#but there's nothing wrong with imagining it

[nativegirltapes]

drew's reaction to angel calling him daddy for the first time bUT when he's fucking her? 🎀

warnings: p in v, the rare occasion where drew is mean to angel during sex lol, mention of reader being 19 oops.

it’s on a day where you’d been acting up a little too much. first, you’d been giving drew attitude all day simply because he looked at you wrong. and secondly, later that night when you showed up to drew’s friend celebration you made sure to wear the best push-up bra you owned (that prior, you’d only ever worn for drew) and a skimpy little pink tank top with your shortest mini skirt. drew wasnt sure what to feel, his little 19 year old girlfriend showing up leaving nothing to the imagination. was he embarrassed, jealous, upset, turned on? it was all of those actually.

and the minute you two walked through his front door after getting home, he was questioning you, but god were you turned on; you’d never admit it but sometimes you acted bratty in hopes that he’d get too worked up and be mean to you. “what did you think you were doing?” he threw his keys on the living room couch. “what do you mean?” you played stupid.

“don’t play fucking stupid.” be rubbed his forehead. “just go.” and so you did, you went into his room and got naked, leaving nothing but your bra and panties on. when drew came back to his room he seen you sitting there all cute. “i’m really sorry.” you whispered seductively, pulling drew in by his belt loops. “i’m yours.”

and before you knew it, drew was pounding into you, your legs resting on his shoulders so he could hit that deep spot inside of you. “did you get the attention you wanted?" drew huffed, the way his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes looked down at you so meanly made you want to cum right then and there. "huh? don't hear you." he repeated.

"yes," you whispered, the word strang out along with your small whimpers and moans. drew's hands dug deep into your thighs, desperately trying to get deeper inside of you. drew was rarely mean in bed, but it would be a lie to say that he didn't like when you got all bratty and the only solution was to fuck it out of you. the way you'd always push his button and just keep going despite him making it clear that you're doing too much, it just got him going.

"you're such a slut sometimes." drew said, the sound of his skin slapping yours filled the room. "i love it." drew brought his thumb to your mouth, you sucked on it before he told you flip over. you laid on your stomach, drew continued pounding into you. "fuck. you like that? you like being treated like a slut?"

"yes, daddy." you moaned. you felt drew stop his strokes for a second, you knew what you said had him going crazy. there's been times drew would beg you to call him daddy, in bed or even when it was just you two alone at his place. you weren't a big fan of it, and you weren't sure why he was either, but sometimes you liked to give him what he wanted.

"daddy? gonna let daddy come inside?" drew grabbed a handful of your hair, you arched your back. "yes.” you felt drew's hips buckle and release inside of you. “fuck.” drew fell next to you. you loosed your grip on his sheets.

“who’s your daddy?” drew teased you, groaning into his sheets, still trying to catch his breath. you giggled and threw your hand over drew’s face. “shut up.”

[beyourselfchulanmaria]

我在此要告訴你們，潮水永遠不會停止湧來。 我在此要告訴你，無論你造了什麼， ��會被毀滅，所以要使它美麗。

Hala Alyan 《Spoiler》 The New Yorker

She is a Palestinian-American writer, poet, and clinical psychologist who specializes in trauma, addiction, and cross-culturalbehavior. Her writing covers aspects of identity and the effects of displacement, particularly within the Palestinian diaspora. She is also known for acting in the short films I Say Dust and Tallahassee (directed by Darine Hotait).

Published in the print edition of the September 28, 2020, issue, with the headline “Spoiler.”

Can you diagnose fear? The red tree blooming from uterus to throat. It's one long nerve, the doctor says.

There's a reason breathing helps, the muscles slackening like a dead marriage. Mine are simple things. Food poisoning in Paris. Hospital lobbies. My husband laughing in another room. (The door closed.) For days, I cradle my breast and worry the cyst like a bead. There's nothing to pray away. The tree loves her cutter. The nightmares have stopped, I tell the doctor. I know why. They stopped because I baptized them. This is how my mother

and I speak of dying—the thing you turn away by letting in. I'm tired of April. It's killed our matriarchs and, in the back yard, I've planted an olive sapling in the wrong soil.

There is a droopiness to the branches that reminds me of my friend, the one who calls to ask what's the point, or the patients who come to me, swarmed with misery and astonishment, their hearts like newborns after the first needle.

What now, they all want to know. What now.

I imagine it like a beach. There is a magnificent sand castle that has taken years to build.

A row of pink seashells for gables, rooms of pebble and driftwood. This is your life. Then comes the affair, nagging bloodwork, a freeway pileup. The tide moves in. The water eats your work like a drove of wild birds. There is debris. A tatter of sea grass and blood from where you scratched your own arm trying to fight the current.

It might not happen for a long time, but one day you run your fingers through the sand again, scoop a fistful out, and pat it into a new floor. You can believe in anything, so why not believe this will last? The seashell rafter like eyes in the gloaming. I'm here to tell you the tide will never stop coming in. I'm here to tell you whatever you build will be ruined, so make it beautiful.

I’m here to tell you the tide will never stop coming in. I’m here to tell you whatever you build will be ruined, so make it beautiful.

