#but doesn’t know how to plan out anything so all that money is gone

[awardenandacrow]

🌻 Naimeryn “Rook” Thorne is 30 years old. Her birthday was the day of the Ritual. Naimeryn’s birthday has always been a low-fuss affair, acknowledged by those close to her, but there’s never been money for gifts or a cake or anything if the like. She and Varric shared a beer at the bar.

🪻prior to Veilguard, the injuries she sustained fighting Darkspawn in the battle that put her on leave from the Wardens were the most painful, as the head injury was substantial. It left her mostly blind and mostly deaf on her left side. This impacts her interpersonally — she struggles to hear and see people who stand on that side — and in the field, leaving her at a distinct disadvantage from that side. She can be jumpy and appear paranoid, as she takes extra caution to check her surroundings in unfamiliar situations. I’ve written my headcanon most painful injury for her now, during the events of Veilguard — getting blown up by a gaatlock trap Taash inadvertently set off with their fire while on the Fangscorcher mission. Those scars are large and gnarled, and have a hugely negative effect on her self esteem.

🌹 I haven’t written it yet, but the first time Lucanis calls her “beautiful,” they’re going to get into a fight because she won’t believe him. She can wrap her head around, maybe, that he likes her for her, enjoys her as a person, and *maybe* finds her pretty, but ✨beautiful✨? She never expected empty, blatantly untrue flattery from him, and is hurt. Lucanis — with Spite’s help, of course — is gonna have to make a point of spelling out just how all those things she hates about herself are beautiful to him to convince her… and get forgiveness.

🌸 Naimeryn is an only child, and she’s always been kept at arm’s length — or, perhaps, kept others at arm’s length — so the Veilguard is the first time she’s really had close friends. After Weisshaupt, she grows closer to fellow Wardens Antoine and Evka, who helped secure victory with her plan at the Blighted village, and Greta, who is the only other remaining member of her Joining. She and Teia also grow close throughout the events of Veilguard.

🌾 Several demons have tried to get their hooks into Naimeryn, but they’ve always been thwarted by her determination not to lose herself or endanger those around her. He may not be Determination any longer, but she still has Spite around to beat back any and all challengers.

🌱 Naimeryn has had crushes before, but never any relationships. There was a fellow slave who pretended to like her to get close to another girl when she was 13, and a few Wardens who ultimately decided they weren’t interested in doing the extra work it would take to get into her pants. Generally, if someone flirts with her first, she assumes they want something from her. If she flirts and they flirt back, she assumes she’s given them the wrong idea, but they don’t actually *like* her. Lucanis will be her first everything.

🌼 Spite says Naimeryn smells like Blight and Lavender. He remembers other scents — the air after a downpour, honeycomb and mint, musty books, but she doesn’t smell like those things anymore.

🌷 Rook’s go to place for peace was a secret nook in Weisshaupt’s library. She hadn’t been there since leaving with Varric, and now that place is gone. She often feels trapped in her role, because now she feels she has nowhere to go when she needs to think or be alone. This makes good fanfic fodder, however, as companions get to walk in on her in moments of weakness — which makes her feel like a failure, but makes them appreciate her more as a person.

🥀 Naimeryn’s mother will make an appearance in the regret prison.

🪷 It’s not really *irrational*, but Naimeryn for a very long time was absolutely terrified of becoming an abomination, like to the point that she kind of thought it was inevitable and was just afraid of the not knowing WHEN it was going to happen. She mostly isn’t afraid of this anymore, as she trusts herself more now than at any other point in her life, but it still tears it’s ugly head from time to time.

☘️ Naimeryn’s whole life has been a near-death experience. However, specifically she almost died saving that town from the Darkspawn horde. As she lost consciousness, she wondered if the plan had worked, she wondered where the spirit that had been following her around her whole life had gone, and, upon hearing her fellow Wardens searching for her, she found peace that she wouldn’t die alone after all. I also wrote a near death experience for her after the Fangscorcher mission. All she could think was she COULD NOT DIE with Taash thinking it was their fault.

💐 The First Warden has hated Naimeryn’s since the day Saimaeria Mahariel, Hero of Ferelden, showed up on Weisshaupt’s doorstep and said “here you go. Train her up!” Varric honestly rescued her from this man’s ire — she survived the Ogre and he was ready to kill her himself with his bare damn hands.

🌺 Naimeryn has never had ✨anything.✨Before Loghain sold her and her mother to Tevinter slavers, however, the one thing she did have was a hand knit baby blanket the alienage’s elder gave to her mother when she was born. It was on her bed when she was taken.

🌿 Naimeryn’s first tattoo was the snake on her forehead. A Tevinter Mage Receuit who completed the Joining with Naimeryn dated her to get a snake tattoo, saying she wouldn’t because she was too “soft” to permanently put the iconography of the people who had enslaved her on her body. Naimeryn was damn proud of having survived that house and desperate to prove she belonged, so she came back the next morning with it on her forehead. A few years later she was working in Weisshaupt’s library and devoured any bit of information she could on griffons — albeit there wasn’t very much — and decided she wanted a tattoo that *she* chose and genuinely wanted, and so she got a griffon tattooed on her left thigh. Once Davrin & Bellara drag her around Arlathan enough and she gets to touch grass and smell flowers, and after she sees the Brona’s Bloom cavern, she’s gonna get some floral tattoos done as well.

🍂 Naimeryn doesn’t talk about it, but she was actually the one who like the magister who enslaved her when Saimaeria and the Shadow Dragons freed her and the other slaves in the manor. She lost control of her magic and killed him in an instant, in front of his young children. It took Saimaeria almost a full week to get her to talk at all. To this day, she doesn’t know how to feel about it.

This was so fun! I hope you guys like it!

Woe! Rook ask game be upon ye!

🌻 How old is your Rook? How do they feel about celebrating their birthday? What gift has meant the most to them? 🪻 What is the most painful injury your Rook has received? How has it affected them once it healed/scarred? 🌹 What’s the first genuine fight Rook got in with their love interest about? How was it resolved? 🌸 Does your Rook have any siblings or close friends they see as such? Where are they during the events of Veilguard? 🌾 If there was a demon trying to trap/take over Rook, what kind would be the most successful? What would break their hold? 🌱 Was Rook involved romantically with anyone before Veilguard? What was their partner like? How did the relationship end? 🌼 If someone was to ask Spite what Rook smells like, what would he say? 🌷If Rook needed to get away from their responsibilities for a moment, where would they go? Where is their safe space outside the Lighthouse? 🥀 What figure from Rook’s personal past would be added to the regret prison? 🪷 Does your Rook have an irrational phobia? (ie spiders or large man-made objects submerged underwater) 🍀 Has Rook had any near-death experiences? What went through their mind during what they thought was going to be their final moments? 💐 What is the relationship Rook has with their faction mentor? What was the moment they sent Rook away like? 🌺 Is there an object from Rook’s childhood they look back on fondly? (ie a favorite stuffed animal, book, or food) 🌿 Does your Rook have any tattoos? What was the moment when they got them like? If they’re a Crow where is their de Riva brand located? What vallaslin do they have/how did they earn it if they’re Dalish? 🍂 What was it like the first time Rook killed someone? How did they react afterwards?

[sunshines-through]

works been a shit show, my cats have an autoimmune disease, I got no money till my next pay, my bills are due next week and my useless boyfriend doesn’t have a job and is running out of money….. I would like to cry for about 45 days.. k thanks

[kisses4reid]

protect | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - you get badly injured on a case, and the hospital visit ruins your surprise.

genre - fem!bau!reader x spencer, hurt/comfort, little bit of angst and arguing, fluff, happy ending!! reader can bear children (has female anatomy)

warnings - pregnancy, major injuries, mentions of gross hospital things, r uses she/her pronouns, usual criminal minds violences

w/c - 2.2k

a/n - thank u for the request! loved the idea immediately and this is the first time i’m writing abt pregnancy and stuff so pls do not quote me on anything!!! also this writing isn’t my best, sorry abt that. okay bye have fun reading

request - (@ursuu-la) hihihi idk if you're taking requests, but what if u write something where Spencer and a fem reader are dating and she's pregnant, but she's kinda scared(? or nervous to tell Spencer. And maybe she could tell it to one of the girls of the team to find a way of approaching Reid, but then she gets hurt or something happens to her in a case.

“Oh. My. God.”

You turned your attention from the open manila folder to Garcia’s multiple screens, searching each one for something important, “What?”

“Y/n M/n Reid. You’re pregnant?” Garcia spun in her chair with an angry expression while pointing a ringed finger at the main computer screen. It was your medical history - which you allowed her to search so she could experiment with a new hacking technique - but you had forgotten about your recent discovery.

Your hand was clamped over your mouth as you stared in shock and started rambling through your fingers, “Garcia. I swear, nobody knows - I wasn’t keeping this from just you,” you placed your hands on her shoulders when she stood up in disappointment, sending her office chair to collide with the desk, “Spencer doesn’t even know, please Garcia. Don’t tell anyone.”

Your eyes searched hers for a promise or compromise, but instead you got welling tears.

“Garcia?”

“Y/n, your pregnant with a little Reid! This is amazing- How come you haven’t told him? I’ll have a new little nephew or niece! Y/n!” She squealed and took your hands to spin you in a circle in her small office. You immediately felt nauseous and slowed the excited girl, her hair accessories threatening to fall off in her happiness. You held your stomach and whispered,

“No spinning, I’ll throw up.”

She glanced to her computer screens and shut them down immediately, sitting back down and taking a deep breath. “This is great! Right? Please tell me this is great, you’re already 6 weeks pregnant.”

You bit your lip and nodded, “I mean, I think it’s great but..” You lost yourself in thought.

Last year when you and Spencer got married, you had talked about starting a family many times. But every time you both agreed to wait a few more years in order to save up more money and maybe move into a bigger apartment or even a house. This was not what you planned.

Spencer liked having a plan, it was one thing you grew to love. He was organised and, due to his amazing memory, remembered everything, especially everything about you. And though you two had grown so close you were basically one person, this was the only time you had no idea how Spencer would react if he found out your secret.

“I don’t know how to tell Spencer.”

Garcia grinned, but it was quickly wiped away when she noticed a certain figure in the doorway. You spun on your heel, heart attacking your ribs. Luckily, it was not your husband, but your boss. He stood sternly and started, “We’ve got a case, wheels up in 30.”

You nodded and turned back to Garcia, all she did was wave and whisper, “I’ll text you.”

In the plane, you sat next to Spencer in the aisle seat, stomach feeling queasy and phone vibrating non-stop in your back pocket. You pinched the bone between your eyebrows and squinted at the case files that Hotch had quickly gone over. Morgan was spilling some theories, Prentiss backing him up, when Spencer lowered his head and whispered in your ear, “Are you okay? You seem tired.”

You put on a small smile and nodded, the fact that Spencer had noticed something wrong meant that the rest of the team would notice soon too. You raised yourself and squeezed Spencer’s hand that had been in your lap. You murmured a small excuse me to Hotch and excused yourself to the plane’s toilet.

Spencer began to get worried for your health. The past week and a half, you’d been eating less and then more, and then you’d say you felt sick, and then you were full of energy. You cancelled plans, you slept more, and you had started avoiding Spencer. You were getting sick, and distant, and he hated how you wouldn’t let him help you whenever he asked. He furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head slightly, attempting to focus on the profile.

Sat on the toilet, ready to double over into the bathroom sink, you pulled out your phone and scrolled through Garcias texts.

What about a baby onesie with Daddy’s favourite child on it?

What about a candle lit dinner?

What about donuts that spell out ‘I’m Pregnant!’

I’ve seen people purposefully burn bread and wait until their husbands understand, maybe that?

Maybe. But right now, that was not what you wanted to think about. On top of the case and the whole pregnancy situation, your symptoms were becoming harder to conceal.

A whole day of analysis, interrogating, leads and dead ends led you to a one story run down house with broken windows and an overgrown yard. You threw the FBI bullet vest over your shoulders as Spencer approached you with a tight smile. His hair was shorter these days, after he finally let you start cutting it, but nothing could change his attractiveness. His cologne wafted into your senses as he went behind you, tightening your vest and patting your back and waist down to make sure you were at optimal safety.

You could almost imagine he knew you were pregnant.

“Remember, if he’s in there, keep your distance. He’s a big guy but silent, and not all there.” He furrowed his eyebrows as he did a last check over of your vest, belt, and the position of your gun. You smiled and nodded,

“I know, Spence. I’ve been here too.”

He sighed and nodded, placing a small kiss on your cheek as a good luck.

You were married, but there was no guarantee you’d both make it out of any case. Every movement could be your last, and every interaction could be your last together.

Morgan slipped through the door after a man picked the front doors lock, Prentiss behind him and you behind her. After you, followed Hotch and Spencer.

“Clear!” Morgan called from the kitchen. You turned right down a hallway, Prentiss disappearing into a small room on the right and yelling,

“Clear!”

You entered the small bedroom, gun high and steps careful. It was an adults bedroom, maybe a teenager. There was posters of horror movies, a thin mattress on the floor and shelves of books and wooden cupboard holding what you believed to be clothes.

“Clea-“

The wind got knocked out of you, your shoulder colliding with the wall to your left and a sharp handle being jabbed into your side, as you plummeted against the floor and hearing a loud thump and shattering glass beside you. Miniscule, rainbow, dots clouded your vision, the adrenaline and the concussion you were sure you had numbing the pain coursing through your veins. You screamed in pain, Hotch entering almost immediately.

You lifted your right arm to point out the window, the glass shattered from where the unsub had escaped.

Spencer entered the room in a rush, eyes running over the fallen cupboard that would've been taller than the both of you, and then your small body in the corner. You held out your arm for him, and he placed his hands under your armpits, jolting back when you screeched in pain. "Y/n, your..." His eyes widened in shock and fear at the sight of your dislocated shoulder. Your right hand clutched to your left side - no doubt trying to comfort a massive bruise or worse.

He gulped, helping you up and throwing your good arm around his shoulders. The sudden movements blanked your vision for a few moments, a small lump forming on the front left side of your temple, and your legs trembled in the sudden need to hold yourself up. "Y/n, we just need to get you to the ambulance, alright?" Spencer told you reassuringly. He didn't know how much you could understand, your eyes were cloudy and your movements spaghetti-like, but he continued to reassure you anyways.

The paramedics set into action as soon as they saw your near limp body strung across Spencer's taller build. You were placed in the ambulance on a bed and before you knew it, there was a heavy clamp on your finger and two paramedics touching you and saying unexplainable things to each other. A short one with a beard came close to your vision, obvious aware it was still slightly blurred, "Agent Y/n. We need to take your shirt off in order to fix your shoulder okay? We need to pop it back in as quick as we can."

All you could do is nod, Spencer making most of the choices for you as your husband - he wouldn't put you through something he knew you would disagree with. They asked him questions, and while the voices came in and out of focus, the adrenaline was wearing off and suddenly your senses heightened. "Is she pregnant?"

The question rolled off the paramedics tongue like a rehearsed poem, and Spencer shook his head like there was no possible way you were. But as you saw needles being prepared, your heart started pounding so fast it got the attention of the professionals. "Y/n, are you still with us?"

To Spencer, you looked like you had just woken up to a bad dream, but there was something deeper - you were not unconcious, if anything you looked alert.

"I'm pregnant." The paramedics glanced at each other and Spencer's eyes widened. The one with the needle placed it down carefully on a table, and before you knew it, you were being pushed through hallways and into a awfully bright room.

You passed out, fear and exaustion catching up to you. But Spencer couldn't sleep. On top of the fact that his wife had just gotten her shoulder dislocated and then fixed, and a slight rib fracture, she was also pregnant.

Spencer doubted for the first half hour of waiting for you to wake up that you actually were. You were saying nonsense, you were injured and the adrenaline... usually causes people to tell the truth. He paced and went over everything that had been happening. The change in your behaviour, the tiredness, the sickness. It was all coming together like a puzzle, and he wondered why he didn't realise sooner.

"Spence?" A small voice called out, and he approached the hospital bed almost immediately.

"Y/n." Spencer smiled in relief, overjoyed that you were alright and breathing. He knew you'd be fine, but anything can be unpredictable. Anyone can be unpredictable. "I'm so glad you're okay."

"What happened?" You tried to sit up but Spencers soft hands encouraged you to stay laying down.

"The unsub pushed a cabinet at you. You collided with the wall and dislocated your shoulder." He explained softly, the doctors told him that the specific pain killers they gave you may cause some loopiness. "Oh." You whispered, eyes searching his face like you had never seen it before, and you smiled. You were here, and he was here, and you needed nothing more. Other than more pain killers.

Spencer bit his lip, and sighed, not sure if it was the right time to bring the blindside up at that moment.

"Y/n, darling, are you... pregnant?"

The small grin wiped off your face and you took some deep breaths, nodding and avoiding his gaze in fear of rejection. Spencer sighed, and pushed his hair away from his face, a smile rising onto his cheeks. Tears welled in his eyes from happiness. "This is great, this is... wow Y/n, I can't believe.." He gulped, "I can't believe you didn't tell me sooner."

Confusing his disbelief for anger, tears started dropping down your cheeks as you sat in silence. Spencer started to worry, "Do you... not want to have a baby with me? Or at all? Do you think I won't be a good father? I know that I've had my problems in the past but I promise I can be a good father-"

"Spencer." You called his name in shock, heart aching over his insecure questions. "I do want a baby, especially one with you. And I don't think you'll be a good father, I know you'll be a great one. I just," you wiped your cheeks and he sat down in a chair beside your bed, taking your hand in his. "I'm scared. I thought that you wouldn't want to have one right now because of our... plan. This is really early and we didn't get to save- and- I thought you'd be mad-" You had started blubbering now, the heart monitor becoming a ticking time bomb for a full on breakdown, before Spencer took your face in his hands and smashed your lips onto his.

He pulled back, smile wide, eyes full of adoration and sorrowfullness.

"Y/n, I don't care about that plan anymore. And I'm not mad." He searched your eyes with his, "I just wished you told me earlier. Maybe you wouldn't have been injured, because god knows I wouldn't have let you go out into the field."

"Spencer, I'm so sorry." You sniffled, placing your other hand on top of his.

"Oh, darling. You don't have to be sorry. I've made my injured and pregnant wife cry, I should be sorry."

You giggled, and leant forward to kiss him on the nose. "So it's really okay?"

"Of course. You just have to heal quickly, and I'll do all the rest."

taglist (open!!) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m

[xazse]

Imagine sugar baby! Dombot AFAB toji x Sugar daddy Subtop m reader?? Like omg.

And instead of us being the older one it's toji 😭😭 reversed asf, like we do anything toji asks us to do because we actually secretly love him and toji thinks you're just after his pussy because of how much Reader seems to be flustered around him too much all the time, but he didn't even know m reader is HUNG ASF and doesn't have sex too much so he's not really used to fucking, but w toji? My god there's no rest. Toji would be ridin and milkin that dick and his own pussy till dawn OF THE NEXT DAY.

And reader? Oh he'd let him do anything, mf he's too pussy hungry for this too, like he'd do anything toji asks as long as he gets a taste of that pussy 😭😭

A Taste

Pairings: SugarBaby!DombotAfab!Toji x SugarDaddy!Subtop!M!reader

Warnings: Creampie + Afab!Toji + Male!reader + overstimulation + not!proofread + nasty smut + begging + lots of fluids + eating out

Notes: HIII OMG I LOVED UR PROMT SO GOOD AND YUMMY I HOPE THIS IS TO UR LIKING <333 + I may have gotten the sugar daddy part wrong

Toji thinks of you as a little puppy, a very forgiving one too. You practically follow him everywhere not that he minds, you give him money and even a place to stay he can’t complain. Though there are some downsides, everytime Toji offers to pay you back for what you’ve done you’re so quick to shoot it down and tell him to keep his money? Who does that?

He isn’t one to beg you to take it so he pockets it for later. And again when Toji asks if you want to settle down and watch a good movie with him you do say yes. The entire time he notices how you’ll glance in his direction every so often, at his face and even at his chest. This all has to connect to something, you not taking money from him, not wanting anything material wise so what exactly do you want?

He starts to put the puzzles together and comes to the answer that you most likely want sex from him, it all starts to make sense. Toji has had his fair share of sexual encounters but only by older perverted men, never someone as young as you are. What if he’s wrong though? What if he just ends up embarrassing himself and making you uncomfortable? He can’t have that who else is gonna buy him all the sweats and tight shirts he keeps handy? Not those old selfish fucks.

Toji starts slow as to not scare or send you into overdrive, you are a quiet man who keeps to himself but you do have nervous habits he’s picked up on. He also knows you aren’t that sexually active: he’s asked before if you’d want to hit up a club and maybe get a lay tonight but you politely declined and kept away with tapping at your laptop.

The subtle touches start, he’s gracing his fingertips along your back as he passes by you, touching your hand when he hands you something, Toji had even gone a giant step and asked you one day if you wanted a bite of this new snack he’d bought, you accepted but instead of him handing you it, he held it out and fed it to you, the whole time you were staring right into his eyes with a burning flame: oh?

Toji stares at you relaxed, laying down on the couch staring at the tv. You’re faced with your body upwards and your head turned: he decides this is the final moment in his plan. When he places his ass right on top of your cock you’re quick to startle thinking he’s made some type of mistake, a laugh leaves his lips, people don’t usually just sit ontop of someone for no reason? Toji wants you and very badly at that, he wants to repay you for all your kindness and respect.

Flustered and confused you quickly tell him that it’s okay and he doesn’t need to resort to such methods, it falls deaf on ears as he starts grinding against your cock, it’s not long before you’re fully hard dick is pressing against his pussy. Embarrassed that’s exactly what you feel, getting hard so quickly is pathetic.

Toji is ultimately flattered, a handsome man such as yourself getting hard for someone so much older makes his cunt throb. He pulls your pants along with your underwear: freeing your cock. The grin is wiped off his face when he sees just how fucking big you are, you’re thick and long, that’s a deadly fucking combo, he almost wants to back out.

You see his expression and concern fills your own face, is something wrong with you? Are you not to his liking? All sorts of bad things start to fill your head. Toji starts stripping himself of his own bottoms to reveal his dripping pussy, he rests it against your cock, all your worries disappear when all you can do is stare at the size difference between your parts. That’s why.

Your bare cock rests inbetween his lips, his clit is throbbing for some type of stimulation and your cock is begging for the same. You grab his hips boldly and start moving him, his sloppy cunt wets you with every long drag of his body. You both groan lowly. Toji hasn’t had foreplay with those other men, nor have they paid his clit any attention: but you make sure to give it plenty of attention, every so often you’ll use your fingers and rub the wet button, even dipping your fingers to taste him.

Toji has had enough of the foreplay and wants you inside him badly, he lifts his hips and you get the memo to line up your weeping tip with his greedy hole, it feels like he’s sucking you in when he slides down, Toji has to stop for a few to really adjust to you, it’s both frustrating and making him extra horny. When he finally bottoms out he feels so fucking full and he has to really focus on his breathing. Never has his pussy been stretched like this, he fills something warm inside of him and he stares directly at you.

You can’t even look at his face, hiding behind your arms lifted over your head, you really came inside of him and so fucking early, your cum starts to leak a little bit out of him further embarrassing and degrading you, but fuck did it feel so good, he feels good. Toji thinks you’ll go soft but you haven’t, not even a little. Trying to redeem yourself you begin moving his very slowly up and down.

Toji bites his lips as he lets you guide him through the process, you’re looking at him again: with such a warm love stricken face.

Oh god Toji can’t think, your cock is hitting his sweet spot directly over and over, damn the advantages to having a huge dick. He’s on his own as he bounces up and down again and again. You’re doing your part perfectly: meeting him halfway, pounding in him. He’s whining, the Toji fushiguro is whining for more of your cock.

