#and the hallway and studio are white

[beansnpeets]

Painted some walls today. Feels good to get rid of the ugly colours that the previous owners painted. Browns and beiges and greys. No more! Only happy and fun colours for me.

[angelfrombeneth]

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT, RIGHT? - N . CHAVEZ

Mature Content Ahead

Nicholas Chavez x F!Actress Reader

Warnings: SMUT

Summary: You and Nicholas are costars in a new show - Grotesqueire. When it is time to film a sex scene, you aren't ready; awkward tension takes over, but you know what they say; Practice makes perfect.

Note: I just want to say thank you so much for 1k followers and I hope you enjoy this one - and if you are new here, check out my other works. I have new stuff coming, feel free to request in my inbox for a specific character.

If you are looking for a part 2, please read this post as it explains my reasonings behind not making a part 2.

The filming for Grotesqueire has been underway for a few weeks now, this is your first big role in any media which you are extremely excited for. The show has an extremely interesting script, which is one of the reasons you wanted to put your all into your audition - which got you here.

"Y/N, I need you on set B in 5 minutes" Someone shouted from outside the trailer.

You sat up, taking your glasses off as you put them aside as you grabbed your contact case, quickly putting your contacts. You grab your veil, before exiting your trailer and walking towards the set. Crew preparing sets around you as you pass through different hallways, so much going on in one place but somehow you still felt at home.

"I was wondering where you were" You heard Nicholas laugh behind you as you turned to face him.

You laughed, turning to him as you smiled. Nicholas was your co-star playing a weirdly odd but kinky priest - and well, he was definitely lovely to look at.

"Nicholas, what are you doing?" The costume leader came scrambling over. "That isn't your costume for this scene- come!" She grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the set.

You laughed at Nicholas getting dragged away before walking upon the director and listening to your scene directions.

You sat upon your position on the set, the hairstylist coming to fit the veil upon your head properly, fixing your hair under it as you noticed Nicholas enter the set from the side of your view. You turn to look at him, your eye quirking up at his costume- well lack of costume.

"Nicholas why are you wearing just a towel?" You laughed.

"I have no idea- This is what Marissa gave me-" He spoke but was quickly cut off by the director on the megaphone.

"Alright! So can we get Talia on set please!"

You watched a girl walk up to you and Nicholas, smiling as she held a clipboard. "Y/N! Nicholas! I am very grateful to meet you, I am Talia your intimacy coordinator"

You blinked. You read the script you knew it was coming but you didnt realise it would be so early on. Nicholas shared a similar face to you.

"Now, don't worry, we will go over the main aspects and go over any boundaries the pair of you have" She smiled.

The next twenty minutes were spent with you, Nicholas and the intimacy coordinator. You were still shocked. It wasn't that you couldn't do it - Nicholas was attractive, and all, and the attraction for the scene was definitely there; it was just the awkwardness of it.

After talking Talia deemed you guys to be okay to proceed, the horn sounded round the studio as the pair of you prepared for your scene.

The tension loomed in the air as you stared at Nicholas from the doorway, reciting your lines.

"Can you dry my back sister... please" He hummed, passing a folded white towel over to you. You took it, walking behind him as he kneeled infront of the bed. You took the towel, slowly sliding it over his back full of gashes, cleaning the blood from his back as your finger ran over the bumps. You let your hand reset to his shoulder, softly gripping it as he hummed, it was what was scripted but it felt.. awkward.

"CUT!-" Shot through the studio as alarms sounded once more. Talia and the director came over, looking at you and Nicholas.

"Maybe lets take a break, you two talk through the scene and try and coordinate something. It feels.." The direction tapped his chin as he spoke.

"Awkward. It was very tense and not good tense" Talia sighed.

The pair of you nodded, walking out of the studio and towards the trailer as you groaned, flinging open the door as you tore the veil off your head yet again.

Nicholas sat on the couch looking up at you snickering as you groaned, sitting beside him, tossing your legs over his as you leaned back on the couch.

"I had no clue we were filming.. that today. It's just.. awkward" You looked at him, watching his body face yours completely as he held your full attention. The way his eyes stared into yours as you spoke.

"I mean if it makes you feel any better, I was pretty nervous. I didnt really know what to do and its just unfamilar i guess, its not a regular sex scene its gotta be.. kinky" He chuckled.

He made you feel comfortable. No pressure at all, the awkwardness was lifting bit by bit, showing the light under the fog.

"I mean what if we just.. you know" You blurted.

"If we just what?" Nicholas looked at you confused. "Fucked?"

"I mean you said it not me.." You looked around the room, trying to break the obvious tension as he laughed at your reaction. "I mean, for the scene right?" You smirked.

"Yeah for the scene." You sat up and looked at him as he spoke, crawling towards him slightly. You paused just before him. One of your hands gripping his thigh as the other held his shoulder.

The pair of you looked at each other for a brief moment, the balance of friends and coworkers about to be broken. As much as you wanted to chant in your head, 'it's for work, for work,' it wasn't, was it.

Your lips softly connected with his, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulled you in, sitting upon his lap, your legs wrapping and encasing him between. His lips mimicked your movement, slowly moving against yours, matching your pace and rhythm.

You pulled away briefly for a moment, looking at him. "This is work right..?" You chuckled.

"Definitely work" He smirked, pushing himself up, sending you up as he pulled apart your dress, the top clasps undoing as you kissed him forcefully. Your arms flew around his neck as he tugged the dress down slightly.

Your lips interlocked as you kissed each other hungrily, your hands combing through his locks as he slid all over your torso, pinching and grabbing at the flesh.

You both wouldn't admit it, but this was a long time coming. With the subtle flirting on and off set, you both were excited for the sex scene to finally be able to 'get a taste' as Nicholas said - but you didn't expect this.

You pulled away, gripping the waist of the dress as you dragged it up your body, pulling it up over your head as you dropped it to the floor, allowing yourself to fall back against the couch, your arms around his neck as you guided him ontop of you.

"Fuck-" Nicholas groaned, towering above you as he stared down as you adored in your black lace set as you stared up at him. "Is lingere supposed to be apart of the costume.. I mean stockings? Really? The dress covers it" His hand slid down your thigh to your calf, feeling the silky sheer material covering your bare skin.

"Personal touch" You smirked at him, your hands holding his shoulders as he licked his lips.

Nicholas's head turned to the side, kissing the wrist of your hand as it held his shoulder, taking the hand as he kissed up your arm slowly, gaining closer and closer.

You pulled him down towards you, rubbing his neck softly as you pecked his lips softly. "Nick- This is mad" You laughed out.

A smile covered his lips as he kissed your cheek, to your jaw and slowly down your neck, nipping occasionally. "Its practice... for work of course"

"The for work excuse has been.. overused~" You melted into his touch, your hands resting softly upon his hips above the towel that fixed upon his body. You tugged his hips closer, noticing his lips depart from your collarbone as he peered up at you.

He licked his lips, sitting back upon his knees as he stared down at you, that cheeky grin on his face. "Now, got to act suprised in the scene, I'll give you a little preview" He snickered.

You reached forward for his towel, tugging it as it puddled at his knees. You gawked for a moment, you didnt expect him to actually be pare naked under the towel - acting and all, you'd think he'd have some sort of cover.

"The director thought it would be more authentic to be completely naked under the towel.... For gravity purposes" He winked, his hands sliding down your waist, hooking his fingers through the sides of your underwear, slowly pulling them down your body.

"That's a terrible excuse" You laughed as you lifted your feet out of your underwear as he dropped them on the floor. You sat up, pushing his chest as he sat back on the couch.

"Calm down, cowgirl", He snickered, leaning back as he stared at you; one of his heads reached to rest upon your hip, the other clasped around himself as he gradually began to pump.

You reached back, unclasping your bra and sliding it off slowly as you threw it at him, the pair of you laughing. The sight of him leant back against the couch, hot and bothered as he stared at you while touching himself was all too much, it was making you hot and bothered.

"Fuck me, you are so hot Nicholas" you brought your hands to your face, covering your eyes as you let out a loud drawn out sigh.

"Genes.. what can I tell you" He smiled, as you leaned forward pecking his lips softly a few times. His grin seeping into the kiss as you stared at him, your noses touching eachother slightly.

You leaned in, capturing him in a soft kiss, instantly reciprocated as both his hands gripped your waist. You sat in his lap, softly grinding down against him - humming softly within the kiss at the friction.

You noticed his eagerness as his hips would occasionally buckle up against yours, one of his heads to your neck, gripping it softly as he pulled you closer - the pair of you intensely making out.

Your hands raked through his hair, tugging and stroking it as his hand tested with pressure around your neck as you hummed softly, lightly moaning within the kiss.

You pulled away abruptly, looking down as you took him into your hand as you slowly guided him into you as you let out a light and soft moan, which was sounded out by his own moan.

"Fuckkkk-" His head fell backwards as his hands fell upon your waist, guiding you slowly.

You looked down at him, your hands holding his shoulders as you slowly rutted your hips against his, grinding down against him. Watching his face twitch in pleasure as his breathing stuttered at each movement.

"You are so vocal" You laughed, pecking his lips softly as you rested your forehead against his, continuing to grind down against him, watching his body for every single twitched movement.

"Cant help it- Does it bother y-you.." He stared up at you, slightly breathless as he grinned, his eyes half lidded.

"Absolutely not.. turns me on if anything" You chuckled, kissing his cheek softly as you leaned down to nibble on his ear lobe as you continued to ride him.

Nicholas continued to groan in your ear, making you smirk as you speed up your movements, dropping your body weight down against him harshly as you bucked your hips back and forth. Cusses spewed from his lips as you continued to do so. 'Fuck' 'Shit' 'Holy Fuuuck-', continued to fall from his lips as you hummed softly, soft moans leaving yours.

You watched him intently as his eyes rolled back, his eyes staying hooded as he tried to steady his breathing. Smirking as you noticed the effect you had over him, especially how cocky he is normally.

Your movements slowed down as you panted softly, leaning against him for balance and he noticed. Nicholas picked you up, causing you to yelp momentarily as you pushed you up against a desk.

"Getting tired?" He smirked, pressing his hands against the wall behind you, as he thrusted harshly forward - causing you to gulp back a moan. Your fists clenching as you stared up at him.

"I thought-" You groaned, at each thrust he made, pressing your hands against his chest as you steadied your breathing.

"Mhm.. You thought wrong; I was definitely enjoying before, though.." He pecked your lips softly, leaning to your ear. "My turn now" He whispered.

His hands hooked under your thighs, lifting your lower body up slightly as he continued to thrust into you. You yelped out, shutting your eyes as you tried to control yourself from the overwhelming feeling of pleasure, trying hard to not let go so soon. His lips harshly locked against your neck, as he sucked and bit down against the flesh.

"Nicholas-" You gasped out, moaning softly as your fingernails clawed down his back harshly.

"Shhhh" He cooed, as he licked up your neck, his hips continuing to slam against yours as the desk rocked below the pair of you.

"So fucking good- holy-" You gasped, staring at him as you laughed out slightly, his lips curling up into a smile as he continued to thrust, his hands holding your hips up just above the desk as you locked your legs around his waist tightly.

He dropped you harshly against the wood, placing a hand on your neck, kissing you roughly as you raced to reciprocate. His tongue halfway down your throat as your hands slid down his chest, your fingers feeling between the crevises of his sculpted chest. His free hand, cupping your breast as he squeezed it occasionally.

You hummed needingly into the kiss as his thumb pressed pressure against the front of your throat, causing you to tighten - which he felt. You could feel the smirk on his face as he kissed you, his tongue exploring your mouth as you helplessly allowed it.

You felt his whole hand clamp down on your neck with pressure. Your breath hitched for a moment at the sheer shock as he pulled away, your foreheads resting against one another, beads of sweat falling and mixing within each other as you gasped, staring into his eyes as he thrust deeply, holding himself within you.

"...Nick.." you croaked out as he stared at you, his eyes blown out with lust as he leaned in, biting your lip between his teeth as he held his eye contact with you, his thumb still pressed hard against the front of your throat.

He took his free hand, sliding his middle finger and index finger past your lips and into your mouth as you stared at him. You gave him no indication against it which caused his dick to twitch. He began to thrust against yet this time harder but slower. Your body rebounded each time, pushing yourself into the wall that you could've meshed into it. You sucked on his fingers, tugging his hair as you run your hand down his face, caressing it as you let out a guttural moan as he trusted once more.

"Good girl.. cum for me" He whispered, withdrawing his fingers from your mouth and removing his hand from your neck as his face flew to yours, your lips instantly crashing upon one another as he gripped your hips, pulling you forward and roughly thrusting into you.

You moaned into his mouth, panting heavily as you drew closer and closer to your high. Your leg twitching as you threw your head back as his lips sucked and nipped at your neck as you screamed out loudly. Your hands clawing down his back as you came undone.

You were too dazed in your high, groaning and panting as Nicholas pulled out, groaning as he pumped himself watching as your whole body twitched.

Your legs flung closed as you stared at him, exhausted as he whined before he came on your thigh, whimpering and panting as he did so, his arm leant against the wall behind you as it supported his weight - his face mere centermeters away.

"Holy fuck-" You chuckled, out of breath as you stared at him.

His chest rose and fell as he stared up at you with hooded eyes. His finger swiping his cum off your thigh as he held it up to you.

You smirked, leaning forward and sucking it off his finger as you looked at him. He smiled at you before pushing himself off the wall as he stumbled back to the couch, laying back on it as he sighed - catching his breath.

"That was more of a workout than my actual workout sessions.. jesus Christ", Nicholas groaned, his arm resting up above him.

You pulled yourself off the desk, your legs slightly wobbly as you slowly approached him. You sat beside his head, lifting it and resting it against your thigh as you sighed.

"I think we've got the sex scene down, don't you.." You laughed, running your fingers through his hair.

"Oh, definitely" He smirked up at you.

It was safe to say, when the pair of you finally caught your breath you showered and got rechanged into your costumes. You had to cover up all the marks on your neck but for Nicholas it was fine, he was already marked by makeup so hopefully no one could tell the difference.

When the pair of you got to set, you definitely delivered the sex scene, going beyond the script. Hair pulling, finger sucking, tit grabbing, ass grabbing - the lot. Safe to say everyone was impressed.

"CUT! That was exactly what we needed, guys!" The director clapped as you and Nicholas stared at each other, panting slightly. You smirked, looking down at the tent under the towel Nicholas was wearing.

"Please don't move- it'll be so fucking embarrassing", Nicholas begged. You chuckled, patting his chest.

[lalunanymph]

ΉΣЯ ΛПD ƬΉΣ ЯIVΣЯ

༊ on the most fertile moon of the year, rafayel finally claims you as his true bride and the mother of his future heirs

✯ warnings; sorta sequel to her and the sea but can be read as a standalone, rafayel x fem!reader, established relationship, MONSTERFUCKING, switch!rafayel, switch!reader, rafayel's lemurian form, sex in a bathtub, reader is coded to be feminine (wears a nightgown), mentions of mermaid genitalia, petnames (my little conch shell, my bride, baby, my love, miss bodyguard), size kink, handjobs, mentions of food, breathplay, breeding, mentions of previous oviposition, dirty talk, praise and degradation, language, let me know if i missed anything

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

Like how mashed kelp with prawn hearts were the perfect antidote to third degree burns, or a particularly nasty cold could be healed with sea turtle soup made from the bales found at the heart of Point Nemo’s trenches. 

Another secret? 

Male Lemurians—specifically those of the Sea God kinds like Rafayel—had a special mating ritual. 

You had no idea what you were expecting when your boyfriend called you over to his studio on a random Tuesday morning. As you had a day off from Hunter duties, you decided to drop by and visit, seeing no harm in meeting Rafayel after the innocent text he sent you.

Miss your face, Miss Bodyguard. Care to indulge me with your presence? I wanna show you something coolio lol 

You highly doubted the ‘lol’ at the end of his sentence meant anything innocent, but you had learned a long time ago to figuratively and literally go with the flow when it came to your mermaid boyfriend.

You kicked your bike to a stop by his gravel driveway, staring at the pearly domes of his studio slash home. His front door was left open and you let yourself in, trailing your eyes across the soaring, pristine white walls illuminated by the natural light coming in from Whitesand Bay. 

“Raffie?” Your voice echoes along the empty hallways.

His huge French doors were left open, the salty sea breeze tugging right at your clothes and hair, bringing a chill into the otherwise sun-warmed room. 

“In here.” 

His voice floated from the bedroom and your suspicions flared, wondering what he was up to. 

Ever since that night in the middle of the ocean when he claimed you in his Lemurian form, Rafayel was growing bolder with initiating you into the practices of his endangered people; from the unique seafood feasts he prepared for you down to the different books in a foreign language he loaned you, it seemed as if your boyfriend was eager to show you the full extent of his world and culture. 

With an open heart and an even more curious mind, you padded to his bedroom where you found the entire space open and bright, the brilliant sunlight nearly burning your retinas. You had to squint and shade yourself from the sudden glare, spotting Rafayel waving at you from his huge bathtub in the middle of the room. 

“My little conch shell. There you are.” 

You padded over to him, smiling mischievously at the sight of his slick, and bare chest. The cool, crisp bath water lapped at throat, droplets of water clinging onto the tips of his lilac bangs.

“Did you call me over just to watch you splash around?” you tease, sitting on the bench beside the tub, dipping your fingers into the cool water.

Rafayel snorted and grasped your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, the skin of his digits slightly pruned from his time spent inside the water. 

“Hardly. I wanted to ask you something… eh, more like, show you something.”

You heard a tremble of uncertainty in his tone which he tried to mask with his usual boyish bravado. Months of dating the elusive Lemurian artist gave you a deeper understanding of his personality, and you could tell behind the breezy invitation to his home, there was a deeper meaning and reason behind his need to have you here.

As if answering your silent, roaring questions, Rafayel turned his indigo gaze to the bright sky opening before the bedroom’s sunroof, the panels pushed to the sides to let in the afternoon heat. 

“Do you know what day it is today?” Rafayel hummed, pressing his lips to the back of your hand. You had to scoot closer to avoid your arm from submerging in the tub, shaking your head with a teasing smile etched on your lips.

“Taco Tuesday?” you joked and he rolled his eyes. “I’m kidding!” you laughed and added breezily, “I’m pretty sure I didn’t forget your birthday or any anniversaries. So, why is today so special?” 

Your boyfriend pointed at the bright sky, and you had to squint to follow the direction of his finger. 

“Do you see the moon there? Looks like a thin piece of cheese?” 

Following his guidance, you noticed the pale circle in the sky; almost see-through like a wisp, close enough to touch the burning sun in the horizon. 

“Uh-huh.”

Rafayel snorted. “Well… today is a very special day for Lemurians because it’s the one time in the entire year when the moon and the sun will collide.” He gauged your reaction, the confusion on your face making him sigh deeply.

“Ugh, humans. Okay, think of it this way—do you know what controls the tides of the sea?” 

A fairly easy question. “The moon,” you retorted, furrowing your brow.

Rafayel nodded sagely, like a professor trying to prove a point. “Okay. And do you know what helps things like plants grow?” 

“The… sun?” You weren’t exactly sure where your lover was going with this, but you played along for his sake.

“Good,” he gets out of the tub and sits on the edge, and you were relieved to find him dressed in a pair of navy blue swimming shorts. Unable to tear your eyes off the water dripping down his muscular thighs, you coughed, feeling your face flush warmly as you mapped the shadows lengthening around the room; a sign of evening arriving.

“What does any of this have to do with the fact that you moved the tub from the living room to your bedroom?” 

Rafayel gently grasped your chin, lifting your face up to meet his sparkling, bright eyes.

“Remember that night when we made love on the cove in Whitesand Bay… when I asked if you were comfortable with me putting my babies in you?” 

You nodded, recalling the night like it was just yesterday. Though a week had passed since your last encounter together with him, you could still smell the sea breeze on your skin, feel the stretch of his mermaid cock almost tearing you apart inside out.

“Well, tonight is what we Lemurians dub the Fertile Moon—the one time of the year where the sun and moon orbit the closest to one another, and their energies are in sync to increase the life force of the ocean and its inhabitants. Do you get what I’m putting down, Miss Bodyguard?”

Your head was spinning, and you’re not sure if you can make out the innuendo behind his fragmented explanations. 

“No… I don’t think so. Can’t you just tell me point blank what it is you want from me?” 

You tried to scowl and sound demanding, but it came off as pouty and petulant instead. 

He grinned, barely able to hide his chuckle when he turned those mirthful, indigo eyes towards you. “What I am saying, my little muse is that tonight is the one night where every Lemurian is encouraged to breed so that… conception and a pregnancy is a guaranteed success.”

The silence after his words rang like the aftermath of a blurted crass remark. 

You blanched, eyes widening when he finally helped you put two and two together.

“Whoa, hold up—tonight is the night?”

Rafayel’s eyes twinkled, and he flickered them momentarily to your relatively flat belly. 

“Remember those eggs I put inside of you? Well, tonight’s their night to shine. I mean, not literally. You’re not going to glow inside out like a pregnant sea monkey. But, if we made love tonight, it’s a 95% success rate of my babies taking...”

He trailed off, letting you absorb this fact. You take in a deep breath, wondering if this day could get any weirder. Though it had been your idea for Rafayel to show you how mermaids bred in the first place, you couldn't help the feeling that you were biting off more than you could chew. 

Absent-mindedly, you touched your stomach, almost as if you were trying to feel the smooth, oval deposits your boyfriend had gifted to you 7 nights ago. But, you could barely detect their outline or their presence, wondering how the biological aspect of everything would work. 

“Hey,” Rafayel touched your cheek, trying to get you to look at him. “Are you alright? Tell me what’s on that pretty mind, lovely.”

“It’s just,” you struggled to speak, and had to take a few, deep breaths to keep calm. “Is this really happening? You really want me to get pregnant with your babies?” 

In response, his violet eyes softened, and Rafayel steps down from the tub, moving towards you and getting to one knee. He grasped your hands, bringing them in his damp ones and squeezed them reassuringly. “You can always say ‘no’, my little muse. I’m not forcing you to carry my eggs if you don’t want to, though I do wish with every fiber of my being that you would. Nothing would make me happier than to know the only woman I’ve ever loved will be the one to carry my heirs and the future of Lemuria inside of her.”

When he said it that way…

The idea of saving an entire civilization appealed to your naturally altruistic nature, and you couldn’t deny the allure of being the one person whom Rafayel trusted to go on this journey with. Besides, your lover would never let anything happen to you—he would be there with you every step of the way to take care of you and the babies, just like he promised before. And you know he will keep his promises till the end of time. 

You nodded. “Alright. The Fertile Moon. Half-Lemurian babies. Let’s do it.” 

Rafayel gently tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, his voice low and gentle. 

“Are you sure? I mean, the choice to decline or accept is yours. I will be gentle, but tonight is one of the nights where I’m afraid nature vs. politeness will not be in play, my little muse.” There was a flash of warning in his eyes. You swallowed hard. 

“What do you mean by that?” 

Rafayel’s grip on your hands tighten, and he exhaled a sigh. “It means I might get… rougher… and if you can bear it, I will make it the most pleasurable night of your life, sweetheart.”

You paused, considering his words. “Will you hurt me?” 

He shook his head instantly. “Never.”

“Will you bite me? Maim me?” 

