, have to solve on my own. There is no place for you in some of my business, because you’re just one weak-” Neuvillette holds his tongue, realising how personally offensive the words he said sounded. How villainous he suddenly appeared before you.

“Human? Yeah, I know. But me being human doesn't mean I can’t think and analyse, and there’s no way I’d approve the responsibility you’re about to take on yourself. I strictly dissgree.”

“Strictly disagree?” Neuvillette does not believe his ears, for you had always been a quiet amd obedient one, quite agreeable and supportive of his opinions. Yet this time you could not stay silent, seeing how your precious husband puts himself in danger for the hundredth time.

“You are to not take on that mission, are we clear, Neuvillette? And I am not weak, neither am I dumb or uninformed.”

In awe, Neuvillette stands there, looking at you. At last he takes one careful step closer, his hand in his hair, pulling it back as he’s thinking on something with raw intensity.

“If my wife is ready to convince me so much to not do something, if she finds my impulses false, then I will do my best to refrain. Knowing how worried you might be for me, perhaps it would be wise to reject the mission first and utmost.”

You nod, your face grave, uninterested as you turn away from him and walk out of his office. Only then Neuvillette stops you, his wrist tightly on yours. 

“Please, beloved, if you could forgive me for my poor choice of words and underestimating your judgment.”

“It doesn't happen first time, Neuvillette, for being a dragon sovereign makes you incredibly stiff to perceiving others’ opinions. But I’m glad if you do truly believe me now.”

“I do. Please, don't stay furious and frustrated for long.” 

You finally smile, forgiving your dragon husband as you make haste to leave the court, otherwise dramatic Fontainian society that loves gossiping and tragedy so much, will turn your little banter into a lavish scandal.

Tartaglia

“Peanut, I just said that you can’t fight as hard as I do, I didn't mean it in a bad way.”

“Of course, Ajax. You meant it in the way ‘I’m the coolest, and you are inferior’.”

“No, no, no. It’s a misunderstanding! Hear me out, babygirl…” Tartaglia gently grips the both of your shoulders and stares intimately into your eyes.

“I just wanted… You know, I just meant…” he blushes crazily and his expression radiates sheer embarrassment as he tries to seek excuse to explain himself. “I, uhh… Consider myself a great fighter, and you are exceptionally good, too…”

“Exceptionally good?” 

“Absolutely exceptionally good, babygirl. But I am simply worried, okay? I’m scared”, he rubs your shoulders up and down, as if trying to comfort you, but in honesty it rather comforts himself. “I don’t want you hurt. So you better stay home. Training.”

“Training only, nice. I will never fight real enemies if I am constantly kept hostage in Fatui training camp.”

“You’re just… so fragile. You know what I mean?”

“Uhuh. The Eleventh considers me a weakling. Nice discovery, if you weren't my boyfriend”, you free yourself from his grasp and go about the narrow long corridor of headquarters. “I thought you would trust in me and my power a tiny bit more.”

Ajax follows you immediately, his steps agile and steady as his hand gently takes yours.

“You may come with me next time. But tomorrow, I want you safe. Okay? And please… I’d never call you weak… Never.”

“Mm…” you gently caress his gloved hand with your thumb, almost failing to see him in the dim light, but feeling his erratic breath caused by quick talking.

Capitano

“I can’t let you do this, woman. You are acting immature. You have always been a bit naïve, but this is where you should start obeying me”, Capitano says with a harsh, yet genteel aura around him.

“And my love for you, Capitano, is also naïve?”

At that moment Capitano drops his expressionless, emotionless act and looks at you with horrified glint in his eyes. He wants to comfort you, to apologise for his words but realises that was once said cannot be taken back. Oh how he wishes he would hold his tongue for a little while longer!

“I didn't mean that, woman. You know that I would never-”

He shuts his eyes for a second, a storm of overwhelming thoughts crosses his mind over and over while you are standing before him, patiently waiting for an answer and expecting your husband to provide you with a proper one.

“You are weak… no not weak; you are frail. You need protection. And I want to protect you, but I may not be able to do it in Natlan. Not when I am wounded myself.”

“Oh, believe me, Capitano, I can and will protect myself. And you know what, big guy? I don't even need your permission to come with you anymore. You will accept me, because I am your wife, and I will be by your side. Especially, when you are wounded.”

Capitano raises his hand to caress your cheek with his knuckles, light-weight.

“You are going to get yourself in trouble, love.”

“I know my limits, and I can clearly see that my husband needs me, even though he won't ever admit it.”

The raven-haired tall gracious man with impeccably sharp aura around him speaks with emotion:

“But if you get hurt, I won’t ever be able to forgive myself.”

You stand on your tiptoes and cup his cheeks.

“Oh, Capitano, I will take care of myself just to spare you the trouble.”

Dottore

“You’re a dork, I don’t even have pity for your stupidity. You got this chemical burn deserved.”

“Said who? You’re the one treating it right now, Doctor”, you respond with a tiny smug smirk, watching how carefully and gently Dottore is working on your palm. The burn is not too big, but painful enough to prevent you from completing your tasks for today.

Dottore reveals his teeth, groaning at you, his self highly dissatisfied and frustrated. He smoothly applies a herbal-smelling ointment and covers your hand with tight bandages.

“I insist you staying home tomorrow. I will speak with Pierro and describe him the accident.”

“Surely you don't have to go to such lengths for me only, Dottore. You know, I could speak with the Jester myself.”

Dottore stabs the knife with which he had been cutting the bandages, into the desk.

“NO, he won’t even speak to you. He is very uneasy to find”, he lets out a long held sigh. “Besides, brat, I think I made it clear you need to rest at home.” He glares at you with his poisonous ruby eyes. “Primarily, in your bed.”

“If the doctor says so”, you shrug, too exhausted to argue and too grateful for his help to deny him of this small favour. “I do not mind staying in my bed for a little while.”

Once the treatment has come to an end, Dottore once again checks your hand; quickly, lightly, without a single unnecessary touch or glance. 

“Sorry for calling you a dork. I didn't mean it wholeheartedly”, he clears throat. “Though I still think your ass is highly careless.”

“I will work on it, hopefully my curiosity doesn't lead me to any other injuries”, you wave to him upon leaving the lab. “Can’t have my doctor worry too much.”

“Remember to look closer what you touch in my lab next time, silly creature.”

Dainsleif

“I think you’re forgetting how difficult it is to fight Abyss alone. I can’t believe you disobeyed me again and went seeking for abyssal hounds. This is infuriating, Y/N. I have never seen a woman act so stupidly and rashly before”, Dainsleif says roughly, through gritted teeth. His expression is grave and ominous.

“I feel strong desire to take your Vision away and lock you home until you learn to respect my rules.”

“Your ‘rules’?” You raise your eyebrow, looking at Dainsleif no less infuriated and frustrated than he is currently. “You think if you’re older than me, I have to act like your little puppet on strings who does everything that is ordered? Hell no, Dainsleif. We won’t have it this way.”

“FOOL!” He yells, his arm grabbing you tightly and pressing you against a wall. “You could have gotten yourself killed! You could have been hurt! You don’t know the thoughts running through my mind when I imagine you hurt; I want to burn the whole world for you.”

“Let me go, Dain. Please, this is uncalled for, you know that, right?” As you gently ask him Dainsleif slowly, but hesitantly releases your arm and takes a step back, closing his hands behind his back.

“I ask you once again to refrain from getting yourself harmed by the hand of Abyss.”

“Did you just call me a fool? I thought you were better than that.”

“For that ruthless language, I apologise. However I need your obedience when it comes to survival matters.”

Slowly, you walk over to look into Dainsleif’s eyes.

“I understand your tragedy wholeheartedly and I sincerely respect your wish to protect me, but you need to understand that my fighting skills are not low anymore, I can be efficient and agile.”

Dainsleif’s head hangs down, you see that he is contemplating something in the depth of his heart.

“I see”, his hand reaches out to you, even though he is not looking in your direction. Dainself intertwines his fingers with yours and speaks, much quieter and softer words:

“I’m sorry for calling you a fool. That was uncalled for”, his hand gives you a light but worried squeeze. “Just… be careful, Y/N.”

Alhaitham 

“You’re acting like a child. Your opinions are too dreamy, irrational and irrelevant”, Alhaitham speaks briefly as he opens his book and hides his sharp gaze somewhere in the middle of the paragraphs.

Having acknowledged his disregard to you with pain in your heart you throw your arms around and ask him with bright feeling which is contradicting his own manner of speaking.

“Speak about irrelevance! You are the embodiment of irrationality yourself, for guilting me into thinking that you actually care for me.”

Alhaitham stays still for a moment but a tense squeeze he gives the book in his fingers raises even more contradictory emotions between you. 

“I knew you are a difficult person to get intimately acquainted with, but your actions proved that you had at least a bit of attraction towards me. If not, then your choice of words and manner of speaking to personally me was too extreme. If not, and you are dreaded by the mere thought of me being intimately honest with you, spit it out. I don’t want you to play the romance where it no really belongs. I don’t want you to like me out of pity.”

“But I don’t”, Alhaitham finally closes the book and removes from his seat. “Your opinions and decisions make me question whether or not we are compatible enough.”

“That is because you are thinking too rationally.”

“And you are thinking too irrationally.”

“You were the one to touch my hand and hug me in a very personal way. And if I am not mistaken, you are the man who never touches anyone and is dreaded by a mere thought of being pulled out from your serenity.”

Alhaitham then shivers slightly, his body mannerisms betraying distress and frustration that is not by a long shot defined in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry for calling you these words. These are bad words, I should not be disrespecting you so”, he looks away, giving his lip a strong bite whereas finally giving you a relief: “I always thought and I still think that you are a perfect companion for me, but our opinions are very unlike.”

“So you think two people cannot get accustomed to living with each other if they have different choice of words or thinking! Alhaitham, this is laughable.”

“The only laughable thing right now is that I desperately want to hug you”, without further hesitation he pulls you into his arms, an embrace filled with warmth and dedication, while his fingers gently stroke your back. “I apologise, my love.”

Baizhu

“You are being too nosy and impatient, sweetheart. I asked you to not ask me specifics of my contracts and yet here you are - interrogating me like some sort of criminal. I am feeling pressured and most frustrated!” He throws his arms around. “Darling, if you could give me some space, I would finish what I started with no further delay.”

“Am I violating your space by simply caring for your well-being? Baizhu, your contract has gone way too far; your help to people robs you of your own happiness, can you not see it?”

“I will be most contented if you simply leave me to finish my work. I would be happy if you simply encouraged me, but I’d be even more grateful if you stopped asking me so many questions.”

You know perfectly well what it’s like to sacrifice yourself for other people’s sake however you could not any longer bear seeing your love life being disrupted by Baizhu constantly feeling sick and suffering. You want nothing more than him to feel safe, secure and well, but instead this curious pharmacist only risks more and more his life in exchange of knowledge and improvement.

Though, Baizhu did recognise your words as a simple statement of care, he only admitted it in a few days. While you were helping him sort his things out in the pharmacy, Baizhu dropped his formal act and gently touched your hand.

“Darling?”

You stopped sorting at once when you heard what he declared:

“I’m sorry, I was so rude to you speaking about my health.”

You turn to face him and notice the sincerest apology in his snake eyes.

“I just wish you’d understand that my worry for you is not intended to make you uncomfortable or distressed.”

“I do understand it now. I will try my best to not bring you suffering from seeing me suffer. I cannot reject what I had started, but I will seek ways to heal both me and you from this torture.”

The gentle confession ends with Baizhu rubbing his thumb against the top of your hand. 

[nicksolemnlyswears]

JUST TEASIN’

summary: you call joel an old man…amongst other names

pairing: joel miller x reader

word count: 4.4k [i need to learn how to keep things concise]

warnings: 18+, cursing, spanking, p in v, fingering, oral (male receiving), age gap? totally legal though, joel's in his early 40s and reader is in her early 30s, joel is an ass guy which is strange cause i always make my men boob guys, idk i guess this is pretty tame

a/n: as a joke i tend to call pedro and joel peepaw cause he’s older and a total dilf but i love these men so fucking much. i'll be the first to get on my knees

thought i’d make a sweet oneshot about how they’d react to you calling them old. it’s a mix of fluff and smut. a little something for everyone!

also don’t judge me, this is my first time writing for joel 🥺

there’s a little nudge to another favorite fictional men of mine

i want to thank @yxtkiwiyxt for providing me with all the pedro pascal pictures and gifs and movie trailers and for ranting with me all day every day about how amazing this human is… if anyone is to blame about this oneshot it’s her ❤️

It’s one of those lazy Sunday mornings where everyone sleeps in, leaving the Miller household at complete ease. There are no responsibilities to tend to and nowhere to go.

You’re the only one awake, singing quietly under your breath and flipping pancakes until they’re nice and golden. Joel will come seeking you out soon, missing the warmth of your body and Sarah will follow when Joel cracks her door open to let the sweet smell of batter waft into her room.

No matter how hard you try you’re always the first one up. Sometimes you stay in bed with your husband, tracing figures on his bare skin until he pulls you into him and kisses your head good morning, raspy voice begging you for five more minutes.

But most of the time you decide on getting up and having an early start to your day, which includes making breakfast and sorting through your work emails.

The puppy Sarah adopted a couple weeks ago, sits on your feet, licking your legs as if begging for the fluffy sweetness of the pancakes. He had a taste of it when batter dripped on the floor, he licked it up before you had the chance of cleaning it.

Lost in your little world, singing to the tune of Lana del Rey you fail to notice your husband coming down the stairs. Joel leans against the kitchen island admiring you in your distracted state. The loose brown curls in a disarray at the top of his head.

His eyes scan you from head to toe, noting your messy hair pulled up to a half ponytail half bun thing he can’t begin to explain. Down they go to the cropped tshirt with his company’s logo on the back. The frayed edges are the byproduct of your use of kitchen scissors to crop it yourself.

Joel bites his lip as he ogles at your ass and thick thighs framed by the tiniest cotton shorts he’s ever seen. They fail to cover the bottom of your butt cheeks, exposing a sliver of the indigo panties and the crease where thighs meet butt.

Unable to stay away, Joel wraps his warm arms around your waist as he presses a kiss to your temple. He squeezes you to him, bodies pressed flushed to reveal the stiffness in his pajama pants.

The puppy wags his tail in the presence of his favorite human, standing on two legs to call his attention. The man didn’t want him in the first place but was out voted by the females in the household.

“Morning,” Joel murmurs, placing kisses all over your cheeks and down your neck until he finally presses a warm kiss on your shoulder where he rests his chin to look over at the stovetop.

“Morning old man,” you say with a giggle as his scruffy beard tickles your skin. Your lips press against his in a quick kiss, muffling his sigh of disappointment.

“Don’t start, sweetheart,” he warns. His lips brushing against your ear. Joel’s hands find themselves under your tshirt, his thumbs ghosting over your underboob. At the same time the fingertips of his other hand teasingly dip on the waistband of your shorts.

“Or what?” You say with a bite to your lip, flipping over the last batch of pancakes. Couple more seconds and they would’ve burned—that’s how much he distracts you.

“It’s too early for this!” Sarah’s high pitched voice yells. “Not in the kitchen and not in front of the baby, please!”

The puppy scrambles over to Sarah, jumping into her arms. He recognizes she’s the one who will cave and give him scraps of food.

Joel, startled, takes his hands off of you, facing Sarah with an apologetic smile, not that she sees it as she covers her eyes with a hand. “Are you decent? Can I look now? I’m really hungry if you don’t mind.”

You laugh loudly, shaking your head at Sarah’s dramatics. She takes after Joel and is well on her way to beat him at his own game.

“We’re not doin’ anythin’,” Joel mumbles, sitting on one of the kitchen island stools and petting the pups fluffy head, and the ear that flipped over cutely.

“Not yet,” you whisper to him as you place his stack of pancakes in front of him.

“I heard that!” Sarah yells, covering her ears this time. Joel laughs, nudging her shoulder and telling her to pass the syrup.

You lean across from them, grabbing a sliced strawberry to plop into your mouth. Sarah takes over the conversation as you and Joel share a glance. This is far from over.

Later on the day you head outside with a tray of lemonade and pie in your hands. You’ve gotta take care of your dear husband before the Texas heat gets the best of him.

You nudge Joel’s leg with your foot. He’s under the beat up truck, fixing some odd part. He has the means to replace the old thing but he likes to remind you that ‘Betsy,’ as he’s named his truck, is a part of the family and will never be replaced.

“Thanks, darlin,‘“ he drawls, wiping his dirty hands on a random rag he found on the bed of the truck.

Joel takes a second too long to get up from the floor. You see the hesitance in his eyes as he tries to think the best way to stand without hurting or pulling a muscle.

This is your chance. “Need help there, grandpa?” You pipe up, resting the tray on the portable table scattered with tools.

Joel openly glares at you while you smile broadly at him. It’s not often you make fun of his age, or rather, the age gap between the two of you. It’s only when you’re feeling a particular sort of way.

The age gap between the two of you isn’t the craziest but it’s large enough for people to notice. Joel is easily through the first half of his fourth decade, while you are barely entering your third.

“Watch your mouth,” Joel warns you, standing up quickly despite the cracking of his knees and the ache on his lower back.

Your eyes spark when he grabs the glass of cool lemonade and begins chugging it. The drops of sweat sliding down his neck and into the damp collar of his shirt stealing your attention and any innocent thought you’ve might’ve had about him. They weren’t many to begin with.

You clench your thighs together as you imagine licking that same trail, tasting his salty skin. Say what you want but you love a man that works with his hands and gets all dirty and grimy.

Joel catches onto the glazed look covering your eyes and grasps your chin between his thumb and pointer finger. His body gravitating towards yours as if nature demanded it.

You’re overly conscious of the motor oil covering his hands if not you would’ve sucked his thumb into your mouth, reminding him just exactly you can do with your tongue.

“What’s in that pretty lil head of yours, darlin’?”

Him. It’s all about him. He’s always interrupting whatever sane thought you have. Scenarios of you being bent over the hood of the truck as he sinks his aching length from behind. You riding him in the front seat as you’ve done on more than one occasion, fogging up the windows. The time he was knuckles deep inside of you, teasing fingers drenched during his lunch break.

“How good gray looks on you,” you reply, diverting the conversation somewhere else entirely. A delicate fingers wraps around the charming curl that constantly falls over his forehead, twirling it around.

Joel doesn’t take kindly to your comment, rolling his eyes and clicking his jaw as he lets go of you to return to the truck. Your hand which had been playing with his curl drops to your side as you cock your hip to assess him.

He’s much too aware of the age gap, it makes him insecure. Like you’ll one day realize you’re with an old man and leave him for someone younger.

Except in your eyes he’s the most perfect man alive. The grey streaks of hair that mix with the typical brown of his curls give him an air of authority, making him look dashing in all ways. A silver fox. Strong muscles from working manual labor most of his life are now covered with a healthy layer of fat but remain strong nonetheless. Warm brown eyes that sweep you off your feet every morning as soon as they open.

That man is aging like fine wine and he doesn’t begin to realize it. You feel extremely lucky to be the only one to enjoy it…squeaky joints and all.

Joel is experienced and mature and loyal. He simply wants to have a nice life with his family. A family you’re now a part of. It’s all a woman could ask for.

“You know I love you,” you tell him, wrapping your arms around him as he leans over the hood.

“Love to torture me,” he scoffs, taking hold of one of your hands affectionately. He can never stay mad at you.

“I don’t know what you mean? I brought you lemonade and even that apple pie you love so much,” you feign innocence, pressing a kiss to the middle of his back.

Facing you with a sigh, he lets his heavy hands fall on your hips, “What’re you playing at?”

“Me? Nothing,” you say with a wicked smile, “I’m gonna go with Sarah to the mall to get her homecoming dress. Will you be alright here with Ghost?”

He’s quickly distracted by the words Sarah and Homecoming. His babygirl is growing too fast, starting High School and going on dances with boys. She hasn’t told him yet if she’s been invited by someone and he hopes it stays that way.

There’s no way he’s letting her go with a date and you can’t convince him other wise. If she wants a date she can take the puppy she adopted, Ghost. Joel is determined to teach the ball of fur how to defend his daughter.

“Here,” he says, pulling out his wallet to hand you his credit card.

“No, it’s my treat!” You say, pushing his hand away.

“Take it,” Joel insists, trying to slip it into the tight pair of jeans you’re wearing. Fuck. How didn’t he notice until now.

It should be illegal to wear jeans that make you look THAT good. The blue material hugs your thighs tightly and lifts your perky ass to heaven—not that you other wise need it.

He doesn’t hold back and slides his palms on your back pockets, giving you a firm squeeze. You stumble, falling onto him with a weak protest.

“‘M so fucking lucky you’re my woman,” he groans, taking another feel. Temporarily forgetting the conversation at hand, yet another comment directed at his age snaps Joel back to reality.

“Honey, I know I married an older man but it wasn’t for your money,” you tease again, patting his cheek and removing his hands from your pockets—credit card and all.

A sharp slap to your ass, startles you, eliciting a cheeky giggle. All this teasing and you’re leaving him home alone with the mutt.

You don’t apologize, you’ll never apologize for teasing him. Unless it’s in the right circumstances…in his bed.

Towards the end of the night you finish pushing him to the edge of no return. Remember, opportunities are always around when you’re determined.

“Dad, can you sign this for school?” Sarah comes into the living room where you and Joel are watching a movie. Ghost’s head is plopped on his lap, where Joel had been ‘forced�� to pet him.

“What’s this for?” Joel tries to read the paper but has to keep it at arms reach to be able to read it. Failing, he searches for his glasses until Sarah points at his head where they’ve been resting for half the night, nestled between his curls.

You stifle a laugh as you think of what to say. “Sorry Sarah, good old peepaw needs his glasses to read.”

It’s clear you’re pushing it far as Joel freezes only to glare at you. If looks could kill you’d be six feet underground. Sarah laughs until her belly hurts, repeating the word peepaw between breaths.

“You two are bullies,” Joel shakes his head in disbelief, signing the permit and handing it to Sarah who is wiping her tears away.

“I’m heading to bed, goodnight old man,” Sarah tells a pouting Joel, kissing his cheek and running up the stairs. “Come on, Ghost. Bedtime!”

“Peepaw? Really?” Joel raises his eyebrows at you when both Sarah and Ghost are gone.

You shrug feigning innocence, hiding your smile with the edge of the blanket. ”Yeah, peepaw. It’s cute.”

“It ain’t cute,” Joel kisses his teeth before turning off the TV and standing from the couch, leaving you behind.

“Where are you going?” You call after him.

“To bed,” he dryly responds, shutting off the lights and climbing the stairs. He only leaves the lamp by the couch on. How considerate of him.

“What? Joel it’s barely 10!” Hiding your satisfaction is difficult. Joel’s ticked off, a day of calling him old will do that. It’s exactly what you hoped for.

“Guess that’s what old men do, darlin,’” Joel says sarcastically half way up the stairs.

With a hand over your mouth, you follow him, “Honey, come on. Don’t be angry, it’s harmless teasing. Are you really heading to bed?”

Joel turns at the top of the stairs, glaring down at you, “You really think I’m an old man?”

“Technically speaking you are an older man,” you quip, scrunching your nose cutely.

“You know that’s not what I mean.” Joel crosses his arms, reprimanding you for your cheekiness.

“I dunno why you get like this, you should know I love my older men,” you say sultrily, although it falls on deaf ears as Joel retreats to the bedroom.

When you step into the bedroom you’re instantly pressed against the door, slamming it shut. Joel’s sneaky hands lock it. “You’re playing a dangerous game, darlin.’ Don’t make me bend you over my knee and give you a spanking.”

The thought alone makes you shudder in delight. Wetness instantly seeping into your underwear. You’ve finally succeeded. You have him right where you want him.

With your hands braced on his chest you deliver the final blow. “You sure your knees can take it?”

Disbelief flashes in Joel’s eyes, “That’s it!”

Grabbing your arms Joel leads you to the bed where he sits on the edge. He roughly pull down on your jeans, panties and all, leaving them pooled on your knees, limiting your mobility.

With another tug he lays you face down on his lap, holding your wrists behind you in a tight grip. Joel shakes his head at your upturned ass that’s waiting a little too eagerly for his touch.

Delight bubbles out of you and Joel is determined to take you down a notch or two. Let’s see how you handle this after fucking with him all damn day.

The first swat comes without warning, eliciting a gasp from you. It’s sharp and borderline painful. A red handprint magically appearing on your left butt cheek.

Joel massages and paws at the skin, getting ready to deliver another one. “Cat got your tongue?” He questions at your sudden silence.

You try to look over your shoulder and say, “Is that all you got?”

A sarcastic chuckle leaves Joel’s mouth. Then, three fast slaps are delivered, successfully earning him a whine from your pretty lips. He rubs on the sweltering flesh, easing some of the sting.

Finding their way to your thighs his fingers dig between them to cup your pussy. It’s no surprise that it’s warm, messy and slick. Clear strands extending from it to the inside of your thighs and covering his digits.

You’re a fucking vixen who loves to torture him for your own fucking pleasure and he’s the damn fool who falls for it each and every time.

“Touch me,” you huff, wiggling on his lap to grind on his hand, hoping to gain more contact with his coated digits.

“Touch you? Oh, darlin’ you’re not getting off the hook so easily,” Joel mentions darkly, retrieving his hand and landing yet another smack to your ass, making it ripple from the impact.

“Ow!” You flinch yet remain in the same position, expecting more. You fucking love when Joel gets rough with you. It’s a shame you have to gauge it out of him like this.

“Wasn’t this what you wanted? Hm?” Joel’s asks and when he doesn’t get a response his hand flies down once more. “What was it you called me?”

There’s a beat of silence before his hand strikes, this time aiming towards the middle. “Gra-grandpa,” you stutter at the small burst of pleasure.

“Mhm, what else darlin’?” He prompts again. His middle finger tracing the slit of your pussy, feeling you grow impossibly wetter. His pretty little wife is always so reactive to his touch.

“Old man.”

The stinging in your skin grows warmer, no doubt turning a considerable shade of cherry red. Yet the ache in your cunt obscures it all. The scraps of attention only makes your arousal worse.

“I think there was one more,” Joel hums, urging you on. His slick finger teasing your weeping entrance.

“P-peepaw,” you gasp when Joel pushes it in until his knuckle meets your delicate skin.

“That’s right, peepaw,” Joel repeats absentmindedly, pushing his middle finger in and out. Listening intently to the squishing sound your pussy makes.

He’ll have you calling him something else by the end of the night.

Tight walls grip his finger like a vice, refusing to let go. Soft puffs of air tumble out of your mouth and he knows your eyes are closed as you concentrate on the minimal pleasure he’s providing you with. It’ll never be enough to make you cum but it’ll keep you bothered.

“Get up,” Joel orders with a softer smack to your bottom, wiping his slick covered finger on your skin. He helps you up from the restrained position he kept you in and makes work of taking off your clothes.

Joel pulls and tugs on your shirt roughly, throwing it mindlessly across the room. He palms your tits briefly, pinching one of your nipples to make you whine his name. With cracking knees he kneels on the floor to help you out your jeans and underwear, kneading your thighs with his big strong hands.

He catches a glance of your reddening skin and feels a prickle of pride at the mark he left. Most of it will fade by morning but you’ll feel it nonetheless.

Sitting back on the edge of the bed he wordlessly motions you to get on your knees. A wicked smile spreads on your cheeks as you do as you’re told, kneeling between his spread legs.

Eager hands grasp his belt, undoing the worn leather to get to the button of his jeans. He provides no help, leaning back on his hands and simply watching you with hooded and expecting eyes.

You pull down on his jeans and underwear, revealing the happy trail that comes down his navel to the patch of brown at his pelvis.

His hard cock springs free once you’ve worked his pants down enough. A throaty groan coming from above you at the release of tension.