Where you meet is obscenely gross and soaked with your juices mixed together, it’s sticky and sticks to Toji’s pussy everytime he moves up. He’s never produced and came this much from one single session. He doesn’t regret the weeks leading up to this at all, all he can think about is you pushing him over the edge and doing it all over again.

He begins to tire a little and you take over fully, lightly pushing him off of you, the wet sound of your cock slipping out of his pussy sounds so delicious, he thinks you’re going to stop and leave him wanting more but you don’t: you place your hands underneath his knees and push them towards his chest, it hurts, he isn’t flexible but he isn’t going to disobey when you want to give him more.

You push him into a mating press, and slide right back in. This position is more compromising and you get a full view of his face below you, dried tears and drool is present, his eyes are a little red from the overstimulation but he isn’t telling you to stop. You start fucking into him when you get your fill of his face, cock rubbing against his sensitive walls still has him clenching extremely tight around you, a few more strokes and he’s cumming around you with a lewd girly moan.

You do follow after but you just don’t stop, you might not ever get an opportunity like this so you’ll take full advantage of it, even if it comes at the cost of you being selfish.

It’s a wet sloppy mess by the end of it, you think it’s the end because Toji looks so fucked out, but your cock is still hard and throbbing, wanting to fuck him even more. You ask practically beg him for one more and then you’ll be done, he nods lightly allowing you to slip your soaked cock back into his warm embrace.

When toji finally tells you in a meek voice that he’s finished you’re distraught, you want more of him so much more, but when toji gives you the privilege of “cleaning him up” you fucking leap at the opportunity, using your tongue you slide back and forth inbetween his messy folds, lapping up all his cum and your cum. You sneakily even suck on his clit sometimes.

[livelaughlovesubs]

Nini, what about vampire Fyodor x vampire hunter reader (〜^∇^)〜 like you’ve been assigned to hunt down and bring the head of Fyodor Dostoevsky to uhh.. a king idk.

So you track Fyodor down and instead make a deal with him. You won’t kill him and actually let him feed off you and he lets you fuck him (ゝз╹)

At first he’s hesitant. A well ranked hunter coming to him and proposing a friends with benefits arrangement sounds pretty suspicious, but hearing the offer that you let him feed off you makes him agree since it’s an easy meal and he was planning on betraying you later on.

Thats until he’s bent down on all fours and being pounded like wild animals in heat. The vampire is so touch starved that he can’t handle the pleasure and tries biting anything he can (let’s just say you were left with a bunch of bite marks) After that experience he traps you in his manor and begs you to stay with him, maybe he turns you into a vampire as well

-🍮

I had so much fun writing this haha, and I had to brainstorm trying to fill in some plot holes

Dom!reader x sub!vampire!fyodor

Warning: teasing, pet name (lil’ vamp), pegging (I use dick), a tiny bit of dacryphilia, biting, hierophilia (blood), vampirism, contract sex

Edit: I think I’m based towards fyodor, this ended up so long again-

You were a mercenary, one specified in hunting down those bloodsucking monsters known as vampires. Your name was infamous among the humans and vampire race, known for your amazing methods and efficient execution. Though you don’t care much about fame, the only good things about it is it lands you many missions. Which is why you’ve been summoned to the castle of a faraway country, one that resides close to a forbidden forest.

These mysterious forests are strictly forbidden due to vampires living within them. It’s always dark and quiet in those places, befitting their taste. So you might think it’s alright if people just don’t go into the woods. Sadly something like that can’t be prevented. There are many valuable resources beneath these trees, and everyone is dying to get their hands on those. The price for material from the forest is also really high, and sometimes that’s the only hope for the commoners.

Even though it’s been agreed upon that humans shall not disturb the vampires for they own safety, your client, the king, wanted to raid the forest. He had his eyes set on the wood planted around the mansion of the monster, it had a beautiful dark colour and was very sturdy. Yet out of fear for the power of the entity, he didn’t dare set a single foot into the woods. That’s when you come into the spotlight, he wanted you, the most famous vampire hunter, to take care of this. Once the vampire is gone, he won’t be breaking any rules, right?

This was a common case for you, everyone used you to do their dirty work. That’s the life of a mercenary, disposable and self-destructive.

You walked through the lavish halls of the king, meeting him in his throne hall. He didn’t spare you more then one glance, shouting loud enough for his voice to bounce off the walls, “y/n, vampire hunter. I have an honorary task for you. I want you to bring me the head of the demon Fyodor Dostoyevsky and for that you’ll be greatly rewarded.”

Despite it sounding grandiose and imposing you knew how to stand your ground, asking for the exact amount you’ll be rewarded and an advance payment. The king on the other hand refused to answer, saying he doesn’t want you to run off with the money. What a joke, your previous feats aren’t just for show after all. There was no helping it, that’s life. You swallowed your anger and left, rolling your eyes as you prepared to set off.

The home of that demon was grande, almost as huge as the castle, he sure loved luxury. You circled around the house to secure your escape route before heading inside, the door opened with a climatic creak. What a cliche, does vampires not know how to take care of their home? Without sparing it too much thought, you stepped inside and called out for that monster, wondering why the ruler knew his name. They must have a long history between them.

“Fyodor! Heyyy, come out, do me a favour and make this easy.” You yelled, and soon enough, a shadow emerged from behind you. Before you got the chance to turn around, he mumbled with grace and elegance, “Y/n, the vampire’s greatest enemy. The one who pulled out the fangs of Dracula with your bare hand, and forced him to drink the blood of his comrades.” A shiver ran down your spine at his voice, it was low and pretty, enough to stir something inside you.

“That’s an exaggeration, I never did such things.” You turned around and chuckled, staring into his purple eyes. Before you stood a black haired young man with a puffy shirt and fitted pants. He wore many silver accessories, tons of necklaces hung around his neck. His appearance was very eye-catching, pretty features and pale skin, sickly so. “…but I may have a record of flirting with the enemy.” After seeing how beautiful he was, you decided to indulge yourself, flirting with him.

He didn’t pay your words any attention, instead he continued with his speech, “Mortal children strived to be like you, while we use your stories to scare the kids.” You stopped, a sense of pride engulfing you from the inside. “My, I am quite famous after all.” Fyodor furrowed his brows, as if he’s agitated, then he relaxed his expression and said, “I knew you’d come for me one day. And, I’m dying to try out your blood.” After saying that, he licked his lips before covering his mouth with his hand.

You laughed, catching him off guard. The sound of your voice was annoying, he felt like you were mocking him. Then you teased, “dear, do you really think you can touch my blood?” That was clearly a provocation, you looked down on him. He clicked his tongue, glaring at you. The moment you blinked, he rushed over to you, planning on taking you out with one swoop attack. You dodged him with ease, commenting, “not bad, but is this all?” And he ignored your remarks once more.

Seeing how serious he was, you’ll have to stop the joking soon as well. To be honest you weren’t in the mood for fighting, which is why you suggested, “How about this, fyodor-” “I didn’t give you permission to use my name.” He snapped, showing his fangs. “…then, lil’ vamp it is.” You chuckled, noticing how that pet name annoyed him further. “How about a deal? I’ll spare your life and you can have as much of my blood as I’m able to give you.” His pointy ears perked, intrigued by this proposal. It sounded enticing, but there’s nothing for free in this world.

“And what do you get out of this?” Fyodor asked, keeping his distance. He wasn’t going to heed the rules of a deal anyway, especially when made with a human. “Allow me to be a bit crude, but I want you to sell your body to me.” The boy froze in place, eyes widened in shock and disbelief. Were you aware of the implications of your own words? Was this another one of your mockery, your way of insulting him? “What makes you think I’d agree?” He questioned you, staring at your face with his scarlet eyes, trying to read you.

“I’m simply proposing a deal, you can decline or agree, it’s up to you.” Somehow you managed to sound unbothered and cheery despite the situation. No matter how fyodor wanted to decline, he knew this was his chance. If you fought with him seriously, he would eventually lose. Now, with you giving him new opportunities, he had to take them and put it to good use. “I’ll accept this for now, so, show me how sincere you are.” The demon demanded, and you answered with, “my pleasure, please show me to your room.”

Who would have known a day like this would come, where he got shoved into his own room, pinned to his own bed and humiliated in front of a human. It didn’t take long until you got him bend over on all fours, face pressed into his soft pillows. Any of his attempts to overpower you were futile, because you were physically stronger than him. That allowed you to pretty much manhandle him, denying him access to your neck. Once you got him into this vulnerable position, you didn’t held yourself back, asking him one last time if your deal still stands. After he nodded, you went all in.

Now you were breathing heavily while slowly entering his hole. His rim was tight and didn’t allow you any entrance, but you stayed stubborn, gently pushing your way in. “You are so tight, lil’ vamp.” You muttered, occasionally glancing over at him to see how well his reaction is. “Nghhh…! S-slow down, it hurts!” Fyodor groaned, cheeks flushed red as he realized the situation he was in, and that he never shared such intimate moments with anyone before. “…if I go any slower I wouldn’t be moving anymore.” You tried to reason with him, leaning down to press your body against his.

“HnnGh… t-then pull out…” He snarled, glaring at you while he felt your skin against his back, pressing him down, reminding him of your presence. How did things turn out like this? Why was he participating in such vulgar acts with his greatest enemy…? “Do you want me to? Then you won’t get my blood as well.” You whispered into his ear, licking his earlobe and the earring he wore. “Ha-haahhhH…! No, d-don’t.” The boy gasped, and you weren’t sure what he meant. But he seems to be enjoying himself, so you continued.

His hands gripped the white sheets with all the remaining strength he had, his ass reddened as he struggled to take you whole. That poor guy’s entire body was shivering, shaking as he tried to get used to this pressing sensation inside him. He could feel you stretching him apart, rubbing against his squishy walls. You smiled as you observed his efforts, one hand clasped over his hand as you intertwining your fingers with his. He had sharp nails, you could even call them claws. So you were worried that he’d poke holes into his sheets.

Your other hand explored his body, trailing down his spine with your fingertips, brushing over his body as if you were caressing a flower. “Hmm..! Uh-uhhng..! It f-feels weird..” It tickled him, yet it wasn’t uncomfortable, at least he thinks it wasn’t. Next, you stroke his silky hair before grabbing his hip and mumbling tenderly, “you are doing good, don’t worry I plan on being nice for today.” What do you mean for today…?

Soon, your hips met with his, and you stopped moving until you were sure he was alright. “Good job.” You said, rubbing his blushing cheeks slightly. Then you held your wrist right in front of him, inviting him to bite you, giving him your approval. Without any once of hesitation, he sunk his teeth into your flesh, sucking viciously. He was feeling so weak from your actions, he needed that replenishment. Since he was distracted, you took that chance to start moving again, making sure to take your sweet time. Well, he looked like he’d break if you weren’t gentle with him. He had such a slim and frail physic after all. Just look at his waist, it’s so skinny you fear you could accidentally break him into two pieces.

Fyodor suck on your wrist, mind getting cloudy from the taste of your sweet blood. It tasted amazing, and it made him feel all foggy inside. As if he was getting drunk on it, addicted even. He made sure not to waste a single drop, lips pressed against your skin while he gulped down more and more of your vitality. Apparently he was so distracted he didn’t notice you pounding his cute ass, not until it was too late. You fucked him slowly but roughly, each time you’d thrust yourself as deep inside him as you could, feeling him clench around you so sweetly.

“HnMnh, nghh…” the vampire only whimpered meekly as he sipped your blood contently, feeling pleasure blossom everywhere inside him. You eventually quickened your pace, now rutting into him without any care in the world. It was instantly met with his mewling, a high pitched noise as he screamed in ecstasy. Fyodor couldn’t pull his thoughts together, tongue hanging out as some tears rolled down his face.

Then you pulled your wrist away from him, saying, “that’s enough for now. If you want more, you gotta work hard.” His eyes bore such a pitiful look as he begged you for more, face melting as he moaned around you, some of your blood sticking to his lips. “Ahhh… it felt so good, I-i don’t wanna stop..” he admit, hands shaking underneath you, his primal urges kicking in, infesting his desires and hunger.

“What is it that you want, fyodor?” The way you voiced his name made his knees go weak, tremble even. He panted heavily, trying to fill his lungs with air, to keep his composure. “I-I want more blood… I want your blood.” You smiled, seeing him so desperate fed into your own desires. And you felt like if you denied him any longer he was going to cry, considering his eyes were getting watery already. “Then come here, lil’ vamp.” You told him and wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer to you as you sat up, positioning him in your lap.

His first response was to whine as he arched his back forwards, legs turning into pudding as his hands shakily let go of the sheets, now clutching your thighs. “Ah-nGhh.. it’s so- so deep inside me.. it’s so foreign..?” Out of nowhere you turned him over, and he wanted to immediately bite your neck, but you covered his mouth with your palm. “Not yet.” As soon as he understood what you wanted, he wrapped his arms around your neck, bouncing up and down your dick like he was in heat. Your hand was still over his lips, so his moans all got muffled as they seeped through, “mHhnff, HnnGh, hmm…!!”

He rode you with fever and need. On one hand because he needed you and your blood on a carnal level, on the other hand due to him starting to enjoy getting fucked by you. After a while you took your hand away from him, now squeezing his waist with both hands, guiding his movements. Fyodor nuzzled against your neck, pleading with you, hoping you’d let him have some of that delicious red liquid again. “Y/n.. ah-huuHhn~ l-let me fed off you..? P-please..♡♥︎～?” You giggled to yourself, entertained and delighted, duty all pushed to the side as you said, “go on, take as much as you need.”

Needless of say, you two shared a long night together, and somehow, both of you ended up in endless love bites. Ops, what’s this? Oh no, his door is stuck! It must be because it’s so old~ oh no, seems you’ll have to stay at the mansion longer than expected… and his impending heat is coming up ♡

My friend send me this after I told them what I was writing haha

[atozfic]

splish splash.

pairing. san x seonghwa x wooyoung x yunho x fem!reader synopsis. they’re out to prove who’s the best at the breast-stroke- gets dragged off stage as the people boo over such a terrible pun. warnings. no use of y/n, swim team au, lifeguard!reader, pro-swimmers!sanhwawooho, they’re all wearing speedos :), smut ( porn with unnecesary plot, degradation, m+f oral sex, piv sex, anal sex, double penetration, triple penetration bc u got 3 holes for a reason sweetcheeks, mxm interactions, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, hair pulling, way more warnings that there’s honestly no point listing, just know this is pure filth that covers most bases of stereotypical fanfiction smut, mother in christ what have i written? ) no verbal consent is given throughout this but all parties are willing participants !! word count. 20k+ ( of literal porn. i need to leave this physical terrain bc i am not worthy of existing after writing this i fear. ) hyde’s input. hey girlie pops, long time no see.

it’s crazy, what some people will do for money.

take, for example, your roommate. she’s a smart girl. a beautiful one, too. with a promising future in criminal law, once she gets herself that pesky little degree. and, yet, she’s funding her tuition with money she earns distributing high-end drugs on campus. rather counter-productive, most would agree. or, in a far less extreme version, there’s that overly-hyper frat boy, who can always be found doing the dumbest dares at a party, all for a few bucks and a keg of beer.

and then there is you.

you would have arrived home twenty minutes ago at this point, had things gone to plan, a backlog of neglected assignments and a baby bonsai tree in need of watering desperately awaiting your return. yet here you are, stuck in your ugly flip-flops and uncomfortably stale shorts, whistle around your neck and a look of exhaustion on your face.

the swimming pool had closed, technically, an hour and a half ago. the sports centre seems to believe, however, that certain members of the college swim team reserve the right to use the pool for however long they require and desire, even if it is at your expense. if you were being paid overtime, perhaps you’d have a more positive outlook on things and less of a frown creasing on your forehead.

if the swimmers weren’t so irritating, maybe you’d enjoy the view.

“all that height, and for what?” the sophomore boy’s voice- jung wooyoung? you aren’t overly familiar with him, seeing him only in sporadic flashes when you pass each other on campus or at some uncivilised frat party- echos through the large room, his hair a wet mess. if you were gaining anything from being here, you’d perhaps muster up the energy to remind the boy of how a swim cap is necessary at all times in the water. “can’t even out-swim me with those long legs!”

“wanna know what my long legs are for?” jeong yunho, a junior with the face of an angel and the body proportions of a sinner, pipes up from across the olympic length pool. unlike the other boy, a crimson cap keeps his own locks out of sight. “climbing up the stairs to go fuck your mom!”

it’s impossible to stifle your laughter, no matter how hard you try to just play it off as a tickle at the back of your throat, a cough forcing its way out. when your eyes meet those of the glaring senior, however, you’re wishing you hadn’t made a sound.

“even the lifeguard can’t take you seriously, yunho,” park seonghwa speaks, eyes not leaving yours as his muscled arms work to pull himself out of the water, before letting his well-rounded behind sit down on the edge. a breath hitches in your throat as his gloriously muscled thighs come into view, drops of water cascading down them in a pattern set to hypnotise you, keep you staring a little longer than is good for your health. “bet she’s heard all about you and the boner incident of 2019.”

truthfully, you have no clue what the dark haired male is on about. that doesn’t stop you from laughing again though, this time a little out of malice and a lot because it’s quite endearing to see a loudmouth like jeong yunho be silenced so easily, head bowed and ears a little rosier with embarrassment.

this small moment of peace is soon shattered by the reality that these boys can’t spend more than ten minutes in a room- particularly one that includes a pool- without arguing. while one boasts about his speed, the other begins to jab at his lack of endurance, and the remaining of the three reminds them all of the fact he holds the most medals amongst them.

“are they always like this?” you jump, surprised by the cold drop of water that lands on your exposed thigh, all courtesy of the boy who’s invited himself to sit down next to you on the bench.

“not always,” you bite at the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to not look at san in all his wet glory. you’re afraid that, once you start looking at him, you won’t be able to stop. it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve fallen victim to the crime that is his enchanting smile. “guess they’re feeling a little feistier than usual, with the district championship just around the corner. rumour has it one of you guys is risking his scholarship if he’s not in the top three.”

are you and san close?

that’s a good question. see, by social standards, you’re not strangers. you share several classes, you attend the same parties, you’ve even texted a few times- mostly on the days one of you miss class (read as: san misses class thanks to his swim-meets) and you need a copy of any notes taken that lesson.

but, you aren’t exactly friends either. you don’t go out of your ways to spend time together, you don’t know more than the surface level about one another, you don’t check-in with each other.

so, is acquaintances the best word to describe you two?

that depends on how common it is for an acquaintance to suck another acquaintance’s cock. granted, there had been a lot of alcohol in the mix, on both ends, with you drinking to forget a botched assignment and san drinking to forget how badly his voice had apparently cracked in front of his crush.

a few weeks have passed since the incident and things haven’t exactly been the same. you’ve missed class twice and ended up contacting heather- a sweet girl who sits down by the front and seems to live with her hand raised in the air- for any notes. likewise, san has found himself declining party invitations, the knowledge that you would be there all too prevalent in the front of his mind.

the irony is that neither of you quite know the reason why you’re avoiding each other, you just are.

or, were, until san had walked in with his swim team buddies- if they could even be considered that- and spotted you in your lifeguard attire. he hadn’t been as slick as he thought he was, sneaking glances at you between laps and even gaining an undeniable smile each time he watched you blow that stupid whistle at some misbehaving kids.

he was slicker with the fact he didn’t need to be here, at this hour. but, he figured staying gave him the chance to stare at you a little longer and, maybe, think up an excuse to talk to you.

“i should-”

“i missed-”

you both speak at the same time, minutes after watching the three musketeers disappear into the locker rooms, with the smallest of them continuing to dig at them for not being able to out-swim him despite their ample amount of height. san’s quick to signal you to go first, a dimple making itself known on his face and reminding you of the deadliest part of him: the false innocence that drips off him like warm candy.

sweet, sticky, making a mess all over the place.

“i should probably start cleaning up.” it turns out san also isn’t discreet when it comes to hiding the disappointment in his face, because no sooner than those words leave your mouth, the dimple is gone and he’s sat a little straighter, a little more ridged, like when the professor points him out in the middle of the class and the golden boy can’t stomach all the attention being on him. “but, what were you gonna say?”

“oh,” and it’s like he’s just remembered that yes, there is something he wants to say. “i missed you in class yesterday.”

it catches you off guard, leaving you to almost drop the whistle you’ve been fiddling between your fingers for the past few minutes. something about sitting so close to him while both of you are dressed so scantily has you feeling unnerved, like you need to run away as fast as possible, yet also wanting to plant yourself right in his lap.

“i didn’t think,” you’re cut off by your own throat, dry and desperate for a drink under his intense gaze. san is a walking contradiction, you think, with his sharp cheekbones and soft heart, his intense eyes and his easy-going smile. his presence gives you never-ending whiplash, never sure if he’s more angel than devil. “i didn’t think you noticed.”

“how could i not? there was no one to laugh with me at professor nam and his weird toe-shoes!” his laugh is infectious, willing your own to make an appearance. 

the sound of distant muffled yelling fills the air of the swimming pool and it isn’t hard to recognise wooyoung’s high-pitched laughter amongst it. clearly, their childish arguing has carried on into the changing rooms. it surprises you in no way, already more than used to their antics.

their rivalry is one for the ages, all of them constantly bumping heads for the spot of the top swimmer on campus, their sports scholarships becoming their pride and joy.

you suppose it doesn’t help that all four boys run in different circles, only really crossing paths when faced with swim-meets and days of practice. the senior, park seonghwa, runs with the richer kids of the college, all sharing their trust-funds and god complexes as a common interest. you’re not overly familiar with them, though you’re certain he and a particular blue-haired boy are rarely seen apart. jeong yunho, the tallest, is in with the jocks, which is mostly just because his taller friend is the captain of the basketball team. and jung wooyoung tends to surround himself with the stoners from the school, something you’d learned from kang yeosang, a dealer you shared a couple classes with back in your first semester.

san, ever the golden boy, drifts between a couple different groups but he can usually be found alone and enjoying his own company, if not being followed by a flock of his own little fan-club, men and women alike begging for just an ounce of his time.

your name echos around the room. your head snaps to the side and you find that san is now closer, staring at you in a way that’s making your insides knot up. you’ve seen that look only once before, and it done nothing but leave your knees and your ego bruised. “were you listening to me?”

“what? uh, yeah, i was,” you’re quick to lie, knowing it’s about to backfire when he breaks out in a challenging grin.

“really? what did i say?” he only allows you to stumble over words for a minute before cutting off your incomprehensible speaking when he grabs at your chin and tilts your head up, staring straight into your eyes. “that’s what i thought. you were too busy getting lost in that pretty little head of yours to pay attention to me.”

you stutter over a noise and settle for that as your response, though entirely incomprehensible and nonsensical. the way he continues to stare at you feels cruel, demons dancing around in those pretty eyes of his. demons that are telling him to tease, torture, torment the fragile eyes staring back at him, the same ones he’d delighted in watching fill up with tears a few weeks back, the pressure of his crown slamming against the back of your tight throat entirely overwhelming you to the point of crying, tears dripping down your cheeks and mixing with your own drool pooling over the swell of his balls.

“need me to repeat myself?” you’re slow to catch up to the fact he’s speaking again, and even slower to notice the hand resting on your knee. at first, you think you’re imagining things, the feather light tracing of nails over your soft skin a mere figment of your imagination. but, no, your eyes flash down to glimpse and his hand is there, fingers dancing over your naked skin like it’s their own personal stage and he’s intending to put on the show of a lifetime. he speaks your name. “questions are meant to be answered.”