“Spoiler” by Hala Alyan, The New Yorker

[suunani]

just for fun ( jeong jaehyun )

▍ there’s nothing wrong about kissing your bestfriend just for fun, right?

content : 1.9k words, male reader, bestfriend! jaehyun, fluff fluff and fluff again, mutual pining, detailed kiss scene.

friday nights were sacred.

no matter how crazy life became — whether jaehyun was juggling back-to-back schedules with his group or you were drowning under a mountain of deadlines — movie night was untouchable.

it wasn’t something either of you had ever needed to discuss about; it was just there, as natural and essential as breathing. a tradition born from years of friendship and countless nights spent sprawled out on your couch.

the setup was always the same: the couch, an oversized blanket big enough to cover both of you, the coffee table crowded with snacks and drinks.

jaehyun always managed to make a mess with the popcorn, and you never failed to call him out for it, only for him to grin sheepishly every time, a sparkle in his eyes that promised he'd absolutely do it again next week.

it was comfortable, dependable. a routine so ingrained that neither of you could imagine life without it.

tonight, like every other friday, the two of you had settled into your usual spots.

jaehyun was stretched out beside you, his long legs taking up more than their fair share of the coffee table. one of his socks was missing (why, you didn't know and didn't care to ask) and the other hung loosely from his foot like it was holding on for dear life.

and you were curled up at the opposite end of the couch, the blanket draped across both of you, your toes brushing his shin beneath its soft folds.

the movie you’d picked — a romcom that netflix had all but begged you to watch — played on the tv. you weren’t paying much attention though, the storyline fading into white noise as you absently picked at the popcorn. jaehyun, on the other hand, seemed more invested, his dark eyes fixed on the screen.

it wasn’t until the movie reached its climactic make-out scene that the atmosphere shifted. the two characters on screen were tangled up in each other, all messy passion and heavy breathing. you glanced at jaehyun out of habit, expecting him to crack a joke or roll his eyes like he always did during these moments.

but he didn't.

instead, he was quiet, his expression thoughtful in a way that set your nerves on edge.

“what if we tried that?”

his voice was so casual, so matter-of-fact, that it took a second for his words to register. you blinked, turning your head to look at him fully.

“what?”

jaehyun didn't look away from the screen, his hand dipping lazily into the popcorn bowl, grabbing a handful as he spoke.

“that,” he nodded toward the tv, his tone so relaxed you almost thought you'd misheard. “kissing. you and me.”

the words hit you like a cold splash of water, and you stared at him, waiting for some sign that he was joking. but his expression didn’t change.

he chewed his popcorn slowly, his face calm, like he’d just asked what you wanted for dinner.

“i… uh…” you stammered, suddenly hyper-aware of the blanket you were sharing and the way his knee was just barely brushing yours. “what are you talking about?”

jaehyun finally looked at you then, his gaze steady and calm, his lips twitching into the faintest smile.

“i’m just asking,” he said with a shrug, like it wasn’t the most absurd thing he’d ever said. “you’ve never thought about it?”

you let out a disbelieving laugh, your heart pounding in your chest. “thought about kissing you?”

“yeah,” he nodded, leaning back against the couch, his expression unreadable. “i mean, why not? we’re best friends. we’ve done everything else together. what’s one more thing?”

“jaehyun…” you trailed off, unsure how to even respond.

he was really serious — or at least, he didn’t seem to be joking at all. and that made it worse. or better. you couldn’t decide.

he turned his head to look at you again, his gaze softer this time. “what? it wouldn’t be weird. i mean, we already know everything about each other. it’s not like it’d change anything.”

“not change anything?” you repeated, incredulous. “you think kissing your best friend wouldn’t change anything?”

“not unless we wanted it to,” he replied simply, his tone so steady it almost calmed the storm raging in your chest. almost.

you stared at him, searching his face for some kind of explanation. but he wasn’t teasing you. he wasn’t laughing or smirking the way he usually did when he was trying to get under your skin.

he was just… waiting.

“you’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

jaehyun tilted his head slightly, considering you.

“yeah. i guess i have,” he admitted. “i mean, haven’t you? even a little?”

your brain felt like it was short-circuiting. you wanted to say no, to deny it outright, but the truth was, the idea didn’t seem as far-fetched as it should have.

you’d spent years at each other’s sides, your lives so intertwined that you could barely tell where one ended and the other began. and sure, there were moments — quick, fleeting moments — when you’d looked at him and wondered.

but this? this was real. and it wasn’t a fleeting moment anymore.

“i don’t know,” you said honestly, your voice barely above a whisper.

jaehyun smiled again, a small, patient curve of his lips that sent butterflies swirling through your stomach.