Rafayel shot you a look of exasperation, shaking his head. “No and no. Absolutely nothing will pierce you… well, not too much.”

The addendum stopped you short, and you gave him a cursory look. Rafayel ups the innocent act, gazing at you with his big, indigo eyes which tug on your heartstrings. 

Eventually, you’re swayed by the look of pure hope in those wondrous orbs and you sigh. 

“Okay. Fine. I’ll do it.”

Sealing the deal and taking him off guard, you lean forward, kissing him fully on his shapely lips. “Let’s make some half-mermaid babies tonight.” 

The chill of the night seeped into your bare skin, the skimpy nightgown you wore barely covering your shins and arms. You had to drive back home and change, returning to Rafayel’s home with your heart in your mouth. 

A part of you considered the repercussions of such a deal—the idea of carrying to term a human baby was already daunting, but now you had to factor in the baby being half-Lemurian into the mix.

The doors swung open, as if sensing you and admitting you within the heart of his space. Once drenched in sunshine and heat, Rafayel’s home was now saturated in shades of night, the windows kept open to let in the illumination of the moon’s rays seeping into the white walls and hardstone floors. You followed a trail of roses he left for you, right to the lip of his bedroom door. Heart thudding a mile a minute, you pressed your palms flat on the intricate wood and pushed it open.

Flickering candlelight danced across the walls, shadows growing with your approach towards the bathtub situated in the middle of the room like a crown jewel. Rafayel is nowhere to be seen, but you felt his presence in this space, watching over you—waiting. 

As per his instructions, you sat at the edge of the large tub, big enough to accommodate one human and one undecidedly non-human person. The warmth of the candles gave you enough courage to lift your head and take a steadying breath.

But, that breath stuttered out into a whispery gasp at the feeling of strong arms wrapping around you. Rafayel’s lips found refuge in the crook of your neck, kissing up and down the delicate column of your throat. His palms spanned around your waist, dragging up and down your sides, committing your outline to his memory. 

“My bride,” he muttered huskily. “You’re here.” 

“Mhm hmm,” your voice trembled, and he could feel the fear rocking you apart. “I’m here… Are you ready?”

Rafayel doesn’t comment on the terror he hears in your tone, or how you’re shaking as if an earthquake is tearing you into two. Gently, he pressed a kiss to your temple, running his hands up and down your stomach in gentle, soothing swoops.

“Relax. It’ll be fine. I’m here and I won’t ever let you go, my bride.”

He turned you around, and you were confronted by the sight of his bare chest peeking from past a pale, purple robe, gossamer thin and clinging onto his muscular torso and arms. A smirk plays on his lips when he realized you were gawking at him, your attention a boost to his ego.

“Like what you see, Miss Bodyguard?” 

Before you could reply, he slipped his fingers in between yours, tugging you closer to the bathtub. Rafayel unties his robe, letting it fall to the ground and you take it as your cue to remove your nightgown, as well. 

Though getting naked in front of Rafayel was something you had done many, many times before, this is the first time you felt a spike of fear run up your spine. Your breathing came out in stuttering exhales, and you managed to slip the diaphanous material off your body, revealing your bare skin to his wandering eyes. The heat of his gaze was like a hot brand, and you could feel it tangibly caressing the expanse of your skin, imprinting your curves onto his artistic eye. 

“You look beautiful, my bride.” 

Rafayel gently guided you into the tub, and you shivered when your toes sank in the water, finding it pleasantly warmed. He got in after you, pulling you close to his chest, hooking his chin over your shoulder. The both of you stayed like this for a little while, holding each other close. The briny scent of the ocean floating in from the wide open sunroof above gave this moment a fairylandish feel, making you think you were in the middle of some fantastical dream.

You felt his lips right on your jugular, kissing over your pulse point and shivered.

“Don’t be afraid,” his voice had taken on a deeper quality, rumbling against your chest. “I won’t hurt you. It will feel good, my bride.” 

Your eyes wandered to the sky, watching the moon burn at her brightest. Rafayel, too, took a moment to absorb the spectacular celestial sight shining from his window, his arms tightening around you.

Something about the romantic and sensual atmosphere finally got to you, and you turned around, straddling yourself on his lap. Your naked cunt bumped against his thigh, and you felt him shiver from the close proximity. 

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you hummed, leaning forward, close enough for your lips to touch, but not fully. “Raffie… I’m not afraid. As long as you’re here, I’m not scared.”

That was his cue to give into his primal, oceanic urges. Hungrily, he claimed your lips, those large hands moving to your waist to drag you flush against his body. 

His quicksilver tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring it slowly; his hands roaming across your body, caressing you with a touch full of desire and need.

“Rafayel…” 

He broke the kiss, leaving a string of spit connecting your lower lip to his, hanging tenuously like a heart about to break. 

Your lover darted his tongue out, lapping at your bottom lip, his teeth following suit to dig into the plush flesh. He repositioned you upon his lap, tangling his fingers in your hair to tilt your face to the side so he could slot his mouth closer to yours.

This kiss under the moonlight, sensual and sweet, stole a part of your soul and refused to give it back. 

Perching you on his strong, muscular thigh, Rafayel dipped his head lower, dragging lazy kisses down your jaw, your collarbone, his warm mouth wrapping around your nipples. His tongue teased them, getting them hard. You squirmed in his lap, getting wetter at his every touch. 

“Feels good, my bride?” He hummed, mouth still latched around your hard flesh and you whimpered, nodding.

Rafayel grinned at your responsiveness, hearing your whispery plea of his name passing your lips. 

His mouth was better than good—it was downright sinful and delicious. It felt like every sensation was amplified tonight, your body keyed up to receive his ministrations. 

Please, you whispered into the dim night illuminated only by candles that bounced off the whiteness of his grin. Touch me more.

“As you wish, my bride.” 

Rafayel paid special attention to your nipples, tweaking them, sucking on them, brushing his thumbs over the hard nubs. Your hips began to drag across the muscular plane of his thigh, rutting and twitching as you struggled to relieve the ache in between your legs.

“More,” you’re desperate to get closer, to feel him deeper in your body; needing to satiate the lust his touches ignited deep inside of you. 

Rafayel hummed, a grin tugging on the corners of his mouth as he tasted your desperation, your need to get off. 

“Mhm, I know,” he mumbled in between sloppy kisses raining down your neck, taking his time to taste your skin. “I know, baby. But, we’re going to take it slow tonight, yeah?” 

Rafayel would be the death of you. His duality would never cease to render you speechless; bratty, pouty boyfriend in one breath and then suddenly, a teasing force of nature determined to get under your skin and leave you begging.

Your whine graced his heated ears, and he chuckled.

Rafayel… no… stop teasing me…

Already begging? Your lover raised his lips to the juncture of your neck, biting down softly to bring the blood up, leaving his mark there. That was quick—thought you’d hold up longer than that. 

Your indignant sounds were masked by his mouth moving back to yours, kissing your protests away.

What was it you wanted to say, my little conch shell? He teased, trailing his fingers down your thighs, igniting goosebumps on your arms. I’m a tease? I’m not giving you what you want? 

He adjusted himself in the tub, the water starting to run cool, sloshing over the edges to dampen the surrounding floor. He lifted you higher into his lap, running his warmed, slightly chapped lips down to your sternum, mapping his way down to the part of you which needed him the most.

You know, I’ve never done this with anyone… Rafayel whispered against your flushed skin, nudging you up further until your pelvis bumped his jaw. You’re always the first one I try new things with… his fingertips glide across your thighs, gently nudging them apart.

You make me feel human—make me feel alive. His words are lost in your skin as he muffled them with his kisses, leaving a trail of heat in between your thighs, leading right to your pulsing core. Rafayel can’t help but chuckle at the sight of your little, twitchy clit, waiting for his tongue or mouth to give her some attention. 

His touches are languid, caressing your knees, your shins and thighs. He moved his fingers to where you needed him the most, focusing his touch on your throbbing clit, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the slick bundle of nerves which seemed to pulse his name with every touch.

“Rafayel,” your moans saturated the air, a blessing to his ears.

“Mhm… yes, my little conch shell? Feels good, doesn’t it?” His indigo eyes looked at you with pure hunger like a deadly current threatening to pull you under. 

Yes, your breathy whimpers boosted his ego, drawing a smirk on his handsome face. The heat that he sets off in your body when he placed his mouth right on your inner thigh was nothing compared to the smoldering flame about to engulf you when he sucked a hickey onto your soft flesh. 

“I can smell you—you’re practically drenched,” Rafayel slurred in between nipping kisses to your thighs, determined to leave his mark wherever he went. I just want to… fuck… he trailed off.

“What?” 

Your breathless question made him laugh.

In answer to your winded curiosity, he brought his mouth closer, right to the apex of your thighs and exhaled, warm breath fanning across your folds.

“I just want to eat you whole.” 

Warmth engulfed your cunt the second he murmured those seductive words, and your head was thrown back, your moan rebounding across the room. 

You were so worked up, it was insane how you haven’t exploded yet. The taste of you saturated his tongue, dripping right onto his chin and Rafayel lapped you up like you were the water of life, drinking you down in desperate gulps. 

Those pretty indigo eyes hazed over, his long lashes obscuring his gaze into half-mast as he worked your pussy over with his mouth. Using a slender finger, Rafayel teased past the tight muscles of your entrance, sinking down to his knuckle, curling it forward in a come hither motion as your hips stuttered and bucked.

Rafayel… oh, fuck…

He grinned at the sound of your trembling moans, and stretched your perfect cunt around a second finger, applying pressure to your golden spots, determined to make you see stars. 

Without warning, you felt the girth of his thigh transforming underneath you, growing slicker, harder. Scale-like. The texture of his wrists you were grasping tightly became harder, the skin toughening and lengthening. 

Water sloshed noisily down the rim of the tub, and from the corner of your eye, you caught the flick of an iridescent tail in mid-air.

Rafayel continued to eat you out, oblivious to your wide eyes and hitched breathing, needing to feel you shatter around his fingers. Latching his lips right to your nub, he traced his name right into your sensitive clit, enjoying how your thighs were tensing and trembling, struggling to hold yourself upright. 

One large palm guided you to ride his tongue, grasping your hip and helping you glide yourself back and forth over the flat of his pink muscle. 

Your fingers curled over the edge of the wide tub, one hand tangling in his hair to hold him closer. 

Fuck, so good, your moans goad him on. So good, Rafayel. More, please… more…

He gave it to you, lapping at your swollen folds, feeling your juices stain his mouth, drip down his jaw. 

The needy twitch of your hips and the tremble in your moans spurred him on to double his speed and precision, racing to get you right to the edge. From the depths of the deep tub, you felt something hard stirring against your thigh, the thick, scaly ridge a familiar rasp as it grazed against your soft skin. 

“I’m close,” your quivering moan made his blood thump harder in his veins. “So close…” 

Your orgasm washed over you like a hot tide, nearly making you buckle and lose your footing. Luckily, Rafayel hurried to clasp his larger, merman hands around your waist, holding you upright and slowly easing you down onto his lap. Your quivering moans go straight to his cock, and he was already hard and ready when you sank into his embrace, the tip of his monster girth poking your lower belly.

Without a second thought, you reached for his length, stroking his Lemurian cock with a loose grip, feeling his entire body constrict under your touch. 

Rafayel expelled a soft groan, the back of his head thumping against the smooth marble of the bathtub’s edge. Scaly and with bumps that felt heavenly between your gummy walls, his cock was a wonder of nature that always left you speechless. Hooded indigo eyes appraised you, and his tongue briefly darted out to touch the corner of his mouth.

“You’re becoming more bold and audacious day by day.” 

Drunk from your orgasm, you managed to give him a grin. “What did you say again—the most pleasurable evening I’ve ever had?” 

Arching a brow, Rafayel snorted. “So, jacking me off is your idea of a pleasurable evening?” 

Your lips touched his ear, warm breath fanning across his skin. “What if I said yes?” 

Putty in your hands and susceptible to your every will, Rafayel had no choice but to let you have your way with him. His hips ticked, pushing his cock further up your weak grip, aching to earn more friction.

“I would say you got me there,” his voice lowered into a husky whisper. “You’re a handful, you know that?” 

“But, I’m all yours to handle.” 

His smooth and low chuckle sparked a shiver up your spine, that hazy grin and heavy lidded eyes making your stomach flip.

“Mhm, that you are, sweetheart.” 

The water rippled from the motions of his hips undulating to match your strokes, a pinch appearing on his brow. Despite having a fear of the water, you felt safe in Rafayel’s arms, letting him hold you close as you continue to pleasure him. 

“Do you want to—”

“I think we should—”

He paused, and you giggled at both your eagerness; the simultaneous need. Rafayel’s eyes twinkled with mischief, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. 

Without another word, your lover guided you onto his lap, gently pushing your hand away from his cock and gingerly lifting your hips. 

It started out slow first, with the head of his Lemurian cock slowly breaching you, pushing past the trembling muscle of your spasming cunt. Rafayel was conscious of not slamming into you, knowing you needed time to get used to the sensation of his longer length stretching you out. 

The sensation of his bulbous head sinking through your walls, and the feel of every ridge and bump hitting your swollen spots was enough to draw full body shivers from you. 

“Fuck,” Rafayel shivered, his eyes darkening. 

Your breath tumbled out in a shaky exhale.

Palms flat on his chest, you struggled to sink down on him, the water adding more lubrication to help ease you over his impossibly huge cock. The stretch made sweat bead across your brow and you gasped, rocking your hips forward, trying to take all of him in one go. 

You okay? His mouth on your pulse point soothed you somewhat. 

Nodding, you felt the bite of pain, your muscles protesting.

Rafayel took this chance to play with your nipples, tweaking and tugging on them; when that wasn’t enough, he decided to use his tongue and teeth to get them wet and hard, leaving your body aching for more. His thumb trailed to your clit, rubbing on it as he continued to suckle on your tits, giving them both his undivided attention. 

Your pussy twitched around him and he murmured, let go for me, sweetheart.

The effort it took for you to calm yourself down enough to take him is tremendous, and Rafayel felt a burst of love and adoration for how much you were trying to please him. The hunger you showed to be perfectly good for him incited his need to spoil you even more, and he quickens the circles on your clit, trying to loosen you up so he could bottom out.

Once you were slick enough, Rafayel didn't waste anymore time, guiding you down on the last few inches, kissing you full on the mouth to quell your trembling moans.

“Fuck.” Your cries were intoxicating, driving him mad with desire when he finally sank down to the hilt, a bit of drool dripping from your parted lips. 

Rafayel didn’t hesitate to lap at it, dragging his tongue from your jaw to your chin, tasting the salt of your skin. The moon bathed your skin with pale, silky light, and the artist swore if he wasn’t trying to put his babies in you, he would’ve taken this moment to paint you from scratch. 

A tick of your hips. Your walls trembled around him. 

Guttural groans softened by his lips pressed to your neck reverberated against your skin.

Holy shit, his curses sink past your flesh. Shit, shit—you feel like heaven. 

Please, move. Your begging elicited a hoarse chuckle from the Lemurian.

As you wish, my bride.

Slow, tantric strokes. Rafayel’s grip on your hips was firm and solid. He kept a steady pace, fucking up into you, the tips of his tail flicking past the tub's rim, catching your eye with its iridescent brilliance. 

Every stroke of his ridged cock rubbing against your gummy walls felt like a pulsing nirvana. Throbbing, hot, needy. You were completely Rafayel’s—you belonged fully to the Sea God of your dreams.

Mhm, yeah, he continued to fuck into that same spot, coaxing you with You like that? fuck you like that. Mhm yeah. Uh-huh—good girl. 

The tips of his lilac bangs tickled your neck as he sucked more love bites into your neck, hellbent on marking you up as his own. 

Effortlessly, he turned you in his embrace, encouraging you to press your hands on the bathtub’s edge. This newfound position placed more pressure on your G spot, the tip of his cock nudging that same spot over and over again.

Behind you, Rafayel made it a sport to leave as many hickeys as he could on your nape, your shoulders. The rough scales of his fingertips gripped the plush flesh of your ass, squeezing heartily.

You look so good taking me like this. His rough praise drew goosebumps across your entire body. 

You tipped your head back, dizzy with lust, mouth parting wide open. 

In the dimness of the candlelight, Rafayel’s lilac eyes glimmered like amethysts, his hair shining with an ethereal gleam. 

“My love, do you trust me?” His heated question pressed into the back of your neck pricked your awareness. The stretch and the bite of pain which mingled with pleasure fucked with your mind, drawing you right to the edge where nothing in the world existed beyond you being impaled on his cock.

“Mhm,” your replying moan drew a trembling laugh from him. 

I have something which will make it all feel better… but only if you trust me. 

Rafayel tangled your hair in his fingers, and in this instance, you would’ve done anything for him. 

You nodded.

The pleasure he bestowed on your wrecked body, the gentle way he was asking if he could make you feel even more good, did not prepare you for what he did next. 

One second, your head was tilted back against his chest, and the next, you were plunged face first into the tub water. Your eyes opened wide, your entire body tensing with fear. Eyes burning, you opened your mouth to scream when he yanked you back to the surface, sputtering and crying out his name. 

“Shit.” Rafayel’s movements doubled in speed, fucking up into you like he didn’t respect you one bit. You were panting, gripping the edge of the tub with white knuckles.

“Fuck,” was the only word you could manage to blurt out, the tension in your lower belly tightening.

If it was possible, the sensation of his cock splitting you apart felt even more delirious. Dizzyingly so. 

Your eyes crossed, mouth hanging open, the slick pistoning of his cock in and out of your willing pussy making every nerve ending in your body burst into unending flames.

Raffie… fuck… do it again.

You were pleading for him to hurt you, the taboo nature of such devious desires making your blood pump harder. 

There was no need to tell him twice.

Rafayel grasped the base of your head, and your world disappeared into the bottom of the tub, your body bucking wildly, fighting for oxygen as his cock continued to bulldoze into you. 

He brought you up, and you gasped, coughing loudly. 

Fuck, your voice was gravelly from swallowing some water. Fuck, that was so hot. 

You weren’t the only one who thought so. 

Shit, your lover groaned. I’m close, baby. 

Lavishing you with praise for being so good, Rafayel held you close to his chest, your back bowing to take all of him in. 

You’re amazing, love. My bride, my Queen. You’re going to be the best mother. The best mate. I love you. I love you so much. 

The moonlight scattered across the rippling water, reminding you of that time when he had you right on the seabed and you watched the light breaking above the surface. 

Come for me, my love. His grunts touched the sensitive shell of your ear. Come for me and make me feel good—are you going to be good for me?

Yes, yes. You chant. Yes, I will, Raffie. 

Yes, my bride. Fuck—doing so good. Yeah, yeah. Come, come. Fucking make a mess on me. 

You could never deny Rafayel what he wanted. At his command, you spilled all over him, your muscles tightening, threatening to spit him out of your trembling heat. 

So good, so good for me. Coaxing you through your orgasm, he talked you through it, there for every tremble, every quiver and moan. 

Your pleasure washed over him in waves, and he couldn’t hold back the tide, not when going over and spilling inside of you, claiming you as his, is what he has always wanted since the dawn of time. 

Strings of heat splattered inside of you, filling you to the brim till you thought you could taste him in the back of your throat. 

Rafayel continued to pump his hips, desperately trying to make sure not a single drop goes to waste.

When the comedown hits, it slammed into you hard. The exhaustion mingled with the fatigue of the adrenaline ebbing out of your veins. 

You slumped back into his arms, and Rafayel was careful to slowly ease you off his half-hard cock, holding you close in his embrace. The possessiveness that dripped from his fingertips as they stroked through your hair, the heat of his body, warmed you up in the already cool water. 

The chill permeated through you, though you barely felt it, not when Rafayel was by your side.

A soft kiss was placed on your jaw.

“Was it good?” 

You nodded, hazy and dopey from the rush of hormones. “Beyond perfection.”

Rafayel chuckled at the dopey happiness alighting in your eyes, tightening his grip around your waist, nuzzling his face into your damp neck. Now that his primal instincts were cooling off, he could give your wrecked body the attention it deserved. 

The warmth of his skin seeped into yours. Hard scales turned back to soft flesh, his huge tail transforming into a pair of legs tightening around your midsection, determined to hold you fast to his chest. Languishing in the cool water, you glanced up at the moon, noting a pair of wispy clouds drifting past her luminous facade, reminding you of a couple dancing past a huge celestial spotlight.

Rafayel rubbed your belly with one hand, and you didn’t have to ask him what was on his mind to know his raging thoughts.

Placing your hand upon his, you smile at him over your shoulder. The fall of his lilac hair, the softness in his eyes. It made your heart melt.

“Are you nervous?” 

Your question, seemingly innocent, held a multitude of layers which he could unravel easily enough after having known you for close to a millenia. 

“Of the babies? No,” he answered truthfully. “But, of how will things change between us? Yeah, I’m terrified.”

You readjusted yourself on his lap, facing him, bringing your arms to wrap around his neck. “Are you afraid I’m gonna leave you once I find out your babies are bulging inside of me?” you tease.

Rafayel’s pout was endearing, and you laughed, pinching his cheek. “Raffie… you’re so silly.”

He huffed, his palms drifting to clasp around your hips, pulling you flush to his chest. “Am I so silly or just worried you might still think I’m a freak?”

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head. “Ouch. You really underestimate me, my love. You’d think I’d let you do this if I didn’t want it?” 

Knowing full well how independent and firm you could be, his worries abated slightly, a smirk worming onto his shapely and perfect lips. 

“Of course not, Miss Bodyguard. You would never do anything if you didn’t love it.”

Your eyes softened. “Well, there’s your answer.” Under the luminous moonlight, your embrace tightened around him, bridging the distance between 800 years and this moment where you and Rafayel would finally be a family.

“I only do it because I love you.”

— rbs and feedback are appreciated !!

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or translate my work across other platforms.

[primalsharkman]

Sweet and Spicy

Jo Yuri x M Reader | 🔞 Smut

[idol x manager, she wants u lil bro]

Word Count: 3,654

As you sat down at your bed, in your small studio apartment, taking in the long day you just had, you take stock of everything you had been going through these past few months.

For once in your crappy life, you found a way to turn your quiet days into a job, applying for literally anything on the market. That was when a friend of yours, Jo Yuri, yes, Yuri from IZ*ONE, well, used to be IZ*ONE, found you submitting your resume at the small company she works at.

Intrigued by your looks, she asked the people that was managing her at the time what you were doing there, and they explained that you were applying for a job. Not soon after, there were online calls, and sit-down interviews, and then they gave you the job.

It was a little stressful at first, that's only because you didn't really know what you were doing. All you were told by the people regularly working with Yuri is to just follow her orders and take notes from her old manager, who was going to pursue a new career, and took you under his wing as he guided you to her everyday routines and activities.

You eventually learned how to handle Yuri, from her breakfast, her choice of coffee, towards the end of the day where you make sure she's back at her place safely.

As for Yuri, it never really hit you how soft and sweet she really is. You take care of her very often, and she often reminds you how grateful she is. It's a very difficult job, but Yuri makes it a hundred times easier.

You smiled to yourself as you got ready to sleep, took your phone to scroll through some reels, a text popped up on your screen, it was Yuri.

"U awake?"

You didn't hesitate to reply back, "Yeah, what's up?"

"I'm feeling lonely... :("

"Oh, do you want me to come over?"