“i-” san picks the perfect time to apply pressure on you, hand gripping the flesh on the lower end of your thigh. goosebumps spring to life at the feeling of his cold ring on your damp skin. it takes a shaky breath to try compose yourself but you do eventually manage to get a reply out. “sorry... please say it again.”

“huh,” he pauses to contemplate, slowly leaning his face closer to your own, giving you all the time to pull back if you want to. you stay still and his minty breath infects your senses while the hand on your leg replaces your thigh with your face, the grip he has on it forcing blunt nails to nip at your skin. normally, you’d worry about the marks it’s going to leave behind. right now, you want him to grip tighter, dig deeper into your flesh till he’s drawing blood and licking it off your cheeks. “how the fuck do you still sound so cute begging?”

“is that,” his other hand curls around the back of you, finding a resting place on your hip. the window of opportunity you once had to pull back or run away is slammed shut the moment he tugs you a little closer, the side of your body crashing into his naked chest. “what you said earlier?”

“oh, no.” san almost sounds like he’s cooing, a mocking tone in his voice that has your thighs clenching in a way you’re sure he notices. his eye flickering down to glance at them confirms your suspicions, the smirk taking over his features the metaphorical cherry on top. “i was just talking about how i’ve still not returned the favour.”

mind blanking out on you, you stare back at him in what you can only imagine to be a dumb-founded look, mouth slightly agape and teasing your answer.

what follows, however, is a resounding silence on your end.

“c’mon, princess, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what happened the last time i got you alone.”

forget? it’s all you’ve been able to think of every time you’ve seen him since, whether he was a figure in the corner of your eye during class or making his way down the campus car-park in search of his beaten up mustang.

each time, like an old record player, your mind plays on loop the way he looked staring down at you, long legs spread enough to fit you between them, closing in on you to trap you in place each time you swallowed him a little deeper; replaying the symphony of whiny moans and airy breaths you’d pulled from him, lips swollen and red from trying too hard to hold back his cries of pleasure; reviving the memory of his vice grip on your hair, tugging at the roots to tilt you back into the perfect angle for his hips to piston into your warm mouth, meeting his own crescendo in one final pathetic whimper of your name.

a whimper that’s pushed you over the edge several times since, fingers soaked in your own sins and mouth biting down on your pillow to keep your poor sleeping roommate oblivious to your actions.

“no,” an answer escapes you alongside a shaky breath, something about the way he’s slowly trailing his fingers down your neck and the intensity he’s staring at you with hypnotising you into forgetting all about the boisterous boys and their changing-rooms chanting. “haven’t forgot.”

it’s his turn to stay quiet and you begin to wonder if he’s recalling it too, if he’s reminding himself of how easily your bodies melted together, like candle-wax meeting a flame. the question of if he’s thought about the exact scene, hands stuffed down his pants while a dull ache builds in his wrist, burns the tip of your tongue.

but his eyes burn you more.

they’re usually wide, bright, full of that bubbly nature san is known all over for. but, if what people say is true and the eyes are the mirror to one’s soul, then san’s soul must be a dark pit made up of lustful glares and hooded eyelids, resting so low his eyes almost appear shut.

“then, don’t you agree that it’s my turn to have a taste?”

it’s the question to end all questions, no time to even think of forming an answer when his fingertips are dancing over your skin so rhythmically, like a practiced choreography when they curl and wrap themselves around your neck. they rest there for a heartbeat, and then another, before you feel it begin.

the pressure is dull, at first, and you think you’re imagining it. but it grows, like a seed under the sun, blossoms into thorns squeezing around your airways, a deformed rose made from the red marks his fingers will be sure to leave behind.

you try to breath in, only for it to get caught somewhere between your lips and his tightening hold.

“you’re too fucking pretty, you know?” the hand on your hip has found a new home on your cheek, palm warm and thumb rough as he swipes it over your bottom lip. “all i can ever think about around you, even when you were drooling all over my balls.”

you want to answer, you really do. but between the hand around your throat and the heat shooting straight for your core, burning up in a puddle of arousal, you can’t. all you can do is watch the man before you, raven hair a beautiful mess just begging for some fingers to be ran through it and stare promising to ruin you in the best way possible.

the silence pleases him.

“y’know, it’s so hard to get you alone. always got someone wanting to talk to you, stealing your attention. do you even know how many stupid parties i had to attend to finally get the chance to talk to you?” san pauses, like he’s waiting for you to relay an answer, guess a number. he loosens up the grip on your neck, teasing your skin with a few soothing strokes of his slender fingers, lulling you into a state bordering insanity. “no answer, angel? or are you lost in that pretty little head again?”

“i’m,” your voice is but a whisper, raspy with your new found thirst. “trying to figure out what you want from me.”

if it’s the wrong or right thing to say, you’re soon to find out, the sharp faced boy releasing a dangerously low chuckle as he takes a hold of your chin. like a pretty doll, you move any time and any way his fingers command you to, finding yourself staring right up into his eyes, a swirl of melting caramel that reminds you of how sweet yet sultry every inch of him is. lips near touching, he refuses to break eye contact as he speaks up once more, sealing both your fates when his breath hits your face.

“then let me show you what i want.”

his mouth comes down on yours like it’s the answers to all your prayers and, yet, all your nightmares.

it excites you how easily he works his lips over your own, captivating every inch of you when he tilts his head to the right and deepens the kiss. the rhythm to his kiss is a mismatch of beats, where one moment your lips are moving in a sensual waltz, grazing tongues and dipping heads to get rid of that inch of a space remaining between your bodies, and the next moment your tongues are tangled in a tango, the kind where his teeth send blood rushing to your lips with every bite he drags over them and his hand drags shivers down your spine as it makes its way down your body.

yet it terrifies you how willingly you succumb to san’s touch, intoxicated by whatever witchcraft he currently holds over you. there’s a deadliness to the way his lips part from your own only to begin a seamless descent down your jaw and the expanse of your neck, a poisonous element to the way his hand once again finds itself clutching the meat of your thigh.

the moment his fingertips meet the bottom of your shorts, you’re wishing you’d never slipped them on in the first place, every fibre of your being growing angsty under the weight of his suddenly halted hand. it stays still for an immeasurable amount of time, grazing over the bottom of your shorts occasionally while he continues to mouth at your neck.

like mosses and the great sea, san parts your legs with little to no effort, creating a pathway for his fingers to travel further up your thigh. blunt fingernails drag up your skin, a trail of goosebumps being left behind, a visible marking of where he’s touching you.

his movements halt too soon for your liking, too much distance between his lithe fingers and your body’s very core.

“have you figured out what i want yet, pretty?” his voice is a stark difference to the usual light-hearted, almost squeak-like tone you’ve grown used to hearing from the smiley boy. right now, there’s no trace of humour in the thick rasp and there’s no time for smiling while he’s glaring down at you through hooded eyes.

something compels you to nod your head, even though you’re a little too lost in the thoughts concerning what you want, rather than what the devil incarnate by your side wants.

“you have?” the words come out in a layer of amazement, and you have to wonder if it’s because of the lie you’ve just told or the way your legs have closed in around his hand, trapping it between them. “i want to know what you want, though.”

you want his thumb to stop stroking over the flesh of your inner thigh.

you want his eyes to stop gazing down at you like you’re the perfect prey.

you want him to stop teetering your impending pleasure on a string.

you want-

“you.” is all you manage to breath out.

it seems to do the trick, however, your point getting very much across to him. a softness flickers over his features, brows unfurling and smirk curling up into a full smile for what feels like an eternity, but is actually no more than a couple of seconds before his devilish aura is back.

lips meet lips again, the desperation and force behind each stroke of his tongue against yours the same as before. san, much to your delight, seems to grow just as impatient as you’ve been since the moment he welcomed himself into the empty space next to you on the bench.

one hand still resting between your thighs, his other seizes the opportunity to drag your body closer, so close that you have no choice but to swing one leg over him and slot yourself in his lap.

there was one time, in the middle of what you’ve deemed to be the most boring lecture ever, that you had thought about what it would feel like to sit in choi san’s lap. unintentionally, of course, for how could anyone look over at him in those grey sweatpants, legs manspreading like it was nobody’s business and pen tapping away at the table in front of him, and not daydream about being perched in his lap, head resting somewhere between his shoulder and his soft hair?

you’d imagined him to be the embodiment of soft and comfortable, warm and reassuring the way he’d lazily lay an arm over your hip to make sure there’s no risk of you slipping out of your new seat. you never, for the life of you, imagined you’d feel the outline of his dick resting against your ass the first time you finally claimed your throne.

choosing to not dwell on the heavy feeling of him pressed against you, you choose instead to focus on the way his lips trail away from yours and make their descent towards the top of your chest.

his hand abandons post between your thighs and rises to the surface, where long fingers begin to pull at the straps of your red swimsuit, successfully manoeuvring the nylon material till it’s bunched around your midriff and your breasts are exposed to the damp air of the swimming hall. 

with no want left to play around, he dives right in to dragging his lips down the upper swell of your left breast. you imagine he can feel the beating of your racing heart beneath the goosebump littered skin. it doesn’t take long for his tongue to enter the scene, skilfully flicking over your hardened nipple a couple times before enveloping his mouth around the bud.

one, two, three sucks and he’s moving on to your right breast. there’s no lead up, this time, simply his mouth finding delight in toying with your body while he busies his hand with your left side, thumb and pointer finger rolling and tugging and spreading the remnants of his saliva over your heated skin.

the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and has you arching your own, is the faintest pressure of his teeth biting down on you. it dances on a thin line between pleasurable and painful, exhilarating enough to make you throw your head back as a moan slips past your lips. it echoes in the empty room, replaying your own sound for both of you to hear again and again before the chain is broken by a giggle.

his giggle.

“why are,” he picks the right time to trail his fingers down your body, dragging your swimsuit with them till it sits uncomfortably tight around the top of your hipbones, skintight fabric digging into the damp skin. “you laughing?”

“has anyone ever told you how pretty your tits are?” it’s crude and heartwarming all at once, quite like the man who says it and the little smile he shoots up in your direction as he rolls his tongue over your nipple once again.

“no, i can’t say they have.” the hands that have been resting on his shoulder, grasping them in a vice grip in fear of slipping off of him and and directly onto the concrete floor, gain enough confidence for you let one slide around to the back of his neck and thread your fingertips in the back of his locks, hair as soft as you’ve always imagined it to be. “you’re the first.”

“i’ll wear that title with honour,” he seems to delight in the way you’re carding through his hair, eyes closing while he tilts his head back further into your touch. a delighted sigh follows. “has anyone ever asked you to sit on their face?”

“again, no.”

“another honourable title for me, i guess.” san’s giving you whiplash, with all this switching between being his usual goofy self and the man that minutes before was speaking profanities on how you’d looked choking on his dick. he peaks his eyes open again, slowly, adjusting to the bright lights he stares up at each time he’s doing the backstroke. when he has the nerves to smile at you, all dreamy eyed and relaxed sitting beneath your body on the bench. “now, can you please stand up and get naked so you can fuck yourself on my tongue?”

this time, it’s your laugh that echoes in the air.

“stop, i’m being serious!” he seems to whine his way through his words, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly in a way you’re certain is going to drive you insane. “i can’t go another second like this, you literally sitting on my dick, without blowing my load. and i really don’t feel like having to explain to coach kwon why my team speedos are stained in cum.”

“you’re so-” you give up on trying to find a single word to describe him, knowing there’s no word that can quite capture choi san’s essence. “okay, okay, fine, but you kind of need to let go of me for me to, y’know, stand up.”

“oh, sorry bout that.” san’s sheepish smile shouldn’t be this cute, not when it’s followed by him removing his hands from your half-naked body.

reluctant, your feet meet the ground and you stand up from his lap. he seems to move quicker than you, no hesitation to be seen as he twists his body around and lays along the bench on his back, eyes all the while watching you expectantly.

your fingers are far from as nimble as his, and there’s a shake to them, meaning you’re a lot less slick with how you pull the swimsuit off yourself. you opt for killing two birds with one stone, dragging your shorts down alongside the red suit, till both are pooled around your feet and you’re begging with every cell in your body that you look more graceful than you feel, stepping out of the leg holes.

in all honesty, you’re more embarrassed with the fact he’d watched you remove your clothes than with how you’re now stood naked, legs a little shaky and the wetness gathering between your folds you’re suddenly so much more aware of, the cool air fighting against your pulsating heat.

“well?” san speaks with expectation, legs bent at the knee while the balls of his feet rest on the edge of the bench. “are you gonna just stand there or you gonna sit on my face?”

“are you... sure you want me to?” even you feel the idiocy behind asking such a thing, when he’s laying right there with eyes full of glee and a raging boner pressed against his hip, nothing but the familiar colours of your college to stop you from seeing him all his naked glory. still, you can’t help elaborating. “i mean, the bench isn’t exactly sturdy and, i mean, what if i slip off of you?”

“y/n, are you joking? you have to be joking!” his offence is playful enough to ease a little of the hesitation inside of you. “do you see these puppies, baby? these are my mad gains from flailing my silly little arms around in a pool six days a week!”

you think this can’t be real as you watch the golden boy of the school put on a show, flexing his arms in an effort to display his muscles and voicing the most ridiculous words that not even he seems to be taking seriously, a bubble of laughter popping in every sentence.

“i’m not gonna let you slip, now hurry up!” again with the whining.

“god, you’re so desperate!”

“for you? always.”

the following minute is made up of wobbled steps and a poor attempt at amping yourself up, repeating mantra after mantra in your head that you are the sex goddess and no man is going to make you feel nervous. not even if that man has a jaw one could slice diamonds with.

he’s got a firm grasp of your thighs before you’ve even got the chance to get comfortable, legs a little shaky as you hover over his naked chest and will your knees to find grip on the bench beneath them.

“come closer, my tongue’s not that long!” san’s pulling you up, closer, all the way to where his wanton mouth awaits you. as if to give you a preview of what awaits you, the kisses from before reduced to nothing, his tongue pops out to run over the smooth of his bottom lip. you repeat the process of trying to find balance, a position in which you don’t need to worry about toppling overboard. though, with the way his finger squeeze into your thigh, you doubt you’ll have to worry about that truly happening. “comfortable?”

“as i’ll ever be.”

“all the people that would die to be in your position, and you say that?” he tsks, tongue hitting off the roof of his mouth before a blow of air hits against your folds and, though it’s faint from the distance still between his mouth and where he wants it to be, it sends a jolt of excitement up your spine. “i’ll just have to make sure i over-perform, make you more eager for next time.”

neither of you choose to dwell on the words next time.

him, too occupied with getting his first taste, tongue licking a strip up your core and coming to a stop as the tip of it bumps against your clit.

you, too busy having the air knocked out of your lungs, hand unconsciously finding safety in gripping his hair as you lurch forward momentarily, mouth falling open in a quiet gasp that echoes around and around.

“hmm, make sure you hold on tight.” you know he’s teasing you, with his words, and with his eyes, and with his mouth that seems to find enjoyment in trailing itself over your clitoral hood and up your pubic bone. “you smell mouthwatering, you know? enough to make a man go feral.”

the chance to reply never comes, not when san makes his way back down to your clit and greets it with the stroke of his flattened tongue. every tiny nerve sparks to life under his touch and you feel yourself grow wetter, a wave of warm arousal leaking out of your hole. his tongue dives down to welcome it, not allowing more than a single drop- landing on his chin- to go to waste.

you don’t even notice the lack of his grip around your left leg until you feel it: the first few seconds of his fingertips probing around your soaked cunt, coating themselves in your liquid pleasure until it’s dripping down the back of his hand.

the first finger to enter your hole is gentle, tentative to the way your body receives him, his pointer and ring finger keeping your folds spread and allowing him the full view of the middle one slowly disappearing from sight, burying itself in the warmth of your pussy. distracted, his mouth pulls back and his head meets the bench again while his eyes soak in the sight above him, flickering up to catch your reaction when another finger enters you, this time with a lot less care as it forces you open around it.

“so pretty,” he mutters the words, more to himself than to you, delighting as he witnesses you struggling to bite back a pathetic moan when his digits curl within you. he repeats the action a couple times, flicking his wrist back and forth, fingers brushing over your tight walls each time and culminating in a curl that has him pressing against the spongy-like flesh inside. “so, so pretty.”

your hips begin to rut against his hand, meeting every one of his thrusts with perfect timing that has him reaching deeper, further, better places inside of you. all the while he’s just watching and admiring the furrow in your brow and the way the swells of your breast bounce in sync with you.

your pussy clenches tighter and his fingers fight to reach deeper before spreading themselves wider in an attempt to scissor you open. he’s giving it his all, a third finger slipping in despite the dull ache setting in his wrist while he coaxes you closer and closer to the tipping point.

san takes just as easy as he gives, and it’s that fact alone that drives him to pull his hand back, fingers withdrawing from you and the pleasure you’re pursuing.

“why’d you-” you heave through heavy breaths, brain fuzzy from the unvoiced orgasm you were so close to having, every nerve ready to tingle, every muscle ready to tremble, every toe ready to curl. “stop?”

“because,” the wet smack of his fingers hitting against your clit is louder than the whimper that drops from your mouth. san hears both, however, and grins, quickly landing another smack against your engorged clit. “the goal is to make you cum on my face, not my fingers. consider them the appetiser, something to awaken your senses.”

his tongue licks in an upward motion, starting from the tip of your taint and ending at your clit, and you get deja-vu to just minutes before, when you’d first felt his tongue on your melting skin, the saliva it leaves in a trail behind it serving to cool you down. a shiver runs up your spine as he blows air onto your cunt, the pressure of it doing wonders to stimulate your clit.

“would you stop?”

“look who’s whining now.” san, despite what he says, does as you ask and puts an end what feels like unending teasing- really, it’s hardly been a minute but the pulsing of your heat and the loss of a climax leave you no room to think about something as abstract as time.

his lips make a victorious return, wrapping themselves around your clit and sucking against the pulsing nub. every so often, he delivers a couple kitten licks- ups and downs, sides to sides, figure eights- before swiftly returning to kissing your most intimate parts.

in an attempt to make your toes curl, he dips lower and teases the tips of his tongue over your entrance, wet muscle moving over wet skin and tastebuds covering themselves in your essence, till the moans echoing off the walls are indistinguishable between san’s and your own.

“you can move,” he grunts into you after a few minutes of repeated alternating between kissing your clit and tonguing at your hole. it’s muffled with the way he’s holding you down against his face and you feel his lips brush against your lower ones as he speaks. “need you to move. wanna see you use me, pretty.”

and, who are you to deny the man?

you’re hesitant at first, just like you were all those weeks ago as you sank to your knees for him. you test the waters and give a single roll of your hips. it feels good, great, especially when paired with his own efforts at dragging his tongue over you.

it takes a few more attempts, and san’s patience wearing thin to the point he resorts to grabbing a firm hold of your arse cheeks and planting you flat on his mouth, tongue flat and eyes staring up at you in a demand to move, goddamn it. 

move you most certainly do, grinding down on his tongue like you’ve done many a time with different men’s cocks. it’s messy, sloppy in the way that his spit mingles with your wetness, a cocktail of fluids sliding down his throat, and painting his lips, and dribbling down his chin as he eats you like a man starved that’s alas getting a taste of the sweetest fruit.

the rhythm of your hips is thrown off when the man beneath you switches from having you grinding down onto his flattened tongue to slipping the muscle inside of your hole, thrusting it as far as up as the length of it allows him to. with every time your body comes crashing down on his mouth, the tip of his nose bumps against your clit, forcing you to angle yourself upwards to gain more of the friction.

hands find hair, lips part in unabashed moans, thighs shake with the oncoming of an orgasmic state of mind.

the moment builds too quickly, too unexpectedly, like the ghost of your stolen climax is back with a vengeance and set on ensuring there will be no denying it this time.

“s-shit,” your eyes squeeze shut, too scared to look down at his ecstasy filled eyes in fear of it being what finally tips you over the edge. “i’m gonna- ah- gonna cum.”

san pays no mind to your warning. if anything, he takes it as a challenge, an invisible timer beginning in his head and forcing him to see how quickly he can get you to unravel all over his face. he’s getting everything he asked for, your naked body a mess above him as you fuck yourself on his tongue and your hands, with minds of their own, sliding up to grab and squeeze at your tits.

he watches how the pastel blue nail polish clashes with the darkened colour of your abused nipples, fingers working to pinch, and twist, and pull at them as you lose yourself in the moment.

when you cum, it’s with rolled-back eyes and shaky thighs, his hands gripping at you tighter to steady you as you sway above him, his tongue working at coaxing you through your high.

he licks up every drop of cum he can manage, until you’re cringing in overstimulation and reaching down to push him away. he let’s you move him, mouth moving to trail a couple kisses over your inner thigh, something akin to lipstick stains- yet so much dirtier in nature- being left behind on your soft flesh.

“told you i wouldn’t let you fall,” he’s the first to speak, partly because he correctly thinks you’re incapable of forming anything coherent in the afterglow of your orgasm, but mostly because he wants- no, needs to hear you praise him.

needs to hear you praise him like he’d done for you that night, eyes still hooded and chest visibly heaving as he finished processing watching you swallow every spurt of hot cum he’d shot down your throat. the praise never comes.

well, at least not from you.

at first he thinks he’s imagining the sound of clapping. it’s slow, and booming, and tinted with the slightest hint of sarcasm. it grows louder though, far too loud for it to just be in his imagination. the stilling of your body, going rigid as you fall back onto his chest, the sticky remnants of your orgasm cold against his heated skin, confirms that you hear the clapping too.

“bravo, choi. always thought your reputation with the ladies was a little overhyped, but i stand corrected.”

never has he hated the sight of park seonghwa so much, not even in the times they’ve been head-to-head in the final lap and the older male’s offensively bright swim-cap is all san can see every time he twists his head to catch a breath of air.

the three swimmers stand on the opposite end of the swimming pool, all in various stages of undress.

there’s wooyoung, who looks like he’s not so much as dried himself with a towel, still dressed in his team swimwear. and yunho, who’s got a towel wrapped around his waist messily, hair damp against his forehead and likely smelling of the cheap shampoo provided in the locker-room showers. lastly, seonghwa, who’s seemingly fully dressed spar for one of those irritating long coats san always sees him trailing around campus in.

one look into your panicked eyes is enough for san to spring into action, fumbling to sit himself up and pull your body flush against his, facing your naked back in the direction of his rivals.

he bites back a groan as you shift in his lap, unknowingly- or maybe you do know- pressing your soaked centre against his erection, which already strains inside the confines of the nylon material, leaving very little to the imagination.

“do you mind?” he’s glad the words come out clearly, booming across the pool at them and their unwavering staring.

“not at all.”

san holds you tighter against him, eyeing at your discarded swimsuit on the floor as he listens to a shuffle of footsteps. assuming the three men have made their way back into the locker-room, he’s speechless when he looks up to find them approaching the bench, seonghwa leading the trio with a secure grip on the back of wooyoung’s neck, whose eyes can’t seem to leave the floor, while yunho trails a little behind them, one hand grasping onto the towel around him.

“get your hands off her!” he leans back, pulling you with him, in an attempt to stray out of seonghwa’s reach as he extends his hand out. he fails, however, and the tips of seonghwa’s elongated fingers brush over your shoulder.

a shiver runs down you, one that san feels, the unexpected touch tickling your nerves.

“she’s a grown up,” the eldest of the men muses as he builds a rhythm out of how his fingers soother over your sweat slicked skin. “who i’m sure can speak for herself if she wants my hands off her.”

out of all the men, seonghwa has always been the one san despised most. between the constant boasting of wealth- money he acquired through labor, though not the working kind- and the disrespect he’s never had a problem showing towards others, he never fails to strike a nerve, awakening a dark part of san’s brain that activates his fight or flight response. by far, however, his arrogance is the worst, that sense of entitlement that drives him to think everything and everyone is a piece of clay for him to mold and manipulate till they fit his ideal shape.

the rich boy’s hand smoothes over your naked shoulder and san can’t resist glaring up at him.