“then let’s find out,” his voice was low, almost hesitant.

you froze the moment he leaned in, his movements slow and deliberate, like a question he was silently asking.

it felt like the world had paused, holding its breath along with you. his eyes flicked to yours, searching, giving you all the time in the world to stop him, to pull away, to laugh it off like the best friends you’d always been.

but you didn’t. you couldn’t. your heart hammered against your chest, wild and unrestrained, and you knew he could probably hear it.

when his lips brushed against yours, it was featherlight, tentative, like he was testing the waters, hesitant but hopeful. your breath caught in your throat, and a spark ignited deep in your chest, sending tingles down to your fingertips.

his hand slid up to cup your jaw, his thumb tracing an impossibly soft line along your skin. the gentle touch sent shivers cascading down your spine, but it wasn’t unpleasant. your heart thudded against your chest like it was trying to escape, and a warmth you couldn’t explain spread through your entire body.

the kiss was slow at first, unhurried, almost experimental, like neither of you could believe what was happening. but then, instinct took over. you kissed him back before you could think better of it, your body moving on its own, feeling the slight curve of his smile against your lips. warmth bloomed between you, and your heart pounded harder with every second.

his lips were softer than you’d imagined — though you weren’t sure why you were imagining it at all. he tasted faintly of the popcorn you’d shared earlier, and there was something about the familiarity of it that made your chest ache in the best way.

jaehyun tilted his head just enough to fit perfectly, deepening the kiss in a way that felt so natural, it was almost like muscle memory. one of his hands slipping to your hip while the other stayed on your jaw, his fingers curling there gently, and he pressed closer, so close you could feel his breath mingling with yours.

you couldn’t think about anything else. it was just him: the warmth of his body so close, the way his lips moved against yours like they belonged there, the gentle press of his fingertips against your skin.

the world around you just… faded, like it didn’t exist anymore. all that mattered was this moment, the two of you tangled in something unsaid but utterly undeniable.

when the kiss finally ended, the two of you pulled back slowly, your foreheads brushing against the other as you tried to catch your breath. your chest heaved, and you realized he was breathing just as hard as you were, his lips slightly parted as though he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

before you could speak, before you could even begin to process what had just happened, jaehyun grinned, a soft, lopsided grin that made your heart flip, and leaned in once again. this time, it wasn’t as tentative. he pressed a quick, playful kiss to your lips, a soft 'mwah' sound filling the quiet space between you.

his hand on your jaw tilted your head just slightly, like he didn’t want to give you any room to second-guess this.

it was over almost as soon as it began, but it left you blinking, stunned, your heart beating so loudly it was all you could hear. he chuckled softly, his face still close, his breath fanning over your skin.

“okay,” jaehyun said, leaning back just slightly, though his hand lingered on your hip. “i’m officially adding that to our list of top-tier decisions.”

you let out a shaky laugh, the sound more real than you expected it to be.

your hand, which had somehow ended up tangled in his hair, slipped back into your lap. you glanced at him, taking in the way his lips were slightly swollen, his hair adorably mussed, his cheeks dusted with a faint pink.

“i can’t believe you actually…” you started, your words trailing off as you gestured vaguely between the two of you.

“kissed you?” he finished for you, his lips quirking into that lopsided grin. “yeah, me neither. thought you’d push me off the couch, to be honest.”

you shook your head, the heat in your cheeks spreading like wildfire.

“i thought about it,” you admitted, only half-joking, your voice quieter now.

his grin softened into something gentler, something that made your chest ache all over again.

“but you didn’t,” he said, his tone quieter.

you swallowed, your throat dry, and shook your head again. “no. i didn’t.”

for a moment, the air between you shifted.

the weight of what had just happened settled over you both, heavy but not unwelcome. it felt like standing on the edge of something new, something you couldn’t quite name yet.

jaehyun nudged your knee lightly with his own, breaking the tension just enough.

“so,” he said, leaning back against the couch with a sigh that was almost too casual. “what’s the verdict?”

you raised an eyebrow, the heat still lingering on your face. “the verdict?”

“yep,” he tilted his head, his grin teasing but his tone softer, more earnest. “should we pencil in a round two?”

you rolled your eyes, though your lips betrayed you, curving into a small smile.

“you’re lucky that wasn’t terrible,” you muttered, your voice fond despite yourself. “or we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

jaehyun let out a laugh, deep and warm, and you felt yourself relax into it. the movie playing in the background faded into little more than white noise. the real focus was here, in the space between you two.

after a quiet moment, jaehyun spoke again, his voice softer this time.

“this doesn’t feel weird, does it?”

you shook your head slowly, meeting his gaze. “no. it doesn’t.”

and it didn’t. for all the ways it should’ve felt strange or awkward, it didn’t. it felt…right. comfortable. like something that had been waiting to happen all along.

jaehyun’s lips quirked into another soft smile, his gaze warm and steady on yours.

“good,” he said, his voice a little quieter now. “because i think i kind of like kissing my best friend.”

[mugglebornmarvelite]

Nightmares Fade

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: After a traumatic mission, you are left shaken by a nightmare that lingers, blurring the line between reality and fear. Unable to shake the feeling of unease, you make your way to the kitchen, hoping a warm cup of tea will calm your nerves. But it’s not just the tea that brings comfort to you.

Based on this request.

Word Count: Roughly 1.4k 

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, nightmares, a little anxiety and tension, the reader is jumpy, mentions of violence from a mission (implied), mental fatigue, and fluffy (because I can’t help it)

Author’s Note: I tried to avoid gory details or focus too much on the contents of the nightmare.