“Mmm,” you hum, grasping his length in your fist. His eyes meet yours when you look up to press a kiss to the tip, your hand pulling the thin skin back to reveal it.

“Stop with the teasin,’” Joel growls audibly, chastising you.

You rolls your eyes obnoxiosuly, “You’re no fun, g-“

A hand flies to your hair, gripping the roots tightly. Your eyes fly open, starting up at Joel. “You sure you want to finish that sentence, babygirl?”

“Maybe not,” you shrug with a pout, your hand mindlessly pumping his length.

“That’s what I thought.” Joel keeps his grip on your hair, pulling it back to see every detail of you taking his cock into your pretty mouth.

Your tongue goes flat against the underside of his shaft, tracing the vein that runs along his length and letting saliva drip all down and into your fisted hand. Joel watches intently as your lips wrap around the angry red tip of his cock.

You start off slow taking more of his length with each bob of your head. Your eyes never leaves his face, observing every small reaction he makes. The sharp intake of breath when your tongue grazes his tip, the furrowing of his eyebrows, the bobbing of his adam’s apple as he fails to keep his moans in.

The sudden jerk of Joel’s hips causes your eyes to water and screw shut. The initial intrusion of his cockhead unexpected yet welcome. Joel throws his head back, “That’s a fucking good girl.”

Those magic words make everything worth it as you messily continue to suck and lick every inch of his cock. Neither the tears in the corner of your eyes nor the saliva dripping down his length stop you from tasting him.

You swear you’re dripping on the floor as your pussy flutters at his pleased words. You could touch yourself but all your energy and attention goes to pleasing the man above you.

The pain of kneeling hard wood floor for an extended period of time doesn’t bother you and the ache on your jaw is barely noticeable because all your concentration is on Joel and making him feel good.

Joel continues to set the pace, his grip tight on your scalp. “Fuck, just like that,” he moans when you tease the crown of his cock expertly.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Joel’s voice lilts in a reprimanding voice.

A string of saliva connects you to the tip of him as your hand continuing to work on the rest of his length.

Joel takes note of your red rimmed eyes and flushed nose as well as in your swollen lips and moussed hair. The picture of you completely filthy and sexy.

Joel cups the back of your neck, bringing you up to his height. He brings you into a sloppy kiss consisting of teeth and tongue and saliva. Joel loves that can taste himself in your mouth. A job well done.

You straddle his lap so his cock grazes your dripping pussy, tugging needily at his tshirt. “Take it off,” you beg. Your lips separate for a brief second as the shirt comes off before they smash back together.

He complies but quickly reminds himself that this all started because you were calling him old. He can’t be quick to reward you.

You foolishly believe that’s it and you get to have him. Eagerly you try to sink into his cock but he holds you still, not letting you take him to the hilt.

“Who’s the tease now?” You pant against his lips, stealing another long kiss before whispering in his ear begging him to take you, to use you.

“I like to see you begging for it.” That’s Joel’s response as he pushes you off of him.

You protest but fall silent when he removes his remaining clothes. God you’re like a teenager desperate to fuck with clothes and all.

It drives Joel nuts the way you look at him with lust filled eyes. You bite your lip as you take him in all his glory, hands reaching to touch his chest.

He pulls you back to him, his cock wedged between the two of you. The saliva covering it, sticking to your skin. He cups your face, “You have something to say?”

“Nope.”

Joel to cos his head in disappointment, pushing you into bed and maneuvering you till your head is buried in the pillows and your ass is high in the air. It’s tinged a dozen shades of pink and red from his hands.

You wiggle your hips offering yourself to him. Air hits your pussy, giving you an idea of how aroused you are. That’s what happens whenever you have the pleasure of going down in Joel.

Joel grips himself, spreading his pre before pumping his hand. Smack. His hand flies down to strike your ass once more. Your back arches when Joel teases your entrance with the tip. He runs it up and down your slit, wetting it with your slick. He lightly pushes into you so only the tip is inside before he pulls out again.

“Please fuck me,” you plead breathlessly, attempting to rock back to get more of him inside you.

Joel laughs. “Now you’re nice and polite. Is there something else you want to tell me?” He asks expecting an apology.

“No,” you repeat stubbornly.

He’ll get you soon enough. There’s no way you’ll resist.

Joel’s cock brushes against your clit, making you jump and moan. He does it again and again. Your pussy clenches desperately wanting him inside of you.

“You sure? You don’t want to apologize?” He gives you another chance. Sinking his cock deeper into you to give you a taste before he pulls out.

You huff and pout but you can’t take it anymore. You need him. “I’m sorry!”

“Now, was that so hard,” Joel grunts, pushing his length all the way in, rewarding you.

You bury your head into the pillow, stifling the guttural moan that rips from your throat. You could die like this suffocated and blissfully impaled on Joel’s cock and be happy.

With a tight grip on your waist Joel fucks into you at his own pace, watching how easily you accept him, covering him with your essence. It feels fucking fantastic.

His skin slaps against yours rhythmically. You swear you can cum at that moment but Joel knows all your tells and he slows his pace, pushing into you only when the tip remains. Long, slow strokes keeping you from cumming.

“I wanna cum,” you cry out frustrated but he ignores you, edging you.

“If you want to cum tonight you have to stop calling me old,” Joel grits. This is torture for him as much as it is for you.

“I said I’m sorry,” you sob into the pillow, your back arching as you try and take matters into your own hands. Smack, another spank, warning you to stop.

“Will you stop calling me grandpa?”

You have the audacity to fucking hesitate. He’s serious about not letting you cum but he’s confident he’ll get you to cave in.

Joel pulls out his cock when you refuse to answer. He instantly misses the warmth and tightness of your walls. His cock is soaked with your slick, a creamy white substance covering him from root to tip.

Licking his middle and ring fingers he replaces his cock, feeling your walls clench around them. He pumps them angling them downward to reach that spot inside of you, his other hand pressing on your lower back so you arch more.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp when this thumb presses on your bud. An orgasm quickly building. “Please Joel.” You wanted to cum around his cock not his fingers but at this point you’ll take anything you can get. Your mind is completely clouded and years for release.

“Did you reconsider what you wanted to call me?” Joel curves his fingers, quickening the pace.

“Yes,” you whine as your hips grind against his hand.

“And what’s that?” His fingers are sticky, your essence dripping down his hand.

“Please, daddy,” you cry abashedly, hiding your reddening face in the pillows.

“I didn’t hear ya’ darlin’. How about you look at me when you speak?” Joel dares to say while his fingers continue to drive into you.

Fuck, your legs are shaking and the knot continues to tighten in your belly. You have to say it or Joel will stop. You turn your head to meet his eyes, “Please, daddy.”

“That’s more like it,” Joel’s raspy voice says, removing his fingers when you’re at the cusp once more.

You audibly groan in frustration but it’s interrupted when Joel eases his cock back into you Fucking you just as you want it, hard and fast.

The bed sheets are fisted in your hands as you hold on. Your nipples brushing against the bed with each thrust. It doesn’t take long at all for you both to titer over the edge. Your pussy squeezing tightly around him, milking him for all he’s worth.

When Joel pulls out you fall to lie on your stomach, catching your breath. He lies beside you doing the same. Sharing a glance you both start laughing.

“Next time you want it rough just tell me,” Joel shakes his head at you. He knew all along and yet it still pissed him off.

“It’s not the same, honey,” you sigh, kissing his shoulder. The nearest part of him you can reach without moving too much.

The following morning you wake up with a kink in your back and Joel being the ever loving husband brings you painkillers to bed where you’re lying still, “Take these grandma. They’ll make you feel better.”

He won’t ever call you ‘grandma’ again. The daggers you sent him were fucking terrifying.

listen...typically i'm not the biggest fan of the daddy kink...but when it works, it works

[dollniu]

lets talk abt kinks ! — JJK MEN

SYNOPSIS — kinks i think jjk men secretly have…

PAIRINGS — toji x f!reader, sukuna x f!reader, gojo x f!reader, ino x f!reader, higuruma x f!reader

CONTENT — biting and hickeys, blood play, teasing, humiliation, overstimulation, 69, begging, orgasm control, masochism

OTHER — MNDI 🔞

TOJI — biting and marks

toji shows ZERO mercy when it comes to marking you as his own. while he’s fucking u, he loves biting on your neck and leaving trails of bite marks across your skin that don’t go away for at least a week. whether he’s fucking you from the back or the front, he’s sucking on some part of your body. he loves hearing the the soft moans you make when he bites you which only makes him bite harder, it’s like music to his ears. just using his mouth all over you while he’s throbbing inside you, licking and sucking and kissing, etc. he knows ALL of ur sensitive parts and loves sucking on your sweet spot while ur riding him and the reactions you make when he bites you only makes him go rougher. also the fact that literally everyone can see the work of art he’s made on your neck, bite marks and hickeys (even in places only you two can see 💋) “you’re fucking mine.”

SUKUNA — blood play

sukuna is a mf sadist. he absolutely loves it when you’re at his complete disposal and a little toy he can inflict his cruel desires onto. and there’s nothing he loves more than leaving cuts on your body that leak with sweet crimson liquid. scratching at ur thighs or stomach, anywhere he desires with his sharp nails and watching the blood drip from your tits to your stomach only for him to lick it all up, savoring the taste of you. and the way you arch your back in pain and pleasure drives him crazy, watching you bleed as he fucks you harder and rougher. and the thing he loves most is biting into your neck with his sharp fangs, drinking the blood while he’s pounding inside you. drinking the blood and hearing you squeal in pain from the sudden impact only makes him bite deeper. “your sweet blood is mine, doll. let me taste every last drop of you on my tongue.”

GOJO — teasing/humilation

no matter where you guys are, gojo always finds a way to tease you. whether it’s whispering in your ear how much he wants to be inside you or touching you in the places you’re most sensitive, he just loves seeing you squirm as your face turns beat red. especially at the worst times— at meetings he’ll playfully put his hand in ur inner thigh, inching towards your core just to see that delicious flushed look on your face. he can’t contain himself when he sees you like that, a horny squirming mess. and during sex it’s even better, he’d make you strip down in front of him with his eyes glued onto your body, licking his lips while staring at the flustered mess he created. gojo is the type of guy to make direct eye contact while he’s fucking you. you’ll turn away in embarrassment but he’ll just grab your humiliated face and force you to stare into his eyes while he’s pounding you. it drives him crazy when he sees you squirming underneath him, letting out loud moans that you try to hold in, covering your mouth. but in return, he fucks you harder, rougher, just to hear those sweet noises come out. “come on, you like being like this.. don’t you? my little slut.”

INO — overstimulation

whether it’s you or him, ino loves overstimulation. feeling everything at once, it’s too much to handle but it feels so good. he loves seeing you squirm as he fingers you, making your legs shake after coming for the third time. you tell him to stop, pushing ino away but he knows damn well you want more and he fucking loves it. but whether you’re riding him, giving him a blowjob, or a handjob, he’s gonna be begging for you to keep going. tears flow from his wet eyes, staring up at you bounce on his dick, begging to let him cum. orgasm after orgasm, he wants to come again and again. “p-please! oh fuck- please keep going baby- please l-let me cum!”

HIGURUMA — 69 (duh)

higuruma LOVES EATING PUSSY. this is a known fact, he loves tasting all of you and licking up your sweet juices. and of course, riding his nose is also a factor. you mentioned it once and he absolutely lit up to the idea, looking up and seeing you use him for your personal pleasure made him hard just thinking about it. so when you brought up the idea of 69, you do it every night. sucking his dick while pleasuring his girl was absolute heaven for him, eating you out to perfection while getting a blowjob was just what this overworked man needs after a long day at work! just eating your pussy is enough, but feeling you swallow his dick while he plays with ur clit with his tongue felt heavenly. “god.. you taste so fucking good.. please.. mphm.. keep going.”

[kirozai]

—BETTER AT LOVING YOU.

Sae has always believed that playing football was the only thing he was good at. Meeting you drastically changed his belief. Sae is reminded again while trying to teach you how to play football, which you fail. Badly… BUT he still loves you nevertheless.

content warnings: established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff, fem!reader, present to past flashbacks pairing(s): itoshi sae x reader word count: 1600+ A/N: idek

PRESENT.

“I don’t get it! Why the hell are there so many rules to a game that's whole premise is just ‘kick ball in goal, win.’” you say defeated.

Sae knew that this wasn’t going to turn out very well, but after your constant pestering for about 4 minutes, he gave in. 

The result?

Pouty you lying on the turf of the empty indoor pitch after about… maybe 20 minutes? After sliding away every single time he tried to pass the ball to you, you seem to have given up. 

“What if I get hit by the ball or something?” you said before.

“Then move on?” he says questioningly.

You did NOT take that well.

With a great big sigh, Sae makes his way to sit near your body and look at your exasperated face. He brushes away the loose strands of hair in front of your face. His eyes trace yours, “mesmerized and in love” the public would describe. 

Well. Sae is not denying any of those allegations.

“It’s fine,” Sae insisted “You're not planning to be a pro football player any time soon anyways.”

“See but if I was anyone else would you be saying that?” you questioned.

“No.” 

“Hmph! See! It isn’t really fine.”

“You’re you and everyone else is lukewarm and boring. Why does it matter that I treat them differently?” He squints at you.

Your mouth is left agape at his response. 

Sae’s lips turned upturned at the sight. You reply with a big grin on your face. It’s always a treat to see your handsome lover’s smile you always say to him.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

PAST.

Meeting a girl being chased by a seagull was not on his agenda this summer.

Sandwich in hand you rain around the empty sandy beach being chased by one, no wait two, hold on now three?! To simplify it you were being chased by seagulls, many, many seagulls.

Sae watches you with curious eyes, head swaying left and right following you as you try to protect your oh-so-precious sandwich in hand. Finally, after much anticipation, you throw the sandwich at one of the seagulls in despair, but he could tell that you were out of breath. Your hands on your knees heaving after much running from the evil sea birds, you whip your head toward the pinkish-maroon head man. 

Sae not being too far away makes out the words falling from your pretty lips:

“YOU! WHY’D YOU JUST STAND THERE?” You point at him accusingly.

Running up the stairs and… pushing him down to the ground?

“Ah. Oops. I didn’t actually mean it-”

And that’s where your sudden story of love began. After the apologies and bickering you forced him to buy you new food as an apology. Sae looks at you with an eyebrow raised, hands in pockets. 

“I’ve seen a lot of fans trying to ask me out, but I’ve never seen someone as stalkery and insane as you.” He says as if it’s a fact. 

“You were literally watching me for the past ten minutes,” you reply blankly.

Seems like Sae can’t argue with that.

He finds out on your little rendezvous that you're here in Spain for vacation and you aren’t a stalker fan. Though Sae questions if that’s true ever so often. Your intentions are clear though, after this, you want nothing to do with him.

Which… is new...

So in your next days in Spain, somehow fate has linked you two together in some of the coincidental places Every. Single. Day. Much to your avail. 

Sometimes it’s bumping into him again on a random alleyway. Others it’s you getting scammed in a tourist trap and Sae is just “too annoyed” to see a tourist get their money taken away.

Except, every practice he goes to now he wonders if he’ll see you again today. His mind used to be filled with only one thing and that was football, but somehow you’ve wiggled your way into his mind.

Maybe even his heart.

His stone-cold expression to you is just a challenge to break the ice even more and you find yourself growing warmer to the emerald-eye man. 

Your odd compliments and your unique character stir something inside of him. He continues to tell himself that this is only temporary and he’ll forget about you after you leave.

Even though.

Even though, he doesn’t want you to leave.

His brain is now filled with more of you than football. He thinks about what he can do to make you smile, to laugh. He thinks about what gifts you’d like next and if you’d like churros more or xuixos.

You ask him questions past his athlete life and ask him about things he likes to do. Unfortunately, he has no reply. He’s known nothing more than football all his life. 

So you open him to the world of, well, everything else. You force him to go on walks with you and visit random tourist places that Sae’s gone to millions of times, but every time with you seems brighter than the last. You teach him about your hobbies and other places you visited. You talk about your home country to him and reminisce about the times in high school. This summer is different, more you.

Time passes by and you two grow closer. Even his teammates see the subtle differences. They look shocked to see that Sae is doing something outside of practice.

At some point, the spontaneous meetings aren’t enough and at one of your meetings, you take his phone and add your number to him with a cute little selfie of you. You always remind him how much of a dry texter he is, but he always replies instantaneously even to your random texts at 3 am.

You’re “bearable,” he says. 

Bearable enough to have you as the only person who can bypass Sae’s Do Not Disturb.

Time slows when he’s with you, always experiencing new things with you.

Time doesn’t stop completely though.

At some point, you have to leave. It’s only summer after all.

And that fact leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.

You, however, don’t seem a bit worried. Sae frowns at the fact.

Until one day before your departure, he asks.

“Why don’t you seem fazed?”

“Hmm?” you say while stuffing all sorts of pastries in your face.

“About leaving I mean,” he says in a hushed tone.

“It’s not like this is goodbye though. We’re still gonna talk duh.” You say as if it’s a matter of fact.

Sae’s taken aback at your reply. He’s used to your random replies but this one seems so.. genuine. You don’t plan to leave this behind, your memories behind.

You don’t plan to leave him behind.

The day your plane departs is probably one of Sae disliked days. You wave at him but don’t say goodbye, instead it's a “See you Later!”

And you leave.

He wonders if you’ll text back if you’ll really keep your promise of staying in touch.

And you do.

You call him when your plane arrives back in your country. You tell him how bad the legroom was and everything else. He’s happy to hear your voice.

So after some weeks of constant calls, texts, and memes, you ask the dreaded question.

“So.. uh.. What are we?” you laugh nervously.

Sae is lying in his bed, it's currently 11 pm, very much past the time he should be asleep by now. 

“Saeeee…??” you drag out.

He furrows his brows, taking in the question. What are you two?

“What do you want to be?” He internally slaps himself at the reply.

“That’s so ominous.” You joke.

“I mean, I don’t know. Does the famous athlete Itoshi Sae have a secret girlfriend on the side right now?” you ask.

“No. Unless…” He trails off.

“Unless??”

“Unless you want to be mine.” He declares.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

PRESENT.

Sae smiles fondly at the memories. He blanked out out of pure embarrassment, but he recalls your reply being something like “Well you better ask me properly!” He remembers looking for flights for you to come back to Spain. And when you do things become official. You stay at his place because it’s “cheaper”, but you both know that it’s just an excuse. You spend time any time you can. He still clearly remembers the day when you called his penthouse your home. 

He knows he’s not very good at a lot of things out of football, but he knows he’s good at loving you. After a couple of years, he made you his wife. The one he’ll always come home to after a game or practice.

“Whatchu’ smiling about huh?” You beam.

He rolls his eyes.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?!”

“I didn’t roll anything. You should be practicing rolling the ball around right now.” he says dryly.

“You’re so unfunny Sae.” You drag his arm down and topple on him.

“No more football!” You state loudly.

“No more football,” he repeats.

Sae never thought he’d be saying that line ever in his life. He never even thought of marrying anyone.

But sometimes fate can surprise us.

So while football was a bust for you it was still a good time spent in Sae’s egoist mind. Any time with you is a good time in all honesty.

You may not be the best at football, but that’s okay. He doesn’t need another football lover he just needs you to love him

And with this in mind,

Sae is good at football sure, but he’s pretty sure he’s better at loving you over anything else.

[purplecoffee13]

The Silent Type*

Summary: “Harry, the quiet guy in the office, has silently admired you during your time working for the firm. Now that your work there is done, Harry finds that he can’t let you go just yet…”

Wc: 5k

Tropes: colleagues (ceorry/nerdrry)

Warnings: SMUT, overstimulation, daddy kink, switch sub/dom dynamics, oral, choking

A/N: SUP Y’ALL!!!! God I have just been waiting to be able to write again! I still have some exams coming up next week, but I spent all evening writing this one shot because I have been dying to get back into it😋 This is my first time writing a more subrry tinted fic, so I hope you enjoy it!

General Masterlist

if you want to support me more than liking or sharing, you can consider buying me a coffee!

************************************************

Harry has never been one to talk much.

It is one of the reasons why he chose the career of software developing. Most of it, he could do on his own.

It wasn't so much that Harry hated people, he just preferred his own company. More people tend to complicate things, and Harry is a more logical guy.

That was until he met you.

About three months ago, the company for which Harry worked had started their expansion, and he was to lead the people transferred to that section of the firm. With the expansion also came new employees, and that’s where you came in.

You had been temporarily hired by the company to weed out applicants, and assist the current HR manager to help with the job interviews.

Harry still remembers that first day when you walked into the office, all nervous and fidgety. He had spotted you through the glass walls of his office, and couldn't physically tear his eyes off of you.

It wasn't until your third day helping in the office, that you actually met Harry. You had no idea what to think of him. Well, besides the obvious, of course. He was ridiculously handsome, and from the way he was staring at you, you figured that maybe he was thinking something like that about you too.

But he didn't talk.

Your first time meeting consisted of nothing but a gruff 'nice to meet you' from Harry's side, and no input in the rest of the conversation whatsoever. It was only a couple days later, when you asked the HR manager about it, that you found out that's just how he was, that he didn't really talk to anyone. From that moment on, there had been a surge of motivation to let him make you the one exception.

Harry was just fascinated by you, and he had no idea why. You were a ball of energy, talking so fast you'd think someone had clicked on your 'sped up' button, and you were chaotic, all over the place. The amount of times he watched you bump into people was impossible to keep count of.

Then, one day, you bumped into him. It should have angered him, the spilt coffee on his pants. But he had an extra suit, and you looked so worried, he didn't want to make you feel worse. You still felt bad, though, so you decided to make it up to him, and started getting him coffee every morning.

By the end of the first week, he looked you in the eyes when he thanked you. By the end of the fourth, he'd ask you how you are and recall things you'd told him. By the end of sixth, he told you things about his life, and by the end of the tenth week, you were having longer conversations with him.

It was difficult to keep up the small talk with him in the beginning. You soon found out that his lone wolf attitude may had something to do with his awkwardness. You thought, perhaps people weren't willing to work through that, and eventually he just stopped trying.

Such a prospect made you sad, and it only motivated you more to get to know him better. Of course, the longing glances, and standing unnecessarily close to each other with his knuckles barely touching your arm, those things helped too.

There was an undeniable tension between the two of you that you found incredibly difficult to decipher. The way he'd let you catch him looking at you gave it away quite clearly, but the lack of any real initiative confused you.

Had you read it all wrong? Did he even think there was something there too?

Unfortunately, there was no way to find out, as your assignment at the company was coming to an end. Today had been your last day, and tonight is a launch party to officially celebrate the expansion of the company.

You were a little sad to leave the company, especially since you really liked the people working there. It is why you are most excited for tonight.

Wearing a long yellow dress—it is your favorite color—you stride into the building. You are mesmerized by all the balloons and how pretty everyone looks. Wearing expensive suits or classy dresses. You immediately realize you might be a bit too happily dressed; everyone is wearing darker colors.

It does make it easy for everyone to spot you, though. By the time you've gotten your drink, five people have already walked up to you. About half an hour into the party, the CEO of the company takes the stage to give a small speech.

"I would like to thank everyone who has participated in making this expansion go as smoothly as it did. Your work does not go unnoticed." He says through the microphone. Everyone claps for a few seconds, and the man waits to go on until it is quiet again.

"Now, I have a special announcement to make. I have wanted to make this expansion happen since I began working for this company in 1988. Now that I finally have, I feel that my job at this firm is done. And so, I have decided to retire from my position as CEO."

Your eyes widen at the speech; you had no idea this was even a thing. By the sound of the gasps and murmurs traveling through the room, you deduce that the news is unexpected for the rest of the company as well.

"It is also with great pride that I present the new CEO of our company, chosen after careful consideration. If mr. Harry Styles could please join me on stage."

Your mouth falls open at the mention of Harry's name, and you are certain you will never be able to close it again when you see him walking onto the stage. He wears a black suit, perfectly tailored to his body, and the sight of him has you concerned that you may be drooling.

The bald man hands the microphone to Harry, who does not look very pleased to be on stage; it almost seems like he is regretting his decisions. Until his eyes meet yours, that is when you see him let out a breath.

"Thank you, Mr. Johnson." He says, breaking eye contact to look at his former boss.

Right, that was his name, Johnson.

"I look forward to leading this company into more successes, and I promise that I will put my heart and soul into it. I have worked at this firm ever since I graduated college and they offered me a job during my internship, and it is safe to say that I have not regretted that decision a day of my life. I have always been loyal to this company, and I will remain loyal to you. Thank you."

You are perplexed. Why did he never tell you about this? You are very happy for him, but you do find it weird. It also makes you doubt again. Did whatever you had been building up the last months not mean as much to Harry as it did to you?

Well, it doesn't really matter, you're gone after tonight anyway.

Once the shock of the news has calmed down a bit, the party resumes as normal. Most people visit Harry one by one to congratulate him on the position, but you steer clear from him. It is no use, after tonight you will probably never see him again anyway.

Time passes, and you think you're ready to go home. There was a file in the office you forgot to sign earlier today, so you head up to do that first. The office is entirely dark when you walk out of the elevator. It's kind of eerie, so you are quick to turn on the lights.

It takes you a few minutes to find the file, since the receptionist placed it on someone else's desk. You find it on your colleague's desk, and walk over to the receptionist desk to sign it. Laying it on the keyboard of her computer, you pray that she won't displace it again, and make your way back to the elevators.

A loud shriek escapes you when Harry suddenly walks around the corner. He covers his ears at the high pitched sound, shocked by how much he scared you. With your hand on your chest you try and steady your breathing.

"Jesus, you scared the crap out of me."

"Sorry, didn't mean to." He says, a bit of worry in his tone. You look up at him.

"What are you even doing up here?"

"I was looking for you." He shrugs.

"Why?" Your eyebrows furrow, that same old tension in your stomach settling like it does every time Harry looks at you for longer than two seconds.

"You've been avoiding me." He answers casually, and you feel your heart drop. You didn't think he'd catch onto it.

"Congratulations by the way, for being the CEO. That was definitely a surprise." There is a bitterness in your tone. It is Harry's turn to frown. He hears the condescension, but his mind can't seem to come to a conclusion. Why are you angry? It's so hard to tell.

This is why he doesn't do people.

"You're mad that I am CEO?" He guesses, and your mouth falls open, much like it did when Harry's new position got announced.

"What?! Of course not! I'm very happy for you." You sputter out. The last thing you'd want him to think is that you don't want him to be happy or satisfied or successful.

"But you're still avoiding me." He repeats slowly. "You know, I didn't tell you about it because no one was supposed to know. I had to sign for it and everything. It's nothing personal."

The painful grip that his potential distrust in you had on your heart releases at the sound of his words. You could have known that it was due to something like that, you work in HR after all. That fact alone makes you realize how invested you unknowingly had become in Harry.

"I...I figured." You give him a weak smile. Harry's eyes search for yours, holding onto your gaze once he has found it. You stay like that, staring at each other for a while until you break the silence.

"I'm heading home. I don't think I'll see you again, so good luck. I'm sure you'll do wonderfully."

With much difficulty, you manage to look away from Harry and walk past him. At least, you try to, because halfway through, Harry's hand grabs your arm. You stop in your tracks, looking back at the man who stopped you. The man who has been sending you mixed signals for the past few months.

"D– do you want to join me in my office?"

You refrain from the shiver that threatens to run down your entire body, and nod. Harry's hand slides down your arm to your hand, and he intertwines his fingers with yours before he leads you to the glass doors that belong to him. On your way there, he flicks off the lights, leaving the two of you in the dark.

The city lights light up the otherwise pitch dark office that belongs to Harry, for now. He will be moved to the CEO's office when he starts his new position.

You don't say anything as Harry closes the door, or as he walks to the closet and pulls out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. You wait in anticipation of what he's going to do.