"Bring some ramen and fishcakes too please :3"

"Alright, I'll be there in 10"

And just like that, you compromised your comfortable position in bed, and got up again to get your keys and wallet. You grabbed a fresh hoodie and wore some jogging pants before going out to the nearest convenience store to buy Yuri her ramen and fishcakes.

You didn't even think twice, you just went to the convenience store, picked up the food and drove right ahead to her place.

The stairs going up to her apartment were very long, so thank god the elevator is working. After pressing the button and waiting, you were left there with your thoughts. That's when it hit you: You've never been alone with her.

Sure, there are moments during the job which required the two of you to be alone, such as car rides, airplane rides, or the few minutes at the backstage dressing room where all the stylists have gone out and it was just the two of you. But, you two were never left alone in this capacity, in a very private setting, for quite some time, given she invited you over to eat as well.

Shaking away these thoughts were the ding signifying the elevator was there, and along with it, the doors opening. Stepping inside, was just you. As the doors closed, your fate was slowly sealed for the rest of the night.

Another ding rang out, this means you're on her floor now, which meant it was time to step out of the elevator. Carrying the bag of food she requested, you simply walked along the hallway, looking for her door. And then you saw it, Room 1029. This was her door.

The doorbell beside was already calling your name, and you took the chance to press it, where the chime of the bell had echoed in her apartment, making her leave the bed and walk towards her door to let you in.

As she opens the door, you were quite shocked to see what she was wearing. She had her hair tied in a clamp, she wore a black camisole that hugged her top and showed a little bit of her cleavage, and paired with that are black bike shorts, it made it seem like her white legs were greeting you with a smile, and on top of that, she was wearing cute fluffy bunny slippers that completed her look.

"Hi, come in. Thank goodness you're finally here, i'm kinda starving." She said that with a smile, which you can consider a smirk, but you paid little attention to the detail.

"Thank you, I'll cook your ramen, can you point me to the kitchen?" You say as you take your shoes off and set it aside.

"It's right over there, thanks a lot!" She says that with a beam of sunshine on her face.

She offered you some fluffy slippers as well, so you took it. After wearing them, it really is super comfortable, and it made your bare feet feel like it was already in bed.

Going straight to her kitchen, you took out the ramen packs and boiled some water. Yuri went by your side, touching your arm in the process.

"Aren't you wondering why I felt lonely?"

"I was thinking you'd tell me later."

"Well... it's a bit of a long story, but I'd really love to tell you why."

It was almost like teasing, the way her tone sounded during those words. You could only nod as a response, still being clueless as to what Yuri was trying to do, and it made her a little needy, seeing her manager being aloof, trying to bring his walls up to deny her advances. But Yuri hasn't started yet.

"I wanted some good times. My old managers were female, but they provided me whatever I needed, sending over some, company." Yuri is rubbing her palm up and down your arm now.

"Good times? What does that mean?" You ask, confused by what she meant.

"It's a very lonely industry, I used to be in a group, so I was never really alone back then, but these days, I find myself more and more lonely, and I've been looking for people to... spend time with."

"So me? Your manager?"

"Ah... but you could be more than just my manager." Yuri winks.

You take the ramen and pour it out on two bowls, and prepare her fishcakes as well. "Like what?"

She takes the pot from you, and puts it down gently on the sink before walking back and caressing your chest.

"I'd be happy to show you later, oppa."

The tension in that room really went high once she said that word in a sultry tone. It was getting really dangerous, and it could boil at any minute, and it made you scared. If things did happen, you could get fired, and that'll be the least of your problems.

"Ah... Yuri, the food is ready..." You look away, staring at the prepared food beside you.

She smirks and takes her hands off of you. "Okay, let's have a warm meal first."

You breathe a sigh of relief as the both of you bring the food to the small dining table nearby, and she deliberately sat beside you, in a very close manner.

She takes a sip of the noodles, and hummed in delight. "Ahh... you got the delicious ones, this is great!"

"I like this brand too. It's my hangover meal."

She raises her brows with a smile. "You drink heavy, oppa?"

There she goes again. It just hits a nerve within you, and every time she says it you just want to throw yourself out the window before you do anything stupid.

"No... just casually... when there's an event."

"I see." She says as she goes back to sipping her noodles.

The tension is higher than ever now. It was very difficult nursing a raging boner in your pants while hearing her say those words, thank goodness she hasn't looked down yet.

Unfortunately for you, that's exactly what she's going for. You try to stay focused, sipping on your ramen and praying to god she's not planning any more funny stuff. But Yuri was planning for more funny stuff, and she looked down to see a bulge on your pants, and she smiled to herself knowing that she has won, without even laying a finger on you.

In your head, everything was circling and you were getting dizzy thinking about a lot of things. All the clearer and innocent thoughts have been thrown out the window, and you think back to the way she answered the door for you earlier, with nearly everything just exposed, and it got your cock twitching with excitement while you desperately try to think about something disgusting to remove that boner before Yuri says anything about it.

"Is there a phone in your pants, or are you just excited to see me?" Yuri smiles and traces her fingers along your thighs, dangerously close to your crotch, then you freeze.

There was no response. Your brain has short-circuited, and the neurons that your brain was supposed to send to your mouth to start talking has been neutralized by this girl, your supposed boss, who has her hand inching closer, and closer, nearing the inevitable part of touching that raging boner you had been hiding, and as time slows down, her pinky got there first.

She had a small feel of your cock. Albeit far from actually touching your cock, she was there. She was still inching, until her entire hand was laid there on top of your crotch, and she was smiling.

"Oppa, are you okay?" She asked, smiling, hoping to break you out of your frozen trance.

"Yuri..."

She stood from her chair, leaned to your side, and wrapped her arms around your neck before she whispers, "Why did you have to wear such a thick fabric tonight? This would've been so much easier."

"I'm not sure... how to respond, Yuri. What are you doing to me...?"

She breaks a smile as she kisses your cheek, "It's pretty obvious. I called you over because I'm lonely, and I needed a man to fuck me. And you are so hot oppa, I've been wanting you ever since you applied for this job, I wanted them to hire you, and I have been waiting until you're comfortable enough to come to my home, and use my body as you wish."

Your cock had viciously twitched, and it really hurt for it to be in your pants, and that was all the response Yuri needed from you.

"Come on, let's go to my room, get these clothes out of the way." She giggles as she says it.

"W-wait... I might get fired."

"For what? Doing your job?" She smiles again as she takes your hand in hers.

"This... is part of the job?" You look at her with an eyebrow up, confused.

"Your job includes taking care of my every need, and right now, I need you. Don't worry, okay? Everything will be okay, I promise."

"None of this will get out?"

"I should be the one asking you that, cutie." Yuri smiles again, that damned smile.

It finally makes you crack a smile, and you wholeheartedly embrace the situation you are in, so you lean in slowly and kiss her.

She returns the kiss with a strong fervor, and cups your cheeks as she deepens the kiss. Your hands roam around the side of her body, before landing on her hips, hugging her figure and pulling her closer to you.

Yuri moans in the kiss, and this made you hungrier, more needy, and started kissing her with a burning passion, and those touches on her hips turn into something more of a primal instinct, you grabbed her ass, and carried her. In turn, Yuri wrapped her legs around you as she got even deeper into the kiss, whining and moaning while you try to walk towards her room with Yuri pointing out where to go.

Once you were in front of her door, fiddling with the doorknob, Yuri laughs at you cutely and you give her a sly smile, before finally looking down and opening the door to her room.

Her room is pretty cluttered, pink walls, with her dressing table with a vanity mirror attached to it, a lot of makeup products scattered on the table, her hair dryer splayed on the chair, and some clothes hanging on the chair itself. There is another table across, her laptop right there, along with some pens and paper, you're assuming she's studying something, going to online classes.

Then there's her bed, it's a really comfortable looking bed, with weighted blankets, and a lot of stuff toys on the pillows, since they all look so different, you can assume that those are the gifts she's received from fans over the years.

You walk her towards the bed and plop her down, and she starts clearing her bed out, taking her plushies and stuffed toys and tossing it towards the chair near the bed, stacking them on top of each other. You sat on her bed, waiting for her to finish, and she flashes you a quick giggle while she's clearing her bed out, which earned a sweet smile from you.

Once she was done, she took a pillow and placed it on the floor in front of you, before kneeling on it, "I think you deserve something from me, after I really made your life hard." She says as she moves her hands towards the band of your thick sweatpants and pull it down slowly, along with your boxers, revealing your throbbing cock, which earned a relieving gasp from you, finally letting it breathe after getting set free.

"Ooh..." Her fingers wrap around your length, as she takes into stock the girth of it all, looking at it up and down while she slowly strokes your cock to understand its length.

The way her fingers are moving elicits a low moan from you, it feels like she knows where to hit you, and it feels really good. She hasn't even done anything that's going to break you just yet.

"It's quite big... but I think I can take this." She closes her eyes and places small kisses on the frenulum, trailing them downward, and takes your balls into her mouth, while stroking your length slowly. Her eyes drift from appreciating the length of your cock towards your eyes, making eye contact with you.

You see the hunger in her eyes, as she takes your balls gracefully and using her other hand to grip you properly and stroke you well, and damn does it feel so good with every single lick, and every single stroke with her hand just feels like heaven.

It's pretty obvious that she has done this before, the way she knows how to jerk you off, her licks on your underside with just enough pressure, her thumbing your frenulum while she spits on the head of your cock to make everything feel wetter and so much better.

Twitch after twitch, she notices you gripping her sheets, trying not to cum right then and there.

"I know I'm that good but, already?" She smiles and lets your cock go, leaving you with an empty feeling and thrusting into the air wanting for more.

"You're cute, oppa. I'll suck your cock, but promise me not to cum, okay?"

"Okay..."

She puts her hands behind her back, smirking and taking in the head of your cock in her mouth, without a single touch. She slowly lowers herself, deeper and deeper into your cock, until her nose touches your pelvic area, and her beautiful mouth has enveloped your cock.

You were struggling, you could feel her throat opening and closing on your cock and it's unbelievably difficult to maintain your composure, doing your best not to bust right then and there. You keep your hand right above her head, wanting to touch her and hold her right there but you freeze, your hand just shaking in the air while your eyes are rolling to the back of your head.

Yuri slowly comes back up, and you feel the cool air on the base of your cock again, but it didn't last long as she starts bobbing her head faster, sucking your cock passionately and trailing her eyes towards you.

Looking at you just made her want to break you more, sucking your cock faster, and finally using her hands to fondle your balls at the same time.

The pressure and the pleasure of her blowjob is making you moan so loud, her spit trailing down the length of your cock, down to your balls, her chin, and the floor underneath.

"Yuri... oh my fucking god... I don't think I can last any longer if you keep that up."

She suddenly stops, edging you, and smiles as she wipes the drool off her chin and giggles, "Okay, I'll stop now."

"W-what...?"

"You can't cum yet. I still need you hard."

"But.. I'm so close..."

"Nope. You promised not to cum yet." She smiles and stands, taking her pillow and dusting it off before tossing it back on the bed.

"You're mean."

"Am I?" Her camisole comes off, revealing a cute pair of tits, and asks you to do the same.

You finally take your hoodie off, as well as your shirt, tossing it across the room with the rest of your clothes. Now it's just Yuri in her shorts, and your eyes are locked towards her boobs.

"Okay oppa, fuck me." Yuri slowly takes off her shorts, tosses it away, and you finally see her pussy, which is unbelievably wet.

You grab her and place her down the bed, spreading her legs and gliding two of your fingers down on her, earning a cute moan.

She grabs your cock, still wet from her spit, and grazes your cock head on her slit, earning louder moans. She tries to insert it herself, being very impatient, and without a care, you plunged it inside her deep.

"Ahh! Fuck!" She moans as your cock slides in easily, fucking her relentlessly without any build-up.

Her arms wrap around your head while you bury your lips into her neck, with her moaning louder with each strong thrust.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! Don't stop! Keep going hard! Yes!" Earlier she was breaking you, and now that you have control, fucking her into delight, you're breaking her.

"Take this fucking cock, Yuri. You love this fucking cock don't you?"

"Yes! I love that cock! Please please please!"

She was creaming down there, getting white cream all over the length of your cock and down towards the bed, she's unbelievably horny, and her legs are shaking again and again, cumming over and over without you stopping, or skipping a beat.

Her eyes have rolled behind her head and her grip on your neck has loosened, her body splayed down the bed taking your massive pounding again and again.

You've managed to hold your cum off now, and you're feeling that familiar feeling down there, and you just can't hold it any longer.

"Yuri... I'm gonna fucking cum..."

"Don't you dare pull out."

"What...?"

"Finish inside me, deep inside, make an even bigger mess than I am making, please."

"I could get in trou-"

"Just fucking cum inside! I'm safe! Please! Ohh my fucking god!"

You feel her pussy tighten and loosen again, signifying that she came for an uncountable number this night, and you finally break, spraying load after load of thick cum deep inside her, mixing with her creamy pussy and making a huge creampie mess right then and there, spilling out of her pussy and leaking on the sheets.

"There... fuck... there..." You say as you fall down beside her, pulling out and letting her the mixed juices of her cum and yours inside her pussy leak down.

"That... was the best creampie I have ever gotten." She pants as she closes her eyes.

You hug her, "We should change your sheets before we sleep..."

"Okay..." She wobbles up, her legs shaking, making you smile, because you did that. You made her cum again and again and now she could barely walk.

You asked where her sheets are and changed everything yourself. Afterwards, you took a towel and cleaned her off before finally going back to bed so you two could cuddle.

"I'm glad you're my manager, oppa."

"You can drop the oppa act now, Yuri, I fucked you already."

"No, I mean it. On top of being a handsome dude, you fuck like a machine, so much better than any guy I've ever had. But I need you to promise something..."

"What is it?" You take her chin and make her look up at you.

"You know that my career is... pretty unstable. I don't get schedules on a regular basis, or even make music a guarantee." She says as you nod.

"Promise you'll stay through the rough times? You've been really good to me, you're an amazing manager and I know you're here for a paycheck, but it would be really great if you stayed."

You plant a kiss on her lips and smile, "Yuri, I'll stay. It times get rough, I'll do anything with you to get a paycheck. I know you're not in a stable position, but we'll get there. I'll help find you opportunities, whether that be a comeback or an acting gig, maybe something else, but I'll stay, for you."

"Thank you." She smiles as she gives you a softer kiss this time.

"I love you." She says one more time before closing her eyes.

"I love you too." You reply. Whatever love means to Yuri, you know you're in for the long haul, whether you like it or not.

-FIN-

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Here you go Glassys, I hope you like this one. If you all want, you could send me some inspiration for fics, pictures or prompts, go ahead. I probably won't do requests, but short inspirations would be awesome. Thanks for the support thus far, and I love you all.

Just keep swimming.

-Shark

[jisungiesvzz]

Give Into Me

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: angst (if u squint), kissing, kind of public touching (no one sees), possibility of being heard (you were), fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), getting interrupted/caught, hint of Minsung’s whatevership :)

Word Count: 2.5k (ish)

P.S. first time writing smth like this so bear with me

Y’all already know the drill: this isn’t proofread so lmk if I’ve missed any warnings or need to fix any grammar/spellings ;)

—————

It was close to midnight when you and the other members finally arrived back at the dorms after a long day at the studio. Once you stepped inside the dorm, you took off your shoes and immediately  headed down the hallway to your room. You stopped in your tracks and turned around as you heard Felix call out to you.

“Y/n-ah, are you gonna hang out here with us?”

“Uh, let me put on some lounge clothes first.” You replied, sounding more drained than you intended.

Felix nodded and you continued your short journey to your room. You quickly changed into a grey hoodie and black sweatpants and slid your favorite white fluffy socks on. 

You exited your room and sat down on the edge of the empty couch, seeing that the other members hadn’t finished changing yet. 

A couple minutes went by as you absentmindedly scrolled through a random social media app on your phone. Your scrolling was interrupted when someone slumped onto the cushion next to you. You averted your eyes from your phone to see that Hyunjin was now taking up the rest of the couch. His eyes were glued on you.

“You do realize that seven more people have to sit here right?” You let out a soft giggle.

Hyunjin playfully rolled his eyes, “well they aren’t here right now.”

You gave him a look and he sighed sitting up and resting his head on your shoulder. Your heart swarmed with butterflies at his close proximity.

You’ve always had lingering feelings for Hyunijn but never said anything in fear of messing up your friendship and the groups dynamic.

“What are you watching?”

“Uh- I’m just scrolling through random stuff,” you stammered.

Hyunjin let out a soft laugh at your sudden nervousness.

“Let me see,” he said, leaning impossibly closer to you.

One of his legs was now draping over your lap and his head was basically on your chest. His hand touched yours as he turned your phone towards him slightly. Your mind was in a whole other world as you tried to register all of the sudden physical contact. You were immediately brought back to reality as you felt him staring at you. 

The moment you made eye contact with Hyunjin, he spoke in a low whisper. 

“Do I make you nervous?”

The question caught you off guard as it was so straight forward. You started tripping over your words.

“W-what? Why would you think t-that?”

Hyunjin smirks and leans closer to your face, leaving barely any space between your lips. His eyes flicker to your lips as he places his hand on your chest.

“Your heart beat’s giving you away,” he murmured.

You swallowed hard not knowing what to do. Your heart was beating a thousand miles per hour and you had the sudden urge to smash your lips against his.

Hyunjin seemed to have read your mind because within seconds, he had his lips attached to yours in a slow, sensual kiss. You reciprocated the kiss, melting into in his touch when he moved his hand to your cheek to deepen the kiss. He swiped his tongue along your bottom lip, asking for permission and you open your mouth to let him in. 

Before the kiss could get any more heated, you heard one of the members doors open. You hesitantly pulled back from the kiss but Hyunjin chased after your lips. 

You could hear Felix and Seungmin’s voices getting closer to the living room. You placed your hand on Hyunjin’s chest, applying some pressure to break him from your lips.

“Jinnie… they’re gonna see us,” you said out of breath.

Hyunjin stayed close to your face for a moment before untangling from you, a mischievous smirk on his face. 

“Oh my god today wiped me out,” Felix said exhausted as he slumped down on the opposite end of the couch. Seungmin sat down in the middle only letting out a quiet sigh of relief as he made contact with the couch.

The air around you felt thick as Hyunjin was still shoulder to shoulder with you. There was tension in the air between you and him but the other two didn’t seem to notice. You shuffled in your seat which caught Felix’s attention.

“Y/n-ah you alright? You seem kinda off ever since we got back,” Felix inquired.

“Uh… y-yeah no, like you said, you know today was… a lot,” you stuttered out, doing your best not to seem flustered.

You looked at Seungmin who had his eyebrow raised and was side-eyeing you and Hyunjin. Felix just hummed in acknowledgment, trying to put the pieces together but eventually shrugged off any suspicions. 

You heard the doors to the other members rooms opening and closing and soon enough, everyone came piling in.

 Jisung and Minho laid down next to each other by your feet on the floor. Bangchan had his back on the couch between Felix’s legs and was back hugging Jeongin while Changbin had wedged himself between Hyunjin and Seungmin.

“Yah! Binnie hyung could you be ANY closer?” Seungmin complained.

“You’re the one in the middle of the couch!” Changbin complained back.

“Yah! Both of you be quiet!” Bangchan intervened.

The two boys went back and forth until Bangchan grabbed a pillow and threw it at them.

“Seungmin scoot over and be quiet.”

Seungmin obliged and scooted over, giving Changbin a massive side-eye.

During the chaos, Jeongin had picked up the TV remote and picked out a movie to watch. The TV was at a steady volume as everyone settled down. Hyunjin had put a blanket over the two of you and laid his head on your chest again.

He was acting so innocent after basically swallowing you whole not too long ago.

How is he so calm?

Your heart skipped a beat as you felt a hand on your thigh. You looked down and saw the outline of Hyunjins hand under the blanket. You felt him massage your thigh and you shuffled from your position on the couch accidentally bumping Jisung on the ground. He turned around to look up at you and you whispered a strained ‘sorry’. He shrugged and turned back around, luckily not noticing where Hyunjin’s hand was placed.

He continued riding his hand up your thigh and stopped at your clothed heat, applying slight pressure. You leaned your head back, breath hitching as you bit your lip, biting back a whimper. Your head shot back up as you felt a hand wrap lightly around your ankle.

You looked down to see Jisung looking up at you again.

“Are you okay?” He mouthed, his boba eyes softening.

You nodded your head, giving the best reassuring smile you could. His eyes narrowed as if he wanted to believe you but Minho pulled his attention away by rolling on top of him and burying his face in Jisung’s neck. 

Hyunjin started rubbing circles on your clit and you cleared your throat.

“Guys I’m actually gonna head off to bed, I’m dozing off,” you said more calmly than you expected.

“What? Already?” Jeongin whined.

“One more episode? Pleasee.” Felix begged.

You removed Hyunjin’s hand from your heat and sighed, “I really want to but I can’t keep my eyes open.”

You got up from the couch, hoping that you sounded believable. You dashed to your room and shut the door letting out a relieved sigh when you heard the door click shut. You were so unbelievably aroused and shocked by what just happened. 

Hyunjin kissed me. And touched me. Fuck.

You went to go lay down in your bed when you heard your door creak open and click shut again. You already knew who it was.

You stood in the middle of the room, back to the door. Slow footsteps approached you as your breathing sped up. The footsteps stopped directly behind you and you could feel his breath on your neck.

Two hands grabbed your waist and spun you around. You gasped when you were met face to face with Hyunjin. His lips so close to yours, his gaze was desperate, filled with want and need.

“Why’d you run off?” he whispered.

“I uh- I couldn’t… you-”

You were cut off when he cupped your cheeks and pulled you into a hot and hungry kiss. You hesitantly melted into him once more and wrapped your hands around his biceps. He walked you back into the bed, never faltering from the kiss until you were laying flat on the bed.

His hands traveled across your body. He tugged at the bottom of your shirt asking for permission. You nodded your head and he wasted no time in pulling it over your head.

He started kissing and sucking on your neck and you let out a soft moan at the sensation. He left unmistakable marks along your neck. His kisses traveled down between your breasts and down to your stomach where he tugged at the waistband of your pajama pants.

“Wait- Hyunjin,” you whimpered.

Hyunjin kept kissing your stomach, lingering above your waistband. His fingers traced under your waistband and wrapped around your underwear. 

He looked up at you through his eyelashes, “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“The m-members are in the other room,” you said breathlessly.

Hyunjin removed his hand from your underwear and dragged his hands back up to your stomach, holding your waist. He leaned back up to your face leaving quick kitten licks up your body. 

He leaned down to your ear grazing his lips against it, “So what?”

You opened your mouth to respond but Hyunijn suddenly pulled your pants off causing you to gasp. He sucked at your neck again ripping a moan from your throat and you quickly covered your mouth with your hand. He pulled your hand away from your mouth.

“Jinnie they’re g-gonna hear,” you let out a muffled moan from biting your lip.

“Let them,” he said a bit quiet from his face being buried in your neck, “You know you like this.”

He broke away from your neck and took off his shirt, throwing it to a corner of the room. He kissed you passionately as his hands traveled down to your underwear again and pushed them aside. You gasped into his mouth at the feeling of the cool air on your heat. His fingers slid up and down your wet folds and he smirked into the kiss.

“You’re already so wet for me.”

He pushed two fingers into you causing you to moan into the kiss and he took the opportunity to  slide his tongue into your mouth. The kiss became wet and sloppy as he began pumping his fingers in and out of you at a steady but agonizing pace.