Navigation

Divider by: @strangergraphics 

You sat straight up in your bed, your heart pounding as you tried to catch your breath. The nightmare clung to your mind. The shadows of your fears haunt you even in the comfort of your bed. 

It was just a dream.

The last mission was gruesome. Normally, they didn’t affect you, or at least you tried not to let them rattle you, but the remnants of the aftermath followed you into your dreams.

It was just a dream.

You wiped your temple, trying to shake off the images and the helplessness that still echoed within you. 

It was just a dream.

Reaching towards your nightstand, you looked over at the time on your phone.

2:15 am

Sighing, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, the cool touch of the floor grounding you for a moment. 

Just a dream.

You ran your hands up and down your face as if trying to scrub away the bad thoughts.

You paused for a moment, feeling that uneasy stillness. The kind of stillness where every creak in the house makes your skin crawl, where the quiet is too much to bear.

You flinched at a sudden noise.

Something moved.

You froze.

A tight knot formed in your stomach.

But it was just your coat, slipping off the back of the chair by your desk.

A breathless giggle escaped you.

You were being ridiculous.

It was just a silly dream.

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed your robe and padded toward the kitchen, hoping that making tea would help.

You reached the kitchen, filling the kettle with water, the soft noise soothing your nerves. You weren’t sure why you felt so unsettled; you should’ve been able to shake the nightmare by now. But it lingered, just beyond reach, like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

Then you heard it.

A sound.

Quiet, but unmistakable.

From behind you.

You screamed, gripping the closing thing to you, which was the handle of the panini press.

Bucky’s tough demeanor cracked, the corner of his lip tugging into a soft smile, a hint of amusement on his face. 

His imposing figure loomed in the doorway, his broad shoulders practically filling the space. His blue eyes, though soft in the dim light, were fixed on you, tense yet unreadable.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “It’s just me.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Relief flooded through you as you realized that you didn't have to fight off an intruder while wearing a bunny robe, and you released the panini press handle. 

Thank God. 

It was just your wild imagination.

His presence in the kitchen wasn’t a coincidence; you knew he must’ve heard you. You froze for a moment, wiping at your face again, hoping he hadn’t seen the tears. Your first instinct was to turn away, to pretend like nothing was wrong, but that was a pointless game to play with Bucky. He saw through every façade. 

Before you could escape to privacy, you heard a sharp whistle from Bucky. “No, you don't. C'mere, sunshine.”

You winced at his tone, but his voice was gentle and commanding in the way only Bucky could be. 

You knew he wasn’t going to let you hide. 

Reluctantly, you turned back toward him, though your eyes were on the floor as you shuffled closer. “I’m fine. Just couldn’t sleep,” you murmured, keeping your voice steady, even though you could feel your heart still pounding.

“You okay?” His voice was rough with sleep.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

Bucky didn’t buy it.

His sharp instincts had a way of seeing right through any façade, especially yours. He uncrossed his arms, taking a few steps toward you, his large presence making the space feel smaller.

“C'mere,” he said softly, that gentle authority in his voice making it impossible to say no.

Reluctantly, you turned toward him, your eyes flicking to the floor. “Really, Bucky. It’s nothing.”

He didn’t buy it for a second. His flesh hand reached out, gently lifting your chin.

“Don’t lie to me,” he murmured, his eyes filled with concern. “Nightmare, right?”

You nodded before you could stop yourself, feeling the weight of the admission, that vulnerability creeping up your spine.

Bucky's face softened, the hardness of his usual demeanor slipping away as he leaned closer to you. "Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe now. Come sit down, alright?"

Before you could protest, he guided you to the couch, his large, strong hand steadying you as he sat you down. He wrapped a cozy, warm blanket around your shoulders, the soft fabric instantly comforting.

“Stay here,” Bucky said with quiet authority, kissing the top of your head. “I’ll make finishing making you some tea.”

You let out a soft sigh, melting into his warmth as he gently pushed a few strands of hair out of your face. 

The simple tenderness of the gesture made your heart swell, and the gentleness of his touch was so at odds with the hardened bravado he often leaned into. 

With you, Bucky was a different kind of man. 

A sweet, soft, protective one.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmured before he moved to the kitchen. 

The rhythm of his movements in the kitchen was reassuring as you sighed.

When he returned, he was holding two steaming mugs of tea. He settled down beside you, and you shifted out of your cozy blanket cocoon, eager to share its warmth with him.

“Oh, no, sunshine, you don’t have to do that,” he said softly, his voice like a gentle caress.

“I want to,” you murmured, your smile shining through, soft and sweet.

His smile grew, a look of pure affection, as he pulled you closer, his arm sliding around you effortlessly, bringing you into his side like it was where you belonged.

“Here,” Bucky said softly, his voice like velvet, as he handed you a mug, the warmth of it seeping into your hands. His fingers brushed against yours, soft but lingering for just a second longer than necessary, as though he was trying to pass some of his calm into you. “This should help. It’s chamomile.”

You took a sip, the warmth from the tea settling in your stomach and slowly spreading through your chest. 

The sense of calm you needed started to return, but the best part was Bucky. He was still holding you close, his hand gently brushing your hair back, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your skin.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked.