But then he sits down. He just sits down on his chair.

You stand there, staring at him, utterly confused about this man and his intentions with you, while he obliviously pours the whiskey into the glasses. In that moment, there is a switch inside of you, one that says: fuck it. This is your last day, you need a way to release this pent up tension, and you probably won't see him ever again after this. What have you got to lose? Nothing.

You walk over to the desk and sit down on it, extremely close to Harry. The split of your dress shows your bare, freshly shaved leg, and he seems to notice. His eyes pull to your legs like magnets, and he has to force himself to look you in the eyes as he hands you the glass of whiskey.

You try your best not to smirk at the effectiveness of your plan, focusing on your next move instead. Straight for the kill.

"So, why am I here, Harry?" You ask nonchalantly, taking a sip of your whiskey. It tastes quite strong, and it takes you a lot of effort not to have an expressive reaction to it.

"What?" He asks, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

"Why'd you take me here?" You ask again, setting down your glass at the table before moving to stand in front of him. "To admire the view?"

Harry looks out the window, but his head shoots back to you when he notices you're sinking onto your knees in front of him. He thinks he may have forgotten to breathe as he observes the lustful look in your eyes. His eyes travel down to your tits, even more visible from this angle.

"Because I've admired it every day for the past three months." You continue. Harry swallows, frozen by the overload of his brain and the sensitivity of the growing constraint in these pants. "Why don't you take your pants off for me? Just enough to give me your cock. I like you in this suit."

Harry doesn't let another second fly by before he is unbuckling his pants, sliding it down just enough for you to have access to his cock and his balls. Your mouth waters at the size and girth of it, your cunt getting wetter with every passing moment.

You shimmy forward, leaning over his cock and grabbing it with your hand. Harry sighs at the minimal contact, making you feel even more powerful. Looking up at him through your lashes, you ask him one more question.

"You'll hold my hair, won't you?"

With that, you take Harry in your mouth as far as you can, before pulling away from him. A gasp leaves his mouth, and his eyes fall shut as you pump him with your hand while your mouth kisses and sucks on the head of his cock. You begin licking and kissing down his cock, while your hand softly feels up his balls.

Harry feels like he is in heaven already, and he forgets everything around him. It is only when you completely remove yourself from him that he opens his eyes again, and he sees. Catching on quickly, he leans forward and gathers your hair, twisting it around his palm.

Satisfied with Harry's obedience, your mouth attaches itself to his cock again. You take him slowly, teasingly, and move your head up and down. With every movement, you take him an inch deeper.

"Oh, f–fuck!" He groans out when you gag on him because you took yourself too far too fast. You steady your breathing, which is a bit more complicated as you can only breathe out your nose. You resume sucking him off for a bit longer, bobbing your head down a bit faster. The small sounds that leaves Harry's lips, along with his scrunched up face, gives you enough indication that he is approaching his climax.

So you remove your mouth from his cock.

He lets out a whine at the loss of contact. If your panties weren't wet before, they certainly are now. You smile at the state of him; desperate and needy for you. The fact that you've managed to make him fall apart like this makes you incredibly horny.

"I want to take all of you in my mouth, daddy." You tell him, looking up at him with your big eyes. "You'll have to help me."

You went out on a bit of a limb when you decided to call him daddy, but he doesn't seem to mind at all. In fact, Harry's eyes light up and his jaw slacks at the mention of the pet name.

"Shit– anything, sweetheart. Whatever you need." He croaks out.

"I need you to fuck my mouth." You respond sternly, not wasting any time and taking him between your lips again. You push yourself down his cock as far as you can, breathing deeply before moving your hand to Harry's hand, which is holding onto your hair, and pushing your head forward to indicate that he needs to push his cock down your throat.

Again, it doesn't take him long to listen, because Harry's hips thrust forward, his dick gliding into your throat. You moan at the force with which he pushed, and keep your mouth wide open as you let Harry navigate your head.

Once he fully understands that you are allowing him to let him use your mouth, the true fun begins. With the firm grip he has on your head, he pushes you up and down at an ungodly speed. Your jaw is already tiring from its locked position, but you power through it because the sounds that leave Harry's mouth make up for it.

"Fuck baby, such a good mouth. Never had anything like this... Jesus!" He pants out as he begins to thrust up into your mouth, and you feel like you might pass out. Suddenly, he pulls you away from his dick.

You frown, and realize as he is grabbing for a tissue that he is avoiding messing up your face. You don't stand for it, though, and wrap your lips around his cock again just in time for him to come inside your mouth. You take him deeper and feel the way his sperm shoots in the back of your throat.

"Fuck! Shit, shit..." The not so wide arrange of curse words are the only thing Harry is capable of saying as he dumps his load inside your mouth. The fact that you were so adamant about having his sperm in your mouth made his orgasm even more intense.

Your mouth lets go of his cock with an exaggerated plop, and you swallow every last bit of him, grinning at his fucked out face.

"That was... amazing." He sighs, his gaze flicking from your mouth to your eyes. You hum in agreement, and get up from the floor as he pulls up his pants. You are about to walk away, when Harry grabs your wrist.

"Where are you going?"

"Home." You answer with a smile, but Harry's grip on you only tightens. He shakes his head, his lips pouting.

"No, you need to stay. Let me make you feel good too." He protests. You squint your eyes at him.

"I don't need to do anything."

Harry's eyes widen. "You're right. But just let me make you feel good before you go, please? It's the least I can do."

Your mouth slowly forms into a grin, glad to have him where you want. Well, almost.

"Beg me."

Harry scoffs. "Are you serious? I don't really do begging."

You shrug, smiling at him. "That's fine. My vibrator can get me off too."

You take a few steps towards the door, while Harry contemplates his decisions. However, those were all clouded by the sole moment to please you the second you mentioned your vibrator. The image of you getting off like that is too much to bear. He needs to do it for you.

"Stop." He says. You turn around, and walk back to him as he gets out of his chair and gets on his knees. Grabbing your waist, he pulls you closer, his nose digging into your dress. His hands run up and down your legs, and it is making you weak in your knees.

"Please, let me eat you out baby. I'll do anything to make you feel good. I need to taste you so bad, please let me pleasure you."

You swallow, eyelids ready heavy, as you sigh out. "Alright."

Harry grins at your admittance of defeat, and stands up. He leads you to sit on his desk, your dress hiked up. He removes the stuff behind you, so that you can lean back entirely in case you want to, and waltzes over to his chair.

Spreading your legs, he rolls himself closer to you, and assesses your soaking wet panties. Chuckling, he leans to the side and grabs a pair of scissors, before he cuts the skimpy material from your body. You'd say something of it, but the sight of him admiring your pussy like this is too fascinating to interrupt. So, you keep quiet.

When Harry's thumb suddenly presses on your clit and begins to rub it, you can't help but gasp. His touch feels too good, and that blowjob got you really worked up.

"You have no idea how many times I've fantasized about this." Harry says, marveling at how reactive you are being.

"Me too."

His eyebrows rise up. "Yeah? Tell me more, baby."

You bite your lip, too obsessed with the pet name he's given you. It sounds so sexy coming from his mouth. He awaits your response with bright eyes, lazily rubbing your clit.

"Your arms... I'd think about them so much. And your hands, I'd imagine you choking me with them. They're so big..." You begin, and you know that you could go on for hours if you had to tell him about everything you've thought about doing with him, or doing to him.

Harry doesn't say anything, instead responds with two fingers entering your pussy. You moan at the feeling of his large fingers pumping in and out of you. It feels way fuller than your hand already. His two fingers is the equivalent of your three fingers.

"We can definitely make those fantasies come true..." Harry says softly. "But first, let's make you come, hmm?"

You nod, your head falling back and allowing yourself to fully indulge in the pleasure Harry's giving you right now. You let yourself lay on his desk, wrapping your legs around his shoulders.

"Fuck, that feels good– oh fuck!" You shriek out when Harry tongue begins attacking your tongue after he adds a third finger. He speeds up the movements of his hand to match those of his tongue, and holds onto that tempo until your mind can't conjure up any more words to speak to him.

With the control entirely out of your hands, you let Harry guide you to your orgasm, which washes over your body like a tidal wave. You unconsciously push Harry's head further into your pussy with your legs. With an arched back, you moan at the sensitivity of your clit.

Harry lets you take a minute to catch your breath before he pulls on your arms to have you sit up straight. He is smiling sweetly at you, and your heart warms at it.

"You okay?" He asks, kissing your hands. You nod, trying to ignore the flutters in your heart at the way he is being so gentle.

"Thank you for letting me make you feel good, baby." He says, getting up and leaning into your face. His nose brushes against your cheek as he plants his lips on yours. Your arms wrap around Harry's neck as you kiss him deeper, too caught up in how good he feels and how much you want him.

You're never this greedy. You've never felt like you needed a man's cock inside of you. Like it was the only feasible option. You feel it driving you crazy, and you're sure it is the only reason you say— no, ask:

"Please, fuck me."

The grin that forms on Harry's lips makes you feel like you should regret what you said. A grin like that usually belongs on your face in situations like these. But you need him so bad, you don't really care that you are the desperate one this time.

"Oh, you're begging now too, huh?" He says cockily. You glare at him, pissed that he's acknowledging your neediness and mocking you for it too.

"It's alright baby, I'll give it to you. 'M cock's already hard again from watching you come like that. So fucking sexy..." He says. He pulls his pants down and lifts you off the table, turning you around to the glass windows and pushing your hands against them. "Bend over a bit and speak your legs for me, baby."

You do as he says, biting your lip at Harry's hand that pushes away your dress and roams over your ass. He positions his cock at your entrance and pushes himself into you, sighing in pure relief. You shut your eyes tightly at the size of him filling you up.

"Fuck, you feel good baby." He says, slowly beginning to move in and out a bit. You let out a soft 'yes', causing Harry's jaw to clench. He spanks your ass, watching as it bounces from the impact, and his cock twitching at your yelp.

"Perfect fucking ass... perfect fucking girl, aren't you?" He groans, now lazily thrusting into you. He wants to give you time to adjust, but he learns your wishes when you begin to push yourself back into him.

"Ah, I see. Greedy girl wants to speed things up, hmm? Your wish is my command." He mocks, but does speed up his pace. His hands hold your waist as he begins to pound himself into you, your ass shaking at the impact. He spanks your ass again for good measure, obsessed with the way it moves.

You nearly lose yourself in how good it feels, but you know that he can get deeper than this.

"I want to ride you... want to feel you in my tummy." You spit out, hoping he understands what you're saying in your croaky voice.

Harry listens, pulling himself out of you immediately and taking a seat in the chair. You turn around and walk over to him, throwing your legs on both sides of his lap, before grabbing his cock and sinking yourself down on it.

It goes smoother this time, but Harry's really deep now, just like you wanted. The sensation is everything to you, and it isn’t hard to tell how good it feels for him too. Glad to have a bit of the control back, you start to bounce on his cock.

Harry’s eyes travel over your body, fascinated by the way you are moving above him. His hands travel to the straps of your dress and push them down until he can get your tits out of the top part of your dress. He begins to massage them as you keep impaling yourself on his dick over and over again.

"Fuck, daddy, you feel so good... so good for me. Listening to me. Knew this was the best way to fuck you... you love it." You slur happily. Harry nods profusely at your words, jaw clenched and moaning out in pleasure.

"Yes, needed it so bad baby. You're fucking daddy so good..."

You smile at how caught up Harry looks in his pleasure, like he doesn't know what to do with it. You, however, do know what to with it. You grab one of his hands and wrap it around your throat, before you do the same to him. With his hand on your neck and yours on his, you begin to fuck him as fast as you can.

"Ah, fffuck... shit! Holy shit!" He yells out, and automatically thrusts himself up into you, reaching an even further level of deepness you had never thought possible. That along with your hands on each other’s necks, is enough to know that your climaxes are near.

"Come inside me daddy." You pant out, and he does. It is as if your permission set him off. You smile in delight at the feel and knowledge of his cum being so deep inside of you.

You fuck Harry through his orgasm, and even after. He squirms in his seat. "Wait— too sensitive."

"I don't care, I haven't come yet. Don't you want to make me feel good? Have me coming around your thick cock?" You say sensually, and Harry nods. "Words."

"Yes– fuck! I want you to come, please come around my cock. Please, please..." He begins to beg, a tear rolling down his cheek.

Your toes curl at his whiny voice, and soon your juices are gushing all over his cock. Your pussy contracting around him seems to set Harry off even more, as you feel even more sperm spraying out of his dick and into your walls.

You ride out your high until you can't move anymore. You sit there, forehead pressed against Harry's as you both come down from what just happened.

After a minute or two, you decide to pull out. Slowly but surely, you manage to get Harry's dick out of you without hissing too much at the sensitivity of every single body part down there.

You lean against the desk, too wobbly to stand on your own, and you let Harry wipe you clean with the tissues on his desk. After cleaning himself up, he stands up and positions himself in front of you.

"Hey." He says. Your hand cups his jaw and your thumb wipes away the tear that is far down his face now.

"Hi." You tilt your head. The both of you burst out laughing, still surprised by what went down just now.

"That was really good." He says once the laughter has died down. You nod in agreement.

"Good enough for a repeat?"

Harry pretends to think it over, before he responds: "under one condition."

"And what would that be?" You quirk up an eyebrow, intrigued by his vagueness. He smiles at you so wide that you wonder if his mouth might be hurting.

"You let me take you out on a date first."

You roll your eyes, pretending not to be amused as he chuckles at your reaction. But the second you see the look on his face and the sincerity behind it, you realize that he is being quite serious about this request. You bite your lip, wanting to kiss him right then and there.

"I would love that."

[covenofagatha]

I love your Agatha stories!! I was wondering of you could write something where reader is the daughter of one of detective Agnes’ coworkers, who she doesn’t get along with, and they met in one of those cop friends reunion. She sees reader in the pool and can’t help but be infatuated by them, and when she discovers who reader’s father is, her needs to defile reader just increases😈

may have been a lil drunk finishing this so hopefully there's not too many mistakes lol

(Not so) Good girl, bad cop

Detective Agnes meets the attractive daughter of her annoying partner at the annual Westview PD Christmas party and decides that she has to have her

Word count: 3300

Warnings: bratty reader, top agatha, fingering, virgin reader, teasing, degradation, daddy kink, implied oral

The house of Agnes’s partner, Gary, is filled with food, music, and merriment for the annual Westview Police Department Christmas party. 

And yet, Agnes would rather be anywhere else. She makes a mental list of the places she wishes she could be instead, the bottom of a ditch making an appearance surprisingly high up. 

Her kiss-ass partner had practically begged Chief to let him throw it at his house, always trying to get ahead some way or another. 

Agnes can’t stand him. 

His smug little face when he took credit for one of her solves. The way he would mansplain things to her. The way he would take his fucking shoes off and put his feet up on desk. 

But she puts on a fake smile and hands him the obligatory bottle of wine when she walks into the home. 

“Ah, Agnes, there you are!” He booms and claps her on the shoulder. She grits her teeth before she removes his hand herself. She grunts as a way of greeting and steps right past him further into the foyer. 

Detectives and officers wave as she passes through the crowd of people to go find a corner to stand in and drink a beer. Everyone seems to be having a good time and she hates it. Hates to see Gary win like this. 

Her bored eyes flit through to find someone interesting enough to talk to, and that’s when she catches sight of someone outside. 

More specifically, a girl in the pool. You. 

Agnes’s forehead creases. All she can see is your shoulders and head and she turns her body fully to the sliding glass door to observe. 

You seem to just be floating around but there’s something about you that has her transfixed. 

Maybe it’s your wet hair matted around your face, or your nose and cheekbones, or the color of your eyes that she can see from inside. 

And that mouth, god. Agnes groans inwardly. What it must be like to kiss those pretty lips. 

Or for them to be elsewhere. 

“Hey, Agnes, Merry Christmas!” Agnes jolts out of her trance to find Chief standing next to her. 

“Same to you,” she says gruffly and then lifts her hand with the beer to point at you. “Who is that?” 

“Oh, that’s Gary’s daughter, Y/N. She’s home from freshman year of college. Met her a few times,” he says disinterestedly. 

But Agnes feels a thrill run through her. She didn’t know Gary had a daughter. Now, instead of just wanting an unknown person’s mouth on her, she wants Gary’s daughter’s mouth on her. The son of a bitch may have the favor of the entire Westview PD, but she is surely going to have you. 

And then you wade through the water to the side of the pool and push yourself out of it and Agnes almost moans at the way your muscles flex in your arms. 

And then she’s able to take all of you in. 

Your skimpy purple two-piece, the low cut of the top and how it shows significant cleavage, and the bottoms that rest just above the hip bones that Agnes wants to scrape her teeth against. 

She barely notices Chief walking away before making the executive decision to shove open the door and go talk to Gary’s daughter. 

You’re toweling off next to your pile of clothes on the patio table when you hear someone stepping out onto the back deck. You figure it’s just your dad, maybe coming to yell at you for being outside swimming instead of “mingling with the guests” like he wanted. 

But you hate these parties, having been to enough of them your whole life. Cops were boring and most of them had the biggest superiority complexes you’d ever seen. 

So you said fuck it and put on your swim suit. 

Footsteps get closer to you and you glance back, bracing for the lecture. 

But it’s not your dad. 

It’s Detective Agnes, his partner. 

You had seen her a few times at cop events you’d been forced into going to, but you had never spoken to her. You’re not sure she actually knows who you are.

However, you certainly know her. 

Her frizzy dark hair. Her piercing blue eyes. The way her lips pursed and her veiny hands would grip onto her belt. 

She is one of the hottest women you’ve ever seen. 

And she came wearing a suit tonight, hair tied back in a ponytail: black pants and a blazer over a neatly tucked in white button-down shirt that makes you want to drop to your knees. And a fucking tie, is she serious. 

The things you want her to do to you…god. Even though you’d only seen her from afar a few times, you still spent quite a few nights imagining her, hand between your legs. 

“Come to swim?” You ask when she finally gets close to you. She snorts and gives you a once-over. 

“Aren’t you cold?” 

You shrug even though the windy December air is brutally harsh against your bare wet skin. The urge to shiver is almost all-consuming, but with her standing this close to you, there’s a faint warmth in your stomach distracting you. 

You know that your body is reacting, however, and you twist your hair up into the towel so that Agnes can see your nipples poking through your top, harder than glass. Her eyes dart down, almost too fast to catch, but the way she gulps and clenches her teeth gives her away. 

“Maybe a little,” you answer. “Just need a way to warm up.” It sounds just as suggestive as you intend it and you can see her eyes darken. 

“Putting some clothes on would surely help,” she suggests and you pout mockingly but pull your long sleeve shirt over your head and wrap the towel around your waist. “Better?” 

You hum in agreement. “Did my dad send you out here? I don’t need a babysitter, you know.” 

She chuckles like something’s funny. “No, he didn’t, but are you sure you don’t? You would’ve caught hypothermia if it weren’t for me.”

“Wow,” you say, voice sickly sweet. “I had no idea my dad’s partner was a better daddy than he is. Look at you watching out for me.” You smirk, hearing her breath catch in her throat. 

But then Agnes scoffs. “And I had no idea my partner’s daughter was such a brat.” It’s impossible to miss the spark that goes straight to your cunt when she calls you that and you simper. 

“What are you gonna do about it, Detective?” You’re not sure where this boldness is coming from, but you like it and you think she likes it, too. 

Agnes growls and takes a step closer to you. You stand your ground, daring her with your eyes. 

“Your lips are blue, doll. The only thing I’m ‘gonna do about it’ is get your ass inside so your father doesn’t kill me when you freeze on my watch.” Her hand clasps your bicep and she practically hauls you back towards the door. 

“You’re really strong,” you remark, enjoying the way her grip tightens around you. “Do you work out?” You do mean for it to sound sexier, like a smooth pick-up line, but with the way your teeth have started chattering, it sounds like you’re slurring and you barely get the words out. She slides open the door and pushes you inside, the balmy air instantly making you feel better. 

“Go take a shower,” she tells you. 

You bite your bottom lip and bat your eyelashes. “Why don’t you come join me? That would really warm me up.” You toy with the edge of her tie, pulling on it ever so slightly and looking up at her through your eyelashes.

“You’re shameless, aren’t you?” She hisses, the vein in her forehead throbbing. “Throwing yourself at anyone who gives you a little attention, begging to be put in your place. Are you like this with all the girls at college, too? Getting fucked by a new one every night?”

You lean in closer so only she can hear you. “I’m a virgin,” you whisper in her ear, blush spreading to your cheeks, and she sharply inhales, almost giving into you right there. She’s going to take Gary’s daughter’s virginity. You can see her neck taunt with restraint and she steps back to put some space between you, almost all the blue in her eyes being swallowed up by her pupils. 

“Go upstairs and take a shower now,” she orders, her voice hard. 

“And then what?” 

She rolls her eyes. “If you can behave, maybe you’ll get a reward.” Heat flares through you and you take the stairs two at a time and shower faster than you ever have before. 

When you come back down, clad in a short red dress, you immediately find Agnes standing alone and out of sight in the hallway to the guest room. You join her, momentarily getting distracted by her loosened tie and blazer rolled up to her forearms. 

“I did it,” you say, voice coming out hushed. She rakes her eyes over you, smirking appreciatively. 

“So you did,” she agrees. “I’m glad you can follow simple directions.”

You wait a second with a raised eyebrow. She says nothing. “Do I get a reward now?”

She barks out a laugh. “So eager, aren’t you, pet?” The new name sends a bolt of lightning straight through you and you nod. “Let’s see if you can behave just a bit longer before I ruin you for everyone else.” 

You stick out your bottom lip like a petulant child and she pats your face roughly. 

“Come on,” you try again, whining. “Why can’t we just sneak away right now? No one would notice if you just came up to my bedroom with me.”

Your fingers play with her tie again, giving her a wicked grin as you tug her in closer by it, but she quickly snatches your wrists off her and pins them against the wall over your head, body pressing against yours. 

A moan escapes your mouth and your heart skips a beat. 

“Is this what you want?” She snarls, husky and deep and heat-filled, and it’s hard to think straight. Her leg presses between your legs and your head lolls back against the wall, tilting so she can lean in closer. “You want someone to punish you for being a bad girl? Want someone to take you rough and fast to teach you a lesson? What would your father think if he saw you this desperate for me? His perfect little darling daughter, grinding on my leg like a slut?” 

You whimper and try to force words out of your mouth, but you have no luck. She huffs and steps back, letting go of you and you instantly miss her heat against you. 

“See, you don’t even know what you want,” she scoffs. “Are you going to be good?”

You smirk. “Why should I, if it gets you this hot and bothered?” She fixes her stare on you, but you hold it, glare unwavering. 

“You know what?” She snaps and excitement rises inside you. “Fuck it.” You open your mouth to ask what she means, but she grabs your hand and pulls you back into the guest bedroom. 

You wonder if she had scoped it out while you were in the shower. Just canvassing the place, trying to find the best place for this. 

Agnes shoves your front against the door, holding your arms behind your back with her body like you’re being arrested, and yanks your head back by your hair. 

“What do I have to do to get you to behave, hm?” She asks. “Bend you over and spank you? Get you so wound up that you’re begging to cum and then leave you high and dry? Or make you cum so many times that your pretty face is covered in tears?”

You can’t help but whimper at her words. “Please, Detective,” you beg, feeling an ache that you’ve never felt before. “Anything.” 

Her hand comes down to rub your ass soothingly and you arch back into her touch. “Are you sure you want this to be your first time?” She asks quietly and carefully. Your knees tremble at the sudden softness and you nod so hard your head hurts. 

“Yes,” you rasp. “I need you so badly.”

She groans into your ear, seemingly very affected by your words. “In case you ever want to stop, say ‘purple’ or tap anywhere on me twice. Got it?” 

“Got it,” you breathe and her tongue licks a hot stripe up your throat. “Please, Detective, please touch me.” 

She flips you around and traces her hands up the sides of your stomach, her warmth seeping through your dress. She studies you. “You know, sweetheart, I know you can do better than that with how you’ve been acting all night.”

“Please, please, want you to fuck me, want you to be my first,” you whine, letting the words pour out of your mouth. “Detective, I need to feel you, please, daddy.” The last word kind of just slips out, but based on her strangled gasp, it seems to turn her on. 

She grabs your chin in her hand and holds eye contact with you. “Say it again,” she orders in a deep voice. Hearing her like this, seeing her like this, is doing wonders to you. 

But there’s still a bit of brat inside you. 

“Make me,” you challenge. Agnes raises an eyebrow and her other hand slips under your dress and cups you over your underwear. 

You sharply inhale at the feeling of someone else touching you there. While you are no stranger to your own body, having Agnes’s fingers against your most sensitive area is a whole new sensation. 

“God, you’ve really been getting off on being a brat, haven’t you?” She taunts, feeling your wetness against her fingers.

“Maybe…” you trail off softly and she pushes your underwear aside. Your knees almost buckle at the feeling of her against you, stroking through her folds. One finger teases your entrance and you try to maneuver yourself to get her to dip inside. 

“Ah ah,” she tuts, refusing to give you what you want. “Say it again.” 

This time, you give in straight away, needing her more than your pride. “Please, daddy, just fuck me.” 

She slides a finger into you and you moan, head dropping back against the wall. You can’t believe you're losing your virginity to your dad’s partner against the door to your guest room. You didn’t picture it like this, but you had wished she would be your first, so either way the end result was the same. 

“Fuck, doll, you’re so wet and hot around me,” Agnes says, beginning to slowly move her finger in and out, twisting to hit a spot that has you panting. “If only your father could see me now, fingers deep in his only child. Corrupting his perfect daughter.” 

For some reason, that only turns you on more and you roll your hips against her, drawing her finger in. 

“Please, daddy, need more,” you plead and she chuckles meanly before slipping a second finger into you. The stretch makes you groan but it feels so good. You meet every thrust and you can feel yourself getting closer already. She’s twisting her fingers, not exactly kindly, and you’re a mess, noises falling out of your mouth, doing anything to get her deeper. 

Her thumb swipes at your clit and you let out a loud moan, her other hand coming to clamp over your lips. 

“Gotta be quiet, baby girl,” she says. “Don’t want the whole party to know what a slut you’re being for me, do you?” 

You shake your head but wrap one of your legs around her waist so she can more easily hit the spot inside you that you have trouble reaching yourself. 

She laughs at how needy you are and fucks you even harder, fingers moving at a bruising pace that steals all the breath from your lungs. 

“Daddy, oh my god, please,” you moan, feeling yourself getting so close. Everything is so much more heightened than it feels like when you’re touching yourself, and you can’t believe Agnes is actually fucking you.

“Want to cum all over daddy’s fingers, huh?” Her question makes you even wetter, clenching around her, whimpering. Her eyes are burning into you and you’ve never felt more alive. 

“Please, yes, wanna cum, daddy, just for you.” You’ve never felt so needy, so desperate, in your life. Your entire body is taunt like a lifewire, electricity crackling and making you feel better than you ever have. 

She laughs. “What a naughty brat, making me fuck you at your dad’s Christmas party like this. Just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Had to act out just to get what you want?” 

All you can do is whine as she forces another finger into you, not even burning a little from how wet you are, and your head falls back against the door. Her thumb starts to rub a rhythm against your clit and your walls flutter around her three fingers. You start babbling, saying her name, telling her how good she’s fucking you. 

Agnes’s lips part, a light sheen of sweat breaking out on her forehead, and all you can do is gasp as she continues to fuck you so well. You don’t think anyone else will ever compare to her. 

“Cum for me, baby girl, cum for daddy,” she says, and hearing herself call herself that sends you right over the edge. 

You soak her fingers with a loud moan, riding them until the stimulation becomes too much to bear. She pulls out of you and you still mewl weakly at the emptiness. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” She asks and you drop your forehead onto her shoulder and sigh. 