“c’mon san, now’s hardly the time to be modest,” behind the oldest swimmer, yunho and wooyoung seem to be battling an inner conflict, yunho fighting to keep his towel in place and wooyoung fighting to keep the shame off his face while his dick visibly strains against the confines of his chlorine-covered swimwear. “not after the show you two just put on.”

“we didn’t,” it’s the first time you manage to speak since covering san’s tongue in your cum, breathing at last steady and face hidden from everyone’s view, much to san’s despair. “know you were watching.”

“and, if you had known, would you have stopped?” yunho is the one asking the question and, suddenly, san’s so much more aware of what exactly he’s hiding underneath his towel.

you give no answer.

“of course she wouldn’t,” seonghwa answers for you, hand moving to grasp the back of your neck. with no warning, he grips a little too tight for comfort and and yanks you backwards, till you’re staring right into san’s eyes and the only thing keeping you perched in his lap is seonghwa’s body pressed flat against yours. “there’s nothing a whore loves more than an audience, right?”

if put on trial in a court of law and sworn to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, over whether or not you’d just clenched around nothing at park seonghwa’s degrading name, you’d plead that you never did such a thing.

you’d be found guilty.

“poor woo nearly came untouched just watching you two. isn’t that right?” the eldest turns to stare back at where you imagine wooyoung to be. “pretty boy nearly whined just at the thought of being in san’s position, a mouth full of cunt and someone using him like the fuck-toy he is.”

the air grows thick, between you, and san, and every other living being in the room. it feels like the walls are closing in on themselves with every second that passes, the sweat dripping down your back and coming to a rest between your arse cheeks evidence that the space is heating up. or maybe it’s just your body, hardly processing the high it’s just come down from and there’s already another source for a new-found arousal, a source in the shape of three muscular men stood behind you and one beneath you, eyes wary as he gazes into your own, like he wants to ask if you’re okay but all the blood is too busy circulating in his crotch for his brain to be productive.

“now, i hardly think it’s very nice of you to get our wooyoung all riled up and not even offer to help him out.” you decide you’re being lulled into a false sense of safety the second you feel the pressure of seonghwa’s hand leave your skin. behind you, there’s a shuffling of footsteps that call you to crane your neck and catch a glimpse of what exactly is going on but san’s eyes beg you to keep staring into his, to count the galaxies that dance within them while he grips at your waist. “so the chance to offer is off the table and you’re simply going to do as told. doesn’t that sound easier, hmm? no having to make pesky decisions, just spread those legs and follow orders.”

at last, you get your first glimpse at jung wooyoung.

he sits down on the bench, no more than a breath of space between where you and san are perched. he’s a vision in himself, shoulders hunched and embarrassed face the same shade of red as the tip of his cock, an angry looking bulbous head poking out the top of far-too-tight speedos.

san’s grip tightens the longer you stare at the other boy, gaze dancing over the shape of his body and mouth-watering as, for the first time, you see the appeal of jung wooyoung. never before have you understood why eyes follow him in the hallways, like he’s more than just another pretty boy on campus- something that’s in abundance. but you see it now, understand the appeal of his stand-out nose; and the veins that run down his arms; and floppy style to his hair, that seems to be calling out to have your fingers running through it. 

with no prior warning, the grip on your hips tightens even more, till san is digging crescents into the soft skin and he’s lifting you, off of his lap and right into wooyoung’s.

the usually boisterous boy’s eyes meet yours, no longer filled with that spark of defiance and, instead, glazed over in tears, a quiet pleading being exchanged between you.

only, you’re unsure what he’s begging of you.

“are you going to just sit there,” seonghwa speaks up, boredom in his tone that has you picturing him rolling his eyes and picking at his manicured nails. “or are you going to help the poor pup cum?”

“what?!” that certainly helps you find your voice, and the guts to turn around and look at the man.

you find him stood closer than you imagined, with tailored trousers hugging his thighs and a perfectly ironed shirt tucked into them, the last few messy buttons the only indication he’d rushed to dress himself. eyes looking past him, you find more of a friendly aura in yunho, who, despite fighting a battle against the towel wrapped around his figure, manages to shoot a smile at you.

and then there’s san, who stands with muscled arms crossed over his chest and a painfully obvious boner resting in the confines of his swimwear, though he’s done a better job at keeping himself concealed than the boy beneath you. his face appears indifferent, yet the twitch in his eye speaks of a tamed anger, a frustration he’s yet to unleash on the men who’d interrupted him amidst his feast.

“are you now deaf along with being dumb or something?” the eldest pulls your attention back to him with little effort, a smirk meeting the glare you shoot his way. “you made that brat hard, now do your job and fix the mess you’ve made.”

words of protest get lost in a surprised gasp as the boy in question takes your hand in his, veiny hand guiding you down to a veiny shaft. wooyoung wraps both of your fingers over his leaking cock, his holding yours in place around him while he ruts his hips up once, twice into your hold, the action sending his swimwear even further down the his length and exposing nearly the full sight of it to the swimming hall.

you don’t mean to compare, yet you’re incapable of ignoring the fact that while wooyoung may be on the slightly shorter side compared to san, he’s certainly leading in the thickness department, with a mushroomed head and the prettiest trail of trimmed hairs leading down his pelvis.

he guides you over his shaft a number of times, a little less shy now as he outwardly whines when your thumb runs over his tip, wiping away the fat bead of precum resting upon it. at some point, he moves his hand away, needing both of his free to lean back on the bench, yet yours keeps moving at it’s own volition, stroking him in a pattern of threes, interrupting every trio with a swipe over his tip or a fondle of his still-concealed balls.

“please,” the whine in his voice is so unlike the jung wooyoung you’ve watched week after week, hurling abuse and echoing boasts of his own talents while keeping himself afloat in the swimming pool.

“he asked nicely.” you’d just about forgotten about everyone else in the room, until seonghwa’s irritatingly unbothered voice serves to remind you of his presence. “rule number one: good behaviour is rewarded.”

“what do i,” you interrupt your own question to glance over wooyoung once more. “do?” you pinch your thigh, skin stinging as nails bite it, and confirm with yourself that this is not a dream but, in fact, very much real.

jung wooyoung is hard and begging you to do something.

“i don’t care how you do it, just put one of your holes to good use for once and make him cum.”

there’s still an echo of seonghwa’s voice by the time you successfully manage to rid wooyoung of his swimwear, the damp fabric clinging to the warm skin and the taut muscles of his thighs. the boy isn’t much help either, seemingly reduced to nothing but a writhing, panting mess instead of someone competent enough to raise himself off the bench just enough for you to undress him.

the sight is mesmerising, one you’re certain will remain ingrained in your memory till the day you die: wooyoung, disheveled and untouched, with his achingly hard cock pressed flat against his lower stomach, his swimmer-thighs spread with a set of balls between them that you find yourself near salivating over as a trickle of his own precum runs down them.

“your cock’s...” you begin to speak, yet trail off as your digits wrap themselves around his shaft, just to delight in the way his breath jumps when you drag your hand upwards and give a soft squeeze as you reach the head. “so pretty, woo.”

“youngie.” seonghwa cuts in from behind you. “he prefers to be called youngie when he’s getting his cock teased.”

“yeah, youngie?” you try it out.

instantly, he nods and something akin to a whimper flies out of him.

fascinated by his shaky breaths and his pretty chest, where warm, tanned skin appears to be near glowing under the swimming halls bright lights as his cheeks flush a palette full of reds and pinks, your eyes are completely fixed on him. there’s something vulnerable and breakable about the way he’s looking at your with the widest of eyes, his eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip receiving countless abuse from his teeth.

never have you been so desperate to push someone past their own limits.

officially running on nothing but pure instincts, you close your mind off to thoughts, like how the boy you’d spent weeks avoiding and missing is stood only metres away, witnessing the way the tip of your finger teases over the slit of his sport rival’s cock. or like how park seonghwa, perhaps the campus’ most infamous trust-fund baby, seems to have complete control of the situation at hand, yourself and jung wooyoung nothing but idolised dolls he’s moving into whatever obscene position he wants you in.

instead, you focus on how wooyoung’s eyes roll back and he lets out a gasp when you gather up fluids from within your salivating mouth and part your own lips, watching how your own spit drips onto his lower stomach, and your hand, and his painfully hard cock.

the saliva serves not only as a visual pleasure, something that’s awakening inside of you at the sight of it leaving you with whole new kind of excitement bubbling along your body, but as a physical pleasure for wooyoung, who seems to have no protest to how much easier it is to slide your hand up his length with the added lubrication of your own spit. 

“fuck...” he curses under his breath and his hands find purchase on your body, one gripping your hip while the other grabs at your forehand, like he’s scared you’ll release the grip you have on him and strip away the sweet release of friction. “don’t just focus on the tip- shit, ah- play with my balls too.”

“wooyoung!” ready to oblige, ready to give the pretty faced boy anything he demanded of you, you’ve no time to think of a reply before the ringmaster of this circus reminds you of his overlooking presence behind your back. “stop speaking like an ungrateful brat and take what you’re given. or else... well, i’m sure you don’t need reminding of what happens to pups that misbehave.”

the way jung wooyoung’s whole body grows rigid beneath you, paired with the countless times park seonghwa has butted in to speak on the boy’s sexual preferences, leaves you with the sense that the two are not only acquainted with how each other’s bodies move underwater..

“s-sorry,” this is not the voice of boastful jung wooyoung, who near bounces down the college halls and airdrops nudes in class because he’s bored. this is a voice that’s soft and meek. like a beady-eyed puppy, so quick to submit to it’s owner. “just feels too good. i’m sorry”

“yeah, you will be sorry.” seonghwa’s hand is cold against your back and it lulls a shiver out of you as fingers trickle down your spine like water off a duck’s wings. part of you hates him for stealing wooyoung’s attention off of you just as you were beginning to revel in it, a larger part of you wants to know why the sternness in his voice is enough to have your clit aching to be touched. “spitfire, be a good cocksleave and sit on his dick.”

“ok, stop!” a sense of shame comes over you when it takes hearing san’s outburst to remember the fact he’s watching the scene unfold. “don’t you think you’re taking this too far now, park seonghwa? i know you and wooyoung have your... agreement on how you treat each other, but don’t drag someone else into it. not when she never even asked for this.”

“you had your tongue tasting the eighth wonder of the world on that bench twenty minutes ago, both of you knowing there was a chance you’d be caught, and you want to tell me no one was asking for this?”

“that was private! you guys are the ones who-”

“there’s no such thing as privacy in a public area. besides, it’s hardly like she’s not enjoying this. if anything, i think spitfire doesn’t like the way you’re getting in the way of her teaching youngie a lesson in obedience.” you’re naive to think no one would notice the way you’ve began to grind down on wooyoung’s cock, stealing whimpers out of him as the soaked lips of your pussy rubbed up against him and holding back your own moans each time his tip meets the bundle of nerves that make up your clit. “choi, if you’re that much of a pissy pants that can’t enjoy himself even just this once in life, then feel free to leave. i’m sure the four of us will be too occupied to notice your absence.”

you’re not paying close enough attention to figure out if san’s newfound silence is due to his departure, or if he’s simply too stunned to speak, your eyes focused on nothing and no one but the boy at your mercy.

the initial burn of wooyoung breaching your entry reminds you of how long it’s been since you’d been stretched open by something other than someone’s cold fingers or wagging tongue. it’s been more or less three long months of juggling test after test, assignments piling up on your desktop and a relationship with your now ex-boyfriend being tossed completely into the gutter.

not once had you thought your return to the world of sexual bliss would be in front of an audience, much less at the very place you work.

doubting that it’s been as long for him as it has for you, wooyoung still spares nothing when it comes to reacting to your touch. with eyes squeezing shut, head rolling back, abdomen muscles flexing along side every shaken intake of breath, the boy puts on a show so pornographic it puts the professionals to shame. a whine exits his lips, lips that carry marks of his own teeth and look like they’re in need of a healthy dose of chapstick, and look so disgustingly kissable that your own tingle at the thought.

all those rumours of jung wooyoung being a camboy rush to the forefront of your mind, feeling truer than ever when your eyes take in the bob of his adam’s apple, and the perfectly timed run of his tongue over his lower lip, and the pretty way in which the prominent veins in his hands looks as he clamps his grip down on your hips.

he’s a sight worth paying for. 

“are you okay?” not the first thing you’d imagined saying after sinking all the way down on his cock, the need to check up on him taking over before you’d even noticed it’s existence.

“yeah...” he sighs his way through the word, eyes still closed and grip still very much tight on your skin, blunt fingertips likely leaving crescent moons you’ll find yourself staring at for days to come, memories of this moment replaying in a rose-tinted haze. “just need a second, you- you feel good, fuck me.”

“i’m kinda already doing that, youngie.” you giggle, like a lovesick adolescent speaking to their crush of the week, but the boy’s instant smile upon hearing it puts out the fire of shame building in the pit of your stomach.

“hmm,” he hums back, acknowledging your words without giving you the satisfaction of hearing him tell you how you’re correct. “are you okay?”

wooyoung flips the question on you and it parallels with the way he pulls the rains in physically, lithe hips thrusting upwards in search of feeling more, reaching deeper inside of you. in the back of your mind you already picture a look of displeasure on park seonghwa’s face, scowling lips loading up to berate you and demand you take repossession of jung wooyoung’s sanity.

“yeah, i’m-” with the eldest man in mind, you stop and compose yourself, as well as you can while wooyoung’s mouthing at your neck, your collarbones, the tops of your breasts. “i’m wondering who told you you were allowed to touch me?”

control is easily regained, all it takes is your hand squeezing around jung wooyoung’s throat and your soaked walls clenching around his aching cock and he’s melting like ice cream on a warm summer’s day, leaving behind a sticky mess.

satisfaction and pleasure come crashing in tandem, wave after wave moving in motion with each lethargic roll of your body against the swimmer’s, who seems to be a quicker learner than you’d believed him to be, hands flying off your body like it was made up of hot stones and, instead, now holding a firm and grounding grip of the bench beneath you both.

“harder.” you feel a hint of emotion within park seonghwa’s voice this time he speaks. it’s fleeting, and hard to make out quite what feeling it is he’s experiencing, but it’s there and it’s certainly a step up from the usual shameless, egotistical, megalomaniac tone he takes on. “squeeze his throat tighter.”

under the possession of his commanding tone, you find yourself caving into his command, fingers pressing a little harder into wooyoung’s warm skin. the boy gulps down whatever pride he has and delivers a pleasured whine. you grind down harder and an evil, twisted part of you you’ve never met before longs to laugh at the way he so desperately is struggling to keep his composure, fighting back the urge to meet your hips with his own upward thrusts.

so, you do. 

“hear that, youngie?” seonghwa’s voice becomes less grating each time you hear it, once an unwelcome and intrusive thought but now a second voice and a valued player in a game of wreck the wooyoung. “you’re being laughed at. isn’t that just pathetic?”

“y-yes, fuck-” he falls victim to your walls clenching around him, gripping his cock in a vice grip. the image of confidence withers away so easily to reveal a teary-eyed, pretty-faced, cum-desperate man. “i’m pathetic.”

“yeah, you are.” seonghwa circles his way around the rocking bench, no longer out of view hidden behind your back but, instead, staring you down with piercing eyes that cut through you like a knife to hot butter. “he’s getting close. never lasts long, really, even seen him cum untouched just from giving me head. but that’s okay, isn’t it youngie? you’re a slut for having your sack drained, huh?”

the swimmer beneath you has never looked redder than he does right now, secrets of his sexual nature getting exposed to the people he likely considers his biggest athletic competition. though you probably should, you don’t push him away when his face finds safety in the crook of your neck, parted lips covering your burning skin in sticky drool.

“don’t let him fool you guys, he’s into the degrading nature of it all. trust me.” you wonder if it should concern you the way seonghwa speaks about jung wooyoung as though he’s nothing but a pet, a possession of which he just so happens to have complete control over. you’re more concerned with the fact it excites you. “call him a good boy, i dare you.”

the words haven’t even formed in your throat and the boy between your thighs is gripping onto your waist a little tighter, lips near pouting and eyes screwed shut in uncontrollable pleasure, burning down his spine and threatening to push him over the edge of sexual bliss.

you consider having mercy, the inexperienced side of you thinking the boy looks like he’s full of shame and embarrassment. the throbbing of his rock hard cock repeatedly stuffing your aching cunt reminds you he’s getting off on the humiliation.

“is he a good boy, though?” you stare up at park seonghwa, not even sparing a whimpering wooyoung any attention as he begins a rambled protest to defend his good behaviour. “i mean, i don’t remember telling him he could touch me. do you, hwa?”

the hands that grip you tightly let go quick, like your skin were an unexpectedly warm stove, scorching his skin right off him.

“i don’t remember either,” the eldest’s agreement has you reeling in a way you never expected, filling you with a new found sense of control.

a control that is ripped away far too quickly, like park seonghwa sensed you growing falsely confident over the situation at hand.

like a shark circling it’s prey, the tall man makes his way back around the bench, each fall of his shoe-covered feet echoing in the quiet swim hall. click, click, click, and he’s right at your back, not a word uttered as the soft of his palm lands on the nape of your neck. achingly slow does it travel down the expanse of your back, not a single noise filling the space other than the rise and fall of your body on top of wooyoung’s and the same boy’s poorly contained moans and mewls of pleasure.

the silence is interrupted by your own shocked gasp, mouth falling agape in shock as your movements come to a complete halt. his hands, no longer soft and delicate, grip you in an iron-tight hold, fingers greedy as they dig into your meaty flesh with no mercy or regard for the pain it may inflict on you.

“no, get up,” like a switch was flipped in as little as a minute, park seonghwa’s voice has lost all sense of the excitement it had whilst he spoke on jung wooyoung’s dirty endeavours and has returned back to the cold, callous, commanding tone it had originally.

he sounds angry, feels angry in the way the fingers of his free hand tangle themselves in the hair at the back of your head and give a harsh tug, forcing your head back till you’re met with his scowling face and perfectly groomed hair, even in it’s dampened state it seems to frame his face perfectly.

“what?” you babble out, dumbstruck, much like the desperate boy beneath you who’s began to mutter apology after apology between pleadings of please no don’t do this and i promise i’ll behave, i’ll keep my hands to myself.

none of it works.

“you heard me. get. up.” the fingers on your waist tug, pull, drag you away from the quivering mess that has become of jung wooyoung, who near sobs as the cool air hits his now painfully hard cock, tip redder than the bottom of your favourite heels and a vein more prominent under his sensitive skin than the ones on his muscular arms. you’re not given much of a chance to process what’s happening before seonghwa speaks again. “wooyoung, up, now. you’re not getting to cum, so get off the bench and make room for someone else.”

the boy makes no further attempt to protest, cheeks painted pink in shame and chest shining with sweat as he shakily rises to his feet, head hung low when you watch him walk out of your line of sight.

then, your knees meet the floor.

park seonghwa chuckles as you go down, hands finding grip in your hair and forcing you to sit up right. heart beating faster, your mind begins to race with questions of what comes next, who comes next.

what dirty desires are about to be unveiled within you, forced into the unforgiving fluorescent lights of the swimming hall?

“jeong, you’re up,” seonghwa’s knee digs into your back and his fingers tug until your scalp begins to sting a little. you don’t want to like it but, in life, you don’t always get what you want.

there’s a series of shuffles behind you, followed by heavy footsteps. there’s no rush, yet no hesitation, just calm and collected footsteps of someone making their way over to do god knows what with you.

when jeong yunho, with his towel that’s looking a lot tighter around his crotch still around his waist, steps into frame, an inexplicable sense of comfort washes over you.

maybe it’s the way he smiles down at you, or the fact his hands brush seonghwa’s off of you, or the way his fingers take a hold of your chin once he’s seated in front of you.

maybe it’s just the fact he’s jeong yunho, campus himbo with a reputation for walking girls home at night just to make sure they’re safe and for singing britney spears with no shame each time the karaoke mic gets passed around.

whatever it is, it’s turning you on.

your knees are burning with fresh pain as park seonghwa shoves you closer to the mammoth of a man and you can’t help but swallow down the ball of anxiety growing in your throat.

everything about jeong yunho’s demeanour has always seemed large, with powerful arms that drag his body through the weight of water and large hands that effortlessly carry countless textbooks through the university halls; a tall frame that helps him stand out in any crowd and a personality loud enough to set off alarms; his thighs a muscular stairway leading up to a well rounded, remarkably defined posterior. it’s safe to say he’s carried a reputation for some time, one that consists of whispers between girls on campus who recount just how well endowed he really is. 7 inches, 9 inches, 12 inches, you’ve heard it all, each girl claiming it to be bigger than the last.

unfortunately, there’s no ruler at your disposal to uncover the truth of the rumours, but you confirm he’s certainly large as you watch him undo the towel. larger than you’ve ever seen before, with a thickness to match, and two heavy looking balls decorating the base.

he wraps a hand around it and you watch how he gives a light squeeze at the head, slowly sliding down the length of it till he reaches the tuft of groomed hairs on his pelvic bone. one of his hands alone holds half of his cock, leaving you almost certain you’d need to use both hands on him.

“d’you want it, sweetheart?” his words are teasing but his voice is soft, a complete one-eighty to the verbal berating you’ve been receiving- and enjoying- from park seonghwa.

you’re sure he notices the way you clench your thighs as he slaps his cock once, then twice against his stomach, the precum leaking out on to his tanned skinned.

there’s an itch inside your throat, one you imagine only he can scratch.

“you wanna taste it?” he’s still speaking to you through the arousal that fogs over your brain, commanding your tongue to swipe over your bottom lip as you burn your gaze at the glistening liquid on his warm skin, tastebuds aching to have him paint them in white.

you nod your head.

his own throws itself back, a chuckle rupturing out of his chest as he continues to tease himself with his hand.

“fuck, yeah, bet you can’t wait to taste my cock, feel it stab the back of your tight throat.” a smile should never look so sweet while it’s part of the same mouth spewing out such filth. somehow, jeong yunho makes it work. “gonna get it nice and wet for me, yeah? make it sloppy, i love it when a pretty thing like you gets all messy over my cock.”

the knee that’s suddenly digging it’s way into your back has no mercy. you wince, pull in a sharp breath and inch just that little bit closer to the bench. like a glove fits a hand, you slip right in between the muscled tree trunks that make up jeong yunho’s thighs. 

you wonder, if only momentarily, what sweet a death it would be to be crushed between them, taut muscles constricting the flow of air to your lungs like a boa with its prey.

but there’s a far more preferable way to be choked by the man before you, body carved out in such definition you fear michael angelo himself stands in admiration of it.

his hand snakes its way around your body, warm and heavy and imposing with the grip it settles for at the base of your neck. in spite of the sharp stab coming from behind- where you have no doubt one park seonghwa stands with disgruntled impatience written all over his irritatingly perfect face- there is no doubt in your mind that the man in front of you holds the reigns. with eyes of honey and lips of velvet, he peers down at you with a tendered expression, saying nothing yet everything with the gentle, repeated sooth of his thumb over your skin.

you need no verbal instructions this time around.

a hand grips the base of him as the other squeezes the flesh of your own thigh, piercing your skin with just enough pressure to assure you this is the reality you find yourself in, rather than some twisted, substance influenced dream.

the first taste is the sweetest, tongue a missionary sent into the foreign land of his body to discover the way he reacts as you drag it over the tip. he gives nothing but a squeeze to the back of your neck; and that crumbles you under his control.

with a few more kitten licks- for good luck, if anything,- the show begins with the parting of your lips, the widening of your mouth, the burning of your skin as you struggle with your ability to swallow him whole. you make it no further than a third of his length before he’s tugging gently on your roots and bringing you back to the surface of existence.