You paused, considering the offer. It had been so hard to open up to anyone, especially about your nightmares. 

But with Bucky, there was no fear of judgment. He was safe. And somehow, his presence alone made everything feel a little bit easier to bear.

“I was running…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I got cornered and I couldn’t escape. And I kept hearing the team and you…but everyone was too far. No one could reach me in time.”

Bucky’s arms tightened around you, his body tensing for just a moment before he relaxed again, rubbing your back in slow, comforting strokes. “I’m right here, sunshine. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You swallowed hard, your emotions swelling up again. "I know. I just... I couldn’t stop thinking about how scary it felt."

He kissed the top of your head, his voice like a low hum in your ear. "You don’t ever have to face that alone. We’re here. I’m always here. No matter what."

You smiled faintly, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like the blanket he’d draped over you earlier. "Thanks, Bucky. You’re… you’re really something else."

“Nightmares don’t stand a chance when I’m around,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your hair in slow, calming motions. “You’ll never face them alone. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

His words were a promise, quiet but unwavering. And as you snuggled closer to him, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your cheek, the fragments of your nightmare seemed to fade into the background.

But then you smiled faintly, attempting to lighten the mood, even if only a little. “If we fall asleep here, Sam’s probably going to take another picture.”

Bucky chuckled. 

“Let him,” he said with a grin. “You’re worth it. You should know that by now, sunshine.”

You practically melted into his side. 

There was something in the way he cared for you that made everything feel like it could be okay, even in the worst of moments. 

Nothing else seemed to matter.

And for the first time that night, you felt the weight of fear and anxiety fall away, replaced by the comfort and safety only Bucky could give you.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @sailorsenshiuranep @alexxavicry

If you'd like to be added to my taglist

Much love x

- Maeve

[mariasont]

I love your fics so much! Could you maybe make a pre-relationship fic of Spencer x reader Spencer rescues the reader from the unsub and calms them down?? I'm a big hurt/comfort girly lmao 🫶🏼😛

Pulse Point - S.R

a/n: thank you so much!!!! so sorry for taking so long! i hope you like it <3

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x reader

warnings: undescribed injury, lil bit of angst with a happy ish ending, pre-relationship ending

wc: 1.6k

Spencer had seen you in danger before. It came with the job—a stipulation of the unwritten contract you signed the day you joined the team. His mind had been conditioned to assess danger rationally, stripping away emotion to leave behind only what mattered: probabilities, outcomes, strategies. 

But then again seeing you, tied to that chair, unconscious and face drained of color, was something he wasn't sure any amount of mathematical modeling could prepare him for.

Your head had hung at an unnatural angle, the strands of hair clinging to the sweat slicking your skin in a way that sent a visceral wave of nausea rolling through him. Rope burns—thin, angry welts were already bruising—encircled your wrists. He couldn't breathe—his chest seized, ribs locking tight, as though his body itself couldn't handle the image of you in that state. The unsub's voice had faded into white noise, irrelevant against the single, all-encompassing command that had pounded in his head—get to you, get you out of here.

Now, sitting on the cold concrete of the clearing zone with you cradled against his chest, Spencer's mind spiraled in a loop—that singular thought repeating, relentless, fractal, like a Fibonacci sequence winding tighter and tighter around his sanity. The unsub was subdued—Morgan had handled it efficiently—but Spencer couldn't bring himself to focus on that, let alone process it. The edges of his awareness narrowed, his entire world reduced to you. Limp. Unresponsive. Alarmingly still. It made his heart pound so violently it felt like it might break him from the inside out.

His hands wouldn't stop shaking, a trembling he couldn't stop no matter how hard he tried. One arm braced under your knees, the other pressed against the curve of your back. He adjusted his grip carefully, terrified of moving you the wrong way, terrified of doing anything that might make things worse. His eyes flicked to your chest, tracking the uneven rise and fall of your breathing. Too shallow. Too inconsistent. But there.

Twelve to twenty breaths per minute—that's the normal respiratory rate for an adult at rest, he recited, mind retreating to the relative safety of cold, clinical facts. Yours, he estimated, was faster—high twenties, maybe—an expected adrenaline response to trauma. It was within the acceptable range. It should have reassured him. As long as it didn't drop below eight or spike above thirty, there was no immediate cause for intervention. The logic was sound. The science was sound. But that did absolutely nothing to stem the gnawing unease twisting through him.

Then you started to stir.

It was subtle at first, so subtle he almost thought he imagined it—a small, almost imperceptible sound slipping past your lips, the softest shift of you head against his shoulder—but it sent a jolt through him nonetheless.

Your eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy, the muscles in your face tightening with confusion as consciousness gradually took hold. Relief bloomed, but it died just as quickly. Recognition didn't follow. Instead, your expression twisted, your features contorting with something feral, something deeply afraid. Your breathing grew erratic, breaking into rapid, shallow bursts that rattled your frame.

And then you started thrashing.

"No, no—get off me!" Your voice cracked, raw with fear.

He tightened his arms just enough to stop you from hurting yourself.

"Hey, hey—stop! It's me—it's Spencer!"

You didn't react to his voice. It was as if you couldn't even hear him. Your body twisted violently, fighting something unseen, nails scraping at his vest, frantic and clawing, desperate to escape.