And then you laugh a little at the situation and she huffs too. “I’m great, thank you, Agnes.” It’s the first time you’ve called her by her real name all night and she lets out a little sound that tells you exactly how much she likes it. 

She strokes a hand through your hair and brings you in for a kiss. You didn't realize how bad you wanted her lips against yours until it finally happens. But her tongue strokes into your mouth and you find out just how good she tastes. 

And just how much you want to taste a different part of her. 

Agnes also seems to have a similar idea. Her fingers tighten in your hair and guide you down to your knees. She unbuttons her pants and your throat goes dry as she slides them down her perfect, pale legs. You can see a bit of muscle in her thighs and it makes you want to lean over and bite them, just to leave marks. 

“You’ve been a brat all night, you know,” she says, peeling over her underwear and revealing her glistening pussy to you. Your jaw drops open, absolutely enthralled, needing to have her on your tongue. You nod at her words, not even denying what you did to get yourself into this position. “Running your mouth, saying the most desperate things, acting like such a brat. Well, I think we better put those pretty little lips to some better use, don’t you?” 

You couldn’t agree more, and you tell her that. 

She leads your eager mouth to her cunt and shuts you up in the best way possible.  

[pedrospatch]

baby, i’m yours

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: You remind Joel that you’re his.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION however she does wear Joel’s t-shirt and he semi lifts her onto a counter? sorta but not really? UNSPECIFIED AGE GAP (Joel is in his 50’s but reader’s specific age is not mentioned). established relationship, sort of. consumption of food (if you are allergic to peanuts, i so sorry). angst, Joel and Ellie’s strained relationship is lightly implied, Joel is insecure, it’s implied reader did some horrible things in her past, reassurance, brief smut, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, consider it a quickie idk. apologies if i missed anything.

word count: 2.6k

a/n: this short lil thing has been sitting in my drafts forever. i finished it while i was in ireland and finally had the chance to sit down and do a quick edit and when i say it was quick, i flew through it so i could hop onto my next wip so please excuse any errors! here’s a spotify link to the song if anyone’s curious, it’s an oldie but a goodie although it may not be everyone’s cup of tea.

main masterlist l fic notifs

Joel rolls over in bed, his arm outstretched and seeking the warmth of your soft, naked body.

“Mmph,” a small, sleepy groan falls from his lips as his long, thick fingers feel around on your side of the bed—of his bed. Of course, you have your very own bedroom in the house you all had been placed in when you first arrived in Jackson. Your very own bed to sleep in is just down the hallway, but lately, you’ve been waking up beside him a lot more often than not, especially now that Ellie’s a bit older and she’s gone and made herself her own space out in the garage behind the house. Being under the same roof as Joel did those two more harm than it did good, and while you missed having her around, it was for the best.

“She’ll come around, Joel,” you’d assured him. “I know she will. She just needs a bit of time is all.”

“Hope you’re right, darlin’,” he had murmured sadly in response.

Still lost somewhere in between sleep and full consciousness, Joel continues feeling around for you, but all he finds are the wrinkled sheets, cold and abandoned. Confused, his eyes finally flutter open and with a painful protest from his sore, stiff back, he sits up, blinking furiously as he looks around the darkness of his bedroom. The door’s been left cracked open ever so slightly, and as his vision adjusts now that he’s fully awake, he notices the dim glow of the hallway light that’s peeking through into the room.

He turns and glances over at the old digital alarm clock perched on his nightstand, the obnoxious, bright red numbers practically screaming at him that it’s a quarter past midnight. With a small, tired grunt, Joel switches on the lamp beside the clock and swings his legs over the side of the mattress, goosebumps erupting across his flesh the instant that his bare feet meet the cold, hardwood floor. He stands and fumbles around for his clothes, which he’d tossed carelessly somewhere over his shoulder hours earlier when he’d been lost in the heat of the moment with you. He finds his faded, navy blue sweatpants strewn across a chair next to the door and pulls them on over his naked lower body before searching for his t-shirt. When he doesn’t immediately see it, he doesn’t bother, figuring that it’s just going to come back off when he climbs back into bed with you.

Padding out of his bedroom, he makes his way down the hallway, heading towards the staircase. As he draws closer, he hears it—the soft music that’s coming from downstairs.

Baby, I'm yours

and I'll be yours until the stars fall from the sky

yours until the rivers all run dry

in other words, until I die

He’s led towards the kitchen and that’s where he finds you.

Joel wants to be annoyed. 

Fuck, he tries to be annoyed. But he can’t help the way that the corners of his mouth threaten to turn upwards when his eyes take in the sight before him.

You’re standing at the center island slowly swaying your hips from side to side along to the beat of the song that’s playing from the record player perched next to the instant coffee maker on the counter behind you. He’d nearly wrung your neck when he found out what all you had traded just to get your hands on it, but you loved that thing more than life itself it seemed, so he couldn’t stay mad for very long. You’re making yourself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—the peanut butter you’d learned how to make yourself with the old food processor he found deep in one of the kitchen cabinets, and the strawberry preserves you had picked up from the market earlier that week. Clad in nothing but his t-shirt, you’re singing along quietly to the lyrics as you finish making your late night snack.

Baby, I’m yours

and I’ll be yours until the sun no longer shines

yours until the poets run out of rhyme

in other words, until the end of time

Joel leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his bare chest as he watches you carefully lick the remnants of peanut butter off of the knife you’re using before setting it down on the counter. You then pick up the two pieces of bread and slap them together—you’d also learned how to bake homemade bread using some old nineties cookbook you had found in the commune’s library. Your sourdough is the reason he had to go up a notch in his belt.

Sandwich in hand, you do a little spin, humming happily as you take your first bite.

Joel loudly clears his throat from the doorway.

Startled, you whirl around and freeze, your eyes wide.

“Enjoyin’ yourself there, darlin’?” He asks amusedly as he approaches you.

“Jesus Christ! You scared me, Joel!” You hiss at him. You then realize what time of night it is and a look of guilt crosses your features. “Oh shit. I’m sorry, did I wake you up? I honestly thought that I had the volume down low enough in here—”

Frowning, you turn around and reach towards the record player to turn the music off, but much to your surprise, Joel stops you. “No, s’okay. I woke up on my own,” he assures you. “I reached over for you and you were gone.” The admission slips before he can even think to stop it. He notices how taken aback you are by what he’d just said and quickly asks, “What’cha doin’ up so late, anyway?”

“I was hungry,” you tell him, sheepishly holding up your food. You always have one hell of an appetite after Joel was through fucking you senseless. You take another bite and offer it to him. “Want some?”

“Sure.”

He accepts and takes a corner of the sandwich before handing it back to you. His fingers brush against yours and his face burns at the contact.

Fucking Christ. 

You’re standing there in nothing but his fucking t-shirt after he had, yet again, made you his in his own fucking bed, and that’s what gets him?

Truth be told, the only time he holds your hand is when he’s inside of you—his fingers lace with your own as he comforts you and praises you for being such a good girl for taking his cock the way you do.

For being so, so fucking good for him.

He’s thought about taking your hand in front of others. Particularly when he notices the way some of the men in town stare at you. Joel wants to make it known that you’re already spoken for. Only, you’re not spoken for, not really. 

You’re his, but you’re not really his. It’s not that he doesn’t want to take the leap and acknowledge the two of you are far more than just patrol partners, far more than just two people who fought like fucking hell to get some smart assed teenager—and the world’s only hope for a cure—across the country.

He feels undeserving of it. Of you and your heart.

Several seasons had come and gone since you’d both arrived in Jackson with Ellie in tow, and somehow, Joel still can’t fathom what you’re doing by his side. She’s out of the house now and there’s nothing tying you to him, so why are you still here?

He’s so much older. Closer and closer to being on his way out, while you still had your entire life left ahead of you. He’s worn down, hardened from the post outbreak world. And you, you hadn’t lost any of your softness, your sweetness. Not even after the things you’d been forced to do to survive because of him.

You could meet someone younger, someone closer to your own age. You could marry, even start a family. You could be with someone who could give you a good life, the life you deserve.

The life that he’s too fucking broken to give you.

“Joel?” Your voice breaks into his thoughts. “Hey. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. M’fine.” He gestures to the record player with a nod of his head. “Y’know, this song’s older than me. By a few years. Came out in the early sixties.”

Joel half expects you to make some wisecrack joke and tease him over his age like you have done in the past—especially when the kid would get you going. Instead, he watches you set what’s left of your sandwich down and brush the crumbs from your hands before holding one of them out to him.

Confused, he stares at it for a moment before his dark eyes meet yours. “What are you doin’?”

“Dance with me,” you say, smiling at him.

“You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me, right?” When he realizes you’re being serious, he shakes his head. “Y’know I don’t—I can’t dance.”

Dropping your hand back down to your side, you turn around and flip the record, starting the song over again before whirling back around and taking Joel’s hands in yours.

“Just follow my lead,” you tell him as you place them on your waist. Your own hands settle themselves on his broad shoulders, his skin warm beneath your fingertips. “Don’t overthink it.”

“You’re fuckin’ ridiculous,” Joel grumbles underneath his breath, however he finds himself moving along with you without further protest. Subconsciously, he pulls you closer against him as the two of you slowly sway from side to side along to the beat of the music. He chuckles, “Y’know we gotta be up at the asscrack of dawn for patrol, right?”

“And your point is?” You rest your head on his shoulder and exhale a soft, contended sigh.

Joel’s lips threaten to pull down once more.

Could it be that you’re actually content with him?

Head still on his shoulder, you sing along softly with Barbara Lewis. 

“I’m gonna stay right here by your side

do my best to keep you satisfied

nothing in this world can drive me away

‘cause every day you'll hear me say…”

It quickly becomes too much for him. Joel’s hands leave your waist. Taking your wrists, he tugs your arms from around his neck and gently pushes you away from him. “Why?” he finally asks the question that’s been hanging off the tip of his tongue for the better part of the last three years. “Why me?”

You stare at him, puzzled. “What?”

“Why me?” he repeats himself. “Why me when you can have anyone else—”

Your reply is prompt and you say it so simply.

“Because I don’t want anyone else.”

“You deserve better.”

You peer at him curiously. “I deserve better?”

“You do. Ain’t got no business being with someone like me. After all the terrible shit I’ve done—”

“I did the same exact shit, Joel. Sometimes I did even fucking worse.” Somehow, softness laces your tone. You have never been angry with him and you weren’t about to start now. “What makes my hands any cleaner than yours?”

Joel begins to sputter. “M’older than you. Much older. Should’a been a lot more careful. Should’a done more so you didn’t have to do those things.”

His hands still curled around your wrists, you reach up and gingerly cradle the sides of his face. He winces, but then quickly melts into your touch, the very same touch that could heal his wounds, if only he would allow it.

“I made my own choices,” you remind him, quietly. Neither of you realize the music has stopped. “Quit acting like blood doesn’t stain my hands too because it does.”

His lips press into a tight line. “Blood stains your hands ‘cause of me. S’my fault. I was responsible for you. I was s’pposed to take care of you. I didn’t protect you the way I should’ve.”

You sigh.

“When are you going to stop blaming yourself, Joel?”

The muscle in his jaw ticks as it clenches. He averts his gaze, his eyes falling to the floor. He doesn’t answer.

You stroke the scruff of his beard lightly with your thumbs. “When are you going to stop thinking you’re not good enough for me? What’s it going to take for me to prove to you that you are all I could ever need and want?”

“You’re just wastin’ your fuckin’ life on me, darlin’. S’the truth and you fuckin’ know it as well as I do.”

Pulling your wrists out of his hands, you pivot on your heel and suck in a sharp breath, stubbornly blinking back the tears stinging your eyes. You’re frustrated.

It cuts you to your very core to know the man you’ve grown to love more than anything and anyone else on what’s left of this fucking planet can’t see that he’s enough. He’s more than enough.

Joel bites back his own frustrated sigh. He knows he can’t rely on you to tell him, rely on the reassurance—he needs to do his part and believe it. If he keeps trying to push you away, he just may very well succeed one day. He will lose you.

After a moment, he walks up behind you and wraps his arms around you, his lips lightly brushing your neck. “M’sorry,” he mumbles, his own voice thickening as a lump forms in the back of his throat. He’s quick to swallow it down. “Jus’ have a hard time believin’ you’re mine. S’almost like my mind is lookin’ to prove me wrong.”

“But I am yours, Joel. I’m yours, I’m fucking yours.”

It’s more than just reassurance. It’s an oath, one you’ll honor for the rest of your life.

He holds you tighter. “Yeah?” He nips at the delicate spot right below your ear, his teeth scraping along tender flesh. “S’that right, baby? You’re all mine?”

“All yours,” you confirm breathlessly as his hands slowly begin trailing down the length of your sides, his fingers skimming the hem of his t-shirt.

Joel swiftly turns you around in his arms and slips his hand between your thighs. The next thing you know, he has you backed up against the counter and he’s shoving his sweatpants down, freeing his hard, thick cock. With one of your legs hooked around his waist, he buries himself into the warmth of your cunt and begins to deliver smooth, languid strokes.

“Say it again, baby,” he rasps into your neck. He coaxes your other leg up and around his waist and his large hands curl securely underneath your thighs as he bucks up into you. He’d deal with the back pain later. He pants, “Need—need to hear you say it, my sweet girl.”

You hold onto the countertop behind you as he fucks you, your fingernails digging into the laminated wood. “Fuck, I’m yours,” you moan into his shoulder. “I’m all yours, Joel. Oh fuck—”

You say it over and over again and he believes it.

He finally fucking believes it.

Sweet nothings fall from his lips with each thrust.

“S’lucky you’re all fuckin’ mine.”

“My beautiful, beautiful girl.”

“Gonna keep you for the rest of my fuckin’ life.”

When he spills into you, there’s no regret on his part nor yours. You’d always wanted to feel him come inside of you—secretly, so did he. Joel’s deep, guttural groans bounce off of the kitchen walls as your pussy fills with him, with all of him, taking as much as it can before he begins leaking out of you and down the insides of your thighs.

“Jesus,” he exhales. He dips his head for a kiss. “You’re all messy now, baby,” he mumbles against your lips. “How’s about we go upstairs and get back into bed so I can clean you up?”

Giggling, you mimic him and remind him of what he’d said earlier. “Y’know we gotta be up at the asscrack of dawn for patrol, right?”

Joel grins. “And your point is?”

You laugh again as he leads you out of the kitchen and back up to his bedroom—to yours and his bedroom.

[nichuuu]

Scatterbrain

Word count: 18k+

They say it takes a village to raise a child. 

To raise a girl as fine as Jang Wonyoung, you’d probably need 3 whole villages.

Two of those three villages would be used to train the way she walks because it’s perfect: classy, poised, elegant. The other one would have to work on her outfits because god would she need those. Hopefully the village doesn’t operate a Shein style manufacturing line. She’d hate that.

Her face is the definition of “striking the gene pool lottery”, and so is the rest of her body. Lanky arms and legs; toned, slim tummy; big, bright eyes that glimmer under the flashing lights. Personally, you like her “you’re on camera” smile the most. She knows this, and she always makes it a point to shoot it your way as she struts towards you. She stops half way to get a flute of Champagne, make that two actually, then grabs another. Those long legs can cover one hell of a distance, and they bring her right to you in a matter of seconds.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” she hands you the Champagne flute in her left hand, and the rings on it shine in the light, “cause it’s starting to feel like you’re just stalking me now.”

Of course, it’s the snarky remarks that open the conversation. Jang Wonyoung, airheaded as ever m’lady, and you sip on the Bubbly that she’s very nicely delivered to you. Wonyoung is, of course, a little bit of an airhead in your books (only because she believes that you’re always there for her, nothing else), and it’s never not hilarious to watch her draw her lips into a thin line. It’s not the first time she’s hearing this from you; it certainly won’t be the last. You can’t control where you’re posted to, but you know for a fact that you’ll see her again a couple months down the road.

Cause your meetings with Jang Wonyoung are through pure serendipity really, and you certainly will start calling it that after you read that one story. You know: the one where this guy cheats on his idol girlfriend, who he has a tense relationship with, with another idol that he happens to meet just about everywhere. There’s 0 communication between the two of you when these types of events come around, and neither of you know if either of you will be there or not. Actually, it’s just you really; neither of you know if you will be there. 

“Here for Kwon Eunbi again? Or are you finding someone else?” This question of her’s is customary at this point. Never once has it been perfunctory.

“Well, I was actually here to try and catch an interview with Jo Yuri, but I guess you’ll do,” you reply. Wonyoung scoffs—so I’m second place then?—and you have to assuage her oh-so-damaged ego, “you’re making this inference on your own Princess. I never said anything remotely close to that.”

And it’s that smile on her face that makes you want to kiss her really. It’s gorgeous, it’s cute, it’s beautiful. She’s given you that damned smile so many times that you could probably draw it from memory, though you’d definitely butcher it. The dress is certainly doing it justice, and you watch it brush against the skin of her legs as she shifts her weight to the other foot. I’ve never been that good at inferences. You’re far better than me, Prince, and she’s playing with her hair: twirling and untwirling it around her finger. That ribbon atop her head… Her stylist certainly knows their stuff.

“Think I’ll win an award this year?” Her question draws you away from your thorough examination of her. You take a moment to think, and you have to say, it depends, but I think you could definitely get something in some category. She gives you this inscrutable look, and she’s chuckling to herself as she looks at the crowd and sips on her champagne. You can guess what she’s about to say next: quite the crowd today, huh? And you’d reply, “Don’t think that they’re all here for you”, and that would prompt her to shoot back with, “Then who are they here for? You?”. 

But of course, when do things ever go according to plan?

“Have you thought about my offer?” she asks, and you’re caught off guard. 

Cause here’s the history between you two: Middle school best friends, always kind of inseparable. She was the beauty queen, it girl, and she still is; you were the writer, head of the school magazine, and you’re pretty much writing for the rest of your life. Wherever you went with her, rumours followed—Are they dating? I think they’re just friends. Maybe she’s trying to be the front of the magazine?—but you never thought much of it. It was just a simple friendship to you, nothing more. 

Then the kiss she gave you in high school changed it all.

It was a party, hosted by one of your mutual friends. She kissed you, and no, it wasn’t a Spin The Bottle forfeit, nor was it a dare of any sort; it was a sincere, tender kiss in the garden—unprompted, and away from any prying eyes and soft like silk chiffon. You have to admit, the sensation had your brain mired for a minute or so. But when you came back to your senses, you kissed her right back, and things got complicated after that. 

No one knew of it; it was your little secret. Wonyoung became closer than ever, and next thing you know, she declares the two of you “exclusive” but not dating. It’s because her agency has that funky dating ban thing, and Wonyoung was desperate to find a loophole, albeit a little complex. Of course, you’re willing to stay “exclusive” with Wonyoung in secret, but you started to worry that it can’t stay this way for long after the two of you get out of high school. 

But as fate would have it, your career paths meet at the crossroads, and now you see her every other month or so. You still text her when you can, and the “exclusive” relationship has sustained. Now that she’s an adult and she’s bringing in mad bucks for the agency, she’s informed you of some changes in her contact. From there, the offer was birthed, and you have left it unchecked for the past four months or so, “grey ticked” as she liked to call it.

“You haven’t texted in a while, thought you died,” she continues, leaning on her elbows against the table. “Thank god you’re alive, huh?”

You hoped that she’d just forget about it, but she’s more of a mnemonist than you give her credit for. An award show is the last place you expected to be caught off guard by Jang Wonyoung, but she’s definitely a master of surprise. I uh… I haven’t really thought about it, is a lie you tell her and yourself. She smiles enigmatically, downs the rest of her Champagne. 

“Let’s talk about it tonight,” she touches your chest, and it’s soft like silk chiffon, “you know where to find me, Prince.”

She struts off to join the rest of her members, stops halfway to return her Champagne flute, then looks back at you over her shoulder to give you a small wave. You sip on your Champagne as the silk brushes against her skin. 

It’s a heavy breath that leaves your mouth, and it’s the rest of the Champagne that goes in.

*

302.

Gold lettering, black plaque. It’s grand, pretty elegant. Suits her well. 

Then the door opens. 

In her bathrobe, Jang Wonyoung shoots her “you’re on camera” smile. You’re earlier than expected—she lets you in—Matter of fact, I thought you might not show at all.

And it’s a must to quip back, “thought you’d be asleep by now you big baby.”

When the door closes, it’s straight to work, and here’s how that normally goes: kissing, undressing, foreplay, then finally—fucking. Not that it has to follow that order or anything, but it’s the unspoken schedule that Wonyoung’s written up. God forbid anyone goes against what the princess is comfortable with, not that you’d ever try to either way. Your voice is barely a mumble past her lips—aren’t we supposed to talk about something?—and Wonyoung’s quick to dismiss any queries, “later. There’s always time for it later”. 

So it’s the kiss that’s pulling you back into her. Her front teeth capture your bottom lip, pull, drags it back a little like she’s trying to unwrap you like a present. You hold her waist, and with gentle hands, you push her back against the wall. It’s not that you’re trying to get control or anything; you’re just attempting to give her something to work with, a place to rest as she starts to work on the buttons of your shirt. 

“Are you already naked underneath that?” you whisper, though it’s more of a drawl than a whisper. In response, she momentarily stops with your buttons to slide a section of her bathrobe away, giving you a good look at a column of her naked, milky skin. 

In short: Yes, she is very much naked under that robe.

“Don’t get distracted, my prince. Eyes up here.”

“You’re the one that made me look, princess.”

She’s evidently struggling with the last button of your shirt, and you have to let go of her for a moment to help her get it done. Then it’s off with the shirt, and she flings it against the door for convenience sake. Your belt’s next, and that’s taken care of before you can even say, let me undress you Princess. It does make her hesitate at the clasp of your trousers for a bit. Just for a bit.

“I’d like,” her fingers are moving again, and they’re awfully quick at unfastening your pants, “for you to unwrap me on the bed instead.”

How raunchy of her. Makes you want to try her on.

Your pants fall. Your hand slithers into the bathrobe. Her jaw drops. Wonyoung my darling, and your fingers have captured one of those perky breasts, the right one to be exact. How do you ever—it’s light pressure to the nipple for you; it’s mind melting for her—get away with being such a big slut? Look at you, I’m barely even squeezing here. You’d like to save that face she makes in a supercut of her other memorable faces: eyes wide, mouth agape and her chin tucked into her neck. Frame it up, take a step back, admire it. It’s the face of someone who’s pent up, the expression of a needy girl who’s been aching to get some dick. Maybe if you guys had met a little sooner, she wouldn’t be this sensitive. But now? A twist of your forefinger and thumb is all it takes to draw a cry out of her, a little more pressure is enough to rain hellfire upon her. What a crazy-hot mess she is; only god knows how to clean her up and get her sorted out.

Open mouth straight to your ear, Wonyoung lets out a breathy gasp. In your fingers, the stiff peak rolls between the pads—back, forth, back, forth: motions that make her weak in her knees. It’s with great effort that she pulls your face back to hers, captures you in her quivering lips. Elegance has long been thrown out the window by now, and it’s not going to be returning for quite some time, as if you ever need it at a time like this. She’s barely holding herself up at this point. Where did the prim proper Jang Wonyoung go? 

The answer’s in her kiss—gone, dusted, she was here just a minute ago though. She’s grasping at whatever inch of your skin she can find, and her nails are definitely gonna be leaving marks on the sides of your neck. You let out a small, wry laugh as you silently observe her behaviour, watching her implore without speaking, badger without requesting. It’s an art form really, the form of expression for the horny and desperate and bratty. When her hands grip your face and her nails sink into your cheek, you pinch a little harder and relish the pleasant vibrations that are sent into your mouth as she gasps. Her palms press into your jaw, and they’d probably crush it if you press any harder. Her feet patter against the wood as she starts to direct you to the bed. You kick off your shoes together with your pants. 

It’s definitely a sight to take in: Jang Wonyoung in a massive king size bed, a thin bathrobe being the only thing between you and that wonderful body being the bathrobe. Maybe if she wasn’t in this state she’s in, she’d gesture to you with a come hither motion, and invite you to remove the fabric from her body. Instead, she opts for a spine tingling mewl, and that’s your invitation to her body. It’s hardly an insinuation; the fact that she wants to be unwrapped like a present is undeniable, she used the word unwrap herself. The bunny knot holding the two pieces of fabric is symmetrical—has Wonyoung’s fingerprints all over it. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s watching you with a half-open mouth, maybe you’d compliment her on her efforts a little, maybe even call her “princess” a couple more times before you properly ruin her.

(But she’s already ruined, ruined by a mere bit of pressure to the nipple. What else can make her tick now?)

Her body is at your mercy and it, quite literally, jerks as you start to pull at the knot, undoing it centimetre by centimetre, millimetre by millimetre, inch by inch. You want to see how long she can watch for, how long she can witness herself be undressed in a painfully slow fashion. Needy as she is, she’s patient as she watches one end of the rope grow longer. 

Longer. 

“Do you want me to speed this up, baby?” The smirk on your face would earn you a pout from her if her nerves weren’t in a bundle at the given moment.

“W-Whatever you want,” she answers, and her voice is brimming with breathy arousal. How are you getting away with all this? She’d grab your wrist and pull by now if she wasn’t so damn needy right now.

You give a dry laugh. “Then I’ll keep at this then.”

Longer.

“Fuck. Just pull it all the way already.” She looks you right in the eye as she begs you to hurry, and now you can see the need brimming in those large, round eyes, the ones that stare back at you with soft intensity, if that’s even possible. She’s good at mixing emotions into her stare.

“I thought you said—”

“Just fucking do it!”

Slack.

And the knot comes undone, and together with it, the robe falls off to the sides of her body—it’s beautiful. Never have you taken so much pleasure in undressing her, but you sure-as-hell have taken this much time to admire that wonderful, slender frame. From your standing view over her, you get down to her level to get a better look at her. It’s all part of the game of course: the way you look her in the eye, the way you touch her jaw ever so slightly to turn it towards you. The kiss is sickly sweet, and she’s starting to taste more and more like that cherry lipstick you gave her when you saw her some time ago at another event. Into your mouth, she lets out a sonorous moan. Your fingertips brush along her skin, slither down from her collarbone to her cleavage—down to that flushed pink region between her equally flushed thighs. Almost instantly, the tip of your digits are coated in slick fluids, and you raise an eyebrow at the girl on the bed.

“I literally touched you.” It’s amusement permeating your voice more than anything. In the sheets, she squirms in the slightest, eyes locked on your fingers that rest against that dripping heat and breath caught in her throat. You know that if you were to shift your finger in the slightest, you’d trigger a chain reaction that you have no power over. Her legs would clamp, her abdomen would tense, her eyes would roll. In the midst of it all, she’d maybe scream, or maybe she’d moan; either way goes. As far as you’re concerned, she’s needy as fuck at the moment, and she’s not going to let anything stop her from cumming.

“Yea, well… I can be sensitive.” Her defence is hardly a solid one, more of a perfunctory reply. Her head’s far from able to formulate a quip to throw back at you; that ability went out the window together with classy Wonyoung. “Put them in.”

You go against her request, and your fingers start to skirt the edges of that swollen, pink slit of hers. A crime—you’re going against the princess’ wishes, but realistically speaking: she can hardly be called a princess at the moment, so why comply? 

A portion of the bathrobe is still clinging on to her breast. You use your other hand to push it away, and the split second of contact makes her flinch. “Jesus. You’re so fucking turned-on right now,” you can’t help but muse, all while your fingers retrace te outline of her swollen lips. She’s shivering, she isn’t breathing quite right. “Do you want to moan, baby? Do you want to moan like a good little slut for me?”

And she fixes you with a glare. “F-Fuck you… Put them in.”

No “please” this time. Shame. If she were more polite, you would’ve obliged; now you’ll just have some more fun with her. 