“breathe, okay,” his voice is gentle, calming your nerves yet sending your heart into a fit of patternless beats. “inhale, exhale, got it? through the nose, that’s gonna help you relax.”

doing as he says, you swallow three whole breaths. shaky, ragged, each feeling hollow in your chest in comparison to the weight of his cock on your tongue.

“pretty girl,” he practically coos, hand cupping your chin as his thumb smoothes over the swell of your bottom lip. it’s tender, sweet, and almost enough to make you forget the sight of his engorged cock that sits angrily between his tree-trunk shaped thighs, crying out for the return of your mouth’s affection. “someone’s gotta teach you to not be greedy, hmm? small little mouth of yours is no fit for me, don’t go choking on it.”

heat flashes between your thighs, your heartbeat dropping right down to your clit and leaving you with a burning ache, the kind only a gentleman like this could soothe. your fingers may have to do, however, if the stubborn arsehole behind you would be so kind as to let you enjoy yourself.

the way park seonghwa curls his hand round the front of your neck and flexes his nimble fingers- that goddamn family heirloom ring a punishing cold to your warm skin, near brandishing you as touched by some nepotism child- when you do so little as clench your thighs together to relieve the pressure, or lack-there-of, between your thighs tells you he’ll grant you no such fun.

“you’d need to have something big enough for her to choke on,” san, precious san. still here, still somewhere beneath this god-forsaken tin-can roof swimming pool, watching you bruise your knees and your ego for another man, another one of his team-mates. what must he think of you? has he lost whatever respect he may have had? does he think he’d been just another body to exchange fluids with, that night at the party? if you could just see his face, you’d not need to wonder all these things. his eyes, they always give him away, too earnest and pure for his own good.

“shut it, choi,” yunho’s bark isn’t half as loud as seonghwa’s booming commands have been, and are nowhere near as malignant. if anything, the gentle giant is humoured by his team-mate’s words, as if he knows they’re a preposterous thing to say about him. then again, you can’t imagine any man remaining humble about themselves if they were so well-endowed. “or do you wanna crack out the measuring tape again and remind yourself of just how much of me there is to choke on?”

silence.

it takes a few moments for the spotlight to return to you, a gradual shift from playful to lust driven energy encapsulating the broad frame of the man before. he cups your cheek, feather-light touch smoothing over your skin while his eyes burrow daggers into your soul.

why must his shoulders be so wide? it almost angers you as much as it sends a wave of heat between your legs.

almost, but not quite.

“‘s cute,” he half mumbles, distracted by the sight you paint below him on your knees, bruises already forming and thighs clenching for some relief of pressure. “your little pussy’s all wet just from having my cock in your mouth.”

“i think you’re forgetting she was bouncing on woo’s dick a few minutes ago, yunho,” the devil on your shoulder won’t let you rest, hand snaking through the threads of your hair and tugging on your roots. not enough to hurt, just enough to sting. “have some modesty.”

“sure, let’s act like i’m not the one who had her cumming all over my face a while ago.” san mumbles a string of words you wish you could unhear, face heating up as the shame burns through your bloodstream.

how had you gotten here?

you’re allowed no such freedom to ponder over previous actions as jeong yunho’s all encompassing frame works to remind you of where you find yourself: on your knees dressed in nothing but your own shame- shame which seems to slip off of you, piece by piece, baring you shamelessly to this pack of wolf-eyed boys’ for their eyes to feast upon.

strong, veiny hands reach out and drag you forwards, just an inch yet it’s all you need to feel the weight of park seonghwa’s domineering figure float off of you, rendering you under the control of this much larger, far smilier looking man. “eyes on me, okay? don’t wanna miss the way i’m about to make them roll back.”

there begins a game of push and pull, where jeong yunho pushes you closer and closer to his evident arousal, all the while teasing you as he pulls his hips back, keeping your waiting mouth open and empty, and oh-so frustrated at the feeling of being so close yet so far away from his dripping tip.

the first real taste you get of him does, in fact, nearly have your eyes rolling back. a kitten lick, barely there yet fully felt, running over the underside of his cock, a taste of salted skin, and musky sweat, and stale chlorine mixing in with the warmth of him flooding your senses. his reaction is no more composed than yours, blatantly parting his lips in a gasp and bucking his hips up, forwards, any direction they need follow to chase after your mouth.

happy to comply, you take pride in tasting him a second time, this time right over the growing drop of pre-cum pebbling on his tip. white flashes behind your closing eyes as his grip in your hair tightens, a pulse of heat firing straight down your spine as your mind floods with images of what it must be like to watch this man, this gentleman, this figure that so wholly encompasses what it means to be a himbo in this day and age lose his cool and revolt into his most carnal, basal instincts to take whatever pleasure he needs from you with a reckless abandon, burrow his throbbing cock down your throat till the beat of his heart takes over your own.

instead, you settle for wrapping your lips around him, at last, and letting him guide you just that little bit down his length. the weight of him feels nice, a strange sense of comfort birthing in your bones as you grow used to feel of him taking up your palate. his breaths seem to run in tandem with the inches he sinks deep between your parted lips.

a deep breath, he lowers you further, till your left cheek begins to bulge out.

tongue pinned to the floor of your mouth, you make use of it as best you can, rolling it over the bottom of his shaft and earning yourself a plethora of gratifying sounds, each deep and desperate and crooning straight out of jeong yunho’s broad chest. 

another deep breath, another inch.

for all the false dominance you wield over the situation, with the heat of your mouth and spill of your own saliva slickening his cock, his real and visceral dominance doubles it by tenfold, with a hand on the back of your neck, guiding your every move, and a knowing, gentle look cast downwards at you from where he sits propped on the bench, thighs a heavy mass to case your body between. a silly little voice in your head whispers a seductive tale of how easily this man could get you in a headlock and suffocate your fragile windpipes. a wave of heat, this one going right down to your core and forcing you to pay attention to it, shifting awkwardly and clenching the muscles in your own legs in hopes of getting some pitiful amount of pressure.

all breathing stops as he hits the back of your throat.

hands pulling tight, a biting pain ripping through your hair and a tired gag creeping out of your constricting throat, yunho holds you still and strong, as unmoving as the mountains that fill the horizon from your bedroom window.

he’s not even fully in, an arguably obscene amount of him still awaiting some form of attention beyond the spill of the spit filling up your mouth. but there’s nowhere for it to go, not within your mouth at least, and so you manoeuvre your hand up and grip the neglected inches, the tip of your pinkie teasingly brushing over the swell of his balls.

he lurches forward, gasping in a breath of air at last. “fucking christ- shit,” he grits his teeth. “her mouth’s warm.”

“well, obviously. this your first time getting a blowjob or something, jeong?” god, the reminder of seonghwa being here, somewhere behind you, fox eyes judging your every move and keeping his cool, no matter how hard you’d seen his cock straining in those ridiculous pant-suit trousers he sports. it’s sickening.

“yeah, yunho, watch out before you have a repeat of 2019.”

if the taller jeong wants to snap at the other, you never find out, instead dedicating yourself to the glory of worshipping him between your parted lips and tight throat, jaw ready to lock itself in place so long as it keeps him inside.

you treat him differently than you’d treated san that night. you’d been tipsy then, buzzing off the colourful shots of who-knows-what you’d been conned into downing a half hours before, mind hazy as you kneeled between him and teased your tongue over every crevice of him it could reach, dripping him in drool and working an ache into your overused tongue by the time you got watched him spill over the edge of ecstasy. that wasn’t even about san’s pleasure, no real care put into getting him off, your own selfish need to indulge in the pleasure of feeling, tasting, worshipping him taking precedence.

but, right now, you’re overwhelmingly sober, mind hazed only by a cloud of inexplicable lust that rolled in the moment san shot you his stupid smile, and you care about making jeong yunho cum. in fact, it’s the only thing on your mind as you bob your head up and down, letting his own hand guide your pace.  

“shh, shh,” he’s hushing your own struggles for breath and carding his fingers through the tresses of your hair, his legs clamping down on either side of you, pinning you in your rightful place. “taking it so good, baby. so fucking good.”

good’s not good enough.

you want to leave him mind-blown, exhausted, unhinged. you want him clenching his jaw, and baring his teeth, and stuttering over any praise he tries to give you. in fact, you need it, need that thrill-driven lust of collapsing the sanity of a man as broad and strong and capable as him.

so you pick up the pace, fight against the steady up-and-down of his grip and try to take just that little bit more of him in your mouth and down your throat, till you’ve no doubt there’s a visible bulge of where he sits down your windpipe. you think back on what he said- i love it when a pretty thing like you gets all messy over my cock- and work towards doing just that, mouth a fountain of over-flowing spit that paints lines down your chin and over his heavy balls. the hand at his base lightly drags the tips of its nails over his burning skin and you physically feel the way his cock jumps in your mouth, head twitching as his hips involuntarily jolt forwards.

eyes as wide as a deer in headlights, you glance up to stare into his own, only to find they’re rolling back in his head, too caught up in the headiness of having your mouth on him to visually focus. it’s erotic, tracing your eyes over the protruding vein in his neck and the unrhythmic heaving of his chest- like every breath he pulls is a rare gift and a miracle- and the straining of his muscled thighs that hold back his urge to buck freely into your mouth, use you as nothing but a hole to get himself off with.

your free hand stakes claim over your own sexual frustration, nimble fingers rubbing tight, slow circles over your clit in an attempt to just ease that heat burning you from the inside out.

“she’s touching herself, jeong,” not even the irritating, grating voice of park seonghwa’s unwanted commentary can take away the kick you’re getting out of working this man into a frenzy. “are you just going to let her, without your permiss-”

“shut up, park,” yunho is wrecked, voice divulging so far from that loud, boyish charm into a dark, broken sort of gruffed out thing, echoing straight out of his chest. but, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t listen to the other man, doesn’t force his eyes open to glance down in a hazed daze to witness your pathetic attempts to work your fingers over yourself.

only, he doesn’t tell you to stop.

he just... watches. and then smiles, squeezes out what can only be described as a broken whine, and tilts his head back once more, relinquishing all control of his body over to you. the scene divulging into a chorus of mumbled words, fuck and please and yes becoming the only word yunho knows, the only three you hear. 

only as he cums does jeong yunho regain that bit of self-control he’s lost, ripping your mouth off him- a stuttered mumble of i wanna paint that pretty face- and erupting in a mess of grunted moans, cock twitching in his palm as rope after rope of white, hot fluid shoots out of it. it’s messy, and disgusting, and sticky, marking the skin on your cheeks, nestling in your hair, dripping over your shut eyelashes.

the last drops land in your parted mouth as his grasp shakes and you regain the right to wrap your lips around his mushroomed tip.

lips stained in pearly white, cheeks and neck matching too. the throb of your neglected cunt, clenching itself around nothing but the mere thought of having jeong yunho stuff you full, break you in two and leave you spent.

the man in question is in a no better state, head thrown back and chest a heaving mess glistening with the shine of his own sweat. his mouth hangs open, near heaving in breaths of air and his hands, adopting a mind of their own, grip harder in your hair and hold you firmly in place, tongue laving over his sensitive tip, pushing him closer and closer to the ledge of overstimulation.

“fuck- uh, fucking look at you,” sweet voice, foul words. two fingers drag over your cheek, coating themselves in the sticky substance he’s painted you in. “drooling all over me.”

he’s right, you are drooling. down your chin, an uncomfortable damp coat covers your overheating skin as you continue to stretch your lips around his length, ready to rip another thigh-shuddering orgasm out of the man.

yunho grants you no such pleasure.

instead, a grip tugs back on your hair and, before you can feebly attempt to catch your fleeing breath, he’s pulling you up into his lap, straddling you across the well-defined muscles of his thigh. those big, capable hands he pushes himself through pools, and rivers, and all other bodies of water manipulate your limbs however he likes, a rag-doll free for him to toy with for as long as he sees fit.

“yun-” you don’t even manage to say his name properly, not when he grinds you down into his lap, smothering his tanned skin in your juices. the friction runs straight for your pulsing clit and you’re rendered to sinking into his welcoming arms, head collapsing into the crook of his neck, parted lips panting up a storm against his sweated skin.

“that nice for you, angel?” the soft words, the rough hands, the perfect roll of your hips. you feel like you could sob, break apart completely. yunho tracing a hand up the curve of your spine and soothing his long fingers over a knot in you back doesn’t help your case. “bet it is. little bit of release to all that tension you’ve been feeling, yeah?”

you think you nod.

it’s hard to tell.

sparks fly within your loins, heating you from the inside out. yunho, at some point, has wound his fist into the tresses of your hair, nails scrapping along your scalp. it’s pleasurable, all over, soothing you into a state of utter relaxation, a being with no purpose other than to take whatever this mass of warmth and muscles and width offers you.

his hand makes a fist and gently tugs, forcing a whine out of you as you’re faced with the bright lights once more. traces of his own cum stain the very place your face had lay. it’s erotic to see, drying up your tongue with a need to lick it clean.

“no, no, focus, right here,” a single finger taps at your cheek, followed by the tilting of your chin that forces you to stare back at the hungry eyes of jeong yunho. “eyes on me. want a front row seat to watching your eyes roll back.”

god, he’s filthy, and delicate, and that just makes him all that more filthy.

swiping his digits through the remnants of his sticky cum, he makes sure you’re staring right back at him as those same fingers snake their way down between your grinding bodies and burrow themselves deep in your soaked heat. shallow pumps of his hand fuck his cum-coated fingers deeper, long and lithe enough he barely needs to move to have you feeling him all over, everywhere.

by the time he curls them, pressing against that spongy wall, you’re just about ready to cry.

“think she’s gonna cum,” oh god, no, why must he remind you of your audience? why does it no longer frighten you to have eyes watching you be defiled but, rather, have you clenching around him tighter, chasing that fever-like ecstasy the man means to deliver? “she’s gripping my fingers so tight- shit, almost makes me wanna bust my load just thinking how warm her pussy would feel round my cock.”

“don’t let her cum,” you vow, some day, to wring the neck of park seonghwa. “just cause she’s gone all cockdrunk doesn’t mean she’s earnt-”

“shut up, hwa,” the boy’s thumb pokes up and you can’t help the way you grind down into it, smothering your clit in whatever pressure you can get. “pretty baby’s more than earned it. stop being bitter that i’m the one who’s gonna give her it.”

give you it, he does.

three fingers deep, the cocktail of your wetness mixing with his cum-cated digits aiding the ebb and flow of his rhythm, jeong yunho has your toes curling, eyes rolling, thighs shaking. you blackout, for only a moment, lost in the wilderness of pleasure.

the aftershocks are barely kicking in when you’re suddenly ripped away from yunho’s hold. the sounds of your beating heart and heaving chest muffle the disgruntled exchange of words between the swim-team, inhibiting your ability to stay clued-in on the events that surround you. all you know is that when your body meets the bench once more, on all wobbly fours, jeong yunho no longer sits tall and proud.

a sharp sting hits your rear- a smack, that echoes in the empty space of the swimming hall. the only appropriate response is the shriek you let out, twisted in your own conflicting emotions of pain, and pleasure, and painful pleasure. a second smack meets the other cheek. this time, there’s no doubt a wanton whine escapes you.

“since the rest of them can’t take orders,” you’d already known it was seonghwa whose hands were suddenly all over you, pinning you in a position of submission. the sound of his grandiose voice sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine, top to tail. “i’ll have to do it myself.”

with no word of warning, he smooths his hands down the globes of your ass, teases the crease of skin where your inner thigh meets your dripping heat, and fucks two whole fingers into your sensitive core. knuckles deep, they sit still upon initial intrusion, basking in the warmth of you and coating themselves in the essence from an orgasm you’ve yet to even fully recover from and the cum yunho’d scooped off your own face.

then, at last, when your nails dig marks into the wood below, he curls them a come-hither motion.

with shame painted on your skin, you toss your head back and release an inhumane cry, eyes hazily gazing up at the horrendous white lights above. “oh god!”

“not quite. i do appreciate the flattery though,” there’s no need to glance over your shoulder to know that pompous, trust-fund baby is wearing the most earth-shattering smirk, some stupid strand of his perfectly groomed hair dangling over one of his eyes, like some 90s heartthrob boy-band member. you do it anyway.

park seonghwa is an unfairly attractive man, sporting a beauty so ethereal it almost makes you angry.

that anger seems to dampen the wetter he gets you.

his touch is slow, but by no means is it gentle. calculated and malevolent, he plays with your insides like they’re nothing but the strings to your puppet. a curl of his fingers and one of your hands shoots forward. the torturously slow pace that he pumps his digits in and out, and your jaw falls slack. his thumb bumps and grinds against your throbbing clit, and your elbows give out, sending you crashing face-first down onto the bench.

his free hand presses down on your lower back, bending you deeper, hiking your ass up higher in the air. and, at first, you think you’re imagining it, that trickle of warmth against your other entrance, believing it nothing but a trick of your melting brain.

you’re who-knows how many hours deep in a whirlwind of pleasure and penetrative stares, people have been driven to the brink of insanity over far less in the past.

but then seonghwa’s fingers leave your cunt, warm and wet trails following their journey over your skin. there’s no imaginative mind great enough in this universe to conjure up that initial shock to feeling how he prods and pokes at your puckered hole, lubricating it with the dirty mixture of both you and yunho’s cum and his very own spit.

the tip of his pointer finger ventures onward first, breaking through the surface of your tight muscles in a shallow intrusion.

the feeling has you frozen, frightened, intrigued. eyes widening, moans dying, pussy pulsating in an empty need.

“don’t go getting shy on us now, spitfire,” the collective language he uses brings back the weight of all the boys’ eyes on you. hesitantly, you angle your face off the bench, and regret it the instant you meet the brown comfort of his eyes. “fun’s just starting. ain’t that right, san?”

a tense energy takes over the large room, with san’s shoulders tensing, and yunho’s feet fidgeting, and wooyoung’s cheeks blushing. seonghwa seems impervious to the shift, whether voluntarily or not, and instead invites himself to further exploring the limits of your body.

he’s kind enough to spare a bit of care into the way his finger sinks deeper into your unexplored hole. another dribble of his hot saliva lands messily onto you, aiding the slip and slide of his hand. two, or three, or four strokes of his finger and you’re submitting to the intrusion, hips rutting higher and presenting yourself more to the man.

“come here,” the command calls over your body and, at first, you think its aimed at you. so you try scooting further back, only to be halted by seonghwa speaking once again. “yeah you, choi. come get under her.”

for the first time since this all began, you’re on the precipice of saying no.

they’d listen, all of them. wouldn’t push you, pressure you or force you to keep going, not if you truly voiced your negation. even park seonghwa, as big an arsehole as he may be, would have no qualms ending his fun and agreeing to never speak of this again.

and it’s not that you don’t want choi san under you. far from it, as you’ve already made pretty clear earlier, thighs his personal ear-warmers while his tongue delved deep for your honey-suckle glory. you’re hardly uncomfortable at the thought of him under you, chest rising repeatedly in frantic breaths and legs bent at the knee to give him just the right leverage to fuck up into your messy cunt-

it’s not till he’s three feet away from you, hands fidgeting by his side, eyes looking anywhere but you and your compromising position, and the world’s most obnoxiously boner-strained tent in his swimming gear that realisation washes over you. you’re hesitating because of him, because of his possible discomfort.

what if he wants to say no? what if he doesn’t want to get under you? what if his eyes will never look into your own again, too shocked and disgusted by all the things you’ve let be done to you? by his own team-mates/rivals, too?

hell, you’ve shocked yourself even, never in a million years had you pictured a day you’d be at the mercy of some rich prick, overdressed for every occasion and looking like a vogue-cover-model reject. but when he’s edging another finger into the already-tight squeeze of your ass, and pushing your buttons just enough to nudge you towards an edge that never seems to arrive, how could you ever dream of being anywhere else?

a hand touches your cheek.

soft. tender. it takes the extra time to soothe the pads of its fingers against your burning cheek.

“you feeling okay?” san’s quiet tone, meant only for you, is enough to move you to near-tears. you crave his hug. the position you find yourself in only allows you to reach out and grasp at where his knee bends as he crouches down to your level. it’s all the same, san knows. san understands. his own hand lands on top of yours, messily threading digits.

“she’s literally stuffed with another man’s cum and you’re worried about her? well aren’t you just the sweetest.” a cheap remark from seonghwa.

san purposefully ignores it, and everything about the man, instead choosing to keep his focus on what matters.

you.

“think you could make some room for me down there?” your nose wrinkles at his choice of words.

his giggle echoes.

“no, no, not... like that,” he guides you as he talks, grip moving to your shoulders and coaxing you up into a seating position. somewhere along the way, seonghwa’s hands leave you. he doesn’t stray too far, however, and your back soon collides against his chest. “here, pretty. want you to make space for me down here.”

within seconds, choi san’s back in his rightful place: splayed out beneath you, body fit snug between your parted legs and hair an unruly, sweated mess against his forehead.

no clothing sits between you both, blessing you with the mouthwatering drag of his cock through your folds. hard, and red, and leaking at the tip, a slight curve to the right, dribbling precum against his well-toned stomach. you’re biting your lip before you fully register your own thoughts, body a mind of its own as you grind down onto him.

control is limited and fleeting, that of which seonghwa reminds you without uttering so much as a word. instead, he clamps a harsh grip down on either side of your hips, rucks you up to where he needs you and guides you down onto san’s cock.

it’s thick, imposing and something that seonghwa blesses you no time to ease into things. instead, you’re slammed down, san buried to the hilt inside of you.

“hey there,” delicate fingers skim up the tense muscles in your thigh and find pleasure in delivering a teasing tickle to your sides. “come here often?”

the cheeky grin, the double entendre, the way san looks so goddamn proud of himself for saying it. you can’t help it, you wind up giggling uncontrollably.

wrong choice. bad idea. danger zone.

san contorts in pain, and lust, and something else you’ve never seen behind his eyes before, hissing through his teeth like some feral cat. his eyes match that of a feline too. “you trying to squeeze my dick off or something?”

you compose yourself upon the reminder of that san can feel you tensing around him, pull in a deep breath and find your voice again, at last. “or... something.”

maybe you’re a little out of breath. maybe you’re a little hoarse. it doesn’t seem to matter to the boy below, his only response being to cant his hips up and lick at the fire burning in your insides.

“you two are disgusting,” once again, park seonghwa wins gold in the nobody-asked-for-you-bum-ass-opinion olympics. let’s see if he’ll continue his winning streak and go for gold in the hypocrite-athon too!

the hands on your sides begin you guide you, with seonghwa squeezing his perfectly manicured nails into your plush skin and bouncing you down onto san. up, down, up and down, repeated strokes like the ones their hands deliver each time they breach the surface.

it’s easy, this pleasure. it’s a gift, hand-delivered by two god-like men that sandwich you between them- one a mass that fills you, the other a weight that controls you. liberating in every sense, you can’t help the way your head rolls back to find purchase on one of seonghwa’s shoulders, completely melting into the ways he winds you over san.

“shit, yes, you feel,” san’s no better than you, mouth agape and hands unsteady as they trace every inch of skin they can reach: the dimples of your back, the swell of your breasts, the hood of your clit. his hips are the only steady thing about him, not a falter in the way they grind up to kiss your dripping pussy with his cock. “so good. so warm, tight. love it.”

a hand curls round your front, travels up between your breast and over your sternum. it settled for a grip a round your throat, no pressure applied, it simply exists against your windpipe, a silent threat.