“Mmmh, faster Jinnie,” you whined, placing your hands on his chest and arching your hips into his hand. He placed his hand on your abdomen forcing your hips back down so he was in complete control. He dragged his lips down to your heat and sucked on your clit. You moaned loudly at the sensations he was giving you, hands flying to his hair to hold onto something - anything. You felt the familiar knot in your stomach and your walls started clenching around his fingers. He knew you were close and sucked your clit harder, pumping his fingers into you faster and deeper hitting your g-spot effortlessly. 

“Aah- I’m close Jinnie, I’m gonna-” your words became incoherent as Hyunjin flicked your clit with his tongue bringing you over the edge and releasing around his fingers. He detached from your clit, massaging it with his thumb to ride out your high. Hyunjin leaned back up to your face and attached his lips to yours, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth. You moaned into his mouth again, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue.

You broke away from the kiss breathless, your forehead pressing against his.

 “That was… so fucking hot,” Hyunjin teased, looking down at your pussy that was leaking some of your release.

“Can I touch you?” you pleaded, a sudden urge to feel him washing over you as you eye the rock hard bulge in his pants. Hyunjin was taken aback by your sudden confidence boost but melted into you when you placed your hand on his bulge, slowly massaging it.

“Fuck Y/n, d-don’t do that,” he tried muffling his whimpers by kissing you but you knew the effect you were starting to have on him. He continued slowly kissing you as you undid his belt with one hand and massaging is dick in the other. 

You jumped when you heard a knock on the door, immediately  breaking away from Hyunjin making him groan at the loss of contact.

“Are you okay in there y/n?” you heard Felix call out.

“Y-yeah I’m fine!” You tried to sound believable but you were still aroused and out of breath. Hyunjin snickered at your fucked out state.

“You sure? You were making some… questionable noises.” It sounded like Felix regretted saying that the moment the words left his mouth. With that, Hyunjin let out a laugh but quickly covered his mouth. You stared at him in shock and smacked his arm.

“Was that…? Y/n is Hyunjin in there with you?”

You immediately shoved Hyunjin off you when you heard the door slowly open. 

“Wait- Felix don't!" you exclaimed as Hyunjin tried covering your body with a blanket.

Felix walked in and immediately yelped when he saw you two shuffling to hide under the sheets.

“Oh my god!!”

“Dude, get out!” Hyunjin threw a pillow at Felix which he successfully dodged by slightly closing the door.

You heard various foot steps coming towards your room along with muffled voices and your began to race as you reached for your clothes.

“Yah! What’s all the fuss about?” Bangchan said from down the hall.

“Nothing!” You and Hyunjin yelled out as Hyunjin leapt up to shove Felix out of the room, seeing as he had more clothes in than you. Once Felix was fully out the room, Hyunjin shut the door turning and leaning his back on the door. You were to shocked by what just happened to comprehend what the boys outside the door were gossiping about.

Hyunjin let out a shaky sigh then burst out laughing. You cocked a brow at him.

“What could possibly be so funny at a moment like this?”

“Sorry, sorry it’s just- you’re cute when you’re flustered that’s all.” He said between a shaky laugh.

You dramatically sigh pulling the blanket over your head with a groan. You suddenly feel the bed dip beside you and you gasp when two legs hover over you. Hyunjin pulls the blanket away from your face to reveal your flushed state.

“Don’t get shy on me now,” he teased. “We were just getting started.”

[thecordelialetters]

The Art of Science

Viktor x artist!fem!reader

WC: 1.4k

An unlikely meeting of a lonely scientist and a student of the arts finding the beauty in themselves and each other.

Viktor never considered himself beautiful. His dimly lit room contained the basic human needs, a bed, a desk, and a sofa, all provided by the academy. There were no big mirrors besides the foggy one that sat above his bathroom sink. He barely glanced at it other than to fix his bedhead. The bags under his eyes and paling skin were hard to look at. Viktor believed in his work; he couldn't care less about vanity when he poured his energy into the lab daily. In the same way, he cared about his looks he gave the same effort into cultivating relationships. Like the mirror, Viktor didn't spare a glance at someone who wasn't interested in conversing about his projects or his vision for a better world. You were the complete opposite. You took life one step at a time, a personification of stopping to smell the roses come to life. As an artist, you look to beauty in the everyday. Perhaps it was fate your paths crossed, usually, you never dared enter the science wing of the academy but you had finished your painting early and wanted to go on a stroll to clear your mind. It was intimidating being around the brightest minds in Piltover. Most of them looked down on your profession. What was art compared to science? They'd mock you as you passed them, believing their work was revolutionary and way more important than a simple painting. It unnerved you but you'd never show it. A string of curses left Viktor's lips at another failed attempt at the Hexcore. Progress day was just a few weeks away and he had nothing to show for. As he hit his hand on the table in frustration, the vibration pushed the lab door open. The light from the small room shone on your face as you passed. Hearing a man's frustration you cautiously peaked your head through the door. You couldn't see exactly who was in the room but you could make out his back. The man was slender but had broader shoulders clad in a maroon button-up and white vest. His hair was a deep brown that flitted out over his ears. The room was messy, not as messy as your studio. You could see the genius behind the papers strewn over the desks and the many machines being worked on with the smell of oil in the air. Feeling the unusual sensation of being watched, Viktor turned his head to the side finding the door had been breached open. With a cramped hand, smeared graphite from all the writing he had been doing, he grabbed his cane and made his way to close the door. He pushed the opening gently finding the scene of you sitting on the floor, scribbling furiously in your notebook. His amber eyes drifted over your, messy locks tied in a ponytail, paired with gentle features that harmoniously made your face look perfect if it wasn't for the paint smudges on your cheek. He took a peak at your sketchbook finding familiar figures on the page of him in the lab. "What are you doing here little mouse?" He spoke in his soft accent. You stopped sketching and looked up, eyes widening at his presence. "I um...I was just passing by. I'm (y/n) part of the arts department." You looked down at your drawing, cheeks flushed with embarrassment at being caught. The handsome inventor crouched in front of you to sit. He held out one hand, "May I see?" You nodded and pushed your book into his hands, eyes boring into his face. Even under the dimly lit hallway of the academy, he was much more attractive. The flicker from the bulbs danced on his high cheekbones and you swore you could see the specks of brown in his amber eyes. Viktor scanned the page in detail. It was fascinating how you were able to so accurately portray his figure and inventions. Every nutt and bolt and every curve of his body you conveyed beautifully. "This is amazing (y/n)." He gave you a small smile. You beamed shyly in response. Tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear you spoke up, "May I? Sit with you and draw you?" Albeit shocked at your request his eyes widened.

Frighted you might have scared him off you waved your hands, "If not its okay, I should be getting back anyways." You grabbed the book from his hand and shoved your supplies in your bag.

Before you could bolt away a firm grasp held onto your wrist. "You did not give me a chance to answer little mouse." He smiled gently looking down at you. "Come, sit next to me, I would love to be your muse." You smiled giddly and hopped up dashing into the lab. Viktor chuckled at your antics. He had not experienced meeting someone as sparkling as you. It was as if someone had collected a burst of a newborn star and embodied it into a girl. You carefully danced your way around the lab not wanting to knock anything over but also letting your curiosity draw you in. You turned to the sound of a chair scraping the floor. Viktor had sat down and began writing his research again. Dragging a chair next to him you position yourself at his side with enough space to give you the perfect angle of his face and upper body. The almost burnt-out candle on Viktor's desk cleared the way of the darkness while the two of you worked on your delicate craft in silence. The sounds of scratching pencils battled each other as your furious ideas filled the page. Feeling the way your eyes bore into his skin Viktor couldn't help but feel nervous. What if you actually wanted to leave and were staying here out of pity. Why would you want to stay anyways? He wasn't conversing with you nor was he doing anything worth viewing.

Unable to resist his interest any longer he turned to look at you. Your eyes met paired with the warmest smile he's received in a long time. Your smile made his heart flutter in a way that was concerning. Perhaps it was his condition acting up again. Silently you held up your notebook to his face. The breath in his lungs had dissipated. It was...stunning. Was that really him? The page contained 3 versions of himself. Every wrinkle on his face, the curve of his jaw, and even the bags under his eyes were present. Somehow you had made him look...decent, attractive even. "You flatter me too much little mouse, this looks far better than I do in person." You leaned forward pushing your book on the table. "No this is you. This is exactly what you look like." You brought up a slender finger and traced his features. "See this here? Is also here." One had felt his face the other pointed to different places in your picture. "You are beautiful Viktor." With a soft smile, the light flickered on your face showing the freckles that danced on your skin. "Well, thank you little mouse I like your drawings very much." You nodded and flipped the page to continue. The two of you worked in silence for hours. Neither of you spoke a word but the atmosphere felt like a home on a Christmas night. Quiet but comfortable, filled with some kind of magic. "I wish I had my watercolors." Viktor paused at your honey-smooth voice. "Why is that?" He questioned. His eyes fluttered back and forth over your figure. Fresh laundry, paint, and lavender filled his lungs as you let your hair down from your ponytail. "You have these gorgeous amber eyes that I just want to paint but I can't" You pout. Viktor laughed heartily at your confession. "Well, why don't you come tomorrow night. I will be here again and you can paint me." He took an insecure pause. "If you want of course." You nodded before looking at the time. "Oh my it's so late, I'm so sorry for keeping you. I should head back now." Viktor gently held your hand that laid on his shoulder.

"Do not worry, I was going to be here regardless. Actually, I would like to thank you, your presence was most enjoyable." You blushed and brushed a few locks of hair from Viktor's face. "Well, then I'm glad I could be of good company." Packing up your supplies you couldn't help but notice Viktor's disappointed face. With a smooth tear, you ripped the drawing from your sketchbook. Surprised he jumped up thinking you tore the picture.

"Here! Have it. It will be a promise I'll come tomorrow." Realizing you were giving the drawing to him, he gingerly held the drawing staring at the multitude of strokes that somehow compiled into his likeliness. He swore the room was growing warming, what else could excuse the heat filling his chest. "I'll hold you to that, little mouse."

Authors Note: This is currently unedited and a short but maybe Ill come back to it. I just got a burst of energy to write again.

[egomiso]

the dressing room

your love for kenyu wins over common sense when you decide to visit him at his shoot one day chara: kenyu yukimiya x f!reader warning: nsfw content: oral, praise, mirror k!nk, creampie

Kenyu Yukimiya was a well-rounded guy.

A little too well-rounded. Excellent in soccer, an attractive model, and a charismatic personality, there was nothing he couldn't achieve. Too perfect and no rough edges. You wondered if you were undeserving of him, if that one day he would realize it and discard you to the side like the garbage you were.

Well, too bad. Because you were selfish and could never be the saint that lets him go. Rather, you would drag him down, straight down to hell, tainting his pure qualities.

He was so beautiful. And you loved him for that.

As you walked into the studio that Kenyu Yukimiya was supposedly working in today, you set down your bag containing his food and looked around. The studio was draped in white and organized, with cameras set up in the corner. You noticed a lot of familiar faces, including his manager and other employees under the same company, but your boyfriend was nowhere in sight.

You decided to go look for him.

Approaching one of the narrow hallways extending out from the main room, you peeked through doors that led to restrooms and storage rooms. Eventually, there was a door labeled Dressing Room. There was a likely chance he was in here, so with a deep breath, you raised your hand and knocked on the wood surface.

It took a few seconds, but a voice could be heard behind the door.

One that could only be described as Kenyu's.

You turned the knob and opened it, to see him there, sitting in a chair before the mirror. Surprisingly, it was empty except for him, the silence of it unusual. By now, the makeup artist would generally be in here, shouting orders to her minions.

"Love!" His eyes widened by your presence. He instantly got up from his seat, coming towards your way. "Why didn't you call me when you got here?"

You smiled. "I wanted to surprise you. I got you food too... but I left it out in the studio room."

Just as you were about to turn around to look for the forgotten food, his hand was on your arm, the warmth suddenly surrounding you like a thick fog. "No, it's okay. I can eat later."

"Is that so?" You tilted your head.

"Yes, because I'd rather eat you," he said jokingly, but the way his eyes darkened in hunger made it not so jokey.

You leaned on the door to shut it, your fingers twisting the key fob to lock it without looking back once. Your eyes stayed trained on your boyfriend. "You're so naughty, Ken."

With that, you closed the distance between the two of you, crashing your lips onto his. Soft and warm, they gave you a rush of butterflies as they always do, your heart beating against your chest, similarly to the day you first shared your kiss. As your tongue slithered into his mouth to dance alongside his, the rhythm of the kiss deepened and fastened. You held tightly onto him, feeling the heat of his proximity, causing your lower region to grow wet.

You pulled away first, smirking at his disappointed look. With your hand in his, you pulled him back to the mirrors and pushed him into the seat he originally sat at.

You pretended not to notice the outline of the hard-on that was showing on his pants, or the flustered red look on his adorable face. You loved seeing this side of him, something so much more vulnerable compared to the leader persona he kept. It was why it was too goddamn hard to let him go.

"[Name]..." he whined, eyes flitting about.

You picked up the glasses he left on the counter and held it up to him. "Put your glasses back on."

He blinked at you for a moment, surprised. "It's lame, isn't it? I hate being so blind."

"No. It's not. I love your glasses. You're fucking hot in them."

"I do...?" He instantly took the pair from your hand and put them on. He had the brightest grin on, now that he could see you fully. Not that it was helping his hard-on though... "This is why I love you."

You wrapped your arm around him and sat on his lap, grinning at the feeling of his boner. As you pressed your weight down against it, he grabbed your face into his direction. His orange eyes glimmered dangerously behind the rims, impatient and ready to devour. No longer so gentle and kind, he was ready to tear you apart.

"You're asking for it," he growled.

He kissed your neck, sucking succulently at the skin to mark you whole. "Mhm... I am." As he was about to take off his glasses again, you stopped him. "Don't. Fuck me in your glasses."

"Yes, my queen," he responded. Pulling your white blouse apart to reveal your bra, he continued to trace kisses down your body, from your collarbone to your torso. The peppered kisses tickled your skin, contributing to the heat between your legs. Eventually, he unbuckled the bra to reveal the blossom of your breasts.

His eyes widened, taking it all in, savoring it bit by bit. "You're a goddess. My goddess."

He kissed your breasts and started sucking at the nipples, sending a rush of euphoria through your head. You moaned with your head leaning back, clutching at the lengths of his brown hair.

And with that, he yanked at your pants to reveal your panties, already sopping wet. You worked your fingers to take his clothes off as well, pulling him up from the chair. His body was sculpted pristinely, built from his years of soccer, slender but with muscle rippling along his limbs. He was incredible to look at, and you wondered what you ever did in this lifetime to earn such a view.

"You're so fucking hot," he whispered.

"Then prove it."

He kissed you once more, and while doing so, stuck his fingers into the folds of your pussy. You moaned into the kiss, feeling the motions of the fingers sliding up and down in repetitive motion, sending you into orbit at the sensation.

"Ken-- mmph!"

He fiddled them expertly as if playing on a string instrument, knowing exactly where to hit the right spots.

"Shit," you moaned.

He pulled his fingers out the moment you were getting close, edging you on by the second. "You like my fingers, hm? I bet you'd like something bigger more."

You breathed out, feeling wet, slimy liquid rolling down your leg. However horny you were, you were also not going down without a fight. Kenyu somehow always flipped the switch to your competitive side -- and for that, you wanted to see him beg today. "You're not the only player on this field." Your hand wrapped around his large dick, feeling the layered folds of its skin. It was real hard, perfectly ready for your pussy. You massaged it up and down, before getting down to take it with your mouth.

A kiss on the tip of his member left him groaning instantly. "Fuck, [Name]." Your lips parted as you leaned forward, taking in the huge thing. The walls of your cheeks wrapped around it, as the tip hit the back of your throat. It was huge, but you loved it, because it tasted just like him.

His hips buckled and he shoved forward, lodging his penis deeper into your throat. Grunts sounded the still air, his sexy voice turning you on even further.

"Your mouth is so good," he moaned, his hands grabbing each side of your face. "Give it to me, love. Urgh!"

You savored his taste, his gifts, his love. Seeing him this way, so opposite from his put together persona, you only wanted him even more. More, more, more! He was yours, and it should stay this way until the end of this lifetime. You would give him this outpour of love that he could never find elsewhere. If he were to ever astray, this ensured he would make his way back to you.

Because you kept him addicted to you.

As you face fucked him, slithering your tongue along the edges of his dick, you watched his expression carefully. From the sweat sheened forehead to the ecstatic, high glint in his gaze, to the lull of his mouth hanging, you could feel your pussy grow tighter from the sight of it. Your beautiful Kenyu. Your shining star. To satisfy him was a gift from the heavens above.

"I-I'm going to..." he trailed off. Knowing him, you released the hold of your mouth from his penis, grinning mischievously. He was breathing heavily, wiping at his mouth. "Can we make love now, my love?"

"Is that what you really want?" you asked, grabbing hold of his chin.

An orange gaze full of yearning beneath lopsided glasses, he wanted it so bad -- wanted you so bad.

You kissed him, once, and then nodded in approval. "Mirror."

That was all it took. He pushed the weight of your body against the counter, clearing the makeup products with the swipe of his arm. Those same muscular arms created a makeshift cage on either side of your hips, trapping you in with his heat and testosterone. You watched the mirror closely, as he slowly leaned over your shoulder to kiss your collarbones.

With that, he pressed you down and your breasts landed on cool surface, spreading before the mirror. With a concentrated furrow of the brow, he held his member and inserted it into you, the feeling of it leaving you nearly reeling. So good!

Your eyes shadowed in lust, your mouth painted in a lopsided, crazed smile. Without missing a beat, you watched his reaction closely, the way it darkened of his own ego.

Love me like it is your last day.

"You're so tight," he told you with a grit.

"Just for you," you exhaled, as he started to shove his dick deeper, lodging it to the depths of your core. You were one with him, your ass to his waist, together and forever. He was the other half of your heart, the piece that filled the gaping hole that was your existence.

His hips buckled back and forth, the rhythm of his penis accelerating, pounding into your pussy. It hit the spots that brought you to a high. Skin on skin contact slapping rough became the sound of music to your ears.

"God save me!" you breathed out.

"I am your God," he said in response, sending a shiver down your spine. It reminded you once more why you loved him so. His true ego, his true self, only that was shown to you in these moments. He had multiple faucets to him -- multiple layers like an onion to peel. And everyday, you would continue to learn more about him. He could never grow boring. Not to you.

"Mmph!" you moaned, your fingers scratching the counter, trembling.

It was so hot, watching him through the mirror, tearing you down like lion's prey.

He fucked you like there was no tomorrow, made love to you like there was no tomorrow, in this small dressing room.

He made love to you in a place he shouldn't have, crossed a boundary at work when he should have stayed professional instead.

But you were honored. He made an exception just for you.

The friction of his dick against your vagina was heating up, the sensation comforting and delightful. It felt so good, so worth it, and so hot to do something so risky.

"You're so naughty, boy." Your words left as a slur, mouth dry and jumbled by it all.

As if your words were a catalyst of a jinx, a knock on the door outside of the dressing room echoed suddenly. The two of you stilled, eyes wide and frozen in place. Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, but the pulse of your vagina was louder.

"Kenyu, are you in there?" It was his manager. "We'll begin the photoshoot soon."

"Y-Yes! I'm eating my lunch first, I'll be there soon!" he called to her. His tone was light and pure, the cheeks of his face tinted in red. He played it off smoothly, as if his dick wasn't lodged deep into you, yearning for more. You almost laughed. What a bad, lying boy he was, lying straight through pearly, white teeth to his manager while in such a deranged position. Oh how you loved every second of it.

Footsteps faded away, and it appeared his excuse had been bought for the time being.

You giggled and he sighed a breath of relief. "You always get me in some sort of trouble, [Name]."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"..."

"Exactly. So finish what you started."

He did it without any objections, ramming his cock into you even harder than before, your vagina accepting its length and girth naturally. This time, the two of you attempted to stay quieter, the thrill of the dangers adding onto it. You muffled your moans and he muffled his grunts, the temptations endless. Steadily, his thrusts were slowing down as his teeth grind harshly.

"Love, I'm c-coming soon."

You were nearly reaching your climax as well, the dam of stimulation ready to burst open. He groaned deeply and his head hung low, his chin grazing your head. Heat of his semen poured into you, oozing and creeping into your body's system. And you accepted it, because you accepted all of him.

It caused you to reach yours too and the high of a climax had your knees weak, taking you everything not to howl. So, so good. So damn good.

The cum dripped down your leg and to the floor, a beautiful mixture of yours and Kenyu's creation.

He pulled himself out of you and you turned around to embrace him with gentle arms. Despite how sticky and sweaty his body was, you were fine with it, because this was the product of your work. His arms squeezed tightly around you, the strength of them undeniable.

"Your motivation for today," you whispered.

"Nearly, got me in trouble, but it was worth it."

"Because someone couldn't control himself.''

"Just being in your presence makes me feral."

You grinned, petting his face softly. "Don't feed into my ego."

He tilted his head innocently. "But you already have the biggest one."

You lightly smacked him in the head, shooting him a glare. If he wasn't careful, he was going to gain some blue balls the next time. That would show him.

"I love you," he said, taking off his glasses and rubbing the fog off. You fought against the growing smile. Someone was breathing a little hard. How cute.

"I love you more."

[chancloud8]

Christmas Love

Pairing: bf!skz x reader Tags: fluff, sugestive ~ gift giving based on this fake texts smau

part 1: chan, hyunjin, jisung, changbin

Bang Chan - Red Lacy Lingerie

It's Christmas eve and you're waiting for your boyfriend to drag himself away from his home studio. You're hoping the delicious smell of your home cooked dinner will lure him down as well as the promise of finally getting his present. 

It doesn't take long before you hear his footsteps coming down the stairs and you quickly get up from the couch and straighten the fabric of your black dress. 

'Something smells amazing, baby,' Chan says from the hallway, making you smile. 

When he walks into the living room your breath catches in your throat. He looks absolutely mouth watering in his black slacks and white button up. The sleeves are rolled up to show off his strong arms and the fabric is tight around his biceps and shoulders. 

'Don't you look delicious,' you tease, letting your eyes wander over his frame.

Chan doesn't seem to hear you, his eyes fixated on your body where your little black dress hugs every curve. You purposely chose a dress with a very low neckline too, showing off not only the swell of your breast, but also a peek of red lace from your bra, the one you get especially for him. 

'Like what you see, honey?' You giggle, stepping closer to him. 

He snaps out of it when your hands touch his chest and he lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a moan. A bit like the background noises on his new song Railway. 

'God, you look like a dream,' he mutters, his hands coming up to touch your sides. 

'Says you,' you smile, standing on your tippy toes to press a sweet kiss to his lips. 

Chan immediately pulls you closer to his body, his big hands moving from your side to you back and then down to your ass. 

'Do I get to open my present before or after dinner?' He asks, gliding his nose down to your neck until his lips reach your collarbone, leaving a trail of kisses as he goes. 

You arch your back, pressing your chest against his own while interlocking your arms around his neck. 

'Hmm since the present is me in nothing but my lacy red lingerie,' you muse in a whisper. 

Chan looks up at you with big hopeful eyes, a smirk already on his lips. 