Your thumb finds the swollen nub, and a little brush is all you need to get her straining like a psycho in a straitjacket. What will I ever do with you Wonyoung?—and she’s getting wetter by the second—You look so pretty when you’re so needy, you know that?—why would you ever, for a second, think that she’d be as refined as the last time? She doesn’t play with herself when she needs to get off; she waits till she sees you again to get off on your cock, your fingers, your mouth. Sexting was off the table, she wants you to be physically there, driving her insane as she lets herself come undone. 

“You know,” and you’re almost laughing as you watch her face twist even further, “that I could do this forever right? I could just lie here, tease you for as long as I want… Or maybe that’s what you want?

She’s messy, so fucking messy. Juices are starting to soak the bed—you can feel it as your fingertips round the bottom of her slit. Housekeeping would certainly question the spot, and the two of you wouldn’t be there to reply anyway. Her cheeks are flushed, the veins of her throat are popping. It takes a considerable amount of effort to stay this composed, but you know that she’s breaking more and more. With each round your fingers make, cracks start to form along that perfectly sculpted face. The fine lines on her forehead begin to show as her brows start to furrow. Strained sounds are coming from her throat as the urge to moan is slowly winning the battle against her will. She wants control, but she can’t have it when she’s a wet, hot mess next to you. She’s being bratty for the sake of it. Your fingers are your leverage against her. It’s killing her. It’s delighting you.

And just like fine China thrown against concrete, her will shatters. 

“Please! Put them in!”

And your fingers stop just at the top of her pussy. It feels like a long minute, but she isn't about to take another second of this. Her thighs clamp against your arm. Her fingers wrap around your wrist in desperation. She begs again. And again. And again. And again, again, again. The bed starts to creak as you start to move your fingers down her lips, down to the very end of her cunt.

God is she dripping.

“Will you moan for me?” you drawl huskily. A finger, two, three rest themselves against her heat. 

“Yes.” There’s barely any of her original self left in there. “Please just—”

The fingers breach her opening. She screams, a high-pitched, keening cry. The noise makes your cock strain in your boxers, and you have to grit your teeth as her inner walls wrap tightly around your intruding digits. A moment of stillness comes, a moment where she’s just breathing raggedly, struggling to process this pleasure that’s racking her body faster than she can comprehend. She’s a ticking time bomb of nerves; the slightest movement in this state could send her into perdition, and she’ll barrel past that point of no return faster than both of you can imagine. God, she’s sensitive. God, she’s a mess. 

The chuckle that departs from your mouth is one of perverse pleasure. “Baby,” you whisper, right into her ear as she struggles to catch her breath. She squeezes her eyes shut, and you watch with a grin as her chest rises and falls. The grip on your wrist is a vice, knuckle-white and unrelenting. She’s begging you, with her eyes, to start moving, and you have to tell her, “I can’t start till you let go of me, baby.”

And it’s with reluctance that she slips her hand off your wrist, but that hand won’t stay empty for long. You guide it to her own breast, and with a soft whisper, you tell her to squeeze. She’s servile. She complies without protest. Her eyes slowly open themselves, and you relish the way they’re lust-glazed appearance looks under warm light while her breaths level themselves out. For a moment, there’s calm. For a moment, it’s tender.

Then your fingers start to move. All hell breaks loose.

Everything she did to calm herself quickly becomes futile; it becomes undone as her back arches in a way that catches your breath in your throat. Your fingers graze her walls, pressed into each other as they slowly draw in and out of her. And mind you: you’re going slow, slow enough to make her feel every bit of your fingers brush against her insides. But it’s enough to make her curse, enough to get her mewling like a damn kitten while her hips start to rock, rubbing her clit against the base of your palm. There’s no way to describe how needy she looks; her want is beyond words, and you’ve barely even started. Three fingers is the most you’ve ever put inside her. Clearly, it’s working wonders for her.

And now you yourself have to admit: you’ve wanted her for some time now. Since the last time you saw her, you’ve fantasised about that slim tummy twitching, about holding that snatched waist once more, about those long legs wrapped around your neck while your tongue and fingers turn her into a pliant plaything. For weeks, you’ve wanted nothing more than pulling Jang Wonyoung apart, reduce her into a withering mess wherever you guys are and get her screaming till she’s sore. You can’t even begin to describe what you’ve done with her in your dreams, nor can you ever convey how it feels to desire her as much as you have. So, you put all of it into action, sordid sentiments channelled into your fingers that are making those cute features twist and contort in perverse pleasure. She’s rambunctious, and her juices are quite literally soaking your hand, spilling the strongest sillage of lust all over the bed. 

“Why do you always have to be so fucking messy?” You’re really just trying to see how much you can get away with at this point, though the answer seems to be: just about everything. Your fingers start moving faster. You love the way her cheeks are starting to flush even more. “Are you always this wet? Or is it just for me?”

The squelching is lewder than you can ever imagine. The sound of her slick, wet heat being breached by your fingers is enthralling. Add the sounds she’s making into that and you have the ultimate erotica audio that can bless mankind. She’s panting, she’s moaning, she’s whining—she’s doing it all really, and you’re just using your fingers. God knows how she’ll react once you’re inside of her, rock hard meat stretching her out instead of a few fingers fiddling around in warm walls. 

But hey, the sounds she’s making are ever so erotic, and she’s definitely making your blood flow to all the right places. She feels out of place; you can’t put your finger on what’s wrong in this whole thing. It’s probably a small detail, something you’d overlook over the sight of her chest heaving as air shoots out and gets sucked back into her mouth, her whole body straining and convulsing against the bed while you get a thumb on her clit and rub at a languid tempo. Probably something miniscule, not worth mentioning because all your attention is focused on the look on her face (you want to mess up the makeup so badly it’s almost frustrating). And no, you’re not trying to make her cum in five seconds; she’s just really riled up—bundle of nerves and trigger happy. Probably hasn’t been treated this way in a while, probably hasn’t had three fingers twisting around, sliding in and out of that tight wet hole slow enough to make her feel every bit of skin against her walls; fast enough to make her combust if you were to speed up, in, like, forever. 

“I–I…” She’s quite literally mewling, and the sharpness in her voice is so cutting that it makes an incision in a bag inside you that’s keeping all the perverse thoughts at bay. The thoughts are leaking out now, and it’s almost impossible to stuff them back in. You want her against the glass: tits against the window and ass in your hands while you pump and pump and pump into that slick tight hole; you want nothing more but to pick her up and have her lock her legs around you, tight frame flushed against you while you nail her against one of these walls that surround you; you want to unhinge that jaw and watch that pretty mouth—now parted to let the stream of moans flow—take your cock in and out between those kiss-swollen lips and watch the drool leak out the corners of her mouth. Shit. It’s killing you. Jang Wonyoung, dolled up. She’s killing you. 

(No way in hell are thighs meant to be this hot, and lips are not  supposed to look this delicious. Yet Jang Wonyoung somehow goes against every fucking norm, fights it naturally and effortlessly and wins like a seasoned warrior. So just for her case: her thighs can be this hot and flushed, and her lips can look this fucking appetising. You kiss her; it’s sloppy, it’s lewd, it’s hot and everything in between. Mark her neck, mark that row of skin above her right collarbone, mark her everywhere. Cusses are flying—god forbid her agency finds out about the things hse says while she’s getting fingered. She's making a mess out of herself. She’s making a mess out of you.

Fingers, just fingers and she’s already looking like this: hair fanned out, frazzled, looking like she just went through a car wash and yet somehow has her make-up intact. Fuck. You want to watch the mascara run, watch it streak while she tears up as she’s choking down cum and she’s struggling to take in air. Pretty little princess, messy and glacially being turned into some improper slut. It’s hard to not smirk while you ruin her with the same fingers you use to type articles about her—fingers that sing praises and can also make her moan enough to make her throat hoarse.)

The rhythm of your hand makes her body roll. Her toes–painted over, fresh manicure—curl into the sheets. Doe-like eyes stare back at you, plump red lips part to gasp your name, throat muscles strain trying to  curse and moan at the same time. The fingers are gliding in and out and in and out and she’s begging you to not stop (like hell you ever would) in those choke up little sobs while she’s—

Oh fuck baby I can’t I can’t I can’t — Anything. I’ll do anything. Please just let me cum. I’m so fucking close baby. Please just let me fucking cum. I’ll be a good girl. I-I promise I’ll be a good fucking girl for you just… Fuck!

—blue screening on your fingers: lost in the sauce or whatever. Pliant plaything, docile doll. You’re certain she hasn’t gotten off in at least a month if the way she’s taking it is any sort of yardstick. She’s far beyond drenched, far beyond salvation and way off the deep end of the “needy” pool—drowning herself in her own sea of sighs and gasps and moans and loose phonics that slip out of her mouth. Ostinato of your fingers squelching in her cunt; half time rhythm of the creaky bed; melody of the chorus of Jang Wonyoung’s voice—music to your ears.

And there’s lots to unpack from the moment you locate that soft spot at the top of her pussy. There’s a lot of cussing, a lot of jolting, a fair amount of whining and your name is thrown somewhere in that mix. You find her lips, she kisses back, one of her hands grabs your arm, nails dig in and stay there. Flurry of actions, filthy language—fucking hell, someone stop her.

Bottom line: lots of action. You find it congenial to start from the part where it quite literally ends her world. Once your digits curled up into that sensitive patch of flesh, it was all over for her.

You can pinpoint the exact moment where the orgasm rips through her body, the exact moment where her muscles seized so perfectly that her back arches. The pulse around your fingers is strong, walls tight around your digits and your thumb gently rubbing on her clit while the pleasure rolls through her body, molten iron libido converting the feeling between her thighs to electricity that makes her short circuit. The moan is breathy if anyone’s asking, and the look on her face—twisted, perverse satisfaction: superimposing need and want—has a whole foot over the line of pornographic. Wires are fraying in her head, her vocal cords are strained, she’s ruining the sheets with her juices; you’re complicit in every damn part of this, and guilt is the last thing on your mind.

Then her back falls back flat against the mattress, and the sheets ripple as her body makes a dense thump against the bed, punctuating the sigh she releases into the air. Nerves are unbundling themselves. She’s sweaty and panting. Your fingers are beyond soaked.

“Messy,” you muse, slowly drawing your juice slicked fingers out of her cunt. You bring them to her mouth. She languidly tastes herself, sweat-darkened sheets hugging the muscles of her shoulders and lining her ribs. She looks so tiny in the bed if you looked over the fact that her legs were dangling over the edge of the mattress, and that’s easy to do once you lean in for a kiss.

(It’s not hard to slip your tongue into her mouth, and there’s barely any fight left in her as you roll her nipple between your index finger and thumb. The sweat-matted hair sticking to her forehead adds a nice touch to her face.)

“Such a good girl.” Your tone is warm as you praise her, and a hand moves to cup her cheek in an act of tenderness. Her eyelids flutter shut. She puts the weight of her face into your palm. 

“Do I get my reward now?” she whispers, and it’s more of a plea than a question really. You take a moment, not to think, but to drag out the suspense for a little more before you give her an answer. You take guilty pleasure in knowing that you could keep her on tenterhooks for the whole night—the only thing stopping you is the throbbing of your cock in your boxers and the look of sheer need on her face. If you could: you’d drag this out a little longer, maybe tease her a little and call her more names. You still could do that, but you’d much rather fuck her instead. 

“Where do you want it?” your thumbs hook into the waistband of your boxers and hook them down. Your cock springs free from its cottons confines, and Wonyoung’s eyes instantly dart to it. She may be a little obsessed with your cock, but only a little when she’s depraved (which is right now). Before you can even react, she has your shaft in her hand, lanky fingers wrapped around it and pumping it with considerate strokes. 

“I want a big load in my ass.” she requests, far from innocent and banking more towards improper, which seems to be a pretty big theme of hers tonight. “I’ve been wanting to feel daddy’s  hot load leaking out of my ass for a long time…” The strokes delivered to your length grow firmer and firmer by the second. “Please?”

The spikes of pleasure her small hand delivers to your system is really making it hard to say no at the given moment. Of course, she’s well aware of it, and she’s definitely feeling so damn smug right now. And so with a very clouded mind, you nod. She smiles smugly, unaware that you’re about to fuck that smug little smirk rig of her pretty face. Conveniently, she’s already on her back—it’ll make the process so much easier. 

“I take it that the lube is in your bag?” You raise. She grins and nods. 

Sure enough, you find it in the exact same place as it usually is: side pocket, right next to her lipstick. You toss it towards her and move around her, slip her ankles over her shoulders. She lies still, unmoving and obedient as her left calf goes past her head, then her right. You lean forward, and she gasps as she's almost bent her completely in half. She’s flexible; this position won’t bring any harm to her, but it is congenial to ruin her asshole and leave her sore for the next day or so, which is exactly what she wants, but probably not how she imagined herself getting it. She cracks open the lube, and with precision, squirts a generous amount of it on the tight ring of her ass, making eye contact with you all the while as the clear liquid gathers at the puckered ring of muscle. The tube is discarded to a side when she’s done, and she uses her hands to spread her asscheeks for you, inviting you to take your liberties with her hole.

“Come on Daddy,” she urges you. “Come fuck this ass,” she continues, her hands spreading her ass cheeks even wider as you start to line yourself up with the tight ring. “Wreck this fucking hole Daddy, I can fucking take it.”

To hear her say those words was almost enough to have you cum right there and then. You press the tip of your cock at the open, gaping hole of her ass, swirling it around the entrance, collecting more of the copious amounts of lube around it. She was generous with the amount of lube she dispensed; you're about to be generous with the strokes you're gonna make inside that ass.

(She yelps when you slide inside her ass. God does it feel so fucking divine.)

She is so tight and wet and hot that you think you could’ve cum with your first thrust inside her. Her pussy was tight and hot, but her ass was even tighter and even hotter. Even though your cock was slick with lube, it did close to nothing to keep the sheer tightness of her asshole from clenching around you like it was a really small glove. It wasn’t the first time you’ve been inside her ass, but it sure as hell felt like a novelty every single time you entered that tight ring of muscle. Fuck. The heat, the tightness—sublime. You think you could cum in a matter of seconds if you didn’t have self control.

“Go!’ she hisses, through the pain and discomfort. “Fuck me. Fuck my ass!”

You would have been happy to stay there, buried balls deep in Wonyoung’s ass, but her own words goad you into moving—slowly at first, but with a steadily increasing pace, you begin to fuck Wonyoung’s ass with long, slow strokes. She hisses—part glee, part discomfort—as your shaft starts to pump itself in and out of her ass. You draw yourself out till only the base of you tip remains inside of her, and then you thrust back in, hard, hard enough to make her yelp out in pained pleasure while she grits her teeth and watches your rock hard shaft fill her ass. It's a perverse show for her, and it brings you a sort of dark satisfaction in knowing that past all that discomfort she’s feeling, she loves the way your cock stretches her out and fills her defenceless little hole. 

With her ankles over your shoulders, you’re practically spearing yourself vertically into her ass, fucking her deep and making her feel every inch of your throbbing meat inside of that hot, tight hole. Every penetration is punctuated by a deep, guttural groan from Wonyoung, sometimes a curse, or something along the lines of: fuck. So fucking full. You know for a fact that the pained sounds you hear now will turn into airy gaps of pleasure once she gets used to the discomfort, and that she’d probably be a mewling mess by the time you reach the stage where she can take you in and out of her ass with only pleasure in her system and no pain. For now, you’ll settle with the pace you have—slow, long strokes in and out of her ass while she squeezes her eyes to block out all sensations distracting her from enjoying the sensation of her ass being filled with cock. You have to admit that she’s doing a great job at it, and your praise vocalises itself in the rather harsh form of, “what a good little slut.” 

(And here’s something interesting you noted: never once in this whole thing did she ask you to stop, nor did you ever think about stopping to let her adjust. If this was anyone else, you would have given them a moment to breathe upon entering, and you certainly would be checking on their wellbeing throughout it all. 

Thing is—the two of you know her too well to know that you could only dream of stopping once you got started with her, and it could only end in two ways. 1) You cum in her. 2) You cum on her. Edge her and you’ll never get the end of it, you would know. The last time you pulled a stunt on her like that, she left you tied to a chair with a vibrator taped to your cock till you were begging and a cummy mess. It wasn’t pretty. She could dominate if she wanted to, but she preferred to be a manipulative brat instead.)

It’s not long before she’s desensitised to the pain, and your slow pace is not enough, no, not for Wonyoung. Next thing you know it, she hissing for you to go faster, fuck her harder—I told you to fuck my ass Daddy. Don’t hold back on me now—and deeper. She swears, all three languages that she knew strung together shabbily like they were put together on some shitty production line and thrown out at random—and while you made little sense of the sounds coming out of her filthy mouth you knew what they meant.

Harder. Faster. Rougher.

Then you fuck her ass. Hard and fast.

You almost surprised yourself with the liberties you were taking, drilling in and out of her butt with the same speed and depth that you would use with her mouth and pussy.

“Yes!” she shouts—a loud, full shout. “Yes! Fuck me like this! Pound me, fuck me until you cum in my slutty little ass!”

You grunt in reply, because it was all you could do. The faculties of human language have long since abandoned your grasp and ability, and nothing else exists in your mind except the thought of filling her tight, hothole with warm, white semen. Her eyes lock with yours and you only find that they’re full of need, nothing else (not like she’s capable of displaying any other emotion at the moment). The rest of you, every fibre of your being, was focused on pounding Wonyoung’s tight little hole as hard and fast as you possibly could. Her ankles bounce helplessly behind your head, her knees press into her shoulders and her breath is ragged; sweat drips off your forehead and onto her tits, and your hot breath mixes with hers as you struggle to keep yourself propped up with your arms.

In short: the two of you are sweaty and messy (one more so than the other. Take a pick, not sure if there’s a prize for guessing right), victims of lust and slaves to pleasure. You blame Wonyoung just because you can.

For a few delicious moments, there is absolutely nothing in the world aside from the tight hot sheath of flesh around your cock, the warm flesh of her legs against your shoulders and the strands of sweat-slick hair that fly just about everywhere, all topped with the lewd, filthy, obscene words spilling from Wonyoung’s mouth. For a few delicious moments, she feels nothing but the feeling of her tight hole being stretched and used by the cock that turns her face into a wrought outlet of pleasure while she lets filthy words and exclamations spill from her lips. 

Try as you might, you couldn’t have it last forever. Not when you were already so turned on from watching her writhe and twitch under your fingers. Not when the sheer, pure pleasure overwhelming you was more than enough to cause you to cum at any moment.

And when she orgasms for the second time, her ass tightening exponentially around you—there is little you or anyone else could have done to stop the inevitable.

“I’m gonna cum in your ass, Wonyoung,” you hiss through gritted teeth, your lust and pleasure-addled brain on the edge of losing all comprehension.

“Cum with me! Fill me!” 

And so you do it, burying yourself hilt deep inside the quivering woman’s asshole before filling it with the last of your cum, giving her every last drop you had left in your body, leaving rope after rope inside her sore, well-used, cum-filled asshole. You almost black out, and you quite literally have to dig your nails into the sheets while Wonyoung’s own orgasm takes over her body, making her twitch and her ass contract—milking every last bit of cum from your throbbing, twitching length till it was nothing but a dry, hard rod inside of her creamy asshole. 

There’s silence that is punctuated by both of your ragged breaths. She looks at you, you look at her. And the two of you can’t help but chuckle at the mess you’ve made of each other. You want to remember the way her nose wrinkles as she teases you, “you fucking animal”, and you want, so badly, to burn the image of a sweaty, weary Jang Wonyoung, folded in half beneath you like she was a piece of origami paper, panting and gasping as a fresh load of cum spills out of her ass. 

It takes energy, but you bend down and kiss her, letting her sweaty calves slide off your equally sweaty shoulders as you do. She’s satisfied, for now, and she pulls you down next to her on the hotel bed with one hand and gathers the cum leaking out of her ass with the other. 

“Look at this,” she whispers, and your eyes train themselves on the pearlescent, sticky, slimy, fluids that run down from her fingertips slowly. “You made such a big mess inside my ass,” she chides before bringing her fingers to her mouth and sucking your cum right off her fingers like it’s a delicacy. “Now I have to clean all of this up. You’re lucky I like the way your cum tastes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Um… Ew?”

Wonyoung smirks and gently nudges you with her left foot.

“It’s okay,” she tells you, all smug and everything. “I know you love the way I taste too.”

* In the dark, her small hand creeps around your torso and grasps yours. 

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” She’s whispering right into your ear, and it’s a sensation you want to be able to hold on to for the rest of your life. “I know your eyes are open.” The feel of her small fingers rolling the knuckle of your index finger sticks itself in your head like a post-it. “ I can hear and feel you tossing, you know?”

Okay. No dodging. 

The sheets stay still as your shoulders turn. You roll over, face her, and you really just want to capture the way the night lights paint her face: doe-like eyes reflecting glimmering pools of moonlight, warm yellow light painting her cute-yet-so-fucking-gorgeous face in a manner that not even Van Goh could copy, lips parted slightly as if in mid speak. She’s right there—you can kiss her if you really want to.

“Are you still mad at me?” She asks, tender with her tone. “I know that I fucked up, okay?” You can tell that she’s not even trying to look pitiful at the moment, but the way her face is sculpted really makes you want to just hold her to your chest and stroke her hair. Sincere are her words—heart heaved into her mouth. “I don’t blame you if you’re still mad. It’s your right. But… Just hear me out? Please?”

If you were mad, you wouldn’t have let her hold your hand the way she was now. If you were mad, you would’ve pretended to be fast asleep; ignore her pleas and just close your eyes and fall asleep. Alas, you can never stay mad at her for too long.

“I was… Never really angry, Wony.” Your tone is a lot softer than you would ever expect, but you know it’s because you probably needed this talk more than she did. “I... I’m sorry if it came across that way.”

And she studies you for a moment, lets the sound of your breathing fill the space as she furls her upper lip into her front teeth, and it’s a perfect moment for you to try and understand what’s happening in her head. She’s a complex creature really; understanding her is like finding a meaning that everyone can agree on when you look at abstract art.

Down below, you can still hear the cars moving through the street. Billboards and screens are still on, and from the window in your bedroom, multi-coloured lights filter into the room past the blinds like moonlight through bamboo leaves. The sheets you lie in are fresh, and they feel nice and smooth against your skin, and they smell like roses. The mattress creaks a little as Wonyoung shifts her weight, and you have to admit that you’re half-drunk on the scent of her shampoo. 

“You must have been scared,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I got really emotional. I… I shouldn’t have walked out. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know how to reply to that. Not now at least. Maybe it’ll come to you the next morning.

You give her a sweet smile. You hug her to your chest. You want to remember how she feels in your arms.

*

The gentle trickle of water down the arch of her spine is really something—a steady stream flowing down her back, running over the muscles of her shoulders, the curve of her breasts and fraying at her plump ass. You can’t remember the last time you showered with her, but you certainly remember the view being this good. 

In the shower of room 302, Jang Wonyoung lets the warm water hit her skin from the rain shower nozzle. Her hair—wet and freshly shampooed (and conditioned)—sticks to her back. Creamy skin glistens, small beads of water affix themselves to random parts of her body, stay there for one or two seconds, then roll down in streaks, almost as if they too were admiring Wonyoung’s well-sculpted figure.

Slim fingers grasp locks of hair. She lifts and looks over her shoulder, the whisper of a grin on her face as she shoots a beckoning wink. “Are you gonna help me soap my back? Or are you just gonna keep staring at my ass?”

“Don’t you have to, like, turn off the water first?” you ask, and you already know what she’s gonna say, but you just want to hear her say it. For memory sake.

“Mmmm.” Her humming as she ‘ponders’ reverberates in the shower, floating over the sound of water from the shower head falling to the floor like rain. “No… Adds to the atmosphere, don’t you think?” 

Ah. There we go.

“Then could you at least step back?” you request. This shower is comically huge—long length, breadth about the same length as your arm span. In the space, she looks so tiny, but you know for a fact that she could probably walk to the other end of the shower in a stride. You’re not one to disregard the facts, but you do like to live with a bit of imagination.

Wonyoung chuckles, low and sonorous. She pushes her hair over her shoulder, then—painfully slowly—walks back till she’s out of the stream of water. Water wastage is the last thing on her mind. She stops when she feels your hands on her back, and she looks over her shoulder, expectant. You move your hands and the soap lathers as it’s spread. You start from the centre of her back, rubbing gently in the section where the muscles of her shoulders meet and working your way outwards and upward to her shoulders. Then it’s down from there, your palms moving in small circles and covering every inch of skin.

“You’re good at this,” she mutters, watching with intent as your hands start to trail to her lower back. “Maybe you should’ve been a masseuse instead of a writer.”

“Uh… Patronising much?” You chuckle, watching as her back muscles twitch a little when you apply gentle pressure. “The pay’s about the same,” the soap makes patterns across the area above her ass—spirals of foam that stick to her skin like styrofoam flowers. “The hours are probably the same… But I don’t think I can live on rubbing someone’s back really hard. I Think I’ll just save this service for you, but only for when we meet.”

Humored, Wonyoung offers a giggle, high pitched and cutting above the sound of water striking the floor tiles. She shifts her weight to her right foot, making her body slant a little. Her skin is soft under your palms. Your hands are going lower and lower, slowly spiralling towards the curve of her ass that’s literally just a centimetre away.

“You know…If you take up my offer, you can do this for me everyday.”

Your hands slow to a stop. You raise your head a little to find her searching for your gaze over her shoulder. “Oh?”

“Yea.” Her voice is low, like a mother trying to persuade her child to eat their vegetables. “Every night, we can be like this: you soaping my back, us chatting… Doesn’t it sound wonderful?”

Your lip furls behind your front teeth. “Yea… It really does.”

And in her gaze, you sense her sensing your apprehension. “What’s stopping you from taking it up then?”

(For context, here’s the deal proposed by her company: the two of you go public with the relationship, get clout for the company, and Starship will let you lead your lives together—no qualms, no disturbances. She can visit you whenever, live with you, appear outside together with you like it’s a regular Tuesday night; you get to date the girl you fell in love with all those years ago for real. Only issue: once you get the last stroke of your signature out on the contract, you practically agree to blurring the line between your private and public life. Press will be all over you like ants after you step on their nest, you probably won’t get to enjoy a cup of coffee in peace, everyone will suddenly want to curry favours with you… Was it worth the sacrifice?)

You find it hard to meet her eyes, and so your gaze affixes itself on your hands. It’s not like you don’t love her or anything, but your apprehension makes you feel like shit. It shouldn’t be this hard to say yes, yet the idea of selling your life of privacy to live a life with her makes you screech to a halt at the crossroads. Sometimes (in these moments), you wished that you didn’t always make decisions with your head and your heart. 

As the shower continues to run, Wonyoung slowly turns around. One hand finds yours, the other gently takes you by the chin and raises your eyes up to her. She’s tall, and the two of you are staring eye to eye; same height, different trains of thought.

The hand on yours guides you to her breast. Eyes locked with yours, she lays your palm flat against her tit. The skin beneath your fingers is slippery, but it doesn’t remove any of the familiarity from the sensation. Then she squeezes, and the flesh spills out between your fingers like putty. She gasps—airy. 

“Don’t you want me?” She whispers, and it’s raunchy more than anything. It isn’t aggressive, but it’s certainly blurring the line between demanding and caring. “Don’t you want to be able to fuck this pretty little pussy every night?”

She’s really far from home base. “Wony…”

“Don’t you love owning me?” She’s squeezing harder. Her knee twitches. Sopa’s spilling out of your fingers. You’re certain that you’re gonna mark her. She doesn’t care. “Don’t you want me all over you? Every night?”

“It’s not that Wonyoung.”

“Then what’s on your mind?” She’s not prodding for an answer, nor is she trying to demand a reason for your silence. She wants to understand you, to internalise what’s going on inside your head. You have no reason to lie.