Spencer swallowed thickly, forcing himself to focus on what he knew. This was textbook trauma response. Cortisol and adrenaline were flooding your system, hijacking your prefrontal cortex, reducing your mind to survival instincts alone. It all made perfect sense—he could explain it in detail, rationalize it. But none of the logic in the world could prepare him for what it felt like to hold you like this and not be able to fix it.

"Look at me. It's Spencer. You're safe now. I promise, you're safe."

The words didn't seem to do much, falling flat and useless. Spencer felt a crushing helplessness as he watched, paralyzed while panic consumed you in a way he couldn't stop. His mind scrambled, clawing through years of knowledge, training, and case studies, all of which felt painfully inadequate now. It was one thing to understand trauma as a concept, to study it in a clinical detachment. It was another to watch it consume someone you cared about, to feel it in the way your body shook.

But then—finally—something shifted.

You froze. Not the rigid, terror-fueled panic from before, but something different. Tentative. Uncertain. Your breathing stuttered, still too fast, but the wildness in your eyes began to ebb like clouds parting just enough to let a sliver of sunlight through. You blinked, once, twice, and then your gaze locked onto his face, really seeing him this time.

"Spence..." Your voice was hardly above a whisper, like a fragile filament of sound, barely there but enough for his chest to ache all the same.

Relief washed over him so fast it left him lightheaded. 

"Yeah, it's me," he said softly, nodding quickly as though the motion itself might convince you. "It's just me. You're okay."

Wide eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, stared back at him as though searching for something—anything—to hold on to. The air felt like it was holding its breath, waiting. And then he saw it—the exact second the realization hit that you were safe. The fear in your face melted, replaced by something fragile, something breaking open. Your lip quivered, your breath hitching, and then, without a word, you lunged forward, throwing your arms around his neck.

Spencer froze.

He wasn't exactly new to your hugs. They didn't happen often—his aversion to touch usually kept that at bay—but when they did, they were always simple. After a particularly hard case or when the job felt overwhelming. But this? This was not that.

For a split second, his brain failed him entirely, unable to keep up with what he was seeing. He honed in on the small details—the way your hands clutched his shirt in tight, desperate fists, the way your trembling body seemed so much smaller than he ever remembered. He'd never seen you this way. The realization terrified him in ways he couldn't articulate.

But then that rare instinct of his took over.

With painstaking care, he wrapped his arms around you, like he was afraid you might break apart in his hands. One hand slipped to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, softer than he thought himself capable of. The other stayed pressed firmly against your back, holding you to him, refusing to let go—because letting go felt unthinkable, impossible. He leaned into you, his cheek brushing against the top of your head, breathing you in. The familiar scent of your shampoo was still there, but beneath it lingered something sharper, something more metallic that made his fingers sink deeper into the hold.

"It's okay," he murmured, every word scraping against the tightness in his throat. "I've got you I'm not going anywhere."

He felt the sharp hitch of your breath against his chest, followed moments later by the damp heat of tears soaking into his shoulder. You were crying. The realization hit him like a physical weight, and his arms tightened around you instinctively. He wasn't sure who was shaking anymore—you or him. Maybe both.

He shifted his hand slightly on your back, his thumb brushing against your shoulder blade. But even as he tried to comfort you, his brain kept ticking like clockwork, unable to stop itself. Your pulse—it was still too fast. He could feel in beneath the pad of his fingers, pounding just under the surface of your skin.

The medics needed to get here soon.

His fingers moved without thinking, sliding to your neck, pressing lightly against the artery there. He told himself it was necessary, just a routine check to make sure nothing was wrong, but he knew better. It was selfish—a desperate need to feel the beat of your pulse under his fingertips, to remind himself you were here. Alive. That the worst was behind you.

It was fast, just as he'd predicted, but steady. Stable. A good sign.

Spencer let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, shoulders sagging. 

"You're okay," he murmured softly, though he wasn't entirely sure who he was trying to convince anymore.

He closed his eyes.

Minutes passed by, though they both felt impossibly long and far too short. You stayed against him just like that, breathing slowly evening out until the jagged edges of panic dulled into exhaustion. He said nothing more—words felt unnecessary, maybe even counterproductive. So he just held you.

When the sound of footsteps finally reached his ears, Spencer didn't move. Not until the medics appeared in his peripheral vision, and even then, he hesitated, tightening his grip on you for just a fraction of a second before forcing himself to let go.

"Hey," he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you. "The medics are here, okay? They're going to take care of you."

You nodded, but it was hesitant, your eyes swollen and puffy, and you clung to him just a little longer. Your hand wrapped around his sleeve like you were afraid to let go.

Spencer's eyes flicked to the medics, his voice low but insistent. "Be careful."

The medics nodded, stepping in to take over, and Spencer reluctantly released his hold. His arms felt empty, hollow, as they fell to his sides. Even as the medics worked, his gaze stayed glued to you, his eyes tracking every breath, every faint movement. He couldn't look away. Wouldn't.

It was then he realized a dangerous idea, that he cared about you more than he should, more than was professional. And it terrified him.