'Yeah, I think after dinner,' you say, giving him your sweetest smile before letting go of him. 

Chan's mouth drops open and for a moment he just stands there, but just when you're about to sit down at the table, he grabs your wrist and pulls you back. 

'Chan!' You squeal as he lifts you up and throws you over his shoulder. 

He just slaps your ass and moves towards the chair. 

'Dinner will have to wait babygirl, I'm starving for something different.'

Hyunjin - Paint

'Uhm baby?' You call out for your boyfriend, your eyes on the enormous pile of gifts underneath the Christmas tree.

You've only left him alone for an hour and a half to deliver home baked goodies and some presents for the children to the community center in town, while he cooked dinner. 

'Yes, love?' Hyunjin walks into the living room with two glasses of wine in his hands. 

'What happened here?' You ask, gesturing to the presents underneath the tree. 

'I finally wrapped my present for you,' Hyunjin smiles, handing you a glass and pressing a kiss on your cheek before moving to sit on the couch. 'Why? Is something wrong?'

You snort and take a sip of wine. 'You don't think you went a little overboard?' 

Hyunjin lets out a dramatic gasp and he clutches his chest with his free hand. 

'Are you saying I can't spoil my lovely girlfriend for Christmas?' 

Rolling your eyes you sit down next to him, pulling up your knees to get comfortable. Your dress hitches up a bit when you move and Hyunjin glances at the exposed skin before taking a big sip of his wine. 

'If I remember correctly, you told me you wanted to have a painting date,' he says, setting down his glass. 'I just got everything I thought we needed for that.' 

'So the whole arts and crafts store?' You giggle, once more gesturing to the mountain of presents.

Hyunjin pouts at you and you can't help but lean forward to kiss his soft and pouty lips. When you pull back his eyes are still closed and he smiles. 

'Okay, okay, let's see what you got,' you say, quickly stealing one more kiss. 

Hyunjin gets up excitedly and for the next hour you unpack dozens of art supplies. The ground is covered in wrapping paper, multiple sketching books, paintbrushes, pencils, different kinds of paint and literally everything you could ever want if you're into art. 

‘I might have gone a little overboard,’ Hyunjin admits when you unwrap the last present. 

‘You think so?’ you giggle, adding the small canvas to the pile of other supplies. ‘I really love it though, baby.’ 

‘Yeah?’ Hyunjin looks up to you from under his eyelashes. 

‘Mhm,’ you nod, crawling through the wrapping paper to sit on his lap. ‘Very much.’ 

Hyunjin wraps his arms around you and nuzzles his face into your neck. 

‘What about your gift to me?’ he asks, his lips tickling against the skin of your neck as he talks. ‘Am I getting it tonight or do I have to wait till tomorrow?’ 

‘Whenever you want, as long as I get to paint you naked too afterwards.’ 

Jisung - Hats and a surprise guest

‘My lady,’ Jisung holds out his hand to you. ‘May I have this dance.’ 

Giggling you accept and let him pull you up from your spot on the floor where you’ve just been exchanging presents. 

‘Of course, good sir,’ you say in a funny voice, curtsying. 

Jisung pulls you into a makeshift ballroom hold and the two of you twirl around the living room in a fit of giggles while your christmas playlist softly plays in the background. 

‘Thank you for my presents, baby,’ Jisung whispers in your ear when you slow down the twirling and just sway in each other's arms for a bit. ‘I love my new hat and guitar picks.’ 

You pull back a little to look at him. ‘What if I said I have one more gift for you?’ 

Jisung tilts his head in curiosity. ‘You do?’ 

‘Mhm,’ you hum and lean forward to press a kiss on the tip of his nose. ‘I do.’ 

‘Well, what is it?’ 

Just then, the doorbell rings and you mentally clap Minho on the back for his impeccable timing. 

‘Let’s go see, shall we,’ you smile, interlacing your fingers with Jisungs to pull him with you to the front door. 

‘Is that my gift?’ Jisung squeals, excitement clear in his voice. 

You open the door to reveal Minho. He’s bundled up in a red Christmas sweater, a santa hat and around his neck he’s wearing a golden scarf that’s covered in twinkling lights. 

‘Hyung!’ Jisung calls out in surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’ 

Minho rolls his eyes at him. ‘I believe I’m part of your Christmas gift, Jagi.’ 

‘You are?’ Jisung looks between you and Minho with big eyes, a smile already curling on his lips. 

‘Yes, baby, now let the man in,’ you chuckle, stepping back to make room for Minho. 

Jisung immediately clings onto Minho’s arm and drags him into the living room to show him his presents. Minho just lets him, kicking off his shoes as he walks and sending you an apologetic look when they hit you in the shin. 

The rest of the evening is spent drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows, playing games, dancing around the living room and just genuinely enjoying each other’s company. 

‘This is the best,’ Jisung says when the three of you cuddle up on the couch after another random dance party. ‘Thank you, baby.’ 

You smile up at him and he presses a kiss on your forehead before turning to Minho on his other side and doing the same. 

‘And thank you as well my other baby.’

Changbin - Gymdate & Blueberry muffins

Being at the gym on Christmas day was not how you ever thought you’d spent the holiday, but here you are, dressed in dark green yoga pants and a sports bra. 

‘You better appreciate this gift, babe,’ you pant at Changbin as you run next to him on the treadmill to warm up. 

Your boyfriend lets his eyes travel up and down your body and grins at you. ‘I already do and we only just got started.’ 

You groan and make a face at him, already hating yourself for agreeing to this. You loathe working out. Thank god you brought your homemade blueberry muffins to the gym with you, so the minute you get out of the shower you get to have a reward. 

‘Come on baby, let’s move to the mats,’ Changbin says after ten more minutes of torture on the treadmil. 

You’re already sweating, your hair is sticking to your neck and you know your face must be red as well. Changbin doesn’t seem to care, he simply holds out his hand for you and leads you over to the corner of the gym where the mats are. 

‘Lay down for me, we’ll start with some crunches,’ 

‘I really hate you,’ you mumble, getting down on your knees to get in position. 

Changbin stops you then, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. You look up at him in confusion. He must know by now that you could never hate him, no matter how much he kicked your ass in the gym. 

‘Baby, you know you don’t have to do this for me, right?’ he asks softly, his other hand comes up to wipe a loose strand of hair out of your face. ‘I won’t mind if you sit in the lounge or we can even go home.’ 

Gosh, he’s the sweetest boyfriend in the world.

‘I’m not going anywhere, I committed to this and I want to work out together,’ you say cupping his face. ‘No matter how much I curse at you.’ 

He chuckles and leans into your touch. ‘If you’re sure?’ 

You nod and lean forward to kiss him, his lips soft and gentle under yours.

‘Besides, there’s blueberry muffins waiting for us when we’re done,’ you say when you pull back. 

‘Well, you better get down on your back then,’ Changbin laughs, motioning to the mat. 

‘Oh I will,’ you wiggle your eyebrows. ‘And I might again when we get home.’ 

Changbin abruptly gets up then, hoisting you up with him like you weigh nothing at all. He lifts you in his arms and folds your legs around his waist so you cling onto his torso like a koala. 

‘Binnie,’ you laugh. ‘I thought we were doing exercises on the mat.’ 

‘Nope, not anymore. I know a much better workout we can do together from the comfort of our own home,’ Changbin grins, his hands moving to squeeze your butt. 

‘But what about–,’ you start to argue, but Changbin is already walking towards the locker rooms.

a/n: MERRY CHRISTMAS! this was soooo much fun to write! I hope you enjoyed this little fluffy chirstmas gift from me to you hehe <3 part 2 with felix, minho, seungmin and jeongin will be up tomorrow hopefully! >> part two taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @hannahisnotblue @vivilovesuu @velvetmoonlght @skz8love @corgilover20 @littlelostdemonofthelight @stephanieeeyang @zulie-and-cats @chanshugsaretherapy @pizzalove5000

[seiwas]

if art can be touched, will you let me hold you? | nanami kento

wc: 7.2k

summary: ​​you press love into each piece of art you create, and nanami wonders if you’ve ever been loved that way.

contains: f!reader, non-curse!au, ceramic artist!reader, pov switching, slowburn, reader wears a skirt, food mentions, bad breakup (mentioned), mentions of art critiques, almost explicit sex, it’s love without words.

a/n: a concept and fic i didn’t expect would be so dear to me; there are some very small personal touches in this but the main inspiration for this is ‘we’ve been loving in silence’, but some bgm are ‘can’t take my eyes off you’, and ‘make you feel my love’.

ao3 (needs account)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: showing ‘i love you’ in all the ways you aren’t used to

CLAY. Take your material of choice; turn it over, get a feel of it. Is it a suitable medium for your art?

You first meet Nanami in the halls of an echoing applause. 

The host’s spiel is muffled through the walls, but you know the program flow like the back of your hand—you’ve rehearsed your entrance every single day since being invited to announce your upcoming exhibit. In just a few minutes, your name will be called. 

Yellow cue cards slip through your fingers, scattering to the floor as a result of the haste from your last minute touch-up just moments before.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, checking the time. 

As you crouch low, a pair of brown Derby shoes land in front of you—long and thick fingers reaching for your cue cards on the floor. The time on his wrist matches yours, each second highlighted in the stark contrast of a dark face and silver exterior. 

You’re quick to receive his help, taking the cards into your hands as you lightly graze his fingertips. When you look up, you’re met with sharp lines—an angular jaw, eyebrows set straight; a pointed nose and his cheeks carving out hollow shadows.

A geometric study on blank canvas. 

It’s embarrassing, the way you fluster and bow, thanking him with a stutter as you’re brought back to the urgency of the matter by the sound of your name being called out. 

The rush to the conference hall has you breathing heavily, the nerves hitting you full force as you step up the stage, nearly tripping at the last step. Hues of blue, yellow, purple, and green lights glare at you, and when the host hands you the microphone, you chuckle nervously, clearing your throat before addressing everyone in the room to thank them for coming this afternoon.

Your exhibit is called ‘What is the Face of an (Un)Touched Soul?’—a collection of ceramic sculptures molded to the realism of a human face, with the soul imagined as varying patterns and colors that fit each featured individual. 

It’s been half a year since you started, with three out of six sculptures completed already. Two are in-progress, and you have yet to find a subject for one more; there are six more months for you to complete everything.

The audience sounds their applause, sophisticated claps and nods a familiar tune in the many years of your sculpting career. Critics in the room jot down their thoughts, reporters holding up microphones and recording devices to cover your announcement. 

You smile wide, the rehearsed kind. 

And at the end of your presentation, stepping down the stage, you spot him again. 

You think to approach him in that moment, to thank him properly instead of the fumbling mess you’d choked out in the hallway—but you’re pulled towards a crowd of reporters and critics, recording devices pushed just below your chin as you watch him disappear into a sea of faces not nearly as interesting as his. 

.

You meet Nanami again in the bustling morning rush at the bakery near your studio. 

The past few weeks have been head-down and tedious, late nights working on painting some of the last few pieces for your exhibit. One of them is of your niece, 5-years-old in mint and white innocence; your brushstrokes are featherlight, softly accentuated by sponge dabs—a slate barely filled in, with room for more colors to appear with time. 

Another is of your neighbor, an old man whose eyes have seen war beyond your comprehension—a retired soldier, a veteran of the military force. He plants primroses by his windowsill, the pastel yellow a stark contrast to the life he’s lived in red; neither of the colors cancel each other out, neither of them blend. You drag harsh strokes against his jawbone while smoothly gliding watercolor across his eyelids. 

The people in your sculptures have sparked an untapped curiosity within you—for stories, for lives, for souls and what those might look like. 

You bump into Nanami on his way out, the sandwich in his hand falling to the ground as you frantically attempt to pick it up.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” you turn over the sandwich, checking for any holes or openings in its packaging, “Let me–”

It only registers that it’s him when you notice the same brown Derby shoes, the same watch with that dark face and silver exterior, the same geometric perfection on his face when you look up and finally come eye-to-eye with that same fixed stare. 

You clear your throat. Well, this is embarrassing. 

“Let me buy you another sandwich.”

He doesn’t exactly look angry, expression set in straight lines, but you can’t tell for sure—there isn’t much you can go by.

“There’s no need,” he dusts off the wrapper, “it’s still sealed.” 

“Please, I insist,” you pat down your skirt, linen rough on your fingertips, “As a thank you too, for last time.” 

He arches a brow, and for a moment you worry that you’ve remembered him wrong—honey blonde hair and features you’ve been intrigued by since. 

“You insist.” he repeats, clarifying more than questioning. 

You nod. 

He sighs, checking his watch before pocketing his sandwich and turning back to open the bakery doors. 

The silence in line to the counter is awkward. Nanami remains impassive, hand tucked inside his pocket—you can’t read a single thing about him.

“I was meaning to thank you after the exhibit announcement,” you start, turning slightly to face him before looking ahead again. 

He hums. 

“But I couldn’t find you, so…” 

He hums again. 

The lack of response makes you nervous and quite honestly a bit irritated. Here you are, trying to be nice, and all you’re met with are dry—

“It’s no problem, but that’s thoughtful of you, thank you.” he finally says, “I didn’t expect you to remember.” 

A pause. 

“I’m sure you meet a lot of faces in your line of work.” he further clarifies, in case his earlier remark had offended you. 

You snort, “I wish.” 

The line moves forward.

“Ceramic faces, maybe. People not so much.” 

When you glance at Nanami, the look he returns is still characteristically inscrutable, but you think the corners of his eyes soften just a bit—to feel for you maybe, you hope, you think. 

The line moves quickly after that, and next thing you know it, you’re by the cashier, pointing at one sandwich for you and another for him. You buy him a cup of coffee too, just as an extra kind gesture (—for his time; you’re sure he has places to be and people to see), but he stops you. 

“Coffee’s on me.” he pulls out his card. 

“Oh,” you look up, surprised, “you don’t have to do that—”

“It’s only fair,” he nods as the cashier punches in the order, “now we’re even.” 

You attempt to rebut, but find no room for argument in the unbending weight of his gaze. 

An interesting man. 

You watch him stand by the claiming booth, hand in the pocket of his khaki suit. Nothing about him feels cohesive, yet he makes it work. Artistically, from a sculpting standpoint, the sharp lines on his face would be an interesting challenge—but beautiful, nonetheless. A study of near-perfection, you think. 

And it would seem obvious, that from the rigid cut of his jaw and the sharp edges of his cheekbones that he’d act just as pointed. 

Except, he doesn’t—a stark contrast to how much of a gentleman he seems to be. 

His blue shirt stands out when you’d assume he prefers subtlety, and it’s ridiculous, but that yellow cow print tie feels simultaneously out of place but so fitting. 

He walks toward you with your coffee, sandwich resting on his forearm.

“Thank you, Mr.—” you smile sheepishly, “Sorry, I don’t think I got your name.” 

“Nanami Kento.” the corners of his lips lift slightly. 

“Mr. Nanami,” you repeat, introducing yourself right after.

“Thank you as well.” he adds on as you both walk towards the doors. 

Something tells you this is a missed opportunity. Something tells you there’s more to learn about this interesting man and what lies beneath his straight-faced sincerity. 

The chatter from the bakery is replaced by the city’s breaths—cars passing, dogs barking, footsteps on pavement rushing to get to their next destination. And you and Nanami stand by the entrance, neither knowing how to say bye. 

“Do you come to this–” 

“My studio is just by the corner, so–” 

You quickly look at each other. Nanami bows his head slightly, hand gesturing for you to go first.

“Sorry, um,” you tuck your sandwich in the crook of your elbow, “yes, I come here pretty often. My studio is just around the corner, so I drop by for quick meals when I can. You?” 

“It’s on the way to work most days.” 

You nod, humming. 

Another awkward pause.

“I hope you–”

“I should get–”

You look at each other again, a bit more amused this time. The slight wrinkling of his eyes is impossible to hide.

He gestures for you to go first again, but you shake your head, offering him instead. 

“I hope the pieces for your exhibit are going well.” 

“Thank you,” you smile, bowing your head slightly.

That ‘something’ in your brain speaks to you again. 

“Actually,” you begin, “sorry if this is weird, please feel free to decline, but,” you shift your weight, “I have one last piece to do and I was wondering if I could ask you.” 

Nanami looks taken aback for a moment, eyes wider than normal as he processes what you’d just said. 

“Ask me… for an opinion?” he clarifies. 

You mentally facepalm yourself—you really should have made yourself clearer. 

“Sorry, no, I meant,” you take a deep breath, fingers fiddling with your skirt, “if you’d like to be the subject for it.” 

The expression on his face is as indecipherable as ever. 

.

.

.

MOLD. Be familiar with your art, learn more of its intricacies. What will you shape it to be? 

In the most unexpected play of events, Nanami says yes, but not without his hesitations. 

You explain your process: the selection of a subject, an interview to get to know them better, then a few meetings at the studio to create the mold of facial features before coating it in plaster. 

Never in his entire law career did Nanami ever think he would be into art, much more be chosen to be the subject for it. But he figures, if anyone were to get him to do things so wholly out of character like this, it would be you. 

After all, he’s been a fan of your works for a while—from your third exhibit up to your seventh one now. 

People love paintings and the strokes on canvas, admiring textures and blends of colors bleeding into one another; Nanami loves sculptures, a mixture of materials and techniques forming an object with more than one viewing plane.

“Have you always loved sculpting?” he asks, sitting still on the wooden stool in your studio. 

A few meetings have gone by by now, and he’s told you a few things about himself for this to be a comfortable enough way to spend his Friday night: he’s a lawyer in a firm he’s co-founded with a good friend, evenings being the only free time in his schedule; he lives alone in a two-bedroom apartment and his neighbor’s cat often lands on his balcony every morning; he likes coffee and tea, paperback books and music from the 30’s and 60’s. 

He chose to be a lawyer to correct the shitty system that’s vowed to help but has instead made it difficult for anyone genuinely trying to be good. 

“I started with paper craft first,” you mold out the slope of his nose, looking back and forth between him and the mass of clay on your desk, “you know that 3D looking paper art that kinda pops out of the page?” 

He hums instead, careful of any slight movement that may disrupt the pose you’re trying to replicate. 

“And this?” 

Your metal scraper drags on the sides of the sculpture’s nose, sharpening it as it narrows to the bridge. 

“I picked it up in college, was an outlet to keep me company during that time.”

The PR answer. 

Nanami knows most of your general story; pamphlets and exhibits always give a run-down of the artists’ individual histories. You’d started sculpting as soon as you entered college, a need for company while in a completely unfamiliar place with no more home to return to. It was all or nothing, and as the sculptures grew in number, so did your popularity—you are by no means a fresh name to the scene 10 years later. 

“Why do you love it?” he looks you in the eye. 

You pause, holding his gaze for a few seconds before looking away, focusing on the chunk of wet clay between your fingertips as it turns more pliable.

“It’s gotten me through a lot.” you sigh, attaching the piece of clay to form his lips, “Touching clay feels therapeutic sometimes, and you can tell from how it looks if it’s been molded with love.” 

The stillness in your studio is extra quiet, filled only with the faint sounds of your fingertips sticking onto clay; he doesn’t quite know what to say. 

“Sorry, that was cheesy.” you scrunch your nose and pout. 

He chuckles, a low laugh, “Not at all.” 

You lock eyes, the curve of your lips upturned. He feels his eyes soften around its edges. 

It makes sense, and he thinks he can understand; there must be a reason why he loves books with creased spines, why he prefers weathered pages—why the scratches on his vinyl records don’t bother him as much as it should. 

.

You both like your coffee without milk, just with a bit of sugar for yours. 

Nanami’s taken up baking, specifically breadmaking, in his spare time—he brings you sourdough the next Friday you meet. 

Your studio is an organized mess, scraps of clay decorating the otherwise bare and white space. To the left of the room is a large cork board filled with pinned sketches and some color swatches—a visual representation of the creative chaos in your mind. 

A whiteboard to its right holds your schedule, and everywhere across the room are your art pieces—on shelves, in glass cases. He assumes most of them are the versions that didn’t make it, considering that the ones that have are either auctioned off or left as collector’s pieces in exhibits and art museums. 

“That’s the first one I ever made.” you sneak up behind him, biting off the sandwich you hastily put together.

The sculpture is smaller than the busts you’ve made for your current exhibit, but it still occupies a third of your shelf. It’s unlike any of the works you’ve ever done, but he supposes it makes sense, given how much your style has probably evolved over time. 

The piece is a lot simpler in comparison to the edgy twists most of your works now contain, but the little girl fast asleep in the sculpture begs questions he’s not sure how to ask you—if he even should. 

He continues to stare, clearing his throat; you eye him knowingly and snort. 

“Just ask, I know you want to.” 

The texture of the carved blanket catches his eyes, the ripples and creases made to conform to the girl’s curled up figure. There’s a sadness underlying her comfort, a search for security while being wrapped in a bundle of safety. 

“Who is it?” he asks.

You pause before you answer; he’s worried he’s crossed a line. 

“Me.” you admit, a near-whisper. 

He hums, back still faced towards you. It explains, then, why he’s always felt an underlying sadness beneath the creases of your smiles. 

When he turns his face to the side, an attempt to catch your eyes, you look away, diverting. 

“Which one introduced you to me?” you gesture towards the rest of your pieces. 

As it’s come to be, Nanami’s learned that you’re good at that too—creating curves of deflections, pockets where you can hide when you feel something’s gotten too close. 

He plays along, turning around to view the expanse of your studio; it’s amazing, how the art pieces that stack shelf upon shelf all boil down to your hard work. You briefly mentioned that you haven’t taken a break from creating because you still don’t believe you deserve it.

“It’s not here,” he puts his hands in his pockets, “the one with the hand clutching a heart.” 

‘Unhand’—his favorite piece of yours; he’d seen it in one of the museums he had to visit for one of his clients. Hyperrealistic branches of veins and arteries running across an anatomical heart, every curve and indent a carefully placed texture to bring your piece to life. It comes clenched in a hand, the veins streaming across each finger while blending into those of the heart’s—at first glance, it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other starts.

It’s a different view from each angle—that’s why he likes it so much, along with the graphic nature of it. The pain feels vivid, real.

“Ah,” you run your fingers across your work table, fiddling with the small pieces of clay before taking a seat again, “that one.” 

Nanami follows but he doesn’t say anything, resuming his place in front of you in the usual way he’s done the past few weeks.

“I didn’t think I was the type to be moved by art.” he confesses, sitting still as you continue the final work on the clay wisps of his hair.

You encourage him to go on, nodding along. 

And he does, watching the way your steady hand forms features that look uncannily like him, if not better; strands of your hair always fall from behind your ears and he’s almost tempted to tuck it back to where it came from. 

He tells you of the pain he feels from that piece, how it presents itself in different ways depending on the area you focus on—the constricted blood vessels, the buildup of pressure from a vein blocked by a thumb, the strain of muscles at the back of the hand. 

A small smile makes its way onto your face, slightly sad but somehow relieved, “Didn’t expect you to be such a poet.” 

“Must be from being around you so often,” he responds.

And if it’s a trick of the light, a part of him sinks at that possibility—he thinks your smile stretches wider, suppressed only by the shyness trying to hide it; no pain whatsoever. 

Unexpectedly, you share with him the story. Not the filtered version, but the one just as raw and vivid as the sculpture made from it—a failed relationship that had you clinging onto sculpting as your lifeline. You spare him some of the gruesome details but hint at it enough that he can fill in the gaps on his own.