“look what you do to him, hmm,” a squeeze around your neck. seonghwa’s warm breath fans against your ear, taunting you. “look what you’re doing to them.”

through your glossed-over gaze, you trail your way past the sight of san and all his captivating beauty, settling instead on the equally erotic, not-at-all surprising image that stands just past where his head rests at the edge of the wooden bench.

a sweaty wooyoung, bent at the waist and whining up a storm, while a far more composed yunho pounds his hips into the boy’s arse.

your walls clench and san whimpers, a string of curses and pleads leaving him.

“think you’re finally ready for me?” the devil on your shoulder- at your back, more truly,- smirks into your skin, careless enough to not even feign it being anything but a rhetoric question. ready or not, park seonghwa is going to finally get his own fill of the thrill, his own satisfaction, beyond mere observation and controlling.

the spill of your own wetness slips down your thighs as san continues to fuck himself deep. it doesn’t travel far as seonghwa coats himself in you, wetting his fingers before they slip back inside your ass. a few generous, tempting pumps into your ring of muscles, fingers spreading a little further apart each time, till he decides that’s enough, he’s ready, you’re ready.

the unbuckling of a belt.

an unzipping of trousers.

trousers bunched down muscled thighs.

the first cut may be the deepest, but you highly doubt it’s as deep as seonghwa feels feeding his cock into your arse, stretching you apart to make way for him. a part of you feels like it can’t breathe, impaled on both these men who sit so deep inside you, you fear you’ll feel the ghost of their touch for weeks to come.

but what does it matter, really, when seonghwa pulls you back against him and whispers filth against your ear? 

this is all you’re good for. cock-drunk whore. gonna let us cum inside?

and san’s coaxing you down to trail his mouth over your chest, the tongue flicking over your nipple a terrible juxtapose to his crooning words?

taking it so well, baby. so tight, and perfect, and god. ‘s that what baby needs, huh, for me to touch her little clit?

the two men find a rhythm, a synchronised routine to how they pull and push you around. their thrusts ebb and flow, no moment existing where you sit empty. they treat your body like they treat the pool, swimming through your waves of pleasure and effortlessly advancing to the finishing line, the winning stroke. then, san’s hand meets your cheek and your thoughts are dragged underwater, muffling the sounds of everyone else- the shlickt sound that echoes with each inch of cock fucked into you, the high-pitched whimpers of a fucked out wooyoung, the slapping of skin against skin- as he pulls you in for a kiss.

it’s a hungry one, all teeth and tongue and swollen lips. you pull away more breathless than before and fighting back a big dopey grin, toes curling as the swell of one of their cocks hits a nice spot inside you, body too on fire to know just exactly where the new wave of heat is coming from.

“h-how d’you do it, hm?” it’s almost a whisper, something meant only for your ears, yet you hear him loud and clear, voice stuttering off in a mess of whines and moans. “still got that pretty-girl smile, even while getting fucked silly.”

it almost makes you shy, till you remember what you’re doing and who you’re doing it with. you settle for a quick, short answer. mostly because you fear you’re losing the ability to think in full-sentences, much less speak one out loud. “can multitask.”

like your own words are the key to pandora’s box, your eyes widen, and your mouth dries, and your heart reels as a new desire burrows itself somewhere between the parts of you owned by san and the parts owned by seonghwa. the desire makes room for more, for someone more, and, without much chance for second-thoughts or hesitation, you find what little stability you can manage with one hand pressing down onto san’s toned chest and reach forward with your free hand.

fingers, light as a feather, curl around wooyoung’s solid shaft. the man’s hips stutter at the unexpected contact, eyes flying open to glance down in time to watch you reach out your tongue, licking up the droplets of precum that threaten to spill from his mushroomed tip.

“please, god, please!” he’s beyond the point of sense, poor baby, struggling to keep up with yunho’s hips’ repeated slamming into his tight ass. so, you can’t really blame him or shame him for the way he hastily rips his hand through your hair, tugging your mouth as far down his cock as the angle allows.

a few hairs rip from your skull in his grip. you reward him with a pleasant hum, moans muffled with the mouth-full he’s providing you. 

“shit- look at that,” seonghwa pipes up from behind you, the motion of his hips never faulting or failing as he continues to take part in the filthiest three-way tango known to man, hands bouncing you down to meet each raise of san’s hips, plundering the other man’s cock deep, deep, deep, till he’s kissing your cervix and you’re seeing stars before your eyes. “should cup youngie’s- fucking christ- his balls, san, cup ‘em.”

you’re vaguely aware of his compliance, hand lifting off whatever part of you it was touching- your nipple, your hip, your jaw, it’s hard to tell when you feel like san’s everywhere, all over you, part of you- to graze the set of well-groomed spheres that threaten to slap your chin each time wooyoung thrusts forward.

barely two seconds, hardly any pressure against them, and the youngest of the four is nearly in tears, wailing and begging over broken whines that it’s too much, can’t take it, don’t stop.

there’s a ringing in your ear. because everything is becoming too much: wooyoung in your mouth, san rutting up into you and seonghwa’s hands clawing and pulling your body back into each of his overpowered thrusts. the boy in front of you is the first to fall apart, twitching in your mouth and, without a warning, choking you on the cum he shoots down your throat. a hand pulls you back, just enough to paint your face in the final drops released from wooyoung.

one of the other men is next, a string of curses and grunts filling the air. there’s a new stickiness between your legs, gooey white staining your skin. it’s all building up, and up, and up, until you topple over and are sent reeling into wave after wave of blinding pressure, toes cramping up and muscles spasming as you shoot off into another astral field, creaming around san and chocking seonghwa’s cock.

you don’t register the release of your hips nor the crash-down of your body. one moment, you’re pressed back against seonghwa, mouth dropped open in a silent scream for merciless pleasure, and the next you’re cradled in san’s warm embrace, a crooning tone to the way he hushes and calms you, unheard i got yous, and did so good for us, babys, and just let me hold yous falling on deaf ears.

for a moment in your own history, time ceases to exist.

there’s no ticking of the large clock on the wall, reminding you of how long ago your shift had ended. there’s no thoughts of your plant friend drying out in the staleness of your room, desperately awaiting you to revive it with some h2o. there’s no consequences awaiting your actions, no shame to be feared and leaving you unable to look any of the four swimmers in the eye ever again.

instead of being crashed against choi san’s body, a mixture of his, yours, and several other people’s bodily fluids serving as the adhesive that keeps you stuck together in your mess, you’re floating in space, not quite alive but not quite dead, just there. 

nerves tingling, body aching, mind switched off.

four, or five, or ten, maybe even fifteen minutes pass by the time you regain focus on your surroundings.

your name, whispered. it’s his voice that pulls you back, sweet and soft and oh so like the san you’re used to, the one that sends teasing winks your way when your eyes happen to meet his in class, and the one who has the prettiest notes you’ve ever seen, a colour-scheme for his every highlight and the cutest of doodles to go along with the topic on the paper.

the one who’s hand is currently brushing through your hair, fingers careful as they catch on the tangles near the split ends.

“hmm,” you swear you want to say his name, say more than that, but there’s an ache in your jaw that hinders you from even attempting, your voice-box likely having taken a beaten in the throws of your pleasured moans.

“you okay there?” he giggles over the end of the sentence, and you feel your slowing heartbeat stutter at the sound.

he feels you nod into the crook of his neck and lets his free hand find perch against your hip, moments before giving it a light squeeze. 

he’s warm, and pleasant, and soft.

and moving you both into an up-right position, hands splaying flat against your back and keeping you secure against him, your legs wrapping around his slender waist. you drift off again, between time and space, and come to at the first drop of water that lands on your back.

one drop, two drops, and then a downpour of heat crashing onto both of you.

you can tell from the colour of the pinkish tiles along the communal shower floor that you’re in the women’s changing room, and mentally note to thank him, even if he’s not aware, for bringing you somewhere you won’t have to shamefully stumble out of in the nude, your change of clothes safely tucked away within one of the lockers.

“i’m gonna put you down now, okay?” he speaks so gently that it overwhelms you, answering him only with an affirmative nod of your head.

neither of you speak while he lathers shampoo into your hair, nor when he’s dragging his soap covered hands over the cum that stains your skin, wiping it away and leaving nothing but suds where the liquid once was. he doesn’t speak while covering your eyes with his hands, blocking the sting of the shampoo. you don’t speak when you inch closer, head falling forward to rest against his chest.

when he does eventually speak again, both of your fingertips are wrinkled and bodies are clean, the water of the shower serving as nothing but a way to keep warm.

“you’re, uh, not” the echo of his voice in the empty lockers feels so much more intimate than how his cries sounded by the pool. “doing anything on wednesday, right?”

too lazy to move, you angle your face to stare up at him from his chest and take a moment to just stare, look at the way his hair is sticking to his forehead, at the way his eyes are back to being wide, at the way the marks you’d littered along his neck are becoming more prominent.

“how’d you know?” your question confirms his own, and a tenseness you’d not noticed melts off of his shoulders.

“wednesday is race day. you never work race days.”

it’s such an odd detail to have noticed, and it’s making you question everything you thought you knew about your relationship with san. do acquaintances remember each other’s schedules? do acquaintances bring each other soothing teas when they notice the other developing flu symptoms? do acquaintances waste time pulling faces at each other in lectures they should probably be paying attention to.

“i’m not taking part in the race this time, by choice. my grades are good enough, don’t need to worry about winning some championship to keep my education.” san is speaking unpromptly at this point, rambling in a way you’ve only seen him do when he’s nervous, or excited, or both. “it’s okay if you don’t want to, or you have better things to do or places to be! but, i was just thinking, maybe you’d wanna spend some time with me? there’s this medieval market down on main-street, it’s meant to be really cool, and i just think it would be even cooler to go with you? but, again, you don’t have to. forget it, actually, i’m being stupid and assuming you’re not doing something with your friends or your-”

the kiss you interrupt him with is far more innocent than the one you shared earlier, no hands rushing to touch and tongues desperate to taste, just two sets of lips moving as one.

you pull back and he chases after you, lips landing another peck before you’re grasping his cheek in your hold and forcing him back.

“i think you could have asked me to come help clean your apartment for you and i’d still say yes, just to spend my day with you,” you say, and he smiles as if on instinct, unable to stop it even if he tried.

“really?”

“really.”

“good, cause i already bought us two tickets and i really didn’t wanna have to go alone.” there’s drops of water dancing on his eyelashes, and laziness in his every movement, and you’re both still very much naked, but none of that seems to matter when he gives you another peck, like he’s awakened an addiction and your lips are now his favourite vice. “but, now that you mention it, my apartment could do with some cleaning. and i bet you’d look amazing in a maid outfit.”

a slap echoes in the showers.

“hey! don’t worry, i’ll be wearing a matching one!”

[oceaneyesinla]

Coming Home

I needed some soft Chuuya, so I wrote some soft Chuuya. This is VERY self indulgent and very fluffy

Slightly suggestive at the end - nickname used: angel

Divider by @/cafekitsune

Chuuya can’t help but release a tired, relieved sigh as the door to his apartment swings open. He’s been away for a week, and that’s a week too long when he knows just what’s waiting for him at home. You’ve ruined him for missions that take him away from Yokohama - how can he spend even a second away from the brightest star in the sky of his life? If you weren’t so important to Mafia operations in the city, he would bring you with him every time he leaves. Alas, it’s not to be - your biochemical knowledge and connections to the local hospitals make you too valuable to lose. 

Instead, the two of you spend all hours of the day and night on the phone; 3AM video calls, lunchtime phone conversations and good morning messages having to suffice even though all he wants is to wrap you in his arms and never let go. For now, he’s home, and the boss promised him at least a couple of days rest in return for going on this mission. It was an important one, and there were very few people Mori would trust such a task to.

The patter of footsteps pulls him out of his thoughts, and he can feel a smile tugging at his lips. Clearly, you heard him open the door. He makes quick work of taking off his shoes and he’s just depositing his bag off to one side to deal with later when you round the corner. Your face lights up as you skid to a halt, almost sliding straight into the opposite wall. The laughter that bubbles out of him is soft and affectionate, as if his body needs some way to release all the love he feels for you before his heart explodes with it.

You look cozy, all wrapped up in one of his sweaters and fluffy socks on your feet, and you look like the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He opens his arms, already knowing what your plan is, and he’s absolutely right. You barrel down the hallway, jumping into his arms and clinging to him with all your strength. Your legs lock around his waist, and you burrow your face into the crook of his neck, leaving little kisses that he swears he can feel even through the all the fabric of his clothes.

“Hey angel.” The last remnants of tension bleed out of him as he holds you, breathing in the smell of your favourite body wash, the one you started using when you decided it reminded you of him. Now, it just reminds you both of home.

“Missed you.” You’re pouting when you pull away to meet his eye, but it doesn’t last long when he peppers your face in kisses, reducing you to a giggling mess in moments. 

Kicking the door shut with his foot, he carries you further into the apartment, bypassing the couch and heading straight for the bedroom, “Missed you too. Did you do anything fun while I was gone? Spend the money I left you?”

You launch into an animated description of all the things you bought while he was gone and Chuuya could feel the fond smile growing on his face. This is what he misses most when you’re apart - the light in your eyes and the excitement in your voice is never the same through a phone screen.

The squeak you let out as he drops you onto the bed makes him laugh once again, and he quickly strips out of his work clothes and changes into something more comfortable. You’ve already tucked yourself under the covers by the time he’s done, and he joins you, immediately pulling you practically on top of him. After he’s been away, he likes to have you as close as possible. If he could crack open his ribcage and tuck you away in there, safe and sound, he would.

“What’s the plan, Chuu?” Your sweet voice is music to his ears, and he leans in to press a kiss to your head.

“First, we’re taking a nap, because I want to cuddle and I know you do too.” He lets his hand slide down your back, trailing down to the plush of your ass and giving it a light squeeze, “Then I’m going to show you just how much I missed my pretty angel.” He moves his hand back up to rub along your spine, smiling when he feels you relax into him, “Then we’re going out for dinner.”

You shift a little, dropping a couple of kisses along the sensitive skin of his neck before you snuggle back into his chest, “Okay. Love you, Chuu.”

“Love you too, angel.” The last thing he sees before he closes his eyes is your soft smile, your features nothing short of angelic as you rest on him, content in his hold and infinitely trusting. His final thought before he slips into sleep is that heaven must feel like the love you share.

@pixelcafe-network

[chaoticbardlady99]

Can I request a fic where Astarion reacts to GN!Reader who always helps him but refuses to accept his propositions please?

 CW: Dead Dove- for the people who can’t think for themselves and make a decision, no I am not adding specifics to my tags and I don’t have to. You know what game you are playing and you know Astarion’s back story. Put on your big kid pants and get over yourself- if the worst thing that happened to you today was that a fanfiction had a vague CW (which is also not a requirement for anything, it’s common courtesy. You don’t see CW on every book with dark themes, do you?) then you have a pretty damn good life. I’m not paid to write these fanfictions- if you want me to change how I tag things, then start sending me money or 🖕🏻 your bitching isn’t welcome here

I hope you enjoy!

Astarion doesn’t know much about freedom and normal sexual relationships. In fact, he doesn’t know shit about normal relationships period. His entire world is people taking advantage of his body and his lack of freedom- hands scraping at his skin and taking from him.

 You, on the other hand, have thwarted every attempt he has made to please you sexually. 

 You roll your eyes at his pick up lines and his nicknames, you flirt back, but you never take it further when he asks. He asked you to spend time with him in his tent the night before- his plans to seduce you had been destroyed when you brought Lanceboard, he tried to get you to put it away, you suggested he is afraid to lose, and he had to prove that he is definitely not afraid to play Lanceboard with anyone! Especially you- who he was certain he could beat. It ended up being five draws and you won at the end, but it was the most fun he has had in a long time. 

  It’s been three weeks of traveling and his plan to wrap you around his pinkie finger has gone abysmally. Yet- you keep helping him. 

 You aided him in killing the Gur, give him blood as he needs it and make sure everyone knows you support and trust him. The rest of them have the right idea not to, but it warms something deep within him to know you genuinely do trust him. It shouldn’t- you are a means to an end. 

 And yet- here he is, sitting next to you at the campfire and just enjoying your company as you tell him about one of your many adventures before you were swiped up.

 You, the busy body of the group, are exceptionally well traveled and you have been telling Astarion about all the places he needs to see- Evereska, Neverwinter, Althkalta, Waterdeep, Candlekeep- the list goes on and on. 

 Astarion swears he could listen to you talk forever and then some, but it also makes him feel poorly about himself. 

 He has absolutely nothing to offer outside of sex and yet, here you are, offering to take him all around Toril at the end of this journey. 

 “Why?”

“Why what?” You look stunned by his sudden disruption, “why do the people of Daggerford like Cheddar over Mozerrella? I’m honestly not-“

“No- why do you want me to stick around?” His voice comes out more harshly than he intended, “you refuse every proposition I have given you- I haven’t even begun to show off my usefulness and-“

“Usefulness?”

 His eyes snap to yours and you look sad- heartbroken even. Astarion doesn’t need your pity! He doesn’t need more from you when he has already taken so much.

“Well of course,” he scoffs, “you provide me with food- literally- and you talk to me all the time and you spend time with me and ask me what I like and about me-

“And you always help me,” he says uneasily, “and you never ask for anything in return.”

 The silence feels defeaning. 

“I really like you, Astarion,” you say softly, “and I know the importance of finding one’s self and Cazador stole that from you. I also know you think the only positive thing about you is sex and that’s why I refuse to have it with you.

“If- if we have sex,” you look away, embarrassed and red in the face, “I want it to be because we both genuinely want to and we want to enjoy each other. You don’t owe me anything for my kindness, Astarion, I told you we would get this figured out together that day on the beach and I meant it.

“And if you never return my feelings,” you say quickly, “I entirely understand and that is okay too- I would still love to show you the entire world if you want to continue traveling with me after all of this,” you wave your hands wildly, “has been taken care of because you’re my friend- I hope you may consider me yours one day too.” 

 Your smile is so beautiful and sweet. He could fall into you forever and then some. 

 It takes him and you by surprise when he leans forward and leaves a hesitant peck against your lips. 

“I- I would really like to travel with you,” he whispers, “a-and consider your feelings and friendship returned.”

[fluentmoviequoter]

April Fools In Love

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: When Angela convinces you to prank Tim by pretending to leave him on April 1, you plan to get through the day quietly and then split your winnings with Tim. Then Wade assigns you and Tim to ride together, and the day is anything except quiet.

Warnings: discussion of bets (Angela and Nolan start it lol), angst, arguments, gunfire (no major character injuries), fluff

Word Count: 3.1k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

You know it won’t end well. But when Angela and Nolan bet you $100 each that you wouldn’t do it, what were you supposed to do? Say no? Besides, if it works (and you’re terrified it will), you and Tim will have over $1,000 to split. You just have to break his heart first.

When Tim gets out of bed before the sun comes up, you’re already awake. It seems like forever as you lay in bed and wait for him to leave. But, while you’re alone in the house and preparing to pull off the biggest April Fool’s Day prank of your life, you miss him. Angela’s genius idea to prank Tim by pretending to leave him was never a good idea but as the betting pool grew in the Mid-Wilshire station, you let the money convince you. Your heart and Tim’s are on the line, and you can only hope he knows you well enough by now to see what you’re doing and play along.

Once all your belongings are hidden in the spare closet and every trace of you is gone from Tim’s house, you leave a note on Tim’s nightstand and leave. You intend on returning, as long as Tim will let you by the end of the day. It was Nolan and Lucy’s idea to send you to Lucy’s apartment at the end of shift, the proverbial “cherry on top” to convince Tim that your relationship is truly over. As you walk to your car, anxiety builds in you, and you consider backing out. It would cost money but save your sanity and your relationship. So, you only have one question: What would Tim do? The answer comes to you immediately: lie to the bet makers and win even if you lose. Now, you just have to figure out how.

Entering roll call is everything you expected it would be. There are countless eyes on you, and your lack of greeting is what Nolan needs to know you’re going through with it.

“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d do it,” he whispers from behind you. “No offense.”

“That is the least offensive thing you’ve ever said to me,” you answer quickly. “But just remember that you have to ride with me tomorrow, and anything that happens to me today is your fault.”

Nolan’s eyes widen before you turn in your seat. Breaking Tim’s heart will hurt, but yours is already fractured just from the idea. When Grey enters and gives assignments for the day, you hope that work will distract you for as long as possible. If Tim doesn’t find out until he gets off, you only have to lie to him and avoid him for a few hours before the day ends.

Wade says your name and the smile on his face concerns you. You take a deep breath before asking, “Yes, sir?”

“Bradford needs someone to ride with him today. Now, you can say no.”

You open your mouth to say no, but he raises a hand to stop you.

“Or,” Wade continues. “We can double the current pool if you say yes.”

“Double?” you repeat incredulously. “That’s-“

“Over three thousand dollars. At the moment.”

You stare at the board behind Wade before nodding. “Okay.”

The room erupts into cheers and yells, but you drop your head into your hands and ask yourself why you’re selling your heart for a few thousand dollars.

“Bradford’s waiting,” Wade says as the room silences again.

“I hate all of you,” you mumble as you exit.

“Yet you seem interested in our money!” Lucy calls behind you. “See you at home later!”

Tim is waiting by the war room, and he smiles when he sees you. You don’t return the smile, not because you’re mad at him, but because you’re worried about everything.

“Are you okay?” he asks as you approach him.

You nod, but Tim doesn’t move. “Can we go?” you ask.

Tim’s smile drops as he nods. You lead the way to the shop, and Tim’s eyes are on you the entire way. Once you’re in the car and all the cameras are on, you hope he’ll stop talking and leave everything alone, but you also know that won’t happen.

“Why are you out on patrol?” you ask.

“Looking for leads on a gun trafficking case. We’ve got a few buyers who either don’t know or won’t tell who’s running the operation,” Tim answers.

You hum and look out the windshield. The computer on the dashboard has a few possible suspects, and you keep an eye open for them. Los Angeles is big, so finding three low-level gun sellers (alleged gun sellers) won’t be particularly easy. The long day alone with Tim would be a reward any other day, but not today.

Lucy’s voice comes through the radio as she says your name. You reach for the channel to change it, but Tim’s brows furrow, and you stop.

“Are you sure about this?” Lucy asks. “I mean, of course, you’re welcome to stay with me, but maybe you should just talk to Tim.”

“About what?” Tim asks you.

“Nothing,” you answer quickly. It comes out short and harsh, and you decide to take your anger out on Lucy. “No personal lives on the radio, Chen,” you demand.

“I agree,” Wade adds. “But no one wants to see either of you hurt. You’re with Bradford all day, just talk to him.”

“I don’t have to because he can hear you,” you snap before switching the channel.

Tim drives a few blocks in silence. He glances over at you every time he has to stop.

“Are you going to ignore me all day?” Tim asks. “Because I can go back to the station and get someone else to come with me.”

“Your choice,” you reply.

“Okay,” Tim says. His hands grip the steering wheel tighter. “Are you staying with Lucy tonight?”

“I’m not talking about this right now, Sergeant Bradford. You are my superior and this doesn't seem appropriate,” you say.

Tim knows something is wrong; you won’t look at him, and your answers aren’t really answers. He pulls into an alley and switches off his body cam and the dash cam.

“Dispatch this is Bradford, switching radio off to approach the suspect. Will advise,” he radios.

“Copy, Bradford.”

Tim gestures toward your body cam, and you ask, “Why?”

He rolls his eyes and reaches across the console to pull the cam away from your chest. His hands are gentle on you, but he tosses the camera haphazardly onto the dash after switching it off.

“No cameras, no radios,” Tim says. “Now what is your problem?”

“Yeah, because I’m the one with a problem,” you reply, crossing your arms over your chest. “We’re supposed to be working, Tim. Drive.”

“Not until you tell me why you’re snapping at everyone. Being grumpy is kind of my thing.”