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join my taglist here!

[kosmosxipo]

Kay I'm putting your tags here because you're so right:

#i dont think non-usamericans grasp how genuinely and fantastically dystopian this country is#where healthcare and ambulances and transport and schooling costs money#it is just not a place for humans. it is an automated system that will hunt for cheaper and cheaper labor#getting taught that this country is the best in the world#everyone here can tell somethings wrong. particularly white usamericans may not know what it is coming from but they can sense a lack of-#-meaning. a lack of culture. so it is sought through material goods or work or at worst nationalistic groups

#*everyone knows something is wrong*. its that the dems say theres nothing wrong whilst the republicans say that the minorities are whats-#-making things harder#the few billionaires own more wealth than 90% of the country#watching mine and my friends' rights be used as wedge issues to cause more oppression and more leeway for the wealthy#trump won not because he was more popular but because the dems let it happen. they continued the genocide and they adopted trump policies#it is all genuinely fantasy novel level of villainry#it is all fucked#i cannot afford healthcare. i cannot afford school#i dont think anyone can imagine what this is like without actually living in it idk#we grow up in school doing drills for *shooters*#my sister was hiding at a mall shooting on halloween#there are over 300 million people here

it’s obviously trendy to hate on america but I genuinely need ppl to understand, especially going into the next four years, that over half of AMERICANS did not want this. we’re protesting, we’re advocating, we’re educating. but our government will not listen to us. you do not need to tell us that our country is an imperialist war machine or make jokes about school shootings or about our healthcare system. we know. we are actively being exploited for our time and our bodies by the capitalists that want to bleed us dry. they do not see us as humans to help, but cattle to profit from. and they are in charge. there is plenty to make fun of. maga, elon musk, trump, etc. but some of you truly lack empathy. underprivileged vulnerable communities make up the majority of this country and we are suffering and will continue to suffer as we descend farther into a fascist state disguised as an oligarchy

[doll3scent]

★ Pornstar 3 ★

John Price x Cam girl! reader

warnings- 18+-mdni, smut, age gap, cam girl reader, explicit language, video call sex.

wc. 5k

a/n i’m already halfway done with pt 4…i have a lot of free time…

1, 2, 3, 4,

master list 𓂃۶ৎ

It had been a week, and Price couldn’t shake the knot of paranoia in his chest. Every time he saw your brother, he expected the conversation to turn, expected him to throw a punch or call him out for his disgusting actions. Price had barely slept, imagining the fallout: the disgust in your brother’s eyes, Ghost’s sharp judgment if he found out his captain was sneaking onto your streams.

But nothing had happened. Ghost remained oblivious and hadn’t acted any differently toward him. That only made it worse—because Price was certain you hadn’t forgotten. No, you had recognized him. You’d seen him.

And yet, you hadn’t said a word. The silence was eating him alive. Were you disgusted? Angry? Planning to expose him? The uncertainty was unbearable. He tried to keep his mind busy by burying himself in his work. But he was constantly plagued by the fear that he’d get a knock on his door, and it would be Ghost, ready to beat him within an inch of his life.

Price couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was maddening. Every quiet moment, every pause in the day, his thoughts drifted back to you—back to that call. The way you moved, the way your voice hitched when you spoke to him, and that soft gasp when you realized who he was.

He’d spent the entire week replaying it in his mind. How you’d looked, how you’d blushed when he praised you, and the way you scrambled to end the call when recognition dawned on your face. The memory made his chest tighten and his blood heat. He knew it was wrong—knew the lines he’d crossed—but that didn’t stop him. It only made the desire worse.

Nights were the hardest. Lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, he could almost hear your voice again, soft and sweet, calling him “Daddy” in that timid little tone. He’d clench his fists, trying to shake the thought, but it never worked. He hated himself for it—wanted to convince himself that it was just the heat of the moment—but he knew better. You were under his skin now, and he couldn’t shake you loose.

He tried distracting himself with work. Paperwork, training schedules, anything to keep his hands busy. But every time he’d pass Ghost, that familiar pang of paranoia would hit him. What if he knows? What if you told him? It was a vicious cycle—work, worry, and want, all twisting together until he was a mess of frustration.

And then there were the quiet moments when his mind wandered without permission. He found himself wondering what you were doing now. Were you thinking about him too? Were you avoiding your streams, afraid he might appear again? Or worse—were you streaming, letting someone else watch you, hear you, make you blush like that? The thought made his jaw clench.

One night, he sat alone in his office, a glass of whiskey in hand, the dim light casting long shadows on the walls. He pulled out his phone, his finger hovering over the app he’d used to find you. It would be so easy to look you up again, to click and see if you were live. But he stopped himself, setting the phone down with a growl. He couldn’t. Not again. But God, he wanted to.

For days, you stayed curled up in your pink, soft blankets, replaying the moment over and over in your mind. You should've been disgusted, horrified even, that your brother's captain—his boss-had been watching you like that. And yet, every time you thought about it, your cheeks burned for an entirely different reason.

You couldn't shake the way his deep, commanding voice had sent shivers down your spine. The way he praised you, so filthy and raw, had you plunging your fingers into your wet cunt again and again.