You tell him that you’re a people pleaser, you’ve learned—it’s the only way you can view that relationship with grace, that at least you understand yourself better because of it. That even when the grip on your heart wrung tight enough for each beat to hurt, you still clung on with all your worth. 

(Now you know you shouldn’t have.) 

People have come to you with stories of their own, sharing how much your art means to them. Critics write articles, both good and bad, detailing the technicalities of your work. The applause follows you everywhere you go, yet it has never touched you—has never gotten too close. 

If your art has touched others, has listened and spoken their truth in your handiwork, who does that for you? 

.

During one of the last few Friday meetings, you offer to teach him how to mold clay. 

He looks at you curiously, watching the way your fingertips pinch and squeeze, how they glide to smoothen the material and press down to create indents on the surface. 

“Do you want to try?” you ask, gaze still set on his sculpture in front of you. There’s a teasing edge to your tone, one that’s developed over the months of getting to know you more. 

“Would that be troublesome?” 

You laugh at his rigidness. 

“Of course not.” you push your piece aside, standing up to gather clay from the mound of it to your right. You lay down a wooden platform for him–his own little workspace–and slam a chunk of clay atop it, “I think you might be good at it actually, since you like making bread.” 

The movements are familiar but not entirely the same. He rolls up his sleeves, blue cotton pinching at the creases of his elbows; you hand him an apron to protect the rest of his clothing. There’s not much kneading involved, not much palm action too, but he learns to move his fingertips with a force he can only compare to creating little dimples into focaccia dough. 

You teach him how to make a bread basket—something practical but beginner-friendly; something he can use and keep as a reminder of you. 

The trickiest part of it is mimicking the rattan weavings, and you notice him struggling with it when his strips of clay begin to break. 

A screech fills the room as you push back your chair, standing up to go behind him as he attempts to salvage his work.

“Here, let me–” you reach over his shoulders, flattening some of the cracks from above him.

You’ve never been this close before, the thin strands of hair dusting your arms tickling the sides of his ears. These past few months, he’s watched your hands press and pull and form, turning each detail of his face into art. It’s only now, right next to his larger and rougher ones that he’s noticing just how small and delicate yours are. 

It’s dainty work, weaving and braiding. He attempts to do it again, but the clay only falls apart when he pulls too hard. 

You stifle a giggle, the vibrations tickling his back, “We might take a while here.” 

“I don’t mind.” he mumbles.

“You sure you don’t have anywhere else you’d rather be?” you lean forward, pressing closer until he feels your warmth against the back of his head, “I feel bad, I’ve been taking up most of your Friday nights already.” 

It shouldn’t mean anything; he shouldn’t feel anything—you seem to be unfazed; art is meant to be taught by doing.

But then your hands go over his, guiding them to lift each strand of clay gently before interweaving them with one another, and he thinks—

—this must be what it feels to be touched by art. 

So, no. 

There’s no other place he’d rather be. 

.

.

.

DRY. Give it time, let it settle. Watch your art come into form. Is this a good foundation? 

“Will you be free next weekend?” 

His question surprises you as you stand in line at the bakery. You tend to catch each other at just the right times almost everyday, saving a spot for whoever’s running a little late. 

Today, it’s you, rushing in slightly frazzled with your hair sticking out which way; you’d just finished up molding the sculpture late last night, letting it rest out to dry. Nanami’s head is turned towards you, hands in his pockets as he directs the same pointed gaze you’ve become all too accustomed to.

You must have forgotten to mention it. 

“Oh,” you turn to him, “there’s no need, our sessions are over.” 

His silence makes you nervous, just like it did the first (second) time you met.

Did you upset him? Did he already cancel plans to free up time for your studio? 

The entire trip to the cashier is quiet, but you find that he’s ordered ahead for you—your sandwich order and a cup of your usual coffee. He pays for it too, despite your refusal (and confusion). 

It’s when he hands over your drink by the corner of the room that he finally speaks. 

“Not for a session.” 

You tilt your head curiously. 

The coffee feels warm on your hand, and you think you see the same warmth at the tips of his ears, dusting it light pink. He coughs, fingers clenching around his tie before loosening it. 

“For a date.” 

.

You begin to take up his weekends now, too. 

Since that day at the bakery, when you’d nearly dropped your coffee before stuttering out your availability, you’ve already gone on seven dates (to you, at least; Nanami would officially count three). 

He insists on still visiting you every Friday, bringing you dinner as a reminder that you should eat on time and not the moment you’re keeling over from a rumbling stomach and a pounding headache. You count these as dates too—because what else do you call spending time with someone you like while having night-long conversations over good food? 

(Nanami creates a distinction though, prefers his dates to be more planned out and intended. On the three official dates you’ve gone on, he’s brought you to three different locations—a weekend market, a picnic by a lake after you’d mentioned something about it, and a vintage record shop on the outskirts of the city, a place he frequents often). 

The near-perfection you once thought of the man, a geometric study on canvas—he’s still every bit of it, still every bit as interesting as what he seemed, just in a completely different way. 

For a man typically so nonchalant, he is extremely particular about his tastes, borderline picky with trusted company. 

Nanami enjoys coffee (as expected), but the fermented filter kind, dripped down a V60 pour over to extract different notes of sweetness and acidity. You’d think he enjoys a straight black, face stoic enough to handle its bitter bite; but no, his jaw clenches when he dislikes the taste, his tongue sounding the faintest click against the roof of his mouth before he downs the entire thing in one gulp. 

He also happens to be extremely gentle, in a way you don’t expect from a man of his stature and build. Veins run through the back of his large hands, branching to webs around the thickness of his fingers; they may not be delicate enough to weave clay, but he carves out different patterns on the sourdough he presents to you every Friday. 

The first time he held your hand, it wasn’t exactly planned—an instinctive move to reach out his palm as you climbed the steps of the spiral staircase in the record store out of town. You’d barely felt it then, just the featherlight hold of his thumb pressed against your knuckles as you gripped the fabric of your skirt. 

(To your surprise, he kept it up all the way through, slipping his fingers through the gaps between yours as he showed you around vintage vinyls and the sound of love in muffled 60’s tunes.)

You imagine him to be like clay, a softness hardened over the years that have shaped him; smooth but solid to the touch, breaking into powdered shards once you manage to work your way through. 

It’s unexpected, but you like that. 

And you like him—quite a lot, really. 

This date–the tenth, or fourth, whichever–is a lot fancier than all the others, a more formal dinner with a few glasses of delicious wine whose name you by god, don’t remember. You’d been too focused on something else—the handsome way he’d slicked back strands of his honeyed hair. 

Black suits him, contrasting the paleness of his skin and complementing the sharpness of his features. 

Black, the color of his suit, pressed neatly to fit him perfectly. He looks clean, broad shoulders with straight slacks falling to exactly where they’re supposed to be. 

Black, which is the only thing you see, pressed up against him. You’re so close by your doorway, that half-minute of deciding whether to stay or walk away; he has one foot behind him and one firmly planted right next to yours. 

You share a breath, fingers lightly intertwined with his. 

There had been signs the entire night that it would lead to something like this—he’d played with your fingers a lot more, kept much closer to you than he ever has before. 

Every sound around you is amplified—each inhale and exhale, the gulp he makes; your heart beats on rampage.

When you look up, your noses are almost touching, and his eyes are shut, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. 

It’s a look you’ve only seen once before, when he’s stuck contemplating. 

“Kento,” you whisper. 

His eyes blink open slightly, the color of your coffee. He leans forward, forehead resting against yours as he takes a deep breath, “I–”

Then you kiss him. 

It’s mostly a peck really, and wholly out of character for you, but it’s that same something that compelled you to ask him to model for your sculpture months ago that’s pushed you to do this right now. 

You’re worried for that first split-second because he doesn’t move, shows no sign at all of reciprocating. It’s a moment before you consider parting that he finally softens, relaxing his lips as he glides them over yours. His fingers slot themselves by your ear, palm pressed against your jaw as he deepens it; you almost stumble back, his other hand catching your weight as it leans on your door. 

It’s a good thing you did this then, because you learn that he likes you too—very much, actually. 

.

Things are good a month until your exhibit. 

Things are good until they aren’t. 

You end up reading a premature critique on your exhibit, calling it ‘overrated’ and ‘boring’, detailing the trajectory of your decline as an artist, citing your works as having become increasingly more lackluster over the years. 

The critic calls your theme ‘lazy’ and ‘unoriginal’, predicting your pieces to be nothing extraordinary or different from your older sculptures. 

All this time, your publicist and manager have made it a point to protect you from things like this, requesting that you avoid searching up your name on social media or search engines. You’re usually fed with praises and the occasional constructive criticism, but never anything as spiteful as this. 

It’s every possible thing that could be said to invalidate your hard work. 

And you break because of it—along with Nanami’s sculpture.

It tips over accidentally, the funk in your mood making you especially clumsy. 

The damage is terrible, half of his face is gone, his neck down still intact but chipped off. It’s impossible to repair without redoing the entire thing—which, you don’t have the time for, either. 

You groan, banging your head against the table. 

Frustration leaks out in your tears, every inch of self-doubt surfacing. 

Nanami finds you in your studio that way. 

He’d texted you the entire day, tried calling you a few times to no success. It’s a Thursday, but without your usual ‘just got home’ text, he’d gotten worried and rushed over as soon as his meeting ended. 

If he’s being honest, you’ve been off this entire week—stressed and distant, overworked from revisiting all your finished sculptures for the exhibit in case of anything to change or tweak.

Then this. 

And it’s too much—it’s all too much. 

Nanami calls your name from your entryway and you look up with tears streaming down your face. He’s never seen you like this, you could never want him to. 

He hurries over, brows immediately furrowed as he digs into his pocket for a handkerchief. The cow print would make you giggle on any other day, but now, he uses it to wipe your tears away. 

“What happened?” his gaze shifts to your right, his sculpture half-ruined. 

Silence. 

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks hesitantly. 

You shake your head, swiping at your nose, “It won’t look the same, Ken.” 

“Do you want to redo it? I can clear up my schedule every–”

“There’s no time.” 

Nanami takes your hands to rub his thumbs over your knuckles, soothing. 

“Then we’ll do what we can.” 

The sincerity in his voice hurts you, the reassurance in his eyes even moreso. You’ve never had anyone look at you this way. 

“There’s no point.” your shoulders slump, lips trembling as another wave of tears pool on your lash line. “People are calling the exhibit a flop.” 

“Who?” 

You huff out, exhausted, “I don’t know, critics, media. Whoever.” 

He furrows his brows, firm, “They don’t understand what you’re doing.” 

You chuckle sarcastically, “They’re art critics, Ken, of course they–” 

“If it means something to you, what does it matter to anyone else?” 

That makes you look up. 

Nanami stares at you with the same unwavering gaze, no longer indecipherable to you. There’s a softness in the squint of his eyes that you now know means concern, with every pointed feature only meant to drive his words home. 

You’ve been second guessing everything down to the core of your abilities, because of what? A few words? This must be what you get for having a penchant to people please, for hinging on everything everyone has to say. 

“If you love what you create, then continue to make it.” he squeezes your hands, as if pressing the words into your bones gently. 

.

You remold and repair, and you build up your sculpture to something different but not worse than before. 

You remold and repair to build up yourself. 

The half that broke off isn’t as symmetrical as you’d like it to be—and it definitely doesn’t do justice to the man it’s sculpted of, but you think you like the softness you added to it, how his eyes look kinder. He means something else to you now, after all, compared to when you first started sculpting him. 

And you think, you know just what kind of design speaks of his soul. 

.

.

.

PAINT. Add the final touches, perfect your piece. Bring it to life with colors and details, whether it be for one pair of eyes or many. Do you now see?

Nanami teaches you how to make bread on a Sunday morning. 

Flour coats every surface of his counter, dustings of it transferred to the deep blue of his apron. You’re wearing a white one, borrowed from your studio. Elbow-to-elbow you knead, and he only has to teach you once for you to get the hang of it, really. 

He smirks, “You’re a natural.” 

“Must do stuff like this a lot in another life or something,” you stifle a giggle, playing along. 

It’s a beautiful day out, golden sunlight hitting your cheek—Nanami stares, sneaks peeks between every knead. The same strands of hair tucked behind your ear fall to frame your face, and he hooks his pinky around it to tuck it right back (because he can now, without having to hesitate). 

You turn to him, daylight in your eyes when you grin your thanks. 

His kitchen has an open space, deep wood and black metal detailings as its central theme (the white bread bread basket you made together stands out on the counter, but he’s done that on purpose). There’s a pretty extensive collection of alcohol in his liquor cabinet, along with his very particular coffee set-up right next to his record player slotted in the corner. 

On Sunday mornings, Nanami likes to keep his music playing; today, it’s the classic 60’s–’Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’–serving as your background beat, with the soft meows from the cat on his balcony as added accompaniment to the melody. 

He watches you sway, his feet tapping along, then you jolt, giggling in surprise when there’s a hiccup in the song (it’s from the scratches on his record, but he can’t bother replacing it with a new one). After that breakdown in your studio, you’ve seemed to loosen up immensely. 

“Ken,” you call him, “how much pressure do you usually put into kneading?” 

There’s no way to explain it, really, but to make you feel it yourself. 

“Let me–” he lets go of his dough, dusting his hands with more flour before coming up behind you. 

Nanami is a big man, tall and lean, all chest and shoulders—when he hunches over you, you look so small, delicately tucked into him. Heat rushes to his cheeks, if you turn around you’d see pink; the music is drowned out by his heartbeat. 

He leans forward, palms clasping over the back of your hands, fingers slotting themselves between the gaps of yours. 

“Like this,” he pushes down, his chest pressed against your back. To get a better look at the dough, he tilts his head to the side, nearly slotting it by your shoulder, “Can you feel it?” 

You hum, your swaying gone. He’s trying hard to focus on the bread, but when you turn your head to face him, the tip of your nose touching his cheek, he stops. 

The moment is tense, drowned into silence despite the music playing in the background. He can hear your every breath. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

Nanami knows it’s for many things—for agreeing to the sculpture, for spending time on it; for this Sunday morning, for being there when you needed someone the most. But that’s not the whole point of this, he thinks. It’s how you sound, voice heartfelt and filled with something else—a kind of affection he’s all too familiar with himself. 

This must be what you mean when you say you can tell if clay has been molded with love. 

.

In the quiet, Nanami’s hands move loudly. 

He holds you gently, just like he always has, but it’s a permission every time—like he’s asking if he can touch you, love you in ways you aren't used to. 

Your apron falls to the floor, followed by your skirt, the fabric pooling by your feet. The faded gray t-shirt you wear during studio days is tugged over your head, dropped next to him. He takes his time with you, turning you over, feeling you, knowing you—thick fingers squeezing the sides of your arms lightly as his lips press against your neck. 

A gasp escapes you. 

Then you move, nimble hands undoing the buttons of his shirt, pushing it open as you feel across the planes of taut muscle on his stomach and chest. 

He groans, soft and low, your fingers brushing against his skin, ticklish. 

You take a step back and he moves along with you, letting you settle into yourself as you inch backwards, the back of your knees knocking against the edge of your bed. He holds your gaze as you move towards your headrest, your shy smile doing nothing to lessen the butterflies in his chest—you did mention that it’s been a while. 

He kneels on your bed, the mattress dipping to accommodate his weight—his slacks have been discarded to the side as he crawls over you. 

Beneath him, you look like the very subject art could only wish to replicate. 

So, he makes sure to remember all of it—to look close and memorize every detail of you as he dips down, arm planted to the side of your head as his other hand cradles your face, tilting your jaw up for a kiss. 

He catches your lower lip between his, running his tongue over it before sucking lightly. You moan, smooth and honey-sweet, bringing him closer with your fingers clasped behind his neck. The room is quiet save for your lips smacking against each other’s, warm and soft as the heat builds between you.  

Slowly and tenderly, with the same care you tend to clay, Nanami discovers all your dips and curves; he kneads the flesh of your hips, gripping your thighs as he kisses his way down the slopes of your body. 

You squirm in his hold, tugging at his hair when the sensation feels too much, too good. 

(But when he reaches between your legs, arms locking your thighs over his shoulders, you realize, nothing could have ever prepared you for this, for him—he treats you as if you are every bit of the art you make, and looks at you like it too.) 

Then, Nanami kisses you on the forehead when he’s inside you, lips pressing on the part of your skin that creases when your brow furrows. 

A tear drips down your face. 

“Should I–” he looks you in the eye, worried. 

“No,” you breathe out, a watery smile as you nudge your nose against his chin, “keep going.” 

So, he does; he loves you without the applause, with the feel of his hands, leaving no place untouched.

He moves his body against yours. 

It’s only after, when he tucks himself into your neck, arms wrapped around you and skin sticking onto skin that you tell him your tears aren’t anything bad. 

For the first time in a while, you feel full—perfectly content. 

.

He thinks you should be the final piece to your exhibit. 

It’s a grand event, the conference hall decked in some of your previous works; blankets of white cloth drape over the stage—the unveiling of all your sculptures. You’re standing to the side, looking pretty in a long white skirt while Nanami blends among the crowd, far back enough to remain hidden from reporters but close enough to catch your eyes should you look his way. 

You present each one, introducing the titles with brief descriptions of the people they’re sculpted from. The reasons for your designs are left primarily up to interpretation, but you’ve explained it all to Nanami—he’s listened to every single one. 

Then you present his sculpture, finding him through the crowd. The corner of your lips curl up slightly, the stage lights reflecting on your eyes. 

He smiles at you the same. 

‘The Undoing’ is what you call it—half-perfect and half-salvaged. 

It’s far from your original vision for the piece, but you think you like this more, splitting down the part that’d originally broken off into two different colors. His entire color scheme consists of yellows, greens, and browns—the perfected side of his face appears in clean strokes of coffee, with light yellows highlighting his pointed features. The angles are clean and sharp, his gaze straight and dead-on. 

Running down the cracks of the broken half is a sky blue line, an almost glowing effect added to the salvaged side. In a way, it’s an emergence, of the part of him you never thought existed—green wisps like leaves, a life springing from within. You add flecks of gold to mimic light bouncing off his irises the same way sand becomes a glittering sea of sunbeams. 

To you, Nanami is warm but cold to the touch, and he’s undone you just as much, has chipped away at the parts of you that have built themselves over years of habits reinforced and untouched. 

It is as much you as it is him. 

That’s what happens when you love someone, he supposes—an intermingling of souls. 

Kraft paper crinkles in his grip as he adjusts the bouquet of flowers behind him, deep red carnations and orange tulips decorated with white astilbe flowers—for when you get down, and he can have a moment with you privately. 

Now, he looks at you fondly, shifting his feet from where he’s standing. You search for his face, eyes darting to where you know you’ll find him; he meets your gaze, and you smile brighter, that one look ringing louder than the standing roars of an echoing applause.

a/n: each segment represents the steps to making a sculpture that i tried to parallel with the development of their relationship. V60 pour over is a kind of set-up for drip/filter coffee.

thank you notes: for @mididoodles, this is my very late birthday gift for you midi, but i hope you like it! (this also so happens to be your request for my in's and out's event) 🥺 + @soumies @scarabrat for reading through the first third of this and believing in the vision for this when i was so unsure of it, i love you both 🥺 + @stellamancer for helping me figure out what goes in the 'contains' 😭 + @augustinewrites to scratch the nanami itch 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[deadghosy]

Hi! I hope you're doing great!

So I saw the headcannons of reader as Catnap and Dogday and I fell in love with the way you write! So I was wondering if you could do a headcannon about the reader being bendy from bendy and the ink machine?

Like the reader can draw and bring ink creatures to help around the hotel, maybe draw some decorations for the hotel? Sometimes going full on ink demon form to protect it or just pick up their friends on their back to make them feel taller

And the reader was actually an animator at joey drew studios and died, I think that would be pretty cool!

P.s I would love if the reader was wearing the same suit bendy wore in bendy and the dark revival

HAZBIN HOTEL X BENDY!READER

Prompt: a cute “little” demon becomes a resident who helps with the designs around the hotel!

Starting off. You definitely appeared as baby bendy 😘 with ya cute ass red bow or white bow. What ever you want the bow color as you showed up to the door trying to seem professional as Charlie gushes at your cuteness and lets you in.

The picture of baby bendy in the car, yeah you have that as you literally fuckin' zoom in the hallways drinking apple juice like a bad ass kid….bendy!Reader and chibi!Reader both doing races to make sinners poor😭 lil evil asses….

I imagine Angel dust and Alastor ganging up on you as a team to insult you by your height until you grow up to ink demon from with a roar.

“HOLY SHIT-” “Oh my.” They both said as you they were blew off by the power of your roar. So you felt happy seeing them shocked to see that part of you as Charlie didn’t see it and had commented how adorable you are with your suit.

Shit you are a devil in an angel’s suit‼️

You still wore the suit you had in when you met Audrey…man you miss her. But you are getting taken care of by Charlie and her friends here. Plus her father.

You help design the banners around the place! And even your small ink minions help as well.

I can imagine bendy! Reader being like “fuck it.” Because they can’t reach for the cereal and turn into normal height looking bendy and just starts to act as if it’s normal. While in the background, the crew has pure confusion on their face. Like, “what the fuck? You can be taller?”

“Yeah! Pretty neat right?” “..Im out of here…” husk says walking away as niffty goes up to you excited to talk to you about your height.

You ran over alastor’s foot once….you never speeded over 120 mph in your whole life seeing Alastor chase after you.

I imagine you going to normal height as you are just chilling with your small or long tail swinging and husk gets curious as he picks it up with his paw. “So…this ya tail right here?” You nodded reading the new paper. “So you’re a sinner demon?” “I ain’t nothin'” you said with a smirk as you disappeared in ink.

No one knows what exactly what you are. You don’t have the basic looks to look like a sinner or a hell born. So it’s kinda confusing to other.

You’re obviously a human who died to the ink as you use to animate bendy…so you’re bendy?? Does that make since because whatever you died by is your demon form….hopefully that made sense..

You once went full ink demon mode because a sinner tried to attack at you and husk while just running errands for the hotel. You transformed getting taller with the ink covering your face as you growl and slashes at them with a giant gloved hand covered in ink. And after that husk respected you more.

“Bendy/reader, can you help me make a cute star design?” Vaggie asked as Charlie was trying to make a star gazing banner. You nodded with your cartoony smile and pulls out a marker and started to draw on the air. The star in the air becomes to life as vaggie’s eyes widen.

“Uhm…oh wow. Thanks?” Vaggie says as she walks away with question marks visible while you just smile.

Y’know those dubbed comics where bendy has an accent? I feel like that’s cannon because you and Angel would be babbling about which part of city you guys were from.

I can see sir Pentious and you doing crafts as you made him an ink cartoon flower as he made you a bracelet bead with your name on it.

Lucifer will definitely play violin as you tap dance. Just a wholesome ass moment fr 💗🦆

You one time had fat nuggets in your doom buggy as you guys had shades just chilling around the hotel like bad asses✨

You miss your original family when you were alive and working. But everytime you open your eyes, you are greeted by the sweet comfort of your new family in the hazbin hotel.

You one time made an ink sculpture of your family and you tried to hold your smile but it faltered as you cry at how you missed your family as the ink sculpture melted due to your emotions.

Alastor appeared in your room seeing you sad little state as he comforted you. He had taken a liking to you ever since you joined the crew.