“Clearly,” you say with a chuckle.

“If you’re mad at me, just say it.”

“This is not the place or the time.”

“So, I’m just supposed to deal with this attitude all day?”

“I deal with yours.”

Tim rolls his eyes and leans back in his seat.

“I’m not staying with Lucy tonight. I’m staying with her until I can find my own place, so you don’t have to deal with my attitude for much longer.”

Tim’s jaw unclenches as he looks at you. You’re looking down at your lap, but you can feel his eyes on you.

“What does that mean?” Tim asks quietly. His anger is gone; it disappeared when you said you weren’t going home with him... to him.

“I can’t keep doing this, Tim.” I can’t keep lying to you, is what you mean.

“Then don’t.” You shake your head, and Tim presses, “Don’t do this. Whatever happened, we can work through it, right?”

“Not right now.”

Tim falls silent and tears his eyes away from you. He can’t decide whether to be upset or angry, but he turns all of the cameras back on and shifts the car into reverse to back out of the alley. You snatch your body cam from the dash and put it back on, but you miss the feeling of Tim’s hands.

“If not now, when?” Tim asks as he stops at a red light.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Report.”

Tim glances over at you quickly, and when you move your fingers toward the radio, he realizes you’re talking to him as a cop, not as someone who loves him.

“Dispatch, I’m code 4,” he says quickly.

As you continue driving around Los Angeles, the minutes stretch into hours. Tim has stopped talking to you, and the radio has been quiet. Your fingers bounce against your thigh in rapid succession, and if something doesn’t happen soon, you may burst into tears and tell Tim everything.

“Bradford,” Angela radios, “switch to a private channel.”

He does, but when he pulls the radio to him, his movements make you flinch. “What?” he asks, his grumpiness returned in full.

“Are you alone?”

“No.”

“Okay, good.”

You hold your breath as you wait to hear what Angela will say next.

“We got a hit on one of your perps. Was seen near a cigar store somewhere off La Brea.”

“That’s not helpful, Lopez,” Tim snaps. “Anything else you can give me?”

“The Debonair Cigar Lounge,” you inform. “It’s on La Brea and there’s tons of reports of illegal back door sales. Nothing we’ve ever been able to prove.”

Tim nods and drops the radio.

“You seem in high spirits,” Lopez adds. “Your captain is waiting for your report.”

“10-4,” you radio.

✯✯✯✯✯

After a waste of time at the cigar lounge, you and Tim follow several more tips. The sun is going down and Tim’s shift is nearly over by the time you catch one that seems helpful.

“Don’t you need to get back to the station?” you ask. “We don’t have time to track this and for you to report to your captain.”

Tim ignores you and pulls into another alley. Why does LA have so many dirty alleys? And why are they Tim’s preferred argument location?

“You said it earlier, I’m your superior. If you’re not going to answer my questions, I’m not going to accept your advice,” Tim explains.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you argue. “Me not wanting to talk about our relationship issues in the shop is not the same as reminding you that you have other duties.”

“Oh, now they’re relationship issues. That sounds like talking about them.”

You tip your head back against the seat and sigh. Something moves in the alley, and you lean forward to watch for it.

“Just tell me what is bothering you!” Tim says. You don’t answer, too interested in what is or isn’t moving in the shadows, but Tim takes it as you voluntarily ignoring him. “Fine, you don’t want to talk? I can wait.”

“Bradford, drive,” you say quickly. 

“No.”

“Tim!” you yell.

The worry in your voice causes Tim to look forward, and the man you’ve spent the day looking for is standing in the middle of the alley and pointing a gun at you.

“Get down,” Tim demands.

You lean toward him over the console as he jerks the gear shift down. Before he can move, the man starts shooting. Tim leans over you as he backs out of the alley. While he gets you to safety, you radio for backup. The car slides to a graceless stop as a bullet takes out the front tire on your side.

“I’m going to Lucy’s because I can’t stay with you tonight,” you admit.

Your voice is raised over the continued gunfire, but Tim’s face is pressed beside yours as he drapes his body over you. His protectiveness is one of many things that you love about him, and as you prepare to tell him the truth, you’re more grateful for it than ever.

“You’re leaving me?” Tim asks.

“Tim, what day is it?” you ask.

A bullet breaks your window, and Tim pulls himself tighter against you as he raises his gun toward the opening. The man is nearing you, and Tim waits for him to get close enough before rising up so he’s visible.

“April Fools,” Tim answers as he fires a single shot.

He leaves you alone in the shop as he runs to the downed gunman. The bullet hit his leg, far from fatal, and Tim cuffs him before putting pressure on the wound.

“I can’t believe you just broke up with me while we were being shot at,” Tim yells angrily.

He winks at you quickly, a nearly invisible movement. His jaw remains clenched, though, and you can’t tell if he’s mad at you or the man who tried to kill you.

“Bradford!” Angela yells as she exits her car. “What happened?”

Tim pushes the man toward another Metro officer and turns away from you.

“Plenty,” he answers before walking away. “Give her a ride.”

You lick your lips as you watch Tim leave with Metro. 

“You told him?” Angela asks. “How did that go?”

“He seems mad,” you answer.

“This may be better than expected. I’m taking you to Lucy’s.”

“But I need to-“

“Grey knows,” Angela interrupts. “Let’s go.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Just sit down,” Lucy pleads. “Tim cares and he’ll talk to you eventually.”

“I told Tim that I was leaving him when all I wanted to do was tell him I love him,” you point out. “I’m not going to sit down.”

Lucy sighs and turns away. She had enjoyed the idea before this moment, but now that you and Tim are both understandably miserable, it isn’t as much fun.

“Incoming,” Tamara whispers dramatically as she opens the door.

“Where’s your stuff?” Tim demands as he steps inside.

“Not with me,” you answer honestly.

“Then let’s go.”

“Where?”

Tim fixes his eyes on yours. There’s a storm in them, and it’s a dangerous one. You decide not to fight him and instead walk toward him.

“Hey, you can talk here,” Lucy offers.

Tim doesn’t reply as he closes the door behind him. You walk wordlessly beside him as he takes you to his truck. Once you’re inside, he runs his fingers through his short hair before hitting his open palm against the steering wheel.

“I know you pointed out that it’s April Fool’s Day,” he begins. “But when I get home and all of your stuff is gone, it’s a little hard to believe it’s a joke.”

You glance at the clock and see that there’s still a little over an hour left until midnight. If you want the money, you can’t do anything until then.

“I put it somewhere,” you say quietly. “Until I knew for sure what I was going to do.”

“Are you going to give me a real answer?”

You look at the clock again, but this time Tim follows your movement. He sits back in his seat and turns on the radio.

“I’ll wait,” he offers.

“Why?” you ask. “After everything I did this morning?”

“Lots of words for it: love, stupidity, obsession. Take your pick.”

“April Fool’s Day was more fun last year,” you mutter.

Tim smiles as he remembers; you had tried to convince everyone in Mid-Wilshire that you and Tim hated one another and that any memory that had otherwise was a figment of their imagination. When you got home that night, Tim kept up the act until you threatened to take Kojo in the divorce, and then you got the attention you’d been missing all day.

As the clock inches closer to midnight, you lean back as well and simply sit beside Tim. Your phone rings and you sigh when you see Angela’s name.

“Hello?” you answer.

“Where are you?” she asks.

“Outside Lucy’s apartment.”

“Is Tim still with you?”

“Why would Tim be with me?”

Tim shakes his head beside you, and you remember when he told you about the bet with Lucy when she tried to set him up and failed. You met the next day and then Tim won the bet, he had said.

“Are you planning to call him at midnight?” she asks.

“Yes! I have been lying to him all day, Angela, of course I’m going to call and tell him.”

Angela sighs, but it sounds funny.

“What?”

“He blew up on his Metro team. There’s a chance he may not be able to forgive you, or… won’t want to.”

You glance over at Tim, and he cocks his head at your furrowed brows.

“So, he’s really mad,” you repeat softly. “And my apologies won’t be good enough.”

“I don’t know that for sure!” Angela soothes.

What actually works to make you feel better is Tim’s hand taking yours. The clock changes, and you hang up. 12:00 am, April 2. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper.

The fear you’ve been pushing down all day appears as tears, and Tim cups your face to wipe them away.

“My stuff is in the guest room, but if you don’t want me to come back-“

Tim cuts you off with a kiss. He pulls you toward him as he leans over the console, but it’s uncomfortable, and he breaks the kiss quickly.

“Please tell me you won something for your success,” Tim says.

You smile and answer, “Nearly three and a half thousand dollars.”

Tim’s jaw drops as his hands drop to your shoulders.

“I was thinking we’d go see a Dodgers game, sit behind home plate. Or you can have it all since I did ruin your day.”

“Watching you get shot at ruined my day,” Tim corrects. “But as long as you go home with me, no harm, no foul.”

“I really am sorry. I do love you, and I’d never leave you like that.”

“I know,” Tim answers smugly. “I stopped by the house after you left, and Kojo led me straight to your stuff.

“You knew the whole time?!” you exclaim.

“I had an idea. Asked Grey to let me spend the day with you to see if I was right.”

“I felt terrible-“

“And you should have! Kojo and I will need lots of hugs and kisses to make up for the emotional distraught you put us through.”

You roll your eyes, and once you’re sandwiched between Tim and Kojo, they don’t seem to accept your apologies unless they’re punctuated with some type of physical affection. Tim also takes the opportunity to yell at everyone involved in the bet when he gets to work the following morning, but the promise of another night and a Dodgers game with you makes it worth it.

[chocopriski]

JAYVIK SFW & NSFW HEADCANONS

SFW

-Who cooks?: Viktor. Their house chores are meticulously planned around Viktor's condition. Jayce does the most physically straining ones.

-Who’s the messiest? The cleanest?: Jayce is the organized out of the two. His clothes neatly folded and hung on his closet. His side of the bathroom sink grouped by product type.

Viktor though, just throws his clothes into the closet and closes the door as quickly as he can. Like when storing Tupperware. This man somehow knows where he left that tiny little thing among a pile of stuff. It might look messy but he knows exactly where he left everything.

-Who fixes the vehicle after a breakdown: Jayce. I mean, he's the engineer out of the two. Viktor just stays there with the excuse that he's there to help. He obviously just wants to see Jayce all messed up and sweaty. Jayce knows that, and he makes sure to give him a good sight then act completely oblivious to the fact.

-Living space has a leak! Who fixes it?: Same answer as before. Except Viktor will be ready to call someone to repair it for them in case Jayce has no idea what he's doing.

-Who buys the groceries?: Both, but mostly Jayce. Viktor is either working himself to an earlier death or sleeping at their place. If it's the random thing you run out of, Viktor will do it no problem. If it's all the groceries for the month, Jayce will do it. Again, to avoid straining Viktor's already fucked up body.

-Going out to eat: Who pays? Who orders the most food? And who has dessert?: Jayce pays. He never lets Viktor pay, he has the money, I guess. "Oh, I ate more, I'll pay". Or saying he's going to the bathroom and paying so by the time Viktor asks for the bill, Jayce mutters "Who could've been the smart man that already paid?". Jayce orders dessert but Viktor always steals a bite or two.

-Would they go to the beach?: Jayce loves the beach. Viktor not so much. Viktor likes swimming, he enjoys the water lifting him and taking away most of the pain. But the sand, oh, he hates the sand. The times they've gone to the beach together are mostly because Viktor feels bad telling Jayce "no". Jayce is aware of this so he makes it worth it for Viktor by giving him a spectacle out of Baywatchers. Drying himself up as little as possible just to get a reaction.

-Who knows how to swim? Who doesn’t?: Both know how to swim. But Viktor enjoys just floating while Jayce goes "DIVEBOMB!" and splashes literally everyone and everything around him. Then just swimming for hours to then complain about sore muscles the day after.

-Any pets? Or plants?: Viktor has his own little garden. He treats the plants very carefully, even having a log of the changes in them and last time they've been watered. Every time Jayce even comes near them, he hisses like a cat.

-Baths or showers? Together or separate?: Jayce prefers a quick, cold shower to get off all his sweat (also I like to think that Jayce is the type to always be feeling hot while Viktor's the one that always feels cold, mostly due to his lack of body fat).

Viktor enjoys long, warm (boiling hot) baths to soothe his aching muscles. Sometimes he'll fall asleep and have Jayce walk into the bathroom all concerned about the amount of time he's been in there.

They do their own thing separately. But sometimes doing it together doesn't sound so bad. When feeling all romantic they bathe together. However, when they're all warmed up from the inside out, shower it is.

-Can they stand silence? Who talks the most? Who talks the least?: They can stand in silence as long as Jayce doesn't start overthinking and asks Viktor if he's mad at him or if he's upset or if he's tired or... (anything). They definitely have a yapper/listener dynamic. Jayce could talk for days on end and Viktor would listen to every word.

-Who stays up late? Who sleeps the most?: Viktor is a chronic overworker. So, even at home he'll stay up late to finish up some notes he took home from the lab. Either that or the pain keeping him up. Which he never tells Jayce but he can somehow detect Viktor's in pain and happily massages whatever hurts. But whenever Viktor gets uninterrupted sleep, he hibernates. There was one time where he took a nap and woke up at the same time but the day after.

-Does the other have to force them to sleep/wake up?: Following the last point, Jayce always has to drag him out of the lab. And sometimes wake him up since there were times where Viktor was up at 5am and times where Viktor slept like a log.

-Who is the highest maintenance? Does the other mind?: Unsurprisingly, Viktor. His leg hurts, his back hurts, his wrists and fingers hurt, his neck hurts, his shoulders hurt, he has a migraine, now he has a coughing fit, now he gets a cold that somehow lasts a whole month. But Jayce doesn't care at all. He actually enjoys taking care of Viktor, a sort of intimacy that isn't matched by anything other than that.

NSFW

-How often do they have sex, if at all?: Whenever it fits into their schedule, honestly. Sometimes they get home after a long day of work and seeing the other so disheveled from work makes their gears start turning. Or sometimes when Jayce checks up on Viktor to see if he's had a break during work, they'll have some other type of break different to a cup of tea. Not in the lab, obviously. They go up to Jayce's office just for that. That desk has seen things.

-Who brings ideas? Who initiates?: Viktor doesn't care as long as it's good. And he doesn't consume adult content so he doesn't really come up with anything new. Jayce, on the other side, watches stuff while only thinking about Viktor, and when he sees something he likes, he brings it up whenever appropriate.

Jayce mostly initiates, being obnoxiously obvious about how he's feeling. And even if he tried to be smooth about it, the semi he's packing definitely tells Viktor all he needs to know. Viktor is either too tired or in too much pain for the idea of sex to come up to his head. But sometimes he'll be in the mood. Being way more subtle and smooth than Jayce, which consequently gets Jayce going.

-Oddest place they’d have sex?: The lab in the middle of research. Door unlocked too. One of the times where they couldn't wait to make it to Jayce's office. Also the time they learned that they needed to turn off the soldering iron before bending over the table. Viktor burnt his hand pretty bad.

-Favourite positions?: Anything that lets them see the other's face. Mostly Viktor on the bottom to, again, avoid physical strain.

-Dom/top? Sub/bottom? Any switches?: Jayce is a sub top. We all just know that. Don't act surprised. Viktor's a dom bottom.

-Genital headcanons?: Jayce is a bit above average girthy. Unlike Viktor, painfully average and on the thin side. Also points to the side whenever hard.

-Quickest turn ons? Immediate turn offs?: Viktor with messy clothes is one of the best things for Jayce. Or whenever he starts explaining some project that Jayce can't understand a word of.

Viktor goes feral over a sweaty Jayce. Whether it's because it's hot, he just finished working out, or anything related to the forge (including being messy from working). Also whenever his hair is messed up. Jayce spends his sweet time every morning styling his hair, a million different products and techniques to give him his signature style. Whenever it's all undone, Viktor needs to stop himself from drooling.

-First to orgasm? Last to orgasm? Who comes the most? Does someone ever end up unfinished?: Viktor comes first, as much as he tries to hold it in to make it go for longer. Jayce needs his sweet time to come, that guy has some serious stamina.

Even though Viktor's the first, Jayce has a significant load when he finishes. Getting the most out at first and some small ones during the next 5 seconds. Viktor's is in small quantities but persistent.

Jayce sometimes ends up unfinished, taking way too long to orgasm but seeing how Viktor is too messed up to keep going. He finishes himself off.

-Favourite romantic gestures during sex/orgasm?: Viktor loves touching foreheads. Eyes closed as Jayce is on top of him and just enjoying the moment. Jayce will brush through Viktor's hair with his fingers and smile at him telling him how much he loves him.

-How are their afterglows?: Viktor is always disheveled by the end of it. But at least the pain went away momentarily, which adds to the pleasure. Jayce gets clingy, spooning Viktor or anything that involves continuing the physical touch.

-Who’s loud? Who’s quiet? Does one try to make the other louder/quieter? How?: Jayce is the loud one, that man grunts and moans. Viktor lets out some soft moans (which make Jayce want to somehow make a million babies) but he stays quiet for the most part unless they're talking.

Jayce pleads to hear Viktor, it gets him going and gets him closer. He literally just asks him, and if that doesn't work, begs him.

-Lights on or off? Do they look at each other? Or is someone embarrassed?: Lights on, they love each other and they love to see how the other comes apart. Eye contact is persistent all throughout.

[celesterayel]

match made in heaven | coriolanus snow

pairing : coriolanus snow x scheming!reader

request: can I please have a mean!reader with snow whose absolutely obsessed with each other!!!!

IN WHICH — coriolanus snow isn't nice but neither are you. it's a match made in heaven.

"it was enchanting to meet you. all i know is, i was enchanted to meet you" - t.s.

w.c. 500+

warning(s) : snow being snow ✭・.

✩ ‧₊˚ authors note istg im so obsessed with this man and it's not even funny

you hated him. you absolutely loathed coriolanus. now, that’s not to say you didn’t applaud his little performances or the way he could manipulate others around him to get what he wanted–because yes, it was impressive–but you hated how absolutely enchanted everyone was with him. 

there was no one at this stupid school or in the capitol that didn’t give him the attention that belonged to you. hell, even dean highbottom, who could give you a run for your money on how much he loathed snow, spent all his attention on that: hating him. you didn’t see what they saw. what was so special about someone who was named corioANUS snow?

you were so much prettier than he was, smarter than him, better in every way that mattered. you knew how to work the crowd to do your bidding. when others threatened your place or standing, you knew how to get rid of them quietly and efficiently so that no one knew it had been you behind it. 

of course, you were the top of the top. you didn’t understand all the fuss about him. one of these days, you were going to snap if one more teacher preached about “how perfect snow’s essay was!” or “how handsome he was!”. 

of course, you don’t know that while you obsess over the man, he’s doing the exact same. because look at how perfect you are! all he can think about is the fact that behind every innocent smile and kind act you hide behind, he can see the callousness and manipulation that you are. 

the man’s practically in love with you because for once, he doesn’t necessarily need to pretend to be nice or sweet. add to the fact that you're the perfect match for him when he becomes president of panem. man has already bought the ring that he’ll propose to you with one day.

that is after he’s made sure you won’t tell others about how crazy he truly is. he cannot risk his plans falling down the drain even for you. so, when you're on your way home, he’s got you pinned to the wall starting a whole speech about what would happen to you if you said anything. 

that’s when you fall in love. hands pinned to the wall as he’s threatening your life. what’s more romantic than being told you’ll die if you say anything about him? Well, him pressing a rough kiss to your lips as you stare at him. 

“are you out of your mind?”

“only for you, darling, only for you.”

y’all, are both whipped for each other from then on. 

you both collude from there: you need someone gone? snow doesn’t need another word, he's already making sure they're gone. because nothing is going to bother his sweet, sweet girl. he’s slightly unsure of how to proceed with something? you create an ingenious plan so quickly the man kisses you to high heaven because he’s so in awe. 

when he does become president of panem, the man just cannot get enough of you. he’s never loved you more but now all he can think about is how good power looks on you. when you walk into a room, you instantly capture his eye. he swears he’ll die before you ever leave his side. 

he’s still not a good person though but neither are you. you’re both a match made in heaven.

[holylulusworld]

SHG for killers (1) - The first meeting

Summary: 6 men meet up to talk about their problems. They soon realize they need someone to help them solve their problems. This person is you. Whether you like it or not.

Pairing: Steve Kemp x fem!Reader, Lloyd Hansen x fem!Reader, Robert Pronge (Mr. Freezy) x fem!Reader, Andy Barber x fem!Reader, God, the bounty hunter x fem!Reader, Ransom Drysdale x fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of murder/killing for money, serial killers/hitmen, mentions of blood/gore, talk about crimes, self-help group for killers/hitmen, world building, we get to know the men first

Self-help group for killers masterlist

“IT STINGS!” His screams of pain and agony echo in Lloyd Hansen’s mind when he wakes from another restless slumber.

He’s a stone-cold mercenary. Merciless and fearless. Or he was. That was until a certain former CIA lapdog pissed onto everything Lloyd stands for. It doesn’t help that he lost two fingers while hunting Six down.

“Bastard,” he curses under his breath as his eyes focus on his hand mutilation. “Still miss my pussy fingers,” Lloyd grumbles angrily. “Wait until I find you, Sierra Six. You’re a dead man; you just don’t know it yet.”

He closes his eyes, replaying the scene again. Lloyd grits his teeth, remembering how he got into a grapple with Six, who blew off Lloyd's left pinkie and ring finger.

The finger prosthetics don’t make him feel better. Sierra’s win over him, the loss of his fingers and reputation, still stings. His self-confidence and ego were not only bruised but torn in two.

For months, he fails mission after mission. His team is long gone, and so is his patience. Lloyd is angry and out for blood. Preferable Sierra Six’s blood.

He tried anything to find the renegade assassin. So far, he didn’t even find a trace. Sierra Six is a master at hiding from his enemies. Lloyd gives him that.

“One day, you’ll pay for what you did.”

“No drugs. No contact with other offenders. No missing an appointment,” Ransom’s probation officer recites all the rules he must follow. “Mr. Drysdale, did you even listen?”

“All of you are telling me the same thing.” Ransom sneers. “You’re the fifth guy in not four months. I know the rules.” He leans back in the uncomfortable and cheap chair the probation officer offered him. “All of you try to get me behind bars again; I get it. You’re pissed because I got earlier than everyone expected.”

“Mr. Drysdale,” the probation officer replies, watching Ransom munch another cookie. “I really don’t have the time to make plans to get you behind bars again. That’s not in my job description. If you don’t have any problems, we can end the meeting for today.”

“Shit, just a sec.” Robert doesn’t have the time to talk to his ex today. “Listen, you got the money and the car. Let’s part on good terms.” He’s poorly hiding his anger. If she says one more word, he’ll sneak into her new apartment and kill her and the bastard who’s banging her brains out now. “I got a job to do.”

Robert hangs up the phone. He’s not done with the body yet. The client wants proof that her husband is dead. She’s a naughty one, Robert thinks to himself while getting the saw out. Well, all for customer satisfaction.

The doctor is not happy. He tried anything to make sure his business was flowing. Sadly, some people try to stop him from being successful.

“You had to cross me, didn’t you?" He looks down at his former partner and sneers. “We could’ve made so much money. But you had to find your conscience.”

Steve kicks the dead man, grunting as he’s bleeding on the brand-new carpet at his office. Killing his partner wasn’t in his plans for today. It’s not the first time he got his hand dirty.

If Steve were honest, he’d admit that he likes to get his hands dirty. As a doctor, he should save other people’s lives, not take them. Still, he can’t help but feel excited about his latest decision.

Watching the family grieve over the death of their recently killed father and husband, God furrows his brows. He never understood human emotions. The man he killed was a tyrant. He betrayed his business partners, terrorized his family, and cheated on his wife.