“Will it all really be okay?” you ask sincerely. “My family, my life… Will… Will it all really be…”

She understands where you’re coming from (if the relieving of pressure around her own breast is any indication), and she’s starting to tune herself to the frequency of your worries. “If you’re wondering if you’re gonna be harassed—you won’t.”

“Yea but—”

“I promise you: I will do everything I can to make sure that you will be safe. You and your family–if so much as a finger is laid on any of you, I will quit.”

“Wonyo—”

“No one will intrude on you. You won’t have to live with the flashing lights. I give you my word: I will make sure that everyone who wants to invade your privacy will leave you alone. You and your family will all be left alone.”

If it’s possible for sincerity to ring clear, Jang Wonyoung has absolutely made it happen. Sweet like honey; she’s left you feeling like you had a spoonful of it. And just for good measure, she steps closer and repeats once more: “I promise.”

Considering that your hand was at the left side of her chest, this was really a “I swear. Hand to my heart” type of deal (whether it’s intended or not is purely up to your discretion). 

And as you gaze into those eyes, you want to remember the way she gazes at you softly, gently, tenderly. If it weren’t for your hand on her tit, you would’ve considered this one of the more tender moments you’ve shared with her. Not that it’s not or anything… Just that it’s a little hard to call this a loving moment when you can literally feel her nipple poking into the flesh of your palm at all times of the conversation.

“Are you sure you won’t land yourself in trouble?” you ask her, and she’s quick to scoff.

“Of course. I make too much fucking money fo those higher up fuckers to not listen to me,” she reminds you. 

Well… Then that settles about everything then.

“Okay,” you tell her. “Okay… I’ll do it.”

The corners of her lips play up in a smile. She leans in, kisses you—no tongue, closed mouth—and lets the hand keeping yours at her breast fall. Long arms wrap around your waist and she pulls you close, flushing her tight frame against your body. When lips part, she whispers a soft I love you, a sparkle in eyes that lingered for a moment.

But only for a moment.

Then—without you noticing—her hand snakes down and grips your rapidly hardening shaft, and she squeezes. This time, the line between demanding and caring is clear as day, and she’s chosen to play her ball to the court of demanding. With a gleam in her eye, she begins stroking with her closed fist, and she pumps your stiff length at a slow but steady rhythm, adding an occasional twisting motion to her wrist, corkscrewing her fingers around your cock, increasing the pleasurable shocks she was sending through your system with each pump of her hand. It was almost like she wasn’t the sweetest, loving girl in the whole world just two seconds ago.

“Jesus fucking…” You can’t even finish your sentence. Your teeth grit. Your fists clench. It’s hard to breathe. “Maybe… A little bit of a heads up next time?”

She smirks proudly, watching as you tilt your head back and let out a groan. “Where’s the fun in that?” And gently, she pushes against your chest, guides you to the wall. When your back presses against the cool tile, she presses herself against you. She leans in, hot breath on your skin, and then the feeling of her lips against your jaw almost makes you yelp. She kisses a path down your jaw, paves a way towards your neck to get cheeky: sucking, nibbling, licking the skin of your neck while she keeps the movement of her hands slow and considerate. The shower continues to run.

Do you know—she breaks contact with your skin for just a second—how fucking horny—her breath’s tickling your ear, sending shivers down your spine—you make me?—and she squeezes a little harder around your shaft, not enough for it to hurt, but enough to feel you throb in your hand and make you gulp a little. She starts going faster—jerking, fucking pumping your length in her closed fist, and it’s almost impossible to keep your eyes open; your eyelids flutter shut. Your head rests against the wall, a sigh slipping past your lips. It’s filthy really—down from the way she catches you off guard to the way she makes your skin sore after she’s done feasting. Almost every interaction with her in a private space is as X-rated as this; it’s hard not to get into a situation like this around her. You know: a situation where the two of you are naked and getting really touchy and actively trying to get each other as many times as humanly possible. 

“Fuck yes baby…” you rasp, your nails starting to eat into your palms as she the sound of her hand sliding up and down your dick starts to cut above the steady stream of water. With each rise of her hand, the pad of her thumb plays with the head of your member, and when it sinks down, she twists her wrist in a screwing motion. Rinse and repeat; up and down and up and down and fuck. “You’re so fucking good at this.”

She hums in reply, and she has your earlobe between her teeth the next second, nicking you mischievously, sending small pricks of pain shooting through your system as she adjusts her grip on your cock without ever breaking her motion. Next thing you know, your tongue is inside your ear, and she’s leaning in so close that when you open your eyes, you’re practically looking over her shoulder, looking down the curve of her back that glistens with moisture and soap bubbles.

“I love this cock so fucking much,” she whispers, a bit of a hiss in her words as she takes the head of your cock between her forefinger and thumb and pinches lightly. “It stretches me out when I need it.” her fingers start to trail down your slipper shaft, letting the smoothness of her palm rub against your whole length, “fills me when I want it.” She’s milking the precum out of you, making you all leaky and squirmy as she starts pumping faster. “And it’s so fucking big that I can choke on it. You know how much I love being choked.”

She chooses that last bit to make eye contact with you, and she’s practically served you what she wants next on a silver platter. The next move is clear cut and simple; no words need be spoken. You were going to fuck her—and you mean properly fuck her—with a hand wrapped around that small throat. How you were gonna do it was still a mystery, but you figured that it’d slowly come to you, but it will definitely be related to the mirror and the sink outside and the mirror in front of it. At once, you reach over to the handle of the shower, and you turn it down to the handheld showerhead mode. Wonyoung bites her bottom lip, perverse glee painted all over her face as you use it to wash the soap off her back. She’s watching, waiting, probably drenched down there and aching to be stuffed full of cock.

She’s almost shaking with excitement as you finish washing all the soap off her body. You’d hardly consider her clean, but it won’t hurt to hop back into the shower again once you're done with her. The shower door swings open and you’re cupping her pussy, dripping wet while stumbling out with her, lips locked on hers and her hand on your cock as you push her against the sink of her hotel room. From the moment her mouth opens and let the moans pour out while you rub her clit to the moment her hand leaves your cock to cradle your face, she’s practically radiating need from the pores of her skin. You can’t help but playfully remark, “you’re such a fucking loser”, while your thumb thumps against her clit and sends pleasure tearing through her system. Weak in the knees, she holds on to you for support.

And the moans (those fucking hair-raising moans), they tumble out of those plump lips like marbles down a ramp, and they mix with the sound of your lips smacking against her skin as you start to leave a trail of kisses down her neck, doing to her what she did to you in the shower; you give her a taste of her own medicine, and the way she’s titling her head back to let you mark her freely makes it almost seem as if it’s the intended outcome of her actions. It’s like she knew that you would get back at her, and it wouldn’t come as a surprise if you ever find out that she gets off on knowing that she can manipulate you in her own bratty ways—get you wrapped around her finger and have you doing all the things she wants you to do without having to tell you. Not that you have something to gripe about it, but you’re just so amused (and that’s just one word to describe how you feel) by how she goes about her ways.

“Come on,” she manages to whisper, all while you’re busy sucking on the skin just below her collarbone till it’s sore. She has a lot of pride in her voice for someone who’s quite literally quivering. “You know you want to fuck me. Give me a good creampie again.” 

You lift your head for a moment, and you take in the look of almost childlike excitement on her face as your hand finds its way to her throat. It’s perverse excitement, that lewd exhilaration of knowing that she was about to get what she wanted, and albeit a little messed up, it was pretty hot in its own way. When your fingers gently wrap themselves around her throat, you can feel every muscle in her body tense in anticipation, as if she didn’t get enough from the bedroom earlier.

“Up on the counter baby. Let me see how messy you are down there,” you whisper.

She knows what to do, and she has herself propped up on the counter and engaged in open mouth kissing. She doesn’t need you to tell her to spread her legs, and she definitely doesn’t need you to tell her how cute she sounds when your fingers slip inside of her, feeling around the mess you’ve made of her and coating your digits in her fluids. Your index and middle finger are slick with her juices when you retract them from inside her, and you can’t help but chuckle. 

“Messy as ever,” you muse, making a show of sucking her juices clean off your fingers. She’s sweet and borderline tangy—a taste that you’re accustomed to, and you will never get tired of it. She’s biting down on her lower lip, the skin wrinkling under the pressure of her front teeth as she makes a sound that’s close to a purr. 

“You made the mess.” She has her eyes locked on yours as you raise an eyebrow, prompting her to follow up after her first statement. Not that you didn’t know what was coming, but more that you wanted to gently coax it out of her, because it was so fucking hot to hear what she had to say next. “You clean it up.”

And you’re more than happy to oblige. She watches you with intent eyes as you sink down to your knees, waits with bated breath as you lower your face till the glistening, pink folds of her pussy are right in front of your face, flushed thighs around your ears. Her excitement is almost palpable, and you can hear the sharp inhale she takes when your palm finds its place on the inside of her left thigh, pushing gently to give you better access to her heat (you’re really just trying to drag out the tension if you were being completely honest with yourself). You lick your lips, lean forward till your mouth is hovering above her slit. 

“You better moan for me this time,” you tell her, and you’re making sure to make your breath hit her slick as you speak. “You have such a wonderful voice. Put it to use.”

Praise mixed with the slight hint of authority—it’s enough to make her nod furiously and implore you with doe eyes to just get on with it. With a smirk, your lips find the swollen nub at the top of her entrance. You suck on it. Hard. And almost at once, her thighs clamp around your ears and her hand is on your head, like it’s some sort of natural instinct for her when you’re eating her out. Keeping to her word, she cries out—keening, whiny and ever so fucking bratty, and it’s the the holy grail of every wet dream. Nothing in the world could bring you more satisfaction than that shrill, airy cry she lets out when the pleasure ripples through her body, and you’re just getting started. 

Your mouth opens and your tongue flattens itself against her folds, (She tastes so good. You want all of it, all of her) and you drag it up her folds, deliberately, painfully slow as you start to lick up that wet cunt. Her back arches; you can feel her struggling to keep a hold of your head; she throws her head back and lets out a gasp; her thighs clamp down a little harder around your head. The pleasure in her system builds up with the slow movement of your tongue, only rising and rising as you lick from the base of her slit to the mid section to the top. When the tip of your tongue flicks her clit, it's almost like an explosion, enough for her other hand to join its pair atop your head, enough to make her cry out in a perverse plea, “Daddy, please!”

(For the record: she’s wanted this from the moment you guys stepped into the shower. She’s willingly turned herself into some pliant little plaything, and she’s probably getting off so hard to it. Frankly, if she wanted to order you around, you’d be up to it, but this is what she prefers.)

And nothing else needs to be said really. You put your whole mouth on her—relishing the shiver that runs up from her thighs up to her body—and get right into making a wreck of her. You lick, you devour, you ravish her: working your mouth on her pussy, lapping up the juices that spill forth from flushed lips with broad, sharp strokes that make her body grow taut and her legs quiver. You tongue her clit, lick up sweet fluids, make her messy and needy and hot in all the right areas till she’s drilling her nails into the back of your scalp and pushing your face against her sweet slick. In half whispers, she tells you just how good you make her feel—oh Daddy I’m so fucking wet!—and you feel a dark part of yourself be fed by these lecherous words—Oh god oh fuck I’m gonna fucking cum if you keep… Fuck!—that leave her half-parted mouth and linger in the air, reminding you of just how wanton she is and how you’re the only person in the world she ever wants to fuck and be satisfied by. You’re hers; she’s yours—a relationship with Jang Wonyoung that any guy would kill for. 

“Daddy—” she gaps, her voice a whole octave higher than it should be as her nails turn into claws at the back of your head. “Fuck I’m cumming. Daddy I’m cumming!”

The pulsing of her pusy against your tongue grows. You continue licking, lapping. One stroke, two strokes—three. She moans, blue screens. You hazard a look up.

Nothing else matters. Only: the sight of that back arching off the marble counter, her thighs around your head trembling and quaking as her hips roll and her mouth parts in a silent scream. You’re certain that there’s blood being drawn from the back of your head, but you're more certain that she’s got enough heat in her core to melt molten iron but a lack of breath that makes her gasp for air as you lick and lick and lick your way into her. You can feel her orgasm getting closer by the second, it’s in her breathing, and in the way her hips are practically thrusting her into your mouth.

And just like the bathrobe from earlier, she comes undone—falls apart and ceases to keep control of her body. She tenses, her thighs go rigid around your ears. Her breath is caught in her throat, her eyes are closed. You stop your work, admire the way she glows as her body twitches and her face twists. Pleasure rips its way through her muscles, her nerves—splits her very being in half as the orgasm rolls through her system. She’s beautiful, and she’s a messy work of art that you’ve created. 

You rise to your feet as she winds down, and her hands leave your head to rest on the counter while her body struggles to process the aftermath of that orgasm. It’s not the first time she’s cum for the night, and it certainly won’t be the last. Her eyes open, and she instantly locs them on you as you brush back some of the hair that sticks to her sweat slicked face. You take her hand and give a gentle tug, and she slips off the counter obediently. You grip her jaw—tenderly but rough enough for her to like it—and tell her to turn around. Servile, she obeys, and in the reflection of the mirror, she watches as your hand snakes its way to her throat and grips it. You’re not squeezing, not yet. 

“I’m gonna fuck this pretty little pussy now,” you drawl, gripping your shaft in your hand and slapping it against her slit. The contact makes her shudder, but she remains silent as you place a kiss on her cheek. “Your face is gonna be so pretty when I choke you and fill you.”

“Yes Daddy.” Her reply is a whisper, a borderline drawl that’s airy and raunchy and makes your hairs stand on their ends. She’s looking at you through the mirror, plump lips slightly parted and eyes glassy. “Own me. I’m yours, forever.”

And you’re all too happy to hear that from her.

You slip into her, hilt yourself inside her in one swift motion. 

(Tight. Hot. Wet. So tight.)

She lets out a sigh, low and sonorous, harmonising with your own groan as you press her against the edge of the counter and make the fingers around her throat squeeze. The sound that leaves her throat is the sound of her sigh being truncated, and it delights that dark part of you. Being inside Wonyoung was otherworldly, as it always was, but here, in the bathroom of her hotel, on the night where you’ve agreed to seal a deal with her, she felt downright heavenly.  She squeezes her walls around you, her body thankful for the sensation of being filled by cock, if the intense tightness and slick wetness were any indication; she looks over her shoulder and bites her bottom lip. And when she has your gaze, she mouths something. 

Fill me.

The silence is deafening, but it’s all you need to hear. 

When you withdraw your glistening shaft for the first time you relish in the feel of her walls gripping you, not wanting to release you—but just as quickly they welcome you back inside as you penetrate her again. Soon you are pumping in and out of her at a slow, steady pace, her soft gasps turning quickly into long, drawn out moans as she is fucked against the marble. Her hands steady her body against the counter, her back arched in a way that lets you get a wonderful top-down view of her breasts as they roll together with her body. It’s a concerted effort, but she makes it seem effortless. 

“Be honest.” With the hand around her throat, her voice sounds a little hoarse. It’s hot. “Do you think about this, Daddy? About fucking me like a good little slut?”

“Wonyoung,” you reply, speaking through your gritted teeth. “You have no,” and you punctuate the sentence there with a deeper thrust into her tight slick, a thrust strong enough for her to let out a strained gasp. “fucking idea…”

(In the mirror, you watch as she curls her lips into her mouth and tilts her head back into your shoulder, like she’s submitting her whole being to you and letting you take liberties with her body. You take the invitation, and your free hand finds itself on one of her soft mounds and gives it a squeeze—rough but tender enough to elicit a low moan from her throat that makes your hand around it vibrate pleasantly. 

At the given moment, she’s doing all she can to make herself a pretty little fuckdoll for you, doing her best to encourage you to treat her rough, treat her like you own her. She wants nothing more but to feel the rockhard meat penetrating her tight little cunt stretch her out and fill her the way she wants, all while she’s begging and pleading obsequiously while being obsessed with your cock. It’s a lot to take in for her for sure, but she gets off on it, and you get off on it too—the fact that she’s being all needy and pleading just so she can implicitly tell you to fuck her till she’s raw and can’t fucking walk the next morning. The fact that she’s actually in control while being such a bottom. Bratty manipulation.)

“Then fuck me Daddy,” she tells you, almost pleading. “Use this pretty little pussy. I want it. I fucking need it.”

With her invitation to do more with her body, you’re more than ready to do what you’ve intended to do from the very start. You increase your tempo, and before long you are truly fucking her, drilling in and out of the tight hot warmth of her body with quick, deep strokes. With each stroke you don’t pull out more than halfway—you concentrate instead on pumping hard and fast, getting as deep as you could inside her given your standing position. She takes it well, like she was made for this. In her world, this was what fucking looked like, and it was the only definition that she was going to live with and she’d take it to the grave. She indulges in the roughness, the almost animal-like way your cock fills her again and again and again, all while she encourages you with cries and moans and sighs that are music to your ears. 

And a notion hits you: she’s going to make you fuck her till she’s the only thing you can possibly think about. She’s going to draw out every single primal urge within you, make you want her like she’s some form of drug and you’re the abuser, and then she’s going to get exactly what she wants—your cum in her pussy. You can’t let her win like that, you can’t. You can tell that to yourself now, but you’re not sure if you can remember it later, not when she practically reeks of the strongest possible sillage of sex. 

Her pussy throbs around you, pulse strong and just a beat behind your thrusts as you thrust yourself in and out of her slick walls, filling her up and drawing yourself out before filling her up yet again. Pure filth spills from her mouth, expletives, sordid sighs and cries and any sound or word that comes to mind. She's a quivering and squirming mess, and from the mirror you enjoy the way she’s almost writhing in against the counter. Ample breasts bounce with each thrust that shocks her body, and it’s almost hypnotic if it weren’t for the fact that that pretty face was stealing the show. The face that was marvelled, the face that was the source of jealousy, the face that was on the face of so many magazines and posters and adored by millions, if not billions—scrunched up, improper and so fucking lewd that it looked like it belonged in a porno instead of an idols face, and you take pleasure in the fact that your cock is ruining the face of a princess, turning her dissolute and so fucking needy that she was as good as a fan begging her for an autograph. This side of her was reserved for you, and only you—her duality is reserved for your eyes only. 

Her body is slick with sweat, rubbing against your own sweaty torso while her body rolls together with your thrusts. “Fuck—” you’re saying, but it comes out as more of a growl than anything given how hard yur teeth are clenching. Your fingers squeeze tighter around her throat. The slightly reduced airflow at her throat causes her pussy to clench even tighter around you—and the added tightness brings succulent pleasure to your mind that makes you think you’re going insane. You probably are at this rate. “This pussy. It’s so fucking good baby.”

Her reply is a strained gasp, but you get the gist of what she wants to say. She wants, so badly, to tell you how good your cock is making her feel, how well it fucks her, how well it fills her and stretches her and how it’s her favourite thing in the whole world. The squelch of your cock filling her pussy is loud, but not loud enough to drown out the smacking of skin against skin as you press more of your weight against her, pushing her a little more into the corner of the counter and a little more over the line of pathetic. She moans in response to your actions, and it’s telling you: fuck. Harder. It’s better when it hurts. 

And you can feel her juices leaking down the back of her thighs, wetting your crotch and making the smack of skin against skin louder than ever, almost as if it was an announcement: I’m being fucked like a good little slut and I love it. She doesn’t know what she’s doing to you,and for clarity, it’s something along the lines of turning you absolutely feral with her moans and the divine tightness of her pussy that makes you want to cum on the spot. Okay,maybe she is cognizant of how crazy she makes you when you fuck her, but you barely have the capacity to think, let alone rationalise wether thai girl in your arms that your chocking and fucking feel smug in knowing that she’s driving you insane. 

Oh and she loves it when you play with her tits. The way you fondle them is almost aggressive. Scratch that—it’s really fucking aggressive. You’re slapping her tits, leaving red marks all over the milky white skin and pinching and twisting the stiff nubs atop her breasts, all while she mewls and cries out in that strained voice that makes you throb even harder inside of her wet walls and makes you grit your teeth like your a dog waiting to chew on a bone. 

“D-Daddy,” she pushes out, past the fingers that close her airways and past her groans and moans and sighs. “Harder.” And your thrusts are starting to cut her off, but she has more to say. When it comes out, each word that she spits out is punctuated by a thrust of cock into her pussy, and it’s the hottest thing you’ll ever hear. 

Fuck.

You thrust deep inside her. 

Me.

Your cock drives itself deep into her, slicking itself with her juices.

Harder.

And if words could linger in the air, hers certainly would. 

You fuck her hard, and fast, and deep—hammering her into the counter, nailing her defenseless pussy with a pace that you would have thought was rough and callous were it not for the fact you knew this was exactly how she wanted it. All she can do is hang on, grasp onto the counter with a knuckle-white grip with her hands as you take your liberties with her body, fucking her as hard as you can, as deeply as she can take it. The cups on the counter shake, the toothbrush inside one of them shaking under the force. It’s loud,  but you hear none of it. You hear only the sharp sighs of pleasure that leave Wonyoung’s lips, and the wet slap slap slap of your crotch as it hammers her cunt again and again and again, your cock drilling her, pounding her, making her yours if you weren’t already doing that.

It takes a little long, but the haze of lust parts for a moment for you to realise that you're getting closer and closer to getting what she wants out of you. While the thought of burying yourself inside of that quivering, pulsing pussy to let it milk every last drop of cum from you is ever so enticing, that small part of you that wants to own her pushes you to fight against the urges. Not that there’s any harm in giving her what she wants, but it’s just that you don’t want to reward her bratty, manipulative tactics. She knew for a fact that she could tie you up and ride you over and over till you were dry—she’d done it before. But instead, she’s chosen to fulfil her needs in a less direct manner, maybe for fun or maybe just because she felt like it. 

“Yes,” Wonyoung hisses, spit flying into the mirror and her palms slipping on the counter. “Just like this Daddy.” And she’s making sure to make eye contact with you through the mirror, letting her eyes do most of the talking. If anyone’s curious, the look she gives you is saying, I’m your good little slut. Fuck me. Use me. Fill me. Please, and it's nothing short of hot and tethering far over the line of lewd. At this point, neither of you are in a state where you're capable of coherent thought, nor are you capable of thinking about anything else except each other’s bodies and the wet, lewd squelching of cock filling Wonyoung’s pussy. It goes on and on and on, a cycle of your hips hammering the back of her legs and your cock spearing deep into her cunt.  She takes it so well, drinking you in hungrily, coiling around your shaft like a snake as if it was begging for you to stay in her forever. The sight is enough to make your balls tingle and your toes curl, and your hand around Wonyoung's throat tightens to the point where the only thing that can leave her lips is a groan as her airflow is reduced. 

She’s tighter, hotter, wetter. Her pussy fits you like a glove, moulding around your cock as it pumps in and out of her at a pace that you had no idea you were capable of. The hand around her neck is nothing but an outlet of pleasure for you, and she’s loving it. “Such a good girl,” you mutter, watching from the mirror as her mouth slacks and opens while she’s being pumped full of cock. “You were made to take Daddy’s cock, weren’t you?”

Her equivalent of a yes is a sharp, strained groan—an amalgamation of phonics and whatever sounds the lack of air flowing to her throat permits her to make. She’s so fucking messy down there, and your cock is sliding in and out of her with ease, aided by her slick juices that coat your shaft and let it disappear and reappear from between her legs with ease. The motion is almost graceful if it weren’t for the fact that it was a sordid one, and you take a moment to admire the way your shaft glistens in the light of the bathroom while you fuck her the way she wants it: rough, hard and tethering over the edge of callous. If it weren’t for the hand around her throat, she’d be making herself hoarse with all the moaning she’d be doing.

And the hand around her throat is bringing her so much pleasure, if the way her pussy squeezes around you when you choke her is any indication. She wasn’t lying when she said she liked being choked. While she didn’t like gagging on your cock, she sure as hell loved it when your fingers clasped around the muscles and made her gasp. She liked the sensation of being deprived of air, be it when she was riding or when she has her kness buried into her shoulders and was being fucked into the bed like a slut. You were always afraid of hurting her, but when she shots you that look, the one that says, come on, you can do better, you know that she’s getting exactly what she wants, just the way she likes it. It was just a matter of how hard you squeeze around her throat before she either cums or passes out, though the latter has rarely happened before the former.

“Daddy!” she chokes, and you know exactly what she’s about to say next. So you release her throat from her grasp, bunch a lock of her hair in your closed fist and you pull back. Her eyes squeeze themselves shut. Her back arches deliciously, her voice now free to finish shat she’s aching to announce. “I’m fucking…”

You never expect her to finish her sentence. Wonyoung’s eyes open, and a gasp leaves her open lips. Her walls, already vice-like, tighten so hard around you that you think you might come there and then. You feel how close she is. 

“Fucking cum for me, Wonyoung. Cum around my cock like a good little slut.”

Wonyoung does as she is told—and the quivering, trembling orgasm she experiences is almost frightening in the way it overwhelms her body, turning her into a wet, hot mess. Her pussy tightens and pulsates, her fingers claw against the marble counter, and her entire lower body shakes violently, as though she had lost control of her nerves and muscles. For a few beautiful seconds she is utterly overwhelmed by the sensations, until finally she slumps forward in your grasp, breathing heavily. 

It's good. It's so good, but it's not quite enough to get you to your finish. Not yet.

(And if anyone’s asking: it’s not that the sex isn’t good. It’s mind blowing, amazing, and whatever word that can be used to describe “fucking incredible”.  She’s hot, so tight and fucking soaked down there. You’re horny, throbbing and on the verge of filling her full of your seed. But you’ve said it before and you’ll say it again—you’re not rewarding bratty manipulation. As tempting as it would have been to simply pound her from behind until you gave her needy pussy the load of semen she so desperately wanted, you knew that there was something even better that you could do.)

You pull out of Wonyoung, your shaft glistening under the hotel light. Her eyes are wide with shock as you withdraw yourself from her body, pulling her away from the counter—but only enough to have her lean back against you and not stand up completely. Her mouth opens to say something, but she's interrupted when you turn her face to you and kiss her. She moans into your mouth, and you swallow it, your tongue slipping into her mouth and massaging her own, lapping at the roof of her mouth as her tongue swirled around your own. You bite her lower lip, and it's not rough, but enough to get her attention. When her eyes flutter open, you whisper, "I'm not finished."

She nods, and you relish the disappointment in her eyes. You turn her around, push down gently on her shoulders. She goes with the motion, and you're not sure if you can ever get over the image of Wonyoung on her knees with her pretty little face staring at you with anticipation. You think about fucking her face, letting your cock thrust into the back of her throat over and over and over till you finally bury yourself inside and cum down her throat, but that would just be a repeat telecast of every other night with her. Spice things up; give her the liberty of creativity with your cock. 

And of course, Wonyoung perfectly understands what has to be done. You step up to her. She parts her lips and takes your cock right into her mouth. Grasping the base of your cock and pumping it with one hand while she gently cups and squeezes your balls with the other, Wonyoung quickly launches into a hard and fast blowjob, taking the top half of your cock in and out of her wet mouth with a rapid pace while her fingers work your shaft in a corkscrew motion, just like she did in the shower. The suction of her mouth is almost lethal, and the audacity she has to look up at you while she takes your cock in and out of her mouth is so exhilarating that it makes you weak in the knees. Your hand finds a clump of her sweaty hair, and you close your fingers around it, holding them in your fist. No, you weren’t going to push her head down onto your cock; you had to give her the space to work on her craft. 