I can see you being childish because of your shortness so you use it to your advantage. YOU AND ALASTOR MAKE YOUR INK DEMONS FIGHT LIKE POKÉMON 😭😭

lol imagine bendy!reader making a whole like of fake ass tarrot cards to fuck with people as you have that smirk on your face.

“You’re gonna get run over toots…watch your back..” “what. The. Fuck-”

They got ran over by a mysterious person and a car….who knew who it was…it was you, you little bastard.

When the hotel has a talent and show day or night, you remembered how you animated bendy to do ballet and tap dancing. So with your information, that’s what you did. Yeah some sinners laughed..but some aplaude as they found it cute and so did your friends

You making ink blob bracelets for your friends as you can make them solid is a goal for real.

Headcannon on how you would try to make ink sculptures, but failing as you huff in anger and smash it with a full ink demon hand as the rest of your body is fine.

Headcannon of you just accidentally leaving ink footprints as you took off your shoes once 😭 niffty doesn’t complain as she likes to clean tho

I can see Lucifer picking your small body up happy for you to be so small as he has started in his eyes. And you are like annoyed at how the cast picks you up like a baby.

LMAO THAT WALMART MEME STOPPP😭😭 LUCIFER PUTS YOU UP TO THE DAMN WALMART CAMERA HAVING ALASTOR ALSO PICK LUCI UP 😭😭

I imagine you and Alastor having either a “bad ass son x calm father” troupe or a “non-biological sibling” troupe as you two get quite along

Your little ass doom buggy is such a weapon when needing to take a troubled guest in the hotel….YOU RAN THEM OVER?! 😨 ALL PEOPLE SEE IS A SMALL ASS INK DEMON HAVING A GUEST SCREAMING AS THEY GET RUNNED OVER TO THE DOOR-

So when the angels came for the battle, you were sure damn ready as you suffocated them in ink and control them into killing their own.

After seeing your full demon form, you definitely had been seen in a different light. They don’t see you as the cute baby bendy they seen you before.

Nah nah. They see you as a grown ass person as you are not in the baby bendy phase but more like the fanart type shit looks. With your charm, you definitely bring in some customers. 

HOPED YOU GUYS LIKED THIS AS THIS IS ALL I COULD COME UP WITH 🦆💗 MWAH

[bbokicidal]

"Good Luck, Babe." - Angst! [Hyung Line SKZ]

Notes : Part 2 to the "Are You Serious...?" mini-series where SKZ are walking red flags. Here is your comfort-not-comfort, because sometimes there are no happy endings and they don't redeem themselves.

Warnings : Angst with no comfort, Breakups, Unhappy endings sorry not sorry. This is also rushed and I'm very tired but people wanted it so bad so here it is. <3

"Are You Serious...?" Hyung Line Here

BangChan - Brushing off/Having the wrong priorities -> You leave when he isn't home.

It was two forty-three in the morning when he had texted you that he was leaving the studio, walking with his head down and eyeing his phone to see the little 'Read' message pop up. When it didn't come through after a few moments, he tucked his phone away with a soft sigh and continued on.

It was two fifty-eight when he texted you asking if you wanted anything from the convenience store. Again, no reply or read receipt, so he assumed you had fallen asleep and simply wouldn't reply. You were probably curled up in the sheets, hair messy and face puffy with slumber. The thought made him smile as he paid for his water.

It was five after three when he stepped into your apartment and locked the door behind him.

It was three thirteen when he stepped into the bedroom after washing his face, stopping in the doorway. Your nightstand was cleaned off and you weren't in the bed.

It was three fifteen when he picked up the sheet of white on your side of the bed to read over the scribbled and frantic handwriting, tear stains littering the paper.

'Don't bother falling in love again until you can get your priorities straight.'

It was three twenty-five when he messaged you once more, asking why you had decided to up and leave so suddenly.

And it was three twenty-five when the blocked receipt popped up on his screen.

Lee Know - Keeping secrets / Prioritizing Privacy within himself -> You remove yourself from the relationship while he is on tour.

If he didn't have the audacity (or BALLS.) to tell you he was going on a six month tour until the day before he left, he didn't deserve to know you were leaving the relationship at all.

You'd packed your bags full of your belongings, leaving gifts Minho had given you on your shared bed and leaving everything practically spotless The drawers were empty, the bed made and folded so neatly - the living room cleaned, carpet vacuumed, kitchen spotless and ready to be filled with cooking and shared laughter as hugs and kisses were exchanged.

The door fell shut softly behind you, the sound of your suitcase rolling down the hallway quietly echoing in the apartment before you grew too far away for it to recognize the sound any further.

Minho stepped into the apartment three months later, unlocking the door and letting it fall shut behind him. He stared into the emptiness that was his apartment, eyes dragging to your key sitting on the bare countertop. He breathes out slowly, pulling his mask down beneath his chin and letting his eyes wander over the quietness of the home.

He couldn't be upset. He knew he set himself up for this in the long run.

Even then, he couldn't stop himself from softly calling out your name - only to be met with no reply as he dreaded.

Changbin - Not knowing the difference between being rude and being blunt -> You finally snap on him.

"Shut up! Just shut -- up!" You finally yell, bringing your hands down hard on the counter in front of you.

Your boyfriend stares over at you in surprise at your outburst. "What is your problem?" He huffs out, blinking a few times just to clear the shock from his face. "Don't start throwing a tantrum."

"This isn't a fucking tantrum, Changbin! This is me telling you to shut your mouth for once! I don't need this-- berating that you constantly give me. You don't know when to just shut up and it drives me crazy sometimes...! You tell me 'this doesn't look good,' or 'You talk too much,' or 'You're too loud.'"

"You ask me if you're too loud or if something looks good. Do you want me to lie to you?" His eyes narrow as if he's so obviously right that you are wrong.

You scoff, tears clinging to your lashes. "I ask you sometimes and yes, I do appreciate your honesty, but I don't always need your opinion, Changbin! It's like you -- use my appreciation of your honesty to just voice your negativity towards me now. You just say shit just to say it."

His lips part as if he wants to defend himself, but you cut him off by rounding the corner and beelining for your shared bedroom.

"If you can't learn to shut your fucking mouth, Bin, I don't know if we can keep this relationship up for much longer."

His eyes widen in surprise and he sinks where he stands, hand twitching on the countertop as if wanting to reach out to your retreating form. Had he messed up that badly all this time?

Hyunjin - Being too cocky / Making you feel inferior -> You grow fed up with it and decide to break it off.

"What was that?" He snaps all too quickly, resting one hand on the door of the bathroom so no one else would enter. Even though there were.. multiple stalls.

"I was talking to someone, Hyunjin. It's called socializing. And surprise! Isn't it crazy someone is talking to me tonight?"

"Hongjoong? Talking to you..? He doesn't even know who you are -- Why would he?" His eyes narrow, offended already that you seem to insinuate something regarding him. "What are you trying to get at?"

You scoff, eyes rolling dramatically. A habit you'd picked up from him, unfortunately. "You never talk to me at afterparties because you're too busy being social with the other idols. I get that you should talk to them for press and to look good and whatever but Yeji isn't your girlfriend, Hyunjin - I am! You don't need to stand there all night ogling her and being smooth..!"

"At least if she were my girlfriend, my girlfriend would look fucking good for once."

Your jaw pops open as you stare up at him, fists clenching at your sides. You'd done your absolute best to dress as nice as possible tonight - granted yes, your makeup was smoked out and your hair was a bit messy from dancing but you'd been trying to enjoy yourself while your boyfriend stood at the bar talking to --

You feel a huff of air leave your throat before you pull open the door, ripping it out from under his hand where he leaned. He fumbled, glaring down at your retreating form. "Where are you going?"

"Back to Hongjoong." You reply, never bothering to turn around.

"Why? I'm talking to you now, isn't that what you wanted? My attention?" He moves to follow, stopping in the doorway when you do turn to glare up at him.

You seethe. "Quit worrying about why I'm talking to him, Hyunjin. Maybe you should worry yourself with wondering why you just lost your girlfriend instead."

He blinks, ears red with anger. "I don't want you talking to him--!"

"And I don't give a fuck, because you're not my boyfriend anymore!" You step back, lifting a hand to flip him the bird as you disappear into the crowd once more in search for the captain of Ateez. "Call me never, babe!"

[lacroixqueen]

i look in people's windows (18+, noncon) stalker deadpool x office worker reader

Summary: deadpool starts stalking reader after seeing her in a coffee shop. breaks into her apartment and does typical depraved wade shit

Pairing: stalker!deadpool x office worker reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: stalking, trespassing, noncon, dubcon

He didn’t realize he was so fascinated with you initially. At first glance, you looked like any other plain Jane office worker in the city: rushing to the front of the cafe to grab a tray of half-cold coffees before bolting out the door. 

Why is she in such a hurry, he mused to himself, watching you scurry down the block, the corner of your white blouse poking out of your gray pencil skirt. Acting like she’s saving the world or about to perform brain surgery or something. Another Marvel Jesus wannabe. What makes her think she’s so important anyway?

He went back to sipping his bitter espresso, returning to his original state of solitude, until he couldn’t shake you out of his head. Fuck it. Something urged him to get out of his seat, leave the coffee store, and follow you out.

He trailed behind you by about a block or so. He took note of your black tights, and how your skirt ended at the mid-level of your thighs. And that stupid click-clack sound of your heels against the cobblestone. So self-righteous.

He eventually followed you into a skyscraper building. He watched you weave through the crowd, past the front desk, and into a back elevator. Wade quickened his pace to be able to catch you just in the nick of time. 

He darted into the elevator right before the doors were about to close. 

“Floor?” you asked politely, looking up at him with those god awful innocent eyes that made him want to bend you over the nearest desk and fuck you senseless. 

“I’m so glad you asked!” he piped, ever so chipper. “I’ll be.. Uh. Floor. 85.”

“Oh, this building only has 60 floors!” you said. “Which department are you going to? Oooh, love the costume by the way. Maybe you’re headed to the photo studio? That’s going to be on 54. You take a left, then a right, and.. it should be straight there!”

And so polite too. God, could she be anymore insufferable, Deadpool thought to himself, tilting his head to the side as if to psychoanalyze your disposition. 

“Does.. that sound right?” you asked, a bit nervous now that the stranger dressed in all black and red sharing the enclosed space with you was no longer speaking. 

“Yes,” he replied, a little bit too quickly for comfort.

You pushed the corresponding button without another word, and then retreated back to your corner of the elevator. A few seconds of silence passed when your phone suddenly started beeping out of control. 

“Hello?” you asked nervously. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I’m coming right away. Yes? Uh huh. Mhm. Okay. Got it. Thank you. Bye.” You ended the call with a subtle click and slipped the phone back into your pocket. 

So she’s eager to please. A perfectionist. Interesting, he thought, jotting down a mental note. 

The elevator reached an upcoming floor with a crisp ‘ding’, followed by the doors gliding open.

“Have a great day!” you called over your shoulder as you stepped out, about to walk expeditiously to your cubicle, balancing the tray of coffees in your shaky grip. “Oh, and you should take one of these, they are still hot!”

You handed him one of the skinny vanilla lattes in the tray before the elevator doors closed between you. 

Wade took it without a thought. And he didn’t hesitate to follow you, of course. Ducking behind office plants and hallway walls just to see where you were going without drawing too much attention. He was quick enough to catch a glimpse of your full name on your cubicle placard. 

Bullseye, he thought mischievously to himself, before slinking away into the nearest stairwell. 

He somehow directed himself to the records department in the basement, carefully rifling through the employee directory to match your name with any corresponding information. 

“Y/N..” he muttered to himself, leafing through the enormous book in the back of the storage room. “Goddamnit. Where the hell are you.. Aha! Full government name, phone number, and mailing address. Who even needs those shady paywalled identity finder websites anyways.”

Later that evening, he made it a point to break into your apartment before you came home. He was methodical, ensuring to cover all his steps, so that no trace was left behind. The lock to your doorknob was easy enough to pick. It look several bent-out-of-shape paper clips of course, and a lot of perseverance, but he somehow cracked the code. 

He liked the way you decorated your space. Those cute little succulents in clay pots with smiley faces on them. Colorful candles and warm-toned tarps. Trinkets and crystals adorning cherry wooden shelves. Overgrown plants strewn across the floor. And books. Heaps of them. 

“Well I’ll be,” he huffed to himself, standing in the center of the living room, hands on his hips. “I never took you to be an interior designer. Chip and Joanna would have a run for their money if they ever got a load of this..”

He played with the string of beads you hung from the ceiling, until the wooden dresser you had pushed into the corner caught his attention. 

“Ohohohoho, now what do we have here..” he chuckled, prancing around your furniture to open up the first drawer. He was immediately greeted by your collection of underwear, folded neatly and sorted in a way he pictured an office worker would. He flickered his fingertips over the tops of them, as if he was a kid in a candy store picking out his favorite treat. 

“So organized and efficient!” he commented, rifling through the perfectly placed rows and columns with curiosity. “It’s like the love child of OCD and a very high grade personality disorder.. color me impressed.”

“Eenie, meenie, minie, you!” he exclaimed with glee, eyeing a pair of stretchy, black tights and lifting it out as if he was plucking a rose from a vine.  

Just like the ones she wore this morning, he mused.

His fingers glided across the fabric, gently rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. He stretched it out as much as he could, pulling it, teasing it, pretending as if it was on you. 

He decided to get comfortable on your couch, playing with your tights in between his gloved fingertips. 

“Well, out of all the things I’ve done to be put on a government watchlist, this one definitely takes the cake,” he murmured to himself as he lazily lifted up his mask, licking the stretched out nylon with his greedy tongue. He sucked on it desperately, as if he could somehow taste you on the fabric, his saliva dripping down the side of his chin. 

His fingers twirled around the black bows on the sides, pulling so hard one of them came undone. Without wasting another moment, he unbuckled his belt and slightly zipped down his fly, releasing his already hardened cock. Slipping the dainty cloth over it, he began to indulge himself in a way that he never predicted he would this morning. 

He tilted his head back into the soft cushion of the sofa, stroking himself with your elastic tights between his fingertips, imagining you were bouncing on top of him with them on. 

“Fuck, Y/N..” he breathed, gritting his teeth as he continued to pleasure himself. “Why did you have to wear something so slutty at 7 in the morning? I mean what kind of a sociopath does such a thing? You’d think people would have common courtesy these days, but I guess not.”

He groaned softly as he came into your tights, his cum infiltrating through the thin fabric, leaving them absolutely soaked. Breathing heavily, he got up to toss the tainted pantyhose into the trash. 

Finding a scrap piece of paper and pen, he decided to leave you a little note of gratitude on your kitchen table before he left your apartment, scribbling a messy sketch of his mask making a blushing face and a lop-sided heart: 

“Thanks for the coffee!”

[95rkives]

wishes and kisses⼂m.yg

summary: sneaking into his studio with burnt homemade cupcakes to celebrate his birthday.

pairings: producer!yoongi x fem!reader

genre/warnings: established relationship, lover boy yoongi xx, fluff and kisses ᰔᩚ

wc: 0.8k

a/n: i’m back to celebrate the man who was send as an apology to all women!! happy birthday, please send signs you’re alive xx, everyone.

You hastily left 15 minutes before the clock struck 12.

You didn’t bother cleaning up the kitchen. You didn’t bother putting the milk back in the fridge. You didn’t bother catching a coat in your haste. You didn’t even bother locking the door behind you.

You silently hoped against the odds that he wouldn't miraculously decide to come home early this evening as you hurried through the vibrant streets of Seoul. Clutching a beautifully wrapped bag containing cupcakes that you weren't particularly proud of, you were driven by the closure of patisseries and bakeries. The urgency to surprise him tonight made waiting until morning seem too delayed.

Baking was among your cherished pastimes, so when the cupcakes emerged burnt, you nearly spiraled into a meltdown. The haste during a post-work shower led to this mishap, revealing that multitasking wasn’t your forte.

Stumbling through HYBE’s building, you were greeted by the familiar face of a guard whose shift ended at midnight. Relief flooded over you as your eyes met, signaling that you still had time.

Huffing and puffing from all the running, you allowed yourself leisurely steps toward the studio. Along the quiet hallway, you casually checked a wall clock. 3 minutes to 12.

Ruffling your bangs into place, you wiped away the beads of sweat trickling down your temples. Sucking in the inside of your cheeks, you opened the door to unveil the obsidian shade of your boyfriend's mullet, complemented by matching black headphones.

You bite back a smile as he remained unaware of your presence. Leaning back against the door, it softly clicked shut.

You observed him reclining in his studio chair, enveloped by its plush leather cushions. As he adjusted the headpiece around his neck, you took it as your cue to speak.

"Happy birthday," He flinched, and you grinned. His head snapped back so swiftly that the chair squeaked, spinning him around with the force of his movement.

"Baby," the pet name slipped past his lips in a sigh of relief, and you could physically see his muscles relax. All the days tension seemed to melt away from his features, flowing out the window like a gentle breeze.

"That’s tomorrow," his head tipped back as you stand above him, inviting the chaste kiss you bestow upon his lips.

"Is it?" you teased as he pulled you onto his lap, the small white bag finding its place on yours. He confirmed your words with a glance at the clock, earning you his lazy, gummy smile.

"Oh," he breathed cheekily. Bowing his head, his forehead nestled on the curve of your shoulder, his arm gracefully snaking around your waist.

It took him a heartbeat for his gaze to zero in on the bag resting on your lap, and his free hand sought out your fingers entwined around the silk straps. "What d’you get me?" he rasped in a soft murmur, a gentle reminder of the surprise that had turned your kitchen upside down.

You leaned your cheek on his head, glancing down as you skillfully undid the bow, revealing two cupcakes—one adorned with white frosting, the other with a pastel shade of blue.

"You baked these?" he grinned, lifting his head to catch a glimpse of your profile. He noticed the way your teeth gently sank into your bottom lip as you smiled sheepishly, so subtle that one might miss it, but not him.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

"M’yeah," you giggled softly as his lips brushed the back of your ear, his hand trailing up your thigh, squeezing gently as it settled. Each kiss he bestowed was accompanied by the warmth of his breath, laughter dancing against your skin.

"Feed me some?" he murmured against your skin, his lips delicately gliding over your cheek. All you could sense was his suppressed smile as he neared the corner of your mouth, prompting you to tilt your head to the side, evading him.

"No," you teased.

"What..." he sulked, his hands squeezing your waist and thigh simultaneously, pressing you closer against his chest. He watched as your lips twitched in a grin mirroring his own, slowly forming as his forehead came to rest against your temple.

"Burnt them," you said, scrunching up your nose, and he had to bite his bottom lip to restrain from biting yours.

“No way.” he mocked.

“Way.” you whine.

"Okay," he laughed breathily, reaching into the box to scoop a finger off the blue frosting. "Let's taste test." You observed as the finger neared your mouth, only for him to smear it on your lips, earning an unamused groan from you.

"Why." you cried out in mock exasperation, your words muffled and drawn out into a whine as his fingers squished your cheeks, molding a pout he pulled into a messy kiss. Amid laughter, groans, and squirming against his mouth, he hummed, "Delish," smirking once he pulled away, rolling his lips into a laugh when you smacked his hand away.

[honeykaes]

three rounds

boxer!wriothesley x reader II 3.0k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no set pronouns, boxer! au, modern au, blood, fighting (boxing), rough sex, wriothesley picks reader up, standing full nelson, semi-public sex, creamipes, fingering, overstimulation, dacryphilia, dumbification, childhood friends to lover, secret dating, mention of the criminal justice system, implied family abandonment, unedited

synopsis: you and wriothesley had been best friends for ages. you were there when he broke ties with his rich family, when he failed the police academy and now in his success in the boxing ring. this will be the match to decide if he earns the belt and he wants his cheerleader, whom he's secretly dating, to be there in the front seat to witness it.

The glare from the bright white spotlights made you squint and lift your hand up. Black spots littered your vision as you adjusted and stared down at the ring in front of you. Crowds surrounded the entire ring, cheering and yelping in delight excited for the match getting ready to begin.

This was the final match to determine who received the golden belt any professional boxer in England clawed their way to attain. To get it, they would have to rip it out of the claws of the previous boxing champion, Attainer. This would be no easy feat, but you knew that would not stop him from achieving his goal.

“Now we have the underdog, quite literally! Can we get some noise for the newbie with attitude Wriothesley!” the announcer yelled out from the speakers. As soon as he was introduced, the crowd’s noise grew louder, admiring the man coming out. His short black hair was as scruffy as ever, adorned with streaks of gray he insisted wasn’t from age. His eyes, piercing icy blue, looked to the crowd in determination as he lifted his arm up waving to them and a lopsided smirk.

He was extremely muscular wearing his scars littering throughout his chest, neck, and face with pride. As he slung under the ropes of the rings, he gazed at the crowd once more as they cheered—eyes scanning for someone until they settled on their own. His eyes softened and his smirk grew, winking over to you as your heart fluttered.

“Oh my god! He actually noticed me! This is the best day ever!” a girl cheered behind you. You chuckled to yourself fighting the urge to turn around and spoil her fun. No one in the ring would know that look was for you, and you alone.  

You and Wriothesley have been together for a few years now. You were there when he was at rock bottom and you would be there when he finally took the heavens or himself.

“Round one! Fight!”

You knocked on the shabby door, hearing banging from the other side as your heart pumped in your chest in anxiety. Wriothesley had been avoiding your calls all day since he got out of prison and was under probation. 

“Wriothesley! Open the door!” you yelled out. No response came except for the constant sound of smacking. Your hand grabbed on the handle turning it only for the door to crack open. A yelp escaped your lips watching a cockroach scutter across the floor into the hallway from the hallway. Cursing silently to yourself and surprised Wriothesley still didn’t say anything, you closed the door looking over to see the barren studio apartment.

There was hardly anything in the tiny space beside a mattress that was directly on the floor with some blankets thrown across it, a large bean bag chair to the side, and a large punching bag swinging in the middle of the room. The sound of smacking echoed out once more as Wriothesley continued to punch it, still not facing you.

Earbuds were placed in his ears, your sounds must've been drowned out by how loud he was playing his music. You slowly approached him, calling out his name once more as he continued to ignore you. With a sigh, you placed your hand on his back. He immediately tensed up and he turned around. 

He scowled over to you, frowning prominent on his lips. Bags were under his eye, a fresh cut seemed to linger there too. He must’ve got it before getting out of prison. Your eyes softened in pity and Wriothesley took his earbuds out and sighed.

“Are you okay? You’ve been ignoring me for days since you got out,” you murmured. Wriothesley grumbled under his breath and sighed, wiping the sweat clinging to his brow. He must’ve been exercising for a while now.

“I’m fine. You don’t need to always check on me like you did when we were kids. I’m not the little rich kid trying to understand public school anymore…” Wriothesley muttered. You clinged your tongue, rolling your eyes at his response.

“Yeah, you’re not, which is why I don’t know why you are acting like a kid and avoiding me. We're friends. You got arrested and kicked out of the police academy, of course I want to check in with you and make sure you’re okay. Shit sucks, understatement of the year, but I want to help you through this,” you replied. He doesn’t respond and looks away, eyes narrowing in shame. Your eyes flickered down to his ankle bracelet, blinking. It will be six months before it’ll come off and he'll be free from it.