The man remains in his hideout to watch the family and friends mourn their loss. Lately, he likes to stick around to watch their reaction. Some scream. Others silently cry.

God likes the ones who put on a show for others the most. He did so all his life. Pretending in public that he’s a normal guy.

The truth is, he feels hollow because he never belonged...

Andy Barber steps out of the courtroom with his head held high. He won another case and can’t help but smirk as his opponent seems to be salty.

“Barber,” the prosecutor says, venom in his voice. “Congratulations on letting another monster go free.”

“If you wanted them in jail,” Andy says, and he dips his head to watch his client smirk at the victims of his cruelty, “you should’ve been a better lawyer.”

Andy walks toward his client, a spring in his step to shake the monster’s hand. He smirks and assures the man he deserves to walk out of the courtroom as a free man. Andy squeezes the man’s hand hard, making him wince. Who would’ve thought a lawyer could be so strong?

The serial rapist ends up dead after the accused was acquitted for lack of evidence. Lloyd recites the newspaper. “I see you’ve been very active lately, Barber. Do I need to remind you to keep it low?”

“No one asked you,” Andy shoots back. He doesn’t know why he’s still coming to the so-called self-help group. Andy doesn’t feel guilty for killing his clients. Who else would punish them for their crimes? “They had a choice, Hansen. It wasn’t me letting him go.”

“He’s not wrong,” Ransom says between munching a cookie and sipping on the expensive mochaccino he bought on his way to the group. “Baber got a point there.”

“Who asked you, amateur?” Robert sneers. He just can’t stand Barber or Drysdale. They are not worth his time, or so he thinks. He’s fine with Hansen and the guy calling himself God. They are like him—professionals. “I don’t even know why you, Mr. Lawyer, are here.”

“I invited them,” Hansen grunts. “If you want to leave, you can go anytime. I founded this group, not you.”

“Man, stop making a fuss!” Pronge shows his palms. “I only wanted to point out that they are not professionals. What if the cops find out about their hobby? What if they decide to get a deal and rat us out?”

Lloyd snorts. He looks at the black leather glove hiding his prosthetic fingers. “No one rats Lloyd Hansen out. We all agreed on complete secrecy. What we discuss here stays within this room.”

Andy rubs his bearded chin. Coming to the group to talk about the crimes he committed helped him improve. Lloyd and God even gave him advice on how to make his crimes look like accidents. “I’m going to therapy now,” he admits. “Not to talk about my hobby, though.”

“Therapy, huh?” Lloyd taunts, while Ransom smirks. God and Robert busy themselves with checking their phones for new clients. “I hope you’re not talking about our little group with the doctor.”

Steve sneers. “Don’t call these incompetent wannabes doctors. They are by all means nothing but pathetic losers trying to tell you how to live your life.”

“No one asked you, Dr. Frankenstein,” Ransom snaps at Steve. “Did you work on some nice asses and tits lately?”

“Shut up,” Steve jumps up, knocking his chair over. “At least I got a job, and I don’t live off my family’s money.”

“Shut up yourself!” Ransom puts his cookies aside and throws the rest of his mochaccino at Steve.

“Gentlemen!” Lloyd yells at Steve and Ransom. “We come here to talk about our problems and help each other improve. I didn’t come here, freezing my ass off on the way to watch you fight like girls over the latest fashion trend.”

“The therapy helps me more than coming here,” Andy raises his voice. “Your advice was good, but I think I’ll stick to her.”

The men stop fighting and stare at Andy.

“Her?” Lloyd licks his lips. “You’ve got a pretty little doctor for your therapist? Why didn’t you tell us before? We would’ve been all ears.”

“Why does this make a difference?” Andy cocks a brow. “She’s got a good reputation and listens to me. I talked to her for months, and she never pressured me into talking about my family.”

“Boohoo, your wife killed your murderous son and is as dead as your latest victim,” Lloyd mocks Andy. “Let’s talk about that pretty ass you’re seeing. Show us her reputation and shit.”

“Why?” Andy sighs deeply. He knew it was a mistake to talk about you and your sessions.

“For science,” Lloyd grins and snatches the phone out of Andy’s hand. Before Andy can protest, Lloyd throws the phone at God, nodding at him. “Unlock it, and look for the doc.”

Steve rolls his eyes. He didn’t come here to talk about some therapist. “Can we go back to business? Barber has a therapist. Maybe he even bangs her. Who cares?”

“Bangs her?” That picked Lloyd’s interest. “Not the worst idea. Maybe as a new version of therapy. Fuck all the bad memories out of her sweet cunt.”

“Got it,” God says and throws the phone at Lloyd. Y/N Y/L/N,” he recites your address and contact information. “She looks cute.”

“Cute?” Ransom laughs. “I didn’t know the word cute in your vocabulary. Show me.” Ransom walks toward Lloyd to look at the phone in his hands. “Not bad. Hey Barber, does she have a cute ass too?”

“Why are we talking about some woman? If our meeting is over, I’ll go back to business,” Steve says as he gets up. He wants to walk past Lloyd but glances at the phone. “Hmm…I’ve seen her before.”

Steve snatches the phone out of Lloyd’s hands. He looks at the pictures of you, licking his lips.

“Stop stalking my therapist,” Andy angrily says. “Can I get my phone back now?”

“I remember now,” Steve exclaims while staring at your pictures. “She accompanied one of her patients. They wanted surgery, but she talked them out of it. I hated her.” He shrugs.

“I bet she’s an uptight little doctor,” Lloyd muses. His smirk darkens as he looks at the men he brought together around two years ago. “Barber, did you already have a taste? I bet she tastes like strawberries.”

“Hansen, that is enough,” Andy grumbles. He snatches the phone out of Lloyd’s hands and turns to leave. “This was a waste of time!”

“Not to me.” Lloyd clenches and unclenches his fists. “I think I found something that will help us improve as a group. You all came here to talk about your problems and to get better at what you’re doing. I think this sweet doctor will be a big help.

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[debonairprincesposts]

If you have requests open I'd love to request a Lucifer x reader angst. When he finds out they're dating Charlie, he gets too protective and ends up scaring them away. After seeing how upset she gets when the reader breaks up with her because of him, he has to try and patch things up.

Thank you anon for this wonderful request! I thrive on angst. Ask and you shall receive! Mostly.

Anyway! Here is your Lucifer x reader angst.

Hope it’s to your liking-

Enjoy (。•̀ᴗ-)✧

It’s finally happening. Charlie was finally going to introduce her partner to her dad. She just hopes that he doesn’t hate (Name) as soon as he sees them.

“Calm down, Char! I’m sure it’ll go great- I mean, how bad could it be, right?” You tried to comfort Charlie. Not like you were any better. You were just as nervous, maybe even more. You were going to meet the king of hell for heaven’s sake!

“No- you’re right! There’s no way he won’t like you! You’re like- the nicest person I know! He’s bound to take a liking to you-,” Charlie says, pacing around the hotel lobby. Nobody was present at the moment, she told everyone that she was gonna have an important meeting with her dad and had Vaggie request that nobody be present in the lobby at that time.

Knock knock

He’s here! Already?! You just hope that everything goes well and he ends up liking you. Charlie would be pretty upset if he didn’t. You would too-

“Charlie! So good to see you again!”

Lucifer said as he basically crushed her in a bear hug with a grin.

“G-Good to see you too, dad!” Charlie wheezes out as she hugs him back.

He lets go as he walks into the lobby, “So what is this important thing you wanted to show me, Char Char?”

“Uhm- dad, I just wanted you to meet someone really important to me, so- Uhm,” She drags you over by the shoulders, “meet (Name)! My lover!” Says Charlie with a nervous smile.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir!” You extend your hand for a shake, Lucifer grabs your hand with narrowed eyes and a strained grin as his grip on your hand tightens to a painful degree. “Likewise.”

Awkward silence…

“Alright!” Says Charlie with a clap to clear the awkwardness, “Why don’t you two get to know each other while I go get us some drinks.”

You look at Charlie with a pleading look to not leave you alone with her dad, because you know for a fact you would’ve been dead ten times over from the way he’s glaring at you if looks could kill.

Charlie gives you an apologetic smile as she quickily makes her way to the bar in the lobby.

“So,” He suddenly says, startling you, you turn to look at him. The way he’s looking at you tells you he’s displeased that you’re in a relationship with Charlie , “What are your intentions with my daughter?” Distrust clear in his voice.

Sweat drips down your temple. You take a deep breath, “I love her, sir. I want to try my best to make her happy like she does with me.” You say with a shaky smile.

His eyes narrow even further than before, “I’m not buying it. You’re a sinner! The only reason you’d be down here is if you did some really terrible things. Why would a terrible person like you want to be with Charlie. What is your plan exactly? Are you trying to exploit her kindness? Steal her money? Her life?”

He’s basically glaring now.

Your eyes widen as you immediately go to deny all the things he said, “What? N-No! I would never- I love Charlie! I wouldn’t ever do anything like that!”

“Bullshit!” Venom drips from his voice, he’s actually really starting to scare you now. Charlie, where are you?? “I want you as far away from my daughter as possible. Do you understand?”

“But sir-,”

“I said- Do you understand?” His eyes flash red as his horns slightly peak from under his skin.

“O-okay-,” you say dejectedly as you try to keep your tears at bay.

“Wonderful!” He goes back to normal as if he didn’t just basically threaten you, grin wide and everything, “I’m sure you’ll be gone by tomorrow morning, right?” He says with a threatening grin. “And Charlie better not hear a thing about this, clear?”

“Crystal.” You say as you look away to hide your tears.

After Charlie comes back with the drinks, you excuse yourself to the restroom to wash your face.

Charlie shoots you a worried glance. You flash her a small smile as you pass her.

“You didn’t say anything mean, did you dad?” Charlie shoots her dad a suspicious look.

“Pfft- What? No- I would never!” He lied as he took a sip of his drink, “They’re just the sweetest person ever! Good find Charlie!”

Her eyes sparkle as she heard what he said, “Right? They’re so nice to me too. They make me breakfast in bed practically everyday! Oh- and help with managing the hotel when I’m not here too! And their massages are the best! I love them so much!” Charlie continues going off on a tangent about all the nice things you’ve done and such.

As Lucifer listens to her talk, he starts to feel a bit guilty about how he treated you earlier but erases that thought from his head. He needs to keep his little apple pie safe. No matter the cost.

(Name) never returned to the lobby after that. Lucifer decided to excuse himself deciding that it’s gotten late and that he needs to attend to his “kingly” duties tomorrow. Charlie goes to the bedroom to find (Name) already asleep. So she goes to bed too with a smile on her face. In her mind, her dad and her partner liked each other. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

The next morning, Lucifer gets a call from Charlie. She’s sobbing, barely getting her breaths out as she tells him that you broke up with her.

“Why would they break up with me!” She sobs, “Was it because of me? Because I did something?-,”

“No Charlie! Definitely not your fault. Maybe they left for a good reason?” He says unsure of himself.

Charlie pauses on her end, “Did you do something, dad?”

“O-Of course not, sweetie!-,”

“Dad, please!”

“…” Lucifer is at a loss. He didn’t know Charlie would be this devastated. “I’ll go find them and talk to them for you, okay apple pie?” He settles.

Charlie sniffles, “Really?”

“Really! They’ll be back with you in no time! Not a problem at all! So just- stop crying, okay? Please?” If he needs to go find that sinner his daughter likes then so be it.

“Okay,” Charlie says, “ But please- don’t say mean things to them okay?”

“Of course, sweetie,”

They both hang up.

Lucifer messed up bad. He didn’t mean to make Charlie that upset. He needs to find that sinner, and convince them to go back to Charlie. He just hopes he didn’t scare them too much the last time they both talked. He needs to fix this.

You moved back to the little apartment you had. It wasn’t much, but at least it was a roof over your head. As you head out to try find a new job, Lucifer pops outta nowhere making you take several steps back.

“Hey there! Mind having a talk with lil old me?” He says with an expecting grin.

You were scared for your life. You already did as he asked so why was he here?!

You shakily smile as you answer him, “Of course, sir.”

His grin widens as he opens a portal to a cafe of sorts. He leads you inside to a private booth. He motions at the seat infront of him, gesturing you to take a seat. He calls the waiter over, orders you both drinks then you settle in silence as the waiter leaves.

He clears his throat, startling the crap out of you. “So,” he says awkwardly, “How are you today?” He asks as he tries to start small talk.

“Fine,” You reply.

He winces at your dry response.

“So uhh- Charlie sounded pretty upset this morning when she called me,” He says as he fiddles with his fingers.

You were too scared to say anything really. You already knew Charlie was going to be upset, but it’s not like you had much choice in the matter.

He was gauging your reaction to his words. You seem to be just as upset as Charlie sounded on the phone with him earlier. You look like you are close to tears.

He sighed as he finally got his thoughts together, “I’m sorry.” He says looking at his lap, seeming completely ashamed of his actions.

Your head snapped up fast enough to give you whiplash from hearing him apologize. Apologize? He’s apologizing? To you?? The King of Hell is apologizing to a lowly sinner like you?!

“I shouldn’t have done what I had. I should’ve gotten to know you better before judging you immediately.” He finally looks up from his lap to look at you to find you sat then completely frozen with a shocked look on your face.

“You love her, don’t you?” He asks you with a hopeful expression. He smiles in relief when you nod with a soft ‘yes’. His smile softens when he sees how tense you are, you look like you’re ready to bolt at a moments notice. He grimaces on the inside. He shouldn’t have been that harsh. He judged you too early. “How about we try to get to know each other for a bit. You are going to be my child in law sooner or later, aren’t you?” He takes a sip of his drink with a grin.

Your eyes glisten with tears of relief. Lucifer panics a bit at the sight of your tears before you explain that it’s just tears of happiness. He calms down at your explanation. The fact that you’re crying tears of joy over knowing that you could still be with Charlie made Lucifer change his mind about you. You might just be what Charlie needs. He hopes that Charlie can forgive him for what he did.

Negative thoughts aside! He needs to get to know his daughter’s partner better! Properly this time.

Help your favorite author by buying them a ko-fi!

[katelynnwrites]

the prophecy | laura freigang

word count: 686

warnings: again a for angst

summary: you're in love with your best friend but she's not in love with you. it's not in your prophecy to have a happy ending with her

a/n: the second installation of my 'the anthology' blurbs series

you knew it was a bad idea from the very beginning.

but you never stood a chance against your best friend’s ocean coloured eyes, one of a kind personality and smile.

oh god her smile in particular. if her smile were to be the last thing you ever see, you would die a happy woman.

laura’s smiling at you now as she slides into her usual seat beside you, on the bus to the away game.

it makes your heart flutter in all sorts of ways.

‘want to finish the show we were watching? i resisted the temptation to finish the last few episodes on my own.’

‘yeah. thanks for waiting lau.’

‘anything for my best friend.’ she teases.

best friend. there they are again, two words that chip away at your heart every time she uses them in reference to you.

you try to grin so she doesn’t think anything is wrong.

the striker must believe you, like she has every time you pretended because she hands you one of her airpods and expectantly waits for you to connect them to your tablet so you can play the show.

swallowing hard, you do so and she leans her head against your shoulder.

strands of her blonde hair tickle your cheek as you watch the show together.

the bus ride is a couple of hours long and right as it ends, you two manage to finish your show.

‘that was good.’ laura hums in satisfaction.

‘it was.’ you agree.

the rest of your teammates are getting ready to get out of the bus now so german woman begins to get her things together too.

you pack up yours and you’re almost done when laura lets out a small ‘oh.’

‘what is it?’ you ask, glancing up at her.

‘i know we had plans to start another show on our watchlist this weekend but are you okay if we do that next weekend instead? i um, i have a date.'

the german woman blushes pink as she talks and you have to force yourself to keep meeting her eyes.

focusing entirely on making your voice level, you murmur, ‘sure. i hope it goes well.’

‘thanks! you’re the best.’ the striker brightly says.

you let her pass you, to get off the bus first just so you can have a short moment alone.

to compose yourself and desperately try to stop your heart from breaking.

it doesn’t and you find yourself metaphorically on your knees, fervently wishing that the prophecy would change. that for once, just once, someone would look at you and choose you.

someone who wants your company. not your money or your standing as a professional footballer.

just you. for you. let it once be you.

a greater woman wouldn’t beg and a lesser woman would’ve lost hope. but for laura you would keep looking to the sky, deluding yourself and begging.

you would beg her to be yours if you could.

but you can’t. and you’re so afraid that you have sealed your fate by falling in love with her. there’s no sign of soulmates and yet if she isn’t yours, who is?

a greater woman has faith but even statues crumble if they’re made to wait too long. you do not know how much longer you can keep waiting to meet yours.

would you even want your soulmate to be someone who isn’t laura?

being her best friend has given you the tiniest taste of what it is like to have her affection and her love.

though only for a fraction of a moment, like thinking you caught lightning in a bottle.

so it’s gone and all you can do is keep looking at the sky and saying please. hoping against hope that someone will change the prophecy and redo it so that you won’t be in love with someone who doesn’t return your feelings.

who do you have to speak to, to get it done?

because if your destiny is to be alone, while the woman you love goes on dates and maybe even gets married…you’re not sure you can survive it.

[spideyhexx]

tw; death

being Coriolanus’ friend in the Capitol and Sejanus’. Sejanus was more-so, since he’s a bit more friendly given the fact you always showed him kindness. You flirted with him, and he flirted back. He might’ve held your hand a couple times. Hugged you tight in your bed during difficult moments. Maybe you kissed him on his rooftop garden after he told you how pretty you were. Nothing more than that.

Coriolanus wasn’t that close. You spoke to him, gossiped with him, studied with him, but there was always a wall put up, and you were not one to break it down. Still, he was a friend.

You’re devastated when they leave to be peacekeepers. Only for a few months to pass and Coriolanus is back, alone. Sejanus’ death already spread to you and his family before Coriolanus came back.

And it hits you hard. You don’t leave your room for weeks. You’re given some of Sejanus’ belongings, courtesy of his Ma, who thought her son’s most talked about person deserved a remnant of his. You sleep with his blanket until it doesn’t smell like him anymore. You wear his necklace. When you finally get yourself outside, maintain your appearance to what it used to be, it’s still a facade. Inside, you’re cracking at the seams. If one person utters the name, you’d be sobbing at a street corner.

When Coriolanus is back, he feels cold. Distant. You blame it on yourself. Maybe you’re the one that’s cold and distant. And you give him a fake friendliness back. He plays along, but his guilt is eating at him too much.

He gets it in your head that Sejanus wanted to marry you. Wanted to live a nice life in the districts, helping people alongside you. Or even that Sejanus would suffer in the Capitol if it meant being at your side. That he wanted to call you more, but his actions as a traitor preoccupied him.

Not all of this was false, but Coriolanus exaggerates it. He wants your grief to end because it’s stressing him out. He tried to tell you anything he can come up with, he spends nights thinking of what Sejanus has said of you and how he can make it more so that you’re quenched, accepting of the boy’s death.

But it never comes. Instead, one day, Coriolanus is so fed up, he plans to yell at you when he sees you. To get it through your head that your beloved Sejanus Plinth is dead and gone and you need to move on, or else you’ll end up a shadow of yourself the rest of your life.

But when he goes to your home, your mother is crying. He expects the worst but somehow the words that fall from your mother’s lips are worse than death. You left for district 12. To be where Sejanus was. Where he died.

Coriolanus learns you left a note, took all the money you had saved from allowances and hopped on the next train. How you got past the peacekeepers who knew you, knew your family, he isn’t sure. But he never hears from you again.

Part of him aches about it. Wanting to know if you’re alive. If you made it to District 12, if you could even stand it. Your mother was sure you’d come back as soon as your feet hit the mud, but you didn’t.

Coriolanus eventually comes to think you were better off running away. Once you got over the grief, Coriolanus was sure you’d question him too much about what happened. You’d come to your senses and wonder more about the circumstances of Sejanus’ death. Coriolanus can lie, but you were always a pry-er. Another part of him wanted you to be dead so he didn’t have to worry.

But again. He never hears from you. Never again. Nothing to worry about.

let's chat, here :)

psst. let me know what you think pretty please :)

[weeping-statue]

Hello! May I please request Richard sterling x childhood friend reader!!

Absolutely my love<3 if I’m being honest I feel like I write for Richard better than anyone else, but you all can be the judge of that! This was from November and I’m so sorry I only got to it now.

-Angst-

"The place where it started and ended."

Contains; fluff; angst; bad ending; reader doesn’t make it; Canon Richard;

Richard met you by the creek as a young boy, from then on you have been best friends. Friends share secrets, but some aren’t always meant to be told. Now he must tie up some loose ends.

Richard loved playing by the lake before he was brought into the family.

That’s how he met you, after seeing how lonely you were sitting by the waters edge skipping rocks.

After that fateful day, you’ve been attached to each other.

Even after he was taken in by that rich family. He would still make time for you.

Sparring, walking, talking, anything you wanted.

That lake would be the meeting spot for a lot of late night rendezvous.

Whispers and silent laughter would be forever embedded into the water.

But after a few drinks and a slip of the tongue, Richard had told you his terrible plans.

When he realized it was too late, he now had to do what he feared.

“___! Get back here. NOW.” He yelled after you, chasing you across the moist grass.

Your heart was pounding in your ears, trying to get away as fast as possible.

You never believed he would hurt anyone, he was always so gentle. Or maybe you’ve been a fool.

The truth hit hard, and it started to make sense.

How his step-sister would often get injured, or worse deathly ill. How his step-family would sometimes not be heard of for a few days.

The cruel things people would do for money. How far he’d go just to make sure he achieved his goal was despicable.

He was going to kill you.

With no remorse.

And it broke your heart.

You loved him, and it was even more of a slap in the face because all the things you’ve gone through was just dumped down the drain.

The years you’ve wasted. The time you spent. If only you could have seen what a manipulative, heartless, man he was behind that beautiful facade.

The thin snow crunching under your feet as the wet grass made a splat sound under you was loud. But not enough to draw attention.

Richard grunted and ran faster, lunging at you and tackling you to the ground.

A hand over your throat, and another digging into the ground next to your head.

“It didn’t have to be this way. We could’ve worked together, but knowing you, you’d blab to the police.” He huffed out, breathing heavily.

“I could just tell them that you’re insane, that you’ve lost it. Though, there is the off chance that they’ll believe you, so I’m not going to risk it. This ends here.”

Your fingernails dig into his wrist, pleading with him, while your vision blurs from the growing tears. “Richard please, what about us? Do I mean so little to you? Has greed clouded your judgment to the point of blindness? Where is your rationality?”

He grips a little tighter, “Before I was a replacement I was a poor little boy with nothing to my name. Now I have an opportunity, a big one. And I will not let it pass me. Even if I have to make sacrifices, even if I have to do the worst thing imaginable. Just know, this hurts me more than it will hurt you.”

Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s about to do, legs kicking and hands tearing at his clothes while you scream for mercy.

Yet instead he takes a deep breath and the care in his eyes is gone. He looks at you like another bug and lifts your neck up only to slam it back onto the ground repeatedly. Letting the sickening crunch of your skull being smashed into the snowy surface fall on deaf ears.

He didn’t stop until he recognized the familiar feeling of blood splattering onto his face.

Blinking a bit until he regained his senses.

“I’m sorry, my love. But it had to be done. In our next life, I will find you. And I will fix this.” He mumbles while dragging your lifeless corpse to the lakes edge and dumping you and the evidence in. Leaving only a small blood trail that will melt away in the morning.

This was definitely a bit dark, but I feel like it’s fitting. Nothing with Richard is nice, at least not on the surface. There’s always an underlying darkness to the things he does. Which makes it hard to tell if he’s being genuine.