And of course, she exceeds every expectation out there. Your eyes shut involuntarily, your brain unable to handle any sensations beyond the wet, hot cavern of Wonyoung’s mouth sealed tightly around your shaft with tight, soft lips. With the first entry into her mouth her wet tongue is pressed tightly against the underside of your shaft, lathering it with her spit. With each subsequent entry her tongue becomes more adventurous, beginning with quick swipes left and right on your shaft with each entry and ending each exit with a swirl of the tip around the head of your cock. While she tastes herself on your cock, letting her juices mix with saliva, her hands work in perfect concert with her mouth, one joining her lips at your shaft and pumping up and down, a twisting motion to her wrist while her free hand works gently with your dangling balls, fondling them with considerate fingers. She plays with them softly yet hastily, her fingertips working their magic between the sacs with expert attention.

You are content to stand there with your eyes shut, simply enjoying the feel of your cock pumping in and out of her mouth at a fervent pace, but a small part of you knew that you had to see it happening in order to truly believe it was all real—and so with a not insignificant amount of self-control, you force eyes open to watch the spectacle unfolding between your legs. Black locks bob up and down frantically above your cock, doe-like eyes glazed with pure lust staring right up at you as her cheeks hollow and her jaw unhinges even more to accommodate your length. 

It all becomes too much, and it hits you all at once—having her pump your shaft in the shower, eating her out then fucking her—and you quickly find yourself nearing that inevitable peak.

“Fuck, Wony—” is all you manage to say before your orgasm overtakes your world.

Wonyoung releases your cock from her mouth a split second before you erupt, shooting long, thick strands of hot semen all over her pretty little face. Her face glazes over in pleasure and you are all too happy to watch as strand after strand of cum lands on her cheeks, her pretty little nose, and finally her open mouth and jaw. You watch, through half-lidded eyes drunk with pleasure, as the thick streams of cum flow down her face, dripping onto her upper chest and those perfect breasts of hers. Her face is flushed and her mouth open, as though she herself was on the verge of orgasm (she probably was, and she was going to make it your problem as soon as she got your cum off her face).

You want to remember the way she wipes your cum off her face with the back of her hand, how she licks it all up like a cat licking its own paw before moving to clean the stray strands of cum off the tip and sides of your cock. You want to remember how she rises so gracefully even though she was a sweaty mess, and how she gently takes your hand and guides you back into the shower for another clean up.   

And back under warm water, you want to remember how she kisses you, and how she whispers, “next time, I want that big load in my pussy.”

*

“What?”

And it’s hard to meet Wonyoung’s eyes as you set down the papers from the doctor. You can feel her confusion, her frustration, her rage from across the dining table in your apartment. It isn’t pretty. Nothing about this situation is. 

“It’s a neurological disease,” you tell her, all while you’re looking at the MRI that’s in the middle of the table. You’re really just regurgitating what the doctor told you—it’s the only thing you have the capacity to do right now. “They ran their tests. They told me what I suspected. I’m losing my ability to read and write, to understand language. In 2 years—give or take —I won’t be able to express my thoughts. I’ll be spouting gibberish. What people say, what I see — on pages, street signs, everywhere — they’ll all be unintelligible to me.” She’s silent, and it unnerves you in every way possible. You haven’t even gotten to the worst part of it all. “My mental competence will deteriorate. I’ll have to live off a tube cause I’ll forget how to eat and drink. Dementia will follow shortly.”  

Now would be a great time for her to say something, anything to break this silence. But she is silent, unmoving and reticent in her seat from across you. You have no choice but to gulp and deliver, in your personal opinion, the worst part of it all, “By the time I forget how to breathe I… I would’ve lost all my memories by then.”

She chooses the moment after the last word leaves your mouth to pick up the MRI scan and look at it. 

“So… Everything we’ve built up till now will just… Disappear?” she whispers. She sounds hurt, scared and everything in between. You bite your lower lip. 

“Yes.” There’s no point sugarcoating it, it’s inevitable anyway. Face it now, sulk later… You think that’s the best way to deal with this piece of news. You hope that the matter-of-fact tone of voice that you’ve chosen doesn't betray how frightened you are by the prospect of losing everything you know. “We can’t stop it. It’s in my genes.”

She sets down the scan, and when you look up, you see the tears flowing down her cheeks and it makes you want to cry as well.

She stands up, shoulders her handbag and walks towards the front door. 

“Where are you—” you begin. “I’m going somewhere else to think,” she interjects. 

When she slams the door behind her, you feel like you’ve let her down in so many ways. There’s a burning in your chest that you can’t describe. The first hot tear rolls down your cheek, and you let the rest that well in your eyes flow down without resistance. 

You don’t want to remember what it feels like to be helpless—the emptiness, the rage, the sadness, the confusion is all so overwhelming. But you figure that you’ll have to feel it again at some point down the road. 

Might as well figure out how to cope with it now, when Wonyoung isn't there and you're all alone with your thoughts.

*

When you awaken later that night in your bed in the apartment, it takes you a few moments to determine whether the soft, slim body climbing atop you is real or part of some wonderful dream—but the familiar warmth of your girlfriend, and the soft, pleasant smell of her hair, convinces you that this was all real.

Wonyoung places soft kisses on your neck and jawline, before moving to your mouth and kissing your lips softly. You are still only half awake, but your senses and instincts take over, and you find your mouth welcoming her kiss and returning it with one of your own, your hands moving to either side of her hips and finding, to your surprise, that there was only bare skin there and no clothing.

“Wony…” you begin, as she deepens her kiss, her lips pressing more firmly against yours.

“Shhh,” she answers, “please. I need this. I need you, right now. Please.”

She’s suddenly reappeared after walking out on you, and you have yet to process the slew of emotions that have come your way. Part of you wants to stop her, to talk things out with her so that you could: a) figure out if she was still mad at you and; b) verify that she wasn’t drunk. But the part of you that formed the majority of your conscience knew that she needed comfort as much as you did, and that she needed something to assuage her and make her feel like everything would turn out alright. So you find yourself relaxing underneath her, letting her scent fill your nostrils as her tongue dances with yours.

She straddles you, and your hands begin to run up her naked body, up from her slim thighs to her chest where the ample mounds sat proudly, her nipples erect and stiff. She isn’t wearing any underwear, and your fingers brushing against the slick of her pussy is enough to verify that for you. She’s naked atop of you, kissing you like you just confessed your love to her or like you’re about to go on some mission and never return. It’s not lustful, but it’s full off passion and aims to soothe not stir. 

She breaks the kiss. Her eyes flutter open. In the dark that is pierced by the street lights of the city, you want to remember the way her eyes glimmer and shimmer as she breathes heavily. There’s no alcohol on her breath, and from the way she’s cradling your face, you can infer that she’s not mad at you in the slightest. 

“You okay?” she whispers, and her tone is soft and warm, like that time she spoke in the shower of her hotel about signing that contract with her company so that the two of you could officially start dating. It’s been some time after that, but you still hang on to the way her words made their way to your heart. “I didn’t mean to startle you if I did.”

You respond by nodding, and it’s enough to convey: I’m alright. You brush away the hair that falls in front of her eyes, and you really want to remember how silky smooth her hair feels in your hands. 

“What are you doing?” you ask her, making sure to keep your tone as warm as her own. She blinks, goes silent for a moment, then answers, “I’m making amends.”

She holds your gaze, you hold hers. The staring contest ends when you gently pull her in for another kiss, and you want to remember how she softly moans into your mouth while her thumb, smooth and tender, caresses your cheek.

When the kiss breaks again, her hands snake their way down to your sweats. You assist her in removing your shorts—a very clumsy affair: tangled hands and arms and lots of chuckling. But your cock does finally spring out from your boxers, the ones that have been discarded in the corner of the bed, together with her clothes. When it’s all done, you have the pleasure of witnessing the sight of her slim frame straddling you once more, long legs surrounding you on either side of your thighs while she peppers kisses on your chest. 

“I’m sorry I left you to deal with… Everything. Alone.”  she begins, “I shouldn’t have walked out on you like that… I’m sorry. I hope you aren’t angry”

And from your lying position, you lift a hand to cup her cheek. “We can talk later.”

She gets the message, but bends down and kisses you nonetheless. You’d probably have trouble falling asleep later in the night, and she’d wake up and you’d have this same conversation again. You’d rather have it later than now, not when the wound is still fresh.

Wonyoung lets a soft smile play on her lips. You are slightly aware of her raising her hips, her right hand finding its way between your bodies to grasp your wet, erect shaft, and line it up with her entrance. She breaks the kiss for the third time that night, searches your eyes for approval to continue with this. Was it make up sex? You didn;t know if it was for sure, but it sure as hell felt like it. What you do no for certain is: you’d like to experience this now, and you want to etch this in your memory for as long as you can before it fades with the rest of your mind. 

You give her the slightest of nods, and you feel the head of your cock press against her wet, tight opening. Slowly, carefully, Wonyoung lowers herself down onto your shaft, your cockhead parting her tight lips to impale her pussy. She gasps loudly as she impales herself fully, and she opens her eyes slightly to match your gaze. You brush stray locks of hair away to reveal her face fully, and you bring her mouth back to yours to kiss her deeply. As your tongues duel, she begins to raise her hips, drawing your shaft out of her body before lowering it once more, and soon she has found a soft, slow rhythm as she rides you, grinding her warm, tight body against yours. 

She raises herself upright and lets her hands rest on top of your chest. You’d like to save that face she makes in a supercut of her other memorable faces: eyes closed, lips slightly parted and the wisp of a smile on her lips as she rocks her hips. From where you lie, you watch as Wonyoung takes you in and out of her body with soft grinding motions, riding you slowly, enjoying every entry and exit of your shaft as it fills her over and over in slow, tender strokes that make her shiver. You watch as your shaft appears for a split second or so before driving back into her, each disappearance accompanied by a soft spike of pleasure. As always, she’s letting moans and sighs and gasps tumble freely from half-parted lips as she takes you in and out of her slowly, rocking her hips with innate grace and elegance. All you do is let your hands rest on her thighs, moaning softly to encourage her as she rides you lovingly, tenderly, a far cry from what you’re used to when it comes down to sex with Jang Wonyoung. 

Through the night, your cock glides in and out of that perfect pussy, elicits moans and gasp and sighs and cute little cusses when you hilt yourself deep inside of her and tug a little at her hair. Her hands were always active, sometimes caressing your chest, sometimes on your jaw, sometimes behind your head as she snaked an arm behind your head to keep you locked where you were just so she could sneak in a kiss. You came in her mouth, her ass, her pussy. She came on your fingers, your cock, your mouth. She cussed a lot, almost passed out once or twice. You cussed a lot two, and you caught her when she almost rolled off the bed (the two of you laughed for a minute about that situation before you ended up spooning on the floor, her leg in the air and your cock pumping in and out of her while she had your back to you and your face in her right hand). 

Bottom line: it was wonderful, wonderful make up sex that ended with both of you sweaty and panting and wanting more from each other but you guys just don’t have that energy to keep going. It was a novelty for both of you, and you wanted to remember just how special she could make you feel, even in the impurest of acts. 

*

The flash of the polaroid camera is almost blinding, but you power through and keep your eyes open. Like a child that’s seeing snow for the first time, Jang Wonyoung watches excitedly as the polaroid emerges from the slot in the camera, and she’s all too eager to grab it and lay it face down on the coffee table in your apartment.

“I thought you’re supposed to shake it?” you ask, watch as she fiddles with the camera for a little bit before she snaps a selfie with her newest purchase. She gives you a look that basically translates to, “uh, are you dumb?” and waits for the next polaroid to emerge from the slot before she launches into her lecture. 

“Shaking the polaroid to make it develop faster is a myth,” the way she sounds so official and everything is so cute. You can’t help but smile a little as she sets the other polaroid down. “It shifts the pigments and blurs the photo, but an idiot like you would need a genius like me to tell that to you.”

The remark is clearly meant to be biting, but it’s nothing short of hilarious to you. “When did you become a camera nerd?”

“Ever since I got this,” she lifts the polaroid camera up and hits you with that you’re on camera smile. “Maybe I should do an ad for this brand. Increase their sales, you know?”

She leaves you to think on that and retrieves the first polaroid she took: a picture of you and her on the couch of your apartment. Not the grandest first photo, but hey, a memory is a memory, and you really are just focusing on cherishing those at the moment. As she leaves the couch to clip the polaroid onto the photo rack (a bunch of metal wires on a metal frame with wooden clips to hold photos) she just set up, you grab your journal next to you and flip it to the page you wrote on a few hours before. With your pen (that you now carry around just about everywhere with your journal), you scribble down a new part of today that you want to remember. It was her idea to journal down everything you wanted to remember. 

The entry goes right under the one about Wonyoung’s new camera.

She looks so happy with that new camera. Bet she’s going to go back to the dorm and show it off to all of her members because she’s a fucking child. I hope that…

And you trail off in your writing, What you wanted to say was just on the tip of your tongue just a second ago. Why can’t you remember it? It was literally just in your head a minute ago…

No. 

You shut the journal. It makes a soft yet substantial thud as the leather cover slaps against pages. You place your pen in your pocket, set the journal back down on the couch and stand up to walk towards your girlfriend, who is currently adjusting the angle that the wooden clip holds the polaroid at. She senses you walking up to her, steps aside and makes a space for you to watch her struggle. You would offer help, but you know that it removes half the fun for her when you do something for her. 

She fiddles around a little more, makes a couple of grunting sounds under her breath, curses a little, and next thing you know, she exclaims, “tada!” while pointing at the first occupant of the photo rack. You roll your eyes, throw an arm over her shoulder and look at the slightly blurry photo within the white frame. 

“With the camera,” she tells you, her tone soft and warm like… Like… Fuck. “I hope that we can help our memories live on. Sounds pretty deep huh?”

You can’t help but chuckle in agreement. You take a moment to stare at the two faces that occupy the space in the polaroid, and you hope to God that they will never, ever look foreign to you. It’s a futile prayer, you know, but a glass-half-full mentality is the best chance you have at not spiralling out of control. 

Wonyoung lays her head on your shoulder, silent and all sentimental as she closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath. She lets out a shuddering sigh, and you know that she’s trying not to cry, cause in this situation she’s the one that will end up hurt at the end of it all. You’ll forget the pain of forgetting; she’ll remember the pain of being forgotten. It sucks, but it’s just the way it is. You hug her, hold her close and stroke her hair. You don’t want to forget what she means to you, what you mean to her.

How many more polaroids left till it all ceases to matter?

____________________

Hello! Hope you guys enjoyed this fic. I'm a bit rusty so this one might be a bit funny, but hopefully the style of storytelling I chose didn't fuck you up too bad. Non-linear storytelling will be the death of me. Also: I kinda didn't edit this one too much. My bad hehe.

This was really more of a PSA to cherish the ones you hold close to you, because you never know when they will just disappear. Love the people close to you, cherish them forever.

~Lots of love Nichuuu

[staytinyweeniebeanie]

"Are You Blushing?" A SKZ Imagine

Pairing(s): bf!SKZ x reader

Content: Fluff, Established Relationship

Warning(s): 18+ (MDNI), tooth-rotting fluff, I’m talking MAJOR simp levels here (it’s mutual), explicit language, allusions to getting freaky, one (1) bulge mention.

Word Count: 2k

Summary: A snippet of how you fluster bf!SKZ 

A/N: This all started with a little thought about Felix and those damn freckles, but it quickly grew into this whole imagine! I hope you enjoy and let me know if any of these would make you blush~

Banner credit to @enchanthings 

Chan

~Is it hot in here, or is it just you?~

Barefaced, curly hair, and comfy clothes is your favorite version of Chan and you’re quick to let him know this fact. “You know if you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple Channie” you wink exaggeratedly and shuffle your laptop over when he cuddles up next to you on his bed for a movie night.

Chan shakes his head and chuckles, “What are you trying to butter me up for, babygirl?”. You bat your eyelashes and shrug, “Just stating facts my love, you’re so handsome I can’t help myself.” 

‘Time to kick things up a notch’ you think and pretend to fan your face “Is it hot in here? Or is it just you?”. You’re delighted by the red flush that’s steadily taking over Chan’s face as he giggles, and you rack your brain for another line that’s sure to make him squirm.

“If you look this good in these clothes, you must look even better out of them?” you whisper into his ear. The effect is exactly what you hoped for, Chan’s face is completely red now and he’s full on laughing which sends you into a laughing fit as well. “Baby where did you get all of these pick-up lines from?” Chans asks.

“That’s for me to know and for you to never find out, my love” you say and press your lips to his for a sweet kiss. Chan doesn’t miss the chance to deepen it, teeth nipping your bottom lip and tongue sweeping past to soothe the sting. He kisses you until you're breathless and then separates just enough to say, “Now, what movie should we watch?” 

Minho

~Hungry? I ordered your favorite~

‘It’s just been a rough day, Jagi’ 

‘I didn’t mean to snap over the phone earlier’

‘I’m sorry.’ 

You look up from the text thread you have with your boyfriend when you hear the door to the apartment close and the shuffling of keys and shoes. A minute later, an exhausted Minho slinks into the living room and stops in his tracks when he spots you standing there waiting for him. 

“Hey Min,” you start hesitantly, “I know today was rough, so I had Sungie let me in earlier so I could take care of you”. You rub the back of your neck sheepishly and continue, “It wasn’t much, I just folded some laundry and tidied up a bit.”

Minho just stares at you, unblinking as your nervous rambling continues. 

“Oh! And I picked up some dinner from that place you like around the corner! I wanted to make something, but you threatened to feed me to the cats the last time I tried to cook in your kitchen.” 

Feeling awkward with the continued silence on Minho’s end, you shuffle your feet and meet his eyes. You think you spy a sheen of wetness, but strong arms sweep you up into a crushing hug before you can double-check. You sigh in relief and squeeze back just as hard. 

The two of you stand there, wrapped up in the warm embrace for several minutes, until you feel every bit of tension leak from Minho’s frame and he strokes a hand through your hair. 

“Thank you, Jagi” he whispers and cups your face in his hands. His eyes are impossibly soft as they gaze at you and his cheeks are dusted with pink. “And you’re right, you’re not allowed to cook for me ever again.”

Changbin

~You look a little tense, want a massage?~ 

Changbin just got out of the shower after a morning gym session with Chan and you already have him pressed against the bathroom counter. Steam curls in the air around you and fogs the mirror a bit, but you can see the way his cheeks grow redder by the second as your hands snake their way up his sides and towards his chest. 

“L-Lovie, what are you doing?” Changbin stutters. You peek over his shoulder and watch your reflection as you squeeze his pecs, grinning when your dwaekki squeals. “I bet you’re sore, Binnie-baby, I wanna help you relax with a massage.” you purr into his red little ears. 

“I have been lifting heavier recently…” he murmurs. With a quick kiss to his hot cheek, you go back to your “massaging”. Changbin’s skin is still damp and slippery from the shower so your hands glide easily across his skin. You take your time, slowly kneading up his back while Changbin grunts and groans. You slip your hands around to his tummy and can’t resist grabbing and squeezing again. 

“Ah! What kind of massage is this?” Changbin whines loudly, but just as he’s opening his mouth to complain again, your sneaky fingers undo the towel that’s wrapped tightly around his waist and begin creeping south. 

“You don’t like it?” you pout and move as if you’re pulling away. Strong hands grab your wrists immediately as Changbin tugs your hands back to where they were, “Wait lovie, please! Keep going!” 

Hyunjin

~Can I do your makeup?~ 

Gentle music plays from your phone and the fairy lights strewn around your bedroom plus your favorite candle burning create an intimate and cozy atmosphere. You flutter around excitedly, gathering all the makeup items you need to give your boyfriend a makeover.

“I’m going to make you look like a fairy prince!” you chirp and climb into his lap, already reaching for a primer. “I don’t doubt it, my princess” Hyunjin smiles and rests his hands on your hips, eyes closing as he leans back against the headboard and enjoys your gentle touch. 

A comfortable silence follows, just the soft notes of your background music and the rustling of the sheets as you work your magic. You grab a colorful eyeshadow palette and grin, “Now for the exciting part! Look at me Hyunjinnie?” 

Hyunjin hums an affirmative and opens his eyes, making direct eye contact with you. This close, he can feel the soft puff of your breath on his lips, could count every eyelash as you concentrate on whatever you’re doing, and he feels his heart skip a beat. You’re just so pretty up close in this soft lighting, and the proximity plus your intense focus on him has his cheeks flushing. 

You take a moment to check your work but immediately throw your head back and laugh, “Hyunjin! I haven't even put any blush on you yet!”

Jisung

~How many licks does it take to get to the center?~

A crash can be heard from the other room, followed by a string of curses, then thundering footsteps rapidly draw closer. “Babycakes have you seen my-” Jisung trails off and his eyes widen as he takes in the scene in front of him. 

“Seen what, sweet cheeks?” You tilt your head and give him your best innocent look from where you’re sitting on the kitchen counter with your favorite flavor lollipop dangling from your mouth. You drag it out ever so slowly with a pop, then put it right back inside and swirl your tongue around the candy obscenely. You hum happily and admire your boyfriend’s dumbstruck expression.

Even from several feet away you can see the blush spread across his cheeks and a growing bulge in Jisung’s pants. ‘Hook, line, and sinker’ you smugly think to yourself, ‘The studio will have to wait.’

“Fuck babycakes, I don’t even remember what I was looking for,” Jisung groans and quickly makes his way over to you. In a blink his hands grip your thighs and he shoves himself between them. Big round eyes, half-lidded already, meet yours as he grabs the lollipop stick and tugs it free from your mouth. 

“Can I have a taste?”

Felix

~Did you know freckles are also called angel kisses?~

Shrieks and giggles echo around the apartment as you chase your boyfriend into the living room and tackle him onto the couch. “Just let me show you, Lixie!” 

“Never!” he cries and attempts to wiggle out from under you.

A short tickle fight ensues until, “Okay! Okay, I believe you, mercy please!” You grin triumphantly down at Felix and settle your weight on his hips to keep him pinned. Truthfully, he could get away if he wanted to, but you both know Felix loves when you manhandle him a bit.

“Stay still, I have to make sure I get every single freckle,” you say as you rain kisses across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, loud and obnoxious on purpose to make him giggle and draw that big toothy smile again. You move up to his forehead, followed by each eyelid gently, then the tip of his cute nose. Finally, you press your lips to his softly for a chaste peck once, twice, three times and his lips chase yours as you pull away.

“I think you got every one, angel,” Felix’s eyes shine with adoration as they look up into yours, his cheeks flushed the most beautiful shade of pink and his glossy black hair a mess on the cushions beneath him. 

But the longer you admire him, the more a devilish smirk starts to take over and he casts his gaze down his body slowly, “On my face at least. I think you might have missed a few down here though… Let’s check just to be sure.”

Seungmin

~Did you get my note?~

“How many of these did you hide in my room sweetheart?” Seungmin’s voice is muffled from where he’s digging through his closet. “This is the last one Minnie, maybe you should check the hoodie I left you?” you giggle and flip onto your stomach, stretching out across your hotel bed.

Sure enough, Seungmin pulls out a pink origami heart from the pocket. He comes back to his desk where his propped up phone displays your face, and rolls his eyes as he drops the note in front of you. “How can you be so annoying from so far away?” 

His grumpy act doesn’t last long, a small smile creeps onto his handsome face while deft fingers undo the heart. He reads the note slowly, then glances at you and reads it again. Your eyes are glued to the screen of your phone and you watch the prettiest pink blush spread across your boyfriend’s cheeks.

“All it takes is me confessing my undying love to make you blush, puppy?” you coo. “Shut it!” Seungmin groans and hides his face behind his hands. You can’t help but cackle at how shy your boyfriend gets when you’re being sappy. 

After a few moments Seungmin lowers his hands and reluctantly meets your eyes through the screen, “I love and miss you too, your flight leaves in the morning, right?”. 

“Yeah,” you sigh happily, “Can’t wait to see my puppy.”  

Jeongin

~Is that my shirt?~

Soft morning light filters through the curtains and as quietly as you can, you slip from the sleep-mussed sheets and look around for something to wear. You huff at the mess of yours and Jeongin’s clothes strewn around your room and just pull on the first shirt you see and some fresh panties. 

Jeongin is still snoozing away peacefully and you can’t help but take a moment to admire his fluffy hair and the marks you left on him after your wild night together. ‘A performance like that deserves a feast for breakfast’ you think to yourself.

You’ve only got the coffee started and the rice washed and in the rice cooker before your sleepy boyfriend shuffles into the kitchen. You turn away from the sink to find Jeongin, in just his sweatpants, frozen in place as he looks you up and down. Legs bare, hair messy, and he can make out the edge of his bite mark on your inner thigh where it’s peeking out from under the hem of his shirt.   

“Hey Honey-Bun, how’d you sleep- WHOA!” Jeongin has crossed the room and scooped you up into his arms before you can even finish. You scramble to wrap your legs around his waist as he quickly makes his way back to the bedroom. “What are you doing?!” you screech.

You’re tossed onto the bed and you stare wide-eyed as Jeongin’s flushed face and heated eyes come closer. “I think I’ll have breakfast in bed, baby…”  

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed my first SKZ fic, and happy birthday Yang Jeongin!

All writing content created here belongs to me (@staytinyweeniebeanie) and I do not consent to my work being reposted on other platforms without permission!

Reblogs and Comments are always welcome and highly appreciated!

[circeyoru]

Twisted Killings

[Solo Leveling x Homicipher MC!Reader - Crossover]

Related Story: Idea 1 (Jinah's school dungeon break incident)

Note: This is different from {Other Other World} but the concept is the same where Reader/you are the MC of Homicipher and got sent into the world of Solo Leveling. There’s no particular pairing cause there are the Homicipher guys as your Pokemon already.

The Hunters Association was founded by an S-Rank Hunter, funded and sponsored by the same person who was now dubbed the Chairman, that person was Go Gunhee. He was well-respected and knew the world of power and authority not in terms of physical strength, but also the workings of corporates and those that are placed in higher power like the government or politicians.

This establishment had a few key focuses or purposes as the Chairman would say. One, to be a pillar of support for the citizens and Hunters alike, a neutral party that would strive the benefit of the country. Two, to be a shield against the outside force that aimed to take advantage of the weak-hearted or lower-ranked Hunters. Three, to be a monitor or eyes for all things related to Hunters and Gates. And finally, four, to be the weapon that keeps those with ill intent in check, namely the Hunters who have awakened and fancied themselves a god among mortals.

However grand the goals are, they were nothing when it was only one person within the Association. One person can’t be the one to change the world―at least Chairman Go knew he didn’t have that power and capability to do so. Perhaps one day, he’d meet someone of that stature, but right now, his focus was on the foundation of the Association.

Recruitment was easy and hard. There were those that would follow him to the ends of the Earth, and then those would oppose this establishment. Talented individuals usually find themselves independent and prideful, not wanting to work under someone and listen to orders. It was the restriction that made it all the more difficult to recruit such individuals. The Association was set up to be an honourable and praiseworthy organization, so mingling with this would be like turning into a priest or a nun. To be professional and righteous.

“It’s not much but I can offer you a home.” Go Gunhee spoke softly, his hands behind his back as he stood in the rundown abandoned shack in the forest. “A place to work and a place to strive.”

“I have no interest in that.” Your figure perched on a small hilltop of stacked wooden furniture pieces, the rain droplets slipping through the cracks to drip onto your raincoat. The hood of your dirty raincoat shadowed your face, leaving only a bandaged mouth and nose to the intruder that followed you all the way here. You gripped onto your crowbar as you glared down at him. “Leave before you regret ever following me.”

Your tone was borderline threatening for anyone who heard it. However, it serves as a warning. The rain washed away the blood and gore of beasts that you and your companions hunted for you to feast on, their corpses were still littered around and the flesh was still present. The smell of the forest overpowered that of the slowly rotting flesh, but that wasn’t the point. Focus on the beings surrounding the man he couldn’t dream of ever defeating or purging. 

An obsessive red man with a wide inhuman grin to the side behind you holding a red umbrella over you, his form glitching and distorting from time to time as if holding himself back from attacking―Mr. Scarletella. 