“Please can you just…” you sighed, “You don’t need to carry all of this by yourself. I’m not going to abandon you no matter how many times you try to push me out. We are in this together. I promised that to you before and I mean it now.”

Wriothesley remained quiet walking over to his mattress before collapsing on him, the springs creaking loudly as they adjusted to the new weight. 

“Frankly, I’m not sure why you seem so adamant about staying beside me. Why? Do you got a crush on me or something,” Wriothesley murmured, covering his eyes with his hand. There was a pause as you struggled to say anything and simply looked away. Noticing you not saying anything, Wriothesley uncovered his face looking over at you in shock before it softened. A chuckle soon rattled throughout the tiny studio apartment.

“Ah, I guess that explains it then, huh?” he murmured, looking over to his hand covered in sports tape. He flexed his fingers, pondering the words he wanted to say to you as butterflies flew throughout your stomach. Was he going to send you out? Was he going to pretend you didn't say anything?

“...I don’t regret going to jail for what I did. I know what I did wasn’t wrong but naturally bastards with more money than me can get away with it and paint me as the villain to absolve them from their crimes,” he murmured getting up in front of you.

“I’m not going to let that stop me though,” he murmured. The pitter-patter of the rain outside hit the window as Wriothesley chuckled once more.

“London is like this, gloomy, gray with pricks who take advantage of the disadvantaged. This city eats up anyone they can. I don’t plan on being part of the menu. Something good will come out of all this shit…” he murmured. His fingers lifted your chin and a soft smile curled on his once serious expression.

“Besides, I think things are shaping up positively in some ways already. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Once his probation period ended, Wriothesley went to the gym often to clear his mind when he wasn’t working at his part-time contracting job. He wanted to join an amateur boxing ring, only for his skills to gain the attention of recruiters looking for more talent in the professional ring.

Signing on to a team and management, Wriothesley quickly flew through opponents. The crowd had deemed him as “Cerberus” for his scruffy yet handsome appearance along with his famous three-punch combo. 

It had been three years since you two started this journey and this match would show if it was worth it. 

“Ooh! The Attainer got a left hook to connect the frazzling crowd favorite! Can the doggie get out of this or will the beat finally get tamed!”

You snapped out of your thoughts, clenching your jaw seeing Wriothesley stagger from that hit. Blood began to dribble from his lip. A flash of anger shot through his eyes as he glowered at Attainer with frustration. As Attainer went for another blow, Wriothesley swiftly dodged to the left. Time for the final round was ticking down quickly, he’d need to make this count if he wanted to win.

Dodging another attack and seeing an opening, Wriothesley quickly rushed his gloved fist forward connecting it to the champion, Attainer. 

“One,” he muttered, drowned out by the deafening noise and muffled from his mouthguard. Seeing the opening swift to try to adjust, Wriothesley refused to let him, connecting another punch in the stomach to his opponent. Attainer gasped, the wind knocked out of him from the blow. 

“Two,” he grunted, dodging another desperate blow from Attainer. With one more opening he saw, Wriothesley went in again connecting his final blow to Attainer’s face.

“Three!” he grunted. Attainer staggered, body fumbling to the ground as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. The referee sprung from outside the ring, smacking his hand down to the side of the opponent, counting those three numbers. Wriothesley stood to the side, chest gleaming in the stage light from his sweat as the crowd cheered in bewilderment and excitement. 

“TKO!!”

Roars of cheers echoed throughout the stadium. You couldn’t stop grinning, joining in the celebration as Wriothseley lifted his arm up signaling his victory against the champion. Flashes of light flickered off as press and camera from fans, sports journalists, and anyone wanting to gobble every opportunity and second, they could to get this shot. His eyes wandered to yours, smiling wide as you gave a small wave back.

As a camera quickly came into the ring, a microphone shoved in his face to conduct the first interview of the new champion, you slowly got up from your seat and the chaotic cheers of the stadium and headed to his private quarters in the locker room to wait for him. 

Thirty minutes went by before the door flew open and slammed shut as he entered. As soon as his eyes met yours, he walked up to you, arms wrapping you in a tight hug. You chuckled, wrapping your arms around Wriothesley’s torso, smelling the sweat wafting from him.

“I told you doll,” Wriothesley smirked, as you chuckled once more.

“You did!” you chimed with a wide smile. Wriothesley leaned in close, lips millimeters away from one another.

“And you know what I want more than anything,” he whispered, capturing your lips. His hands settled against your ass, squeezing the soft globes as you gasped, placing your hands on his. He massaged it, tapping it as he finally let your kiss go—a translucent string of saliva connecting your now glossy lips with his.

“W-What?! What if someone sees us? You built your reputation back up just to risk destroying it with a stupid scandal. ‘New champion has a partner caught fucking in the stadium!’ The press will eat us alive,” you stammered out. Wriothesley chuckled lowly, nibbling your earlobe.

“If they give me shit, who cares? It’s my managers who thought it best to keep our relationship a secret. I should get to celebrate how I see fit. They get their win and I get you, everyone’s happy,” Wriothesley whispered, grinding his hardening cock against your leg. You sighed at his response.

“What am I going to do with you,” you muttered. You gasped as Wriothesley smacked his palm down on your ass —the sting of dull pain shooting through your body.

“Fuck me, that’s what.”

Wriothesley brought his lips down to yours once more, the adrenaline from the match still coursing through his veins. He takes his shorts off, heavy cock popping up and rolling against his chiseled abdomen. It lulled to the side against his black happy trail, flushed tip already budding with precum as veins pulsated throughout the thick flesh.

You lowered yourself on your knees, grabbing onto his length as he sucked a sharp breath in. You smeared the precum, finger playing with his sensitive tip. You pumped a few times before opening your mouth and taking him into your mouth. The familiar salty taste of sweat and precum hit your tongue as you bobbed your head.

“Aww, giving me a little reward? You shouldn’t have,” he teased, grabbing a fistful of your hair. Your tongue swirling along the tip, sucking hard as Wriothesley’s body shuttered and hips slightly faltered. His nails dug into his thick thighs, trying to contain himself as you continued to suck and swirl against him.

“That’s it. Open up a little wider for me lovely,” he murmured, using his other hand to tap at your throat. He used the grip he had on your hair to sink you further down his cock. You fought the urge to gag, but he had trained your throat to fight against the feeling. You soon completely had his entire length down your throat, nose brushing against the thick hair of his bush.

He pulled them away, as an audible pop echoed throughout the small room while you caught your breath. Drool leaked from the side of your mouth, eyes watching as Wriosthelsey continued to jerk at his cock. It twitched in his grasp.

“Open your mouth for me like the good doll you are,” he murmured. You obeyed, opening your mouth wide as a low groan ripped from his lips, tip hovering over it. Globs of cum shot from him, falling on your tongue as you resisted the urge to spit or swallow. His hips shuttered, bucking a few times before he finally began to soften and leaned over wiping some that managed to spill out on the corner of your lips.

“Swallow for me…” he cooed. His smirk widened watching your throat bobbed as you did, trying not to shiver from the taste. 

“So good for me. Get up. I think it’s time for the spotlight to be shared,” he murmured as you got on your feet. His hands gripped your bottoms pulling them down and onto the ground, before your underwear went with it. He haggardly popped a few buttons off from your blouse, showing off a bit of your chest to him. You could feel him beginning to grow against your thigh. 

“Wriothesley!” you yelled out, as he lifted you up. His hardening cock slides against your drooling slit, gathering up the slick clinging onto your cunt. He does this growing harder before he’s finally fully erected once more. Wriothesley hooked his forearm against the back of your knees and leaned against the wall before he sank into the warmth of your cunt—roughly plunging inside of you.

You moan in surprise at the position, your body bouncing from his quick thrusts. Objects hung on the wall bang to his pace as the sound of smacking skin reverberated throughout the locker room. 

He finally put one of your legs down, in the process reaching deeper inside of you as your body jolted in pleasure. With his now free hand, he moved his palm striking your needy clit—the shock of the pain and pleasure caused your walls to flutter down on his cock, as he groaned in delight.

“You like that, I felt just how tight you gripped me just now,” he cooed, nibbling against your neck. His fingers continued to toy with your clit, rubbing tight circles and occasionally smacking his fingers down on it. Your body shivered at the simulation he was giving you, cock brushing against the spot that made you see stars.

“Fuck! Wriothesley. There, there! There!” you babbled out, tears beginning to prick your eyes.

He shifted his position and grip on you, turning you around so your back was to the wall and keeping you up with one hand gripping tightly against your ass. Your legs had instinctively wrapped around his waist, allowing him to rut against that spot with more precision. His eyes lingered on your chest, admiring the flash of your pebbled nibble that would greet him with every bounce of your body.

His hand grasped your jaw, his blunt nails digging to the sides of it,

“Gonna cum for me? Yeah?” he murmured, brushing his thumb against your bottom lip as you rapidly nodded, tears beginning to cascade down your face. He grunted, feeling your walls cave in making it harder to continue to buck inside of you.

“Show me how good a champion’s cock is then,” he grunted. With more nodding and babbling of his name, your eyes rolled to the back of your head—body arching as you finally reached your high, shivering in pleasure.

Wriothesley pistoning his hips sloppier, let out a low moan of your name before shutting his eyes and connecting his lips with your own. His hips faltered, ropes of cum spilling inside of you and filled you to the brim with his essence.

Lifting his head up, he chuckled noticing your fucked-out and tired expression moving your body in his arms before placing you down on the couch. He admired your chest slowly rising from your chest, eye makeup messed up and smeared from your tears.

“Sorry, was that too much for you,” he murmured with a smile, leaning down to kiss your forehead. He went over and put his shorts on, tucking his softening cock beneath it. You groaned, lolling your head to the side as Wriothesly approached you again. His cum was beginning to leak down your thighs. He couldn’t stop himself from pumping two fingers into your overly sensitive cunt, pushing his cum back inside of you as you whimpered at the sensation.

“Don’t worry. Just rest here and we can leave afterward for dinner, if you’re still up for it that is,” Wriothesley murmured. A knock on the door caught his attention as he got up and walked over to the door, cracking it so your form was completely hidden by his stature. He scowled, only for his gaze to turn to shock seeing Clorinde, his manager glare at him. She let out a side, crossing her arms.

“Next time you plan on fucking your partner, please do it when I don’t need something in the locker room, that is not ours I’d like to add, and have to wait elsewhere until you’re done to do so. The papers are on the table, I expect to see them on Friday when you show up for our press briefing,” she grumbled before walking away.

Wriothesley chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“My bad, Clorinde…”

[miloscozycorner]

𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬.

Carer!Natasha Romanoff x Little!Reader

• As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were feeling under the weather. As always, Natasha makes sure to take gentle care of her stubborn baby.

cw: age regression.

( 1007 Words )

It started with a runny nose. You assured Natasha it was just seasonal allergies, and you had to adjust to the winter. Hesitantly, she had taken your word for it- though of course, she always worried about you pushing yourself too far.

Then, you started to get a headache. And the sore throat and cough. You tried to brush it off, but when Natasha woke early in the morning to see you drenched in a cold sweat, shivering and coughing, she knew you weren’t okay.

She also noticed how small you seemed- you held your stuffed animal tight, grumbling and fussy. “Hey little bug, are you feeling icky?” Natasha murmured as she leaned over you as you shivered, nodding at her words.

With a cough you nodded, “It feels hot n’ then cold, mama.” You mumbled, frowning. Natasha tutted, placing her soft hands on your forehead. She hissed as she felt the head radiating from your skin.

“Baby, you’re burning up.” Natasha cooed, wincing when you hacked and coughed loudly with a wheeze. “Oh honey, you’re definitely sick. Here, I can send a text to your boss-”

God, you hated having to admit that you were getting sick. You pouted, groaning in frustration. “But I got work!” You whined, getting more distressed at the idea of not being able to go about your daily tasks.

Natasha sighed, shaking her head as she ran her fingers soothingly through your hair. “Sugar, you just can’t go to work. You need to stay home and get better, okay?”

You paused as you started to wheeze, sputtering into a coughing fit. Natasha sighed, moving to hold you tight in her arms and let your head rest on her shoulder. “Mama.. it hurts.” You whined, cut off by another sharp cough.

Fingers ran through your hair soothingly as Natasha pressed a kiss on your forehead. “I know it does, baby. It must hurt a lot.” She replied softly. She paused to glance out the window.

Sunlight was peaking through the white curtains, just barely risen enough to cast a shadow.

“Why don’t you just stay here, okay?” Natasha spoke, shifting so she was sitting up in bed. “Mama can make you a nice, warm bowl of soup and we’ll put on some of your favorite cartoons. How about that, little one?”

After a moment you nodded in agreement, whining when Natasha slipped out of your hold to stand. “Mama, don’ leave.” You mumbled with a pout, cradling your stuffie tighter to your chest.

Natasha sighed, “Sugar, mama isn’t going far. I’m just going to make you some soup with tea and grab some medicine.” She paused, before handing you the remote. “Choose something, okay?” She gestured towards the television.

Even though part of you wanted to object, to convince Natasha to stay in bed just a little longer, you nodded in agreement.

You mindlessly scrolled through the options of television shows before eventually deciding on a calm, animated movie. You relaxed into the bed, cradling several stuffies close to you while the movie began to play.

Soft footsteps pattered down the hallway until Natasha appeared, a cup of tea in one hand and medicine in the other. “Your soup’s sitting on the stove, baby. Still needs to warm up a bit.” She explained before scooting next to you in bed.

You grimaced at the medicine, not appreciating the grimy texture that went down your throat. But Natasha held you, telling you how brave you were while you drank it, which made it feel a little bit better.

The tea soothed your throat as Natasha hummed, glancing over at the television. “Studio Ghibli? That’s a good choice, precious.” She helped you sip at your tea for a while, frowning when you would wince or whine at your headache and sore throat.

“Mama, my throat hurts.” You whined, allowing Natasha to hold the warm mug of tea up to your lips. You took another small sip, finding a bit of relief in the soothing liquid.

Natasha moved off the bed again, cradling your cheeks and planting a kiss on your forehead. “Keep watching your movie, sweetheart. Mama is going to get your soup now, alright? I bet that tummy of yours is hungry!”

You giggled at her comment, shaking your head. “Mama you’re so silly.” You babbled, unable to help the small smile that tugged at the corners of your lips.

Natasha tickled your sides lightly before heading down the hallway, her footsteps eventually fading into the background. Once again you found yourself focused on the movie in front of you playing out, though sometimes the sickness would make your head feel floaty and almost dream like.

The scent of chicken noodle soup wafted around the hallway and into your room as Natasha returned. “Do you want to sit on mama’s lap while you eat this, honey? I don’t want you to make a mess.” Natasha said, moving over the cup of tea on the nightstand to place the bowl.

A moment passed and you nodded, adjusting yourself to sit on her lap. Natasha held you close, the bowl placed in her lap while she raised spoonfuls of the soup to your lips.

As you finished your soup and tea and the movie started to fade into background noise, you could feel your eyes start to grow heavy and your body weight felt like far too much to keep up all by yourself.

Natasha adjusted you, moving you so you were laying down and cradled in her arms, your head nuzzled against her collarbone. “Close your eyes, little love. Get some extra sleep for mama, okay?” She cooed, rocking you gently.

Though part of you felt like protesting, trying to fight through the day and stop feeling so icky, you gave in to the comfort and let your muscles eventually relax.

With Natasha’s soft touches and gentle praises in your ear, the shivers that ran down your spine eventually faded away, and sleep came to you with an ease you hadn’t experienced in days.

[nats-firefly]

livestream

camgirl!wanda maximoff x reader

summary: your girlfriend has a stream, and you watch it like the good partner that you are. when she’s done she comes to you to finish her off.

warnings: camgirl!wanda, voyeurism, strap-on use (wanda receiving), powerbottom!wanda, mommy kink, swearing, hair pulling, smut 18+ only

a/n: another repost! sorry it took me a bit to post, life's been a little crazy

🚩 warnings are clearly stated please do not report/flag :) 🚩

words: 1.7k | feedback is always welcome | masterlist

gif source | divider source

“Hey, babe,” You yelled into your apartment. “I’m home.”

“Hi baby,” Wanda purred, pausing in front of you so you could admire what she was wearing. Your mouth watered as you took in the sight in front of you. Your eyes raked up her body, admiring the way her thigh highs hugged her thighs perfectly, followed by the pretty and sheer white lingerie set and bustier she had on. Her neck was adorned with a simple pearl necklace that matched her iridescent light makeup look. “How do I look?”

“Delicious,” You replied, pulling her into you by her waist as she laughed. Your lips connected to her neck as your hands roamed down to grab her ass. She moaned against your lips, scratching the base of your scalp before sliding her hands down to the front of your chest and pushing you away.

“Careful, you’ll ruin my makeup,” She whined, turning away to look at herself in the mirror hanging on the wall, and smiling once she made sure everything was still perfectly in place. “I’m about to stream.”

“Oh,” You said, pulling her in once again and smirking down at her. She looked at you with a playful grin, fingers playing with the buttons on your shirt. “Tell me I get to help with this one.”

She fake pouted, leaning up on the tip of her toes to give you a small peck. “Not this time.”

“Baby,” You whined, pulling her back by her hips when she tried to walk away, but not before admiring the way her ass looked in that thong. You kissed down the side of her neck, making her whine when you grazed your teeth over her soft skin. “Please, baby.”

“As much as I wish I could,” She took your arms and unwrapped them from around herself. “You’ve helped with every stream in the past month, to the point I’ve been getting comments that they want me by myself.”

You fake pouted, giving her your best puppy dog eyes, to which she laughed and cupped your cheek. “Next time baby,” She turned away and walked towards your spare room, which she used as her studio. She draped her long hair over her shoulder then looked back at you. “But there’s no one saying you can’t watch.”

She closed the door with a wink, leaving you slack jawed standing in the hallway. You snapped yourself out of it and moved to the couch, settling down and clicking on the app your girlfriend was about to get naked on.

You met Wanda long after she started her career as a cam girl, in fact, you subscribed to her and it was only a coincidence you ended up meeting at that club one night. Your relationship had been fast since then, you were completely infatuated with one another, and soon enough you’d moved in together. Wanda has only ever made you happy, and being a camgirl was her job. You didn’t think it was a big deal if she continued doing it and you sure as hell had fun helping her out with it.

Soon enough, you saw her face show up on the app. She started out with her usual routine, explaining the tip goals for her to do anything like usual. You watched her tips come in, enjoying the way she looked on the screen. Wanda started off playing with her chest over her bra, her soft moans making you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, eyes glued to the way you could see her nipples harden through the sheer fabric. 

It wasn’t long until Wanda reached her first tip goal, meaning she would be taking her top off. You leaned forward in anticipation, watching as her tits spilled out of her bra. It didn’t matter how many times you’d watched her do this exact action, how many times you’d watched her tits bounce in front of you, every time was captivating. Her body was perfect, she was a goddess, and you were her devotee. You couldn’t get enough of her.

Your hand gripped the phone as she smirked at the camera and started shimmying her underwear off, you clenched your jaw and swallowed hard. She is breathtaking. You watched as Wanda showed herself off in different angles, lightly playing with herself and going slightly further every time she hit another tip goal.

“Fuck, Wanda,” You groaned as she switched her camera angle to show right between her legs. Wanda leaned back hand working between her thighs. You watched her dainty manicured fingers start circling her clit, moans filling the room. Her pussy was already soaked from her playing with herself, and knowing you were watching her drove her insane. She couldn’t care less about the tips coming in, or how many people were watching, the only person she cared about watching her was you. All her streams got better since she met you.

She brought herself closer and closer to the edge, her hips bucking up into her touch. You could feel your temperature rise, like steam coming up from your shoulders. You couldn’t wait until she was done. You watched as Wanda’s back arched in pleasure followed by the loud moan coming from her studio. 

“Fuck,” Wanda moaned, the same way she does when your strap is inside her and you knew at that moment exactly what she was thinking about. And like a good partner, you’d make sure she gets what she wants after a long day at work. 

You went into your room and put on Wanda’s favorite strap, the one that was private to the two of you, the one you knew made goosebumps erupt all over her skin. When you came out, it was just in time to settle back on the couch before she came out of her studio, clad in her fluffy pink robe. Wanda strutted over to you, moving to stand between your knees. You looked up at her with a lazy grin. She smiled down at you, fingertips trailing your shoulder.

“Did you like the stream?” She asked, biting her lip. Wanda didn’t need your validation but she wanted it.

“I fucking loved it, baby,” You answered honestly, grabbing her hand and playing with her fingers, scooting closer to the edge of the couch to run your hand up her legs through the slit of her robe. “You look so perfect.”

Wanda laughed, hand running through your hair as you tried snuggling your way to her skin through her robe. “You think so?”

“Oh yeah,” Your hand slid up higher to her inner thigh, squeezing her soft flesh. Wanda pulled your head away from her by your hair until your back was flush against the back pillow on the couch. She leaned over you, her face mere inches away from yours. Wanda’s eyes flicked down to the bulge on your pants before she smirked up at you.

“Aw,” She giggled, straddling your lap then sliding her hand down to grab your jaw. “Did that make you horny, baby?”

You groaned, her hips starting a slow rhythm against yours. She tilted her head to the side, gaze sending a wave of heat straight to your core. “You wanna fuck me so bad you went to get your strap, baby? What a good toy, didn’t even have to ask.”

Your hands gripped her hips as you fought against her hold on your jaw to kiss her. Her lips were just out of reach, she was holding you in place just because she knew she could.

“Wan,” You moaned trying to hold her closer. “Please.”

“Please, what?” She asked, leaning her face closer to you.

“Please let me fuck you,” You said, lips attaching to her jaw the second she let up her grip. She moaned as you continued kissing down to her neck, nails scratching against your scalp when your teeth grazed her skin. “Please, I want to make you cum on my cock.”

Wanda felt a shiver run down her back at your words. You always knew exactly what to say. She pulled your head back once again, lifting herself off your lap just enough so you could pull the strap out. You knew what to do.

“Tell me what you were thinking about,” She rasped, sinking down on the strap. “Tell Mommy what you were thinking about while you were watching me.”

“Fuck, Mommy,” Wanda moaned at the title, starting to bounce on your lap. You reached up and slid the robe down her shoulders, giving yourself a perfect view of her tits. “I was thinking about this.”

You looked up at her as she threw her head back, Your hands on her hips guiding her movements. “Thinking about how much I wanted to see you bouncing on my cock,” You bit down softly on the soft flesh of her chest, making her moan out and hold you closer. “How pretty you look cumming for me.”

Wanda moaned out, her movements growing faster and sloppier the longer you continued. You gripped her hips harder, pulling her down roughly in just the way she liked. “Are you gonna cum for me, Mommy?”

Wanda gripped your hair, rolling her hips in search for more. You knew exactly what she wanted and were fast to react, putting your mouth on her nipple and pinching the other one between your fingers. Wanda moaned loudly, arching her back in pleasure as the strap hit her in just the right way. 

“Fuck, baby,” She moaned. “I-I’m gonna-”

You pushed her up almost until the strap was fully out before pulling her down in one last thrust, making her scream out in pleasure as her orgasm overtook her. Her body shook as you helped her through her high, enjoying all the sounds she made for you. She tiredly slumped against your shoulder, heavy breathing and eyelids threatening to close.

“Baby,” She mumbled, you hummed at her to continue as you ran your hand through her hair. “I think that was the best thing we’ve ever done.”