An amused silver-haired man with a dirty lab coat of sorts grinning ear to ear with his head tilted while his hands were behind his back, from your perspective, tortuous tools were held in case of any threat perceived―Mr. Silver. 

An on-guard doglike man with long black hair and dressed in black standing on the slop before you, his usually crawling form and childish grin gone with an aura of alert in his position―Mr. Crawling. 

From the shadows of gaps that made your perch, you knew an observant and calculating man’s eye had been watching everything but never said a word or made a move―Mr. Gap. 

Then, there was the one closest to the human. Your guardian and rock in the worst times, dressed in a worn-down cloak with his hood covering his entire face to the point one could only see darkness, he wielded a menacing executioner’s axe that was half of his size as if prepared to cut the human down―Mr. Hood.

If one were to ask, are there more to your crazy, overpowered, and disturbing companions? Let’s just say there was more to you than meets the eye. These weren’t all of your cards.

From just the atmosphere of the place, one could tell the ringleader wasn’t as harmless as their appearance would show. Gunhee, the leader of an honest institution, couldn’t believe himself, but if he was given another chance, he wouldn’t change anything and would make the same decision over and over. He raised his hand as an offer was presented to you. “Be my association’s officer. You wouldn’t be put into a suit and follow the standard procedures. I will offer you a playground to hunt and kill if you would be my weapon.”

The air shifted, and a grin formed on your face. It was as if it were a synced-up connection, and your companions all grinned alongside you. The crowbar in your hand was swirled around until it was thrown at the Chairman, who was unfazed by it all and stood his ground. You skipped down the hill, patting Mr. Crawling’s head on the way down to Mr. Scarletella’s envy. You stared at the bold man while you retrieved your signature killing tool, Mr. Hood had already stood protectively close to you. In a swift move, you pointed the curve tip in his face with a crazed expression. “If this is a trap… Know that your death won’t be quick and painless.”

“We are to be partners, I believe we benefit from mutual trust.”

Rumours circled in the Hunter’s community forum. After the Hunter Association’s official establishment, Hunters were promptly placed under control, guilds were formed and Hunters were organized into groups and ranks. The most unspoken attention was placed on the Hunters turned criminal or vice versa. Most, if not al,l were curious as to how the Hunter Association would handle that. Let them be sent to a prison? But their Hunter abilities could allow them to break out no question. Charge them? But as a Hunter, earning money had been the fastest among other careers. Monitor them? But with Gates running rampant and the lack of personnel, who would watch them 24/7?

A lone guild was sponsored by the Hunter Association and answered only to the Chairman. Its name was [Other], an exclusive guild that no one knew who its members were, including the guildmaster. Their activity, however, was renowned to all. In simple terms, they were the Hunter Association’s hired assassins or clean-up crew. Their typical work included acting as the strike team to clear unwanted Gates, though their infamous deeds were to pass judgment on those that defied the jurisdiction.

Simple terms?

Killing people.

The Other Guild was one of mystery. Its members and guild master are not only unknown, but recruitment was done in secret and one way. None could approach them or reveal relevant information about the guild itself and its master. Its activities leaked credibility to the point that some would brush it aside and claim that it was something the Hunter Association did to scare Hunters into being more moral and human, not to become the monsters from the Gates.

“It’s raining again…”

“I forgot my umbrella…”

“No football practice?”

“We should be moving to the indoor gym room.”

“I hate the rain, makes you all wet.”

You moved past the students chatting in the hallways with your school bag. Your eyes glanced out the windows to the school’s front gate, spotting a black car parked by the road. Just as you noticed the vehicle, your phone buzzed and you fished it out of your pocket to check the notification. 

STUCK-UP SUNGLASSES GUY: We need to talk.

You left his message on read and placed away your phone. As you were about to walk down the stairs, your hand was called, and you paused to turn your head, spotting your classmate and star student Sung Jinah rushing towards you with an annoying object in her hand. You turned around and backed off to the side so others wouldn’t be staring or complaining about how you two blocked the way. Your eyes stared at her silently while she caught her breath. Once she did, she raised the object for you to take, “You almost forgot your umbrella; it’s pouring outside, don’t want you to be soaked and get sick.”

“I won’t.” You didn’t bother to explain which statement you were implying, nor did you thank her for her kindness. You glared at the object before snapping your eyes back to her, involuntarily making her flinch at attention, “Why don’t you hold onto it? You don’t appear to have one.”

Jinah shook her head and turned to her side to show your her schoolbag behind her back, “My brother packed me one just before I left home today. So I got myself covered.”

You clicked your tongue in annoyance. There went your plan to abandon the freak. You forced a smile on and took the object from her, “Too bad.” You turned to leave school not before saying goodbye to Jinah since she initiated one first. You mumbled, “See you never…”

In your hand was a plain red umbrella that you kept tapping the tip against the floor or any surface as you continued your walk. At the building’s entrance or exit, depending on your travel direction, people were opening and closing their umbrellas, waiting for the rain to lighten up, or just dashing into the rain with their bags over their heads to avoid being soaked. Stepping close to one of the pillars, you harshly swiped the umbrella at the stone structure. Anyone that was near you shuffled away from your radius. Your umbrella opened without issue, and you held it overhead before stepping into the rain.

You opened the passenger slide door without missing a beat and entered the car. You purposefully slammed the car door at the handle of your umbrella, and it closed before you brought it in. To your right appeared Mr. Scarletella with a blushing face and hearts for eyes; to your left was Mr. Crawling, who had been a good boy staying out of sight and patiently waiting for you.

“Guildmaster.” The driver and the one you titled as ‘stuck-up glasses guy’ spoke up. This man, Woo Jinchul, was basically Chairman Go’s right-hand man. An A-Rank Hunter who could have been a celebrity but decided to follow the worthy Chairman and his noble goals, but you’re not one to judge; after all, you are technically following the same man as well.

“Hm?” You hummed with a lack of concern or interest. You opted to play with Mr. Crawling’s hair, straightening it out while he purred and nuzzled into your gentle touch.

“This is serious.” You didn’t need to shift your gaze to know he was staring at you behind his shaded glasses through the rearview mirror with a firm glare that would have threatened your attention―had you been a normal human being that is.

“Just talk, I’m listening.” You’re not really. Selective attention and whatnot.

Jinchul clenched the steering wheel but relented within seconds and stated as calmly and professionally as he could, “Stop playing around and acting like a student when you’re well over that level and age despite appearance. You have to control your guild better. One of your members, Kang Tae-Shik, have caused a scene inside a dungeon. He tried to kill the remaining Hunters during a contracted assassination.”

“So? I’m sure those were criminals.”

“There were reports that other Hunters were partaking in the raid and there were casualties.”

You looked away from Mr. Crawling to give Mister Bossy a look of disinterest. “Like I said, so? Deaths happen daily, if you cared so much, have your Chairman replace me with another guild leader.” You grinned at him with a haunt tilt of your head, your neck making a resounding crack sound though it’s not broken. “I’ll just find some other hunting grounds to work with.”

“You…” Jinchul controlled himself from lashing out. 

Truthfully, he never understood the logic behind bringing someone as manic and bloodthirsty as you into the ranks of the Hunter Association. The Chairman gave you a dirty job, but you accepted that with pride and joy. You have been doing your part in the beginning, though as of late, you have been slipping and couldn’t afford to lose your power and influence. Especially when you control those entities of another world like a mage Hunter with their summons.

That was another point. You weren’t a Hunter. You had no mana when you were being tested, yet you had inhuman capabilities. From speed, strength, to healing and otherworldly communication with your summons. You were human, yet there was always that unsettling aura around you that would make those around you doubt your identity. Still, you were no monster from a Gate. That was certain.

“I don’t mean for you to leave your post. You’re… irreplaceable in the Chairman’s eyes.” Jinchul’s voice trailed off as if he was forced to admit something he strongly disagreed with.

You rolled your eyes at his display; he was acting worse than Mr. Scarletella, and that was shown a lot. “What do you want me to do now?”

“If you can recover the bodies from the Gate and file them in a report, that would be much appreciated.” Jinchul only started the car when you gave a low hum of compliance. The drive to the site was quiet, save for the coos you gave to Mr. Crawling and the yells you snapped at Mr. Scarletella. Though you did try to recall who Kang Tae-Shik was, then you did recall someone by that name you recruited into your guild, but you found him annoying, so you dropped him off to Jinchul to deal with without telling the guy that Mr. Purple Head was one of those twisted Hunter.

Namely, three essential figures supported the Hunter Association’s function. The Chairman, Go Gunhee, who acted as the pillar and shield for citizens and Hunters alike, the figurehead of the organization itself and he obviously held the most influence. The guild master of the Other Guild, you, who acted as the punisher to those that threatened the peace from the shadows. To balance the two was the monitor, Woo Jinchul, who connected the Hunter Association with Hunters; his work was so diverse that one could say he had a hand in everything. 

The two of you were brought together by Gunhee under the reason of work and tolerated each other when the time came to work together. There was some sort of sibling interaction between you two, with Jinchul being the older one and even the Chairman felt like he was taking care of you from time to time. It was odd, but you didn’t care so long as attention wasn’t directly drawn to you and you didn’t have to pay for the kills you made.

“We’re here.” The car stopped and you opened the door to leave. By then the rain had stopped and you merely held onto the umbrella idly after putting on your signature raincoat and pulled the hood over your head to cover your face as always. Mr. Crawling followed behind you, crawling on all fours with a fond smile on his face. This sight was no stranger to the officers of the Hunter Association, but any onlooker would linger their confused and disturbed expression on the display.

You ignored the Hunters and went straight for the officers to get some form of brief report to them. “It has been 40 minutes since the dungeon was cleared and the remaining Hunters reported that the bodies are scattered about. Should we send personnel with you?”

“Don’t bother.” You fixed your outfit and took out a crowbar from your bag, even strapping a dagger behind your back, curtsy of the Chairman after you joined his ranks. You were given more toys to play with and it made your work all the easier. “I’ll be out within 10 minutes or so. If not… I’ll still be out anyways…”

Jinwoo’s eyes widened when Song Chi-Yui took the blame for killing the rogue member and killer, Kang Tae-Shik, even Lee Joohee did the same and went along with the lie. Having time to himself after Jinchul’s warning about Hwang Dongsuk’s younger brother seeking revenge, he thought back to the last words of the defeated assassin class Hunter.

“Your shadow… is connected to the darkness. You will become… as strong as your shadow’s depth in the dark…” Agonizingly, Tae-Shik wheezed as he muttered softly. “In a way… You remind me of my guildmaster… Unsuspecting but strong and terrifyingly deadly… I wonder… if you two will… ever meet…”

Jinwoo wasn’t familiar with Tae-Shik, but he was confused when he said he had a guild master because he was a member of the Hunter Association. So the only answer was that he belonged to the rumoured guild working for the association behind the public’s knowledge, a guild that focused on eradicating the darkness and evils. A necessary evil that people, both citizens and Hunters, disregarded as hearsay to pressure people to obey laws.

Still, that aura around you when you passed by, that aura that screamed murder and violence, that aura that made him question: Are you human? 

Your eyes blinked and your head turned to a particular direction. You spotted a young man staring your way with a thoughtful look. Jinchul had already moved elsewhere with the remainder of the raiding party, so that man that was standing alone had to be someone left unattended because he had nothing to provide, like a suspect that was released back to the public because they were deemed harmless and innocent. Though, you could tell…

For the longest time, you and Jinwoo never crossed each other’s path again until you were called in to verify Jinwoo’s acquisition as an S-Rank Hunter. When the two of you had some time alone, you called him out with a soft yet confident statement. “You’re the one that killed the man, the weakling Kang Tae-Shik.” You stepped closer to him while your ghostly companions shook; they knew who, or at least they could also sense what Jinwoo was. Your dead heart beat like a drum, and your dull eyes sparkled with anticipation, “You have the scent of death around you. You’re familiar with death and murder.” A smile formed on your face as you invaded the frozen man’s space. “Who else did you kill cruelly and coldly?”

“...” Jinwoo can’t tell why he answered you, but he did. Unlike your hyper and eager look of expectancy, his was stoic and indifferent. “Hwang Dongsoo.”

Note: I wanted to do the dark side of the Hunter Association and this crossover was just perfect for it and now we're here. {Other Other World} could be tweaked for the two stories to be connected, but that's only if you guys wanna see that happen. How's this one in your opinion?

𝕮𝖎𝖗𝖈𝖊 𝖄.

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist: @rozuburedo @crxscnt @phisen @o-qi-shisme @bunnymysteriously @valeriele3 @ariseverdark @undecidingfate @stoats-a-dork (please let me know if you didn't want to be tagged cause this list is from the 1st idea)

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Cheerleaders + Football Team

The thing about cheerleaders and the infamous football team is that they’re quite accurate to their stereotypes

Now not every cheerleader team is run by a head girl who’s a massive bully 

Or that the football team is filled with dumb jocks that are just as violent if not worse

But they’re nothing to scoff at 

They’re beautiful

They’re athletic

And they're disciplined with confidence that comes with successful games and competitions

Such perks might give them quite a bit of power

Power that’s doubled when they’re working together

If you’d like to be happy you’re better off not figuring out just yet 

Since your arrival to the University, you’ve noticed more of your things have gone missing

Maybe this move made you more frazzled than you thought

Because you’ve found that you haven’t been able to keep friends like you used to

At least not without some help

“So you’re the new student, huh? Welcome to Energi University. As cheer captain, I’m really happy to welcome you finally!”

As she drags you along throughout your schedule, you’re waiting for the punch line

The moment she switches to embarrass you or smile coyly as she says something underhanded about your appearance

But she doesn’t 

Only twirling her hair as she asks you where you learned to glow like you do

You find it odd but you’re not complaining

Movies taught you that she and her team were top of the food chain 

so if they liked you enough maybe it’d trickle to some friends eventually

“Looking for a partner? Me too. How about we uh work together, freshie. If we finish before class ends you can have my varsity jacket and I can have yours.”

It seems it works as the beefy but beautiful captain of the football team partners up during chemistry

Between the two captains, you think you’re making progress

Finally beginning to make friends

But you couldn’t be farther from the truth

Already you were skipping right into the pitfall that was their playground—Energi University

It started with the cheerleader’s captain, gorgeous, rich, and with a serious attitude problem

She was making her daily rounds with her two main girls

‘Putting the worms in their place’ as she’d report to her team

Until she found something interesting 

a glasses-wearing nerd had been holding a file, scrolling through someone’s social page with such dedication they didn’t even realize they were being cornered

And its not just someone—you

while her girls were exploring the use of pins on the human body, she was going through this fairly thick file

A file all about you

Filled with hundreds of pictures of you some with consent some not

Extensive organized lists of your likes and dislikes

And a neat report on your current whereabouts and social circle

By the end of it, she was intrigued

She’s never been one for reading but she just can’t put it down

Having to be brought back into the real world when her girls are done playing 

“Already? Ugh, let’s go find the next one this little report of his might be worth selling to those stupid jocks.”

That’s just an excuse 

she’s combing over your photos again as she re-reads about the mundane drama in your life

“Babe, I thought you said you wanted to spend time with me? Not lose braincells studying!” 

Her boyfriend–captain of the football team is trying to draw her attention with kisses and inviting touches

But she’s just too focused

Eventually, he’s going to snatch it all away, taking a look at it

“Who’s this? Your latest victim?”

“Puhlease they don’t even know me…yet.”

The nights they spend together is searching you on socials as they filter through these words about your world

There’s just something about you that has them enraptured

For them it’s like when they first started dating, running off from their teams to gush about their latest finds about you

Texting all through the night about schemes to meet you

Whispering on the bus on their way to seasonal competitions

It isn’t long before the nosey teams start poking around

All it takes is a whispered mention of your name and they’re stalking your socials 

Some hire private investigators to tell all they can get their hands on

It’s like a virus how the whole team is eventually letting your distant lovely little life take up all of theirs 

At some point words and posts just aren’t enough

“Yo Cap, why don’t we just get them to come here?”

“Yeah! I know I can get my dad to extend a scholarship and dormitory if something happens at their old school.”

“Hmm, I do still have those lighter fluid canisters.”

“Oooh and I can get them out of the dorms for awhile!”

“Then  we can swoop in and be the knight’s of shining armor they’ll need!”

“C’mon, captain! Let’s bring them home, aren’t you tired of looking at them through the screen?”

“Don’t you think it’d boost our morale for the championship?”

“Yeah!!” Pleaassee!?”

What terrible captains they’d be if they let their teams down now

So the plan is set, you conveniently are stood up on a date when your dorm and campus is burnt down killing so many friends you made+

The mysterious fire destroying their security footage and all your belongings too 

Its natural you start looking for a new college, a safer option

“Hey (Y/n) why don’t you come to our next game? Forget about that horrible fire and cheer us on!”

“Wait how did you know–”

“Grapevine cutie! Now what do you say to a sleepover!?”

“Not after we do our victory party!”

“Oh, you’ll have to try our captain’s famous jello shot! It’s going to knock your clothes+ socks off.”

Both Captains will watch happily as the group swarms you 

Your questions about the slug you made plans with prior were drowned out in their shouting and giggling

Their goal wasn’t to make you worry 

After all, they had the power to dissolve all of that 

The Captains and their teams

“Now that we have them I don’t see any reason, why our teams won’t be planned for an all-around victory in the nationals.”

“Of course, though we could do it without them. Money and pure talent are a given for people like us.”

“Still there’s nothing wrong with sharing a good luck charm.”

“You are absolutely right..”

“Aren’t I always? That being said we’ll have to talk about the…hoarding issue.”

“Oh yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that. The next time one of your cheerleaders interrupts me, they’ll be dealing with more than broken legs.”

“And your players should know the next time they take my time with (Y/n) away they won’t just become paralyzed.”

[cupid-grl]

18+ mdni.

thinkin bout perv!könig who can’t help but feel disgusted with himself over the fact that he’s lusting over his friends daughter. she’s barely old enough to legally drink, and he was almost old enough to consider retirement.

he thought his growing desire couldn’t get any more serious, but oh he was so wrong.

whenever visiting your dad, he’d make sure to avoid all eye contact with you and greet you with a quick mumbled hello, austrian accent running thick in his voice. and then there’s you, so cheeky and welcoming. so eager to meet new people, so hospitable as the older man over a foot taller than you is barely able to meet your gaze.

and imagine how stiff he is in more places than one, when he feels your arms barely managing to wrap around his big muscular torso. you’re so touchy when excited, you can’t help it. he begs to any god that you can’t feel the growing tent beneath his cargo jeans when his eyes catch your pretty boobs squeezed against his chest. darkened eyes travel down the valley of your tits, whilst his face flushes red and he’s all hot and bothered. but all he can do is pat the small of your back as a way to reciprocate your affection, afraid of groping you while his friend is in the same room.

the cheeky smile you give him with those pretty doe eyes looking up into his own, trying to make out his features beneath the handmade veil draped across his head. but you can’t, though it doesn’t brother you. and you don’t dare ask him to lift it up, the last thing you’d wanna do is scare off your dads new friend.

and he’s so glad you can’t see the red, sweaty mess he is beneath it.

you’re just so caring, so inviting whenever you ask him to come into your room. so naïve and innocent when you sit him down on your bed and show off anything and everything in your room. it’s so pink, so pretty, so you. he says nothing as you show off the new skimpy dresses you bought yourself, thinking nothing of it when he asks if you can show him off.

let me see if it fits, might have to return it if not. just to be sure, he says.

and of course, you’re so excited and think he’s the smartest most caring man alive.

you change out of your regular clothes, leaving you in nothing but your underwear and bra as his eyes gawk at the sight of your exposed body. he can’t take his eyes off your pretty tits when you bend over, giving him a clear view of what they’d look like dangling above him. can’t keep his eyes off your ass as you wiggle your way through the variety of dresses you try on.

and when you ask for his help taking the dress off? oh he’s quick to stand up and unzip it, taking his time when it reaches just below your ass. his fingertips graze down the middle of your ass, accidentally brushing against your clothed cunt. he apologises right after, and you forgive him right away. silly könig and his slippery fingers! accidents happen, you remind him.

if it’s a movie night and your dads too busy to watch with you, don’t worry, because könig is quick to sit next to you on the couch.

can i watch with you, liebling?

and who are you to say no? you allow him to cuddle you from behind as you two try and lay on the small furniture. but he’s so big and muscular, you both struggle to fit so he suggests you lay on top of him. könig always comes up with a solution to everything, always so helpful with you.

you don’t question when he pulls you flush to his chest, telling you it’s to prevent you from leaning over the edge. your sweet, caring könig was only ever looking out for you.

and you don’t question it when his hand moves from the curve of your waist, down to the waistline of your shorts. where his fingers tug beneath the fabric, tracing alongside the hem of your underwear.

or when his hand manages to accidentally slip past your underwear, strong fingers finding their way to your already hardened clit, middle finger running down your soaked slit to gather lube up both his fingers. you don’t question it when könig begins circling your clit with his middle and index finger, his movements so soft and slow. you can’t help but quietly whimper at the friction, hips rocking against his fingers while he wraps his free hand over your mouth, gripping onto the sides of your face. poor perv!könig jus wants to feel how soft your clit is, to feel the warmth of your slick against his cold fingers. jus wants to feel all of you.

häschen, he whispers against the crook of your neck, followed by light kisses on your neck.

his throbbing bulge pressed against the plush skin of your clothed ass, hips bucking against the softness for any sort of relief. your eyes widen, and you can’t help but imagine how much better this would feel. he feels so big from behind, you’re almost scared of actually seeing it.

all you can do is cry out into the palm of his hands when his speed picks up and he sticks his two digits inside your aching cunt. the coils in your stomach begin burning and you can feel your arousal travel down to your core. you clench around his big fingers, squirting all over his hand and your leg, arousal dripping onto the couch.

the movie had finished by the time you did, credits rolling down the screen as you’re trying to catch your breath, while könig brings his glistening fingers up to his mouth and licks at your juices. he removes his fingers from his mouth with a pop, planting a kiss on your ear.

can’t wait for more of you he whispers as you both stand up, fixing yourselves as your dad walks in the living room, seemingly unaware of how your hair was messy and how the stitching of your shorts didn’t align right with your body.

könig excuses himself, announcing to your dad that he’ll be going now. your lips form into a pout, brows furrowing as the two men give eachother a side hug goodbye. könig turns back to look at you, and from the crinkle of the skin around his eyes, you can tell he was smiling at you.

you return it, and as he turns to leave, he speaks up one more time.

i will see you next week. and you know it was meant for you. you know he was meant for you.

a perv!könig who can’t wait for the next time he sees you.

[illyrianbitch]

-ˋˏ MASTERLIST ˎˊ-

✨ indicates smut ♡ indicates a series ✰ indicates a one shot ↯ installment of series but can be read as stand-alone ☼ indicates a drabble ❥ are personal favorites last updated: 1/29/25 helpful links for palestinian aid

Azriel

♡ . —Are We Still Friends? (On-going)

Worried about how his new relationship seems to be changing him, you talk to Azriel about your concerns. Things take a turn when he refuses to listen.

♡ . —One Summer✨ (On-going; hiatus)

One beach house, one festival, one summer to fall in love.

♡ . —An Education in Malice✨ (On-going; hiatus)

With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

♡ . — The Anatomy of Dependence (Coming soon)

You and Azriel are drawn together by an unbreakable bond, encountering obstacles and triumphs across the centuries and finding your way back to each other again and again.

✰. —Death and His Reaper ❥

After suffering a devastating injury in battle, Azriel finds himself on the brink of life and death where he meets you, The Mother's reaper.

↯. — Back to Our Roots

With the Acheron sisters out of town, you and your family plan for a quiet night in— just like old times.

✰. —Where I Left My Lover

After a brush with death, Azriel makes a difficult decision to protect you.

✰. —What We Make of What We're Made

When Azriel overhears Feyre's concern about your transition to fae life, he agrees to check on you.

✰. —When the Heart is Still Longing ❥

Azriel thought you were the one. Now, he can’t move on

✰. —Pretty Little Shadowsinger

Cassian walks in on you dressing Az in one of your dresses.

✰. —An Evening Reunion

Azriel comes home from a mission. You talk to him about your day, but he’s far more interested in you—and your silk nightgown.

✰. —Memories

While packing some boxes, Azriel is overwhelmed by memories of your relationship.

✰. —What Lies Between Us (On-going; hiatus)

Azriel has spent years trying to escape the ghosts of his past, retiring into a self-imposed exile despite a promising career as a talented detective. When you turn up at his door asking for help on a recent case, his world is disrupted.

✰. —Body Count

Anxious about how your lack of experience compares to Azriel's, you ask him about his body count. Unfortunately for him, he misunderstands the question gravely.

✰. —Safe✨

Azriel's night is troubled by a nightmare. He finds a soothing remedy in the arms of his mate.

✰. —Winner

You and Azriel are both sore losers. But when you cheat in a game of cards, winning takes on a whole new meaning.

☼. —Melted

The ice cream is melting and Azriel’s never been more out of his element.

✰. —Accidental

Azriel accidentally likes an old photo while stalking your profile. A spiral into mortification follows.

Cassian

♡ ↯. —And I'm Thinking About Your Lips ✨ ❥

You and Cassian have been best friends since you were teenagers-- just friends. But one night at Rita's changes everything and now you cant breathe when you're around him and he can't stop imagining how you'd taste. ↯ Part One, ↯ Part Two

↯. — A Hobby for Two ❥

Cassian surprises you with a small gift. You spend the night teaching him how to properly enjoy it.

✰. —A Place For Dying

A mission with Cassian goes terribly wrong.

✰. —Words of Affirmation

Even the Lord of Bloodshed gets insecure sometimes. As his mate, you always know the right words to say.

✰. —Plank You Very Much

Cassian gets roped into a Pilates class by you—and quickly realizes he’s in way over his head.

☼. —Tender

Cassian cuddles with you when you have a migraine

Rhysand

✰. —Insatiable ✨

There are countless reasons why you and Rhysand don’t work… but those reasons don’t seem so important when you’re tipsy in a bathroom with him inside you.

♡ . — Lights, Camera, Love! (On-going; hiatus)

Rhysand, Hollywood's hottest heartthrob, has everyone smitten—everyone except you, his co-star. But when rumors of your feud begin to affect the show's ratings, your producers propose a last-ditch solution: a fake romance to salvage your public image and reignite fan interest.

Lucien Vanserra

♡ . — Hidden Things (Coming soon)

Following a cryptic vision from Elain, Lucien finds himself seeking out an enchanted artifact at your shop in the heart of the Day Court. What he finds instead is a profound connection with you—and a version of himself he believed he had lost.

Eris Vanserra

♡ . — A House of Hunger (Coming soon)

Every Autumn court citizen is hungry for something; beasts starved for influence, desperate for control, ravenous for power. Your tastes are no different—albeit a bit specific. It's a deep craving that boils in the pit of your stomach, hot and heavy, all consuming. You’re hungry for revenge.

✰. —Blessed

Angered by Nesta's actions, the Cauldron turned you into a fae different than your sisters— a lesser one that resembled more animal than human. Now living in Autumn, Eris shows you a new perspective on yourself.

♡ . —Of Our Own Devices┃ Completed

Desperate to reunite with Lucien since his exile to Spring, you find yourself paying an unexpected price to his older brother.

✰. —Handsome as Life and Poison

Defying your father’s sacred command, you wander to the grove where Spring and Autumn blend, only to encounter a sinfully divine figure with glowing amber eyes.

Bat-Boys (Reader x BatBoys)

✰. —Worth It

It can be hard to remember why you’ve put up with your best friends for centuries-- until they remind you why they're worth it.

✰. —A Helping Hand

Even most powerful males in Prythian need relationship advice from their best friend.

Mini-Series

♡ . — Mirthroot Mini-Series

Between dodging death and saving Prythian, its always nice to make time and enjoy one of The Mother's greatest creations: mirthroot. Reader x ACOTAR Characters