And the way he bossed you around, his tone laced with authority, had made your body ache in ways you didn't want to admit. You knew it was wrong-so, so wrong-but the thought of him, of how he wanted you, refused to leave your mind. It was dangerous, forbidden, and yet you couldn't stop yourself from wondering... what if it happened again?

You clutched the edge of your blanket, staring at the blank screen in front of you, your thoughts spiraling. He didn't know it was you-how could he? You'd always worn your mask, kept your identity hidden. To him, you were just another faceless streamer. Just someone he stumbled upon, nothing more. That thought gave you a strange sense of reassurance.

He couldn't possibly connect the dots. He didn't know you were his lieutenant's little sister. That made it... safe, didn't it? At least, that's what you kept telling yourself. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your heart racing as your mind whispered dangerous thoughts.

Would it really be so wrong if it happened again? If you let him watch, let him command you? You reasoned it wasn't personal for him —it was just the thrill of the moment. But for you... the memory of his voice alone made your stomach twist in ways you couldn't ignore.

You bit your lip, a mixture of guilt and anticipation flooding your senses. One more time wouldn't hurt. He didn't know. He couldn't know. You conjured up an email, hoping he'd respond.

Hi! Price,

I just wanted to say how sorry I am for how our last call ended. Something personal came up, and I had to leave so suddenly... I really hope I didn't upset you.

As a way to make it up to you, l'd love to offer another video call, completely free, if you'd like. Just let me know what works best for you, and I'll make sure I'm all yours this time.

Thank you for being so understanding. I hope to hear from you soon!

Yours,

Angel

You stared at the screen, your finger hovering over the send button. The thought of him finding out it was you-your brother's captain, of all people-made your stomach flip with anxiety. What if he did recognize you? What if he went straight to your brother and told him what his little sister was doing?

The mere thought sent a chill down your spine. But... then again, what if he didn't find out? What it you were careful, kept everything just right, and he never connected the dots? Your heart raced with the risk, the thrill of the secrecy. If you could just keep your identity hidden a little longer, maybe you could let this dangerous game play out. You swallowed hard, trying to steady your nerves. The desire to continue, to feel that rush again, gnawed at you. Your hands trembled as you clicked the send button.

John sat back in his chair, rubbing his hand over his face. The past week had been a blur of tension, his thoughts plagued by that night. He couldn't stop thinking about the look on your face when the webcam shifted, the shock in your eyes as you recognized him.

He had barely slept since, half-expecting you to show up at his door or, worse, tell your brother what you'd seen. He opened his inbox absentmindedly, eyes scanning the subject line of a new email. It caught his attention-your name glowing back at him-and a pang of curiosity tugged at his chest. He clicked open the message and started reading, his brow furrowing as he processed your words.

"I'm so sorry how our last call ended..."

A wave of relief washed over him as he read further. You were apologizing for the way things had ended, offering to make it up to him. His fingers lingered over the screen as he reread the part about a free rescheduled call, and his heart raced. Were you serious? Or was this some sort of trap? Would your brother be on the other end of that call?

John leaned back, tension settling back into his shoulders. He could feel the heat of the situation creeping up on him again. The desire to see you, to hear you, to feel that connection again was almost too strong to resist.

John leaned back in his chair, trying to suppress the rush of emotions that flooded his chest as he remembered the way you had responded to him. The soft, breathy gasps, the way your body had moved in perfect sync with his words—it was like you had become his in that moment. He could still feel the tension in the air, how you had melted at his voice, obediently following his instructions without hesitation.

Your responses had been soft, shy, and yet there was something powerful in the way you surrendered to him, something that had stirred something deep inside him.

He hadn't expected you to listen so easily, to let go of your inhibitions like that. And the way your body had moved-slow, deliberate, responding to him like he was the only thing that mattered.

He bit his lip, remembering how he had commanded, how you had obeyed. His heart thumped in his chest as he realized just how much control he had over you, how much you had let him in. It made him want to take it further, push the limits, see just how far you'd go.

His thoughts drifted to the email now sitting in his inbox, a silent invitation from you. He couldn't stop the grin from tugging at his lips. He knew it was risky, but the temptation was too strong. He had to see you again, hear you again, and feel that same power dynamic build between you.

Dear Angel,

First off, no need to apologize-I completely understand that things can come up. That being said, Ive been thinking about our last call... and I have to admit, I haven't been able to shake the memory of it.

I'd definitely be interested in rescheduling, and I'll make sure we have a bit more time to really enjoy our time. How does tomorrow evening sound to you? I'm flexible, so just let me know what works for you.

Looking forward to it.

Best,

Price

You giggle softly, your cheeks flushing as you read his reply. The thought that he's been thinking about you too sends a thrill through you. You glance at his words about his flexibility and the teasing thought crosses your mind. You want to reply something cheeky, something bold like how you're flexible too, and how he can bend you however he wants. You could say it... something bold, something that would make him want you more.

But you bite your lip, hesitant. Instead, you type a more subtle response, keeping your playful nature intact, but holding back the risqué thoughts.

Price,

That sounds perfect. I'll make myself available, just let me know what time specifically works for you. Can't wait to talk again soon.

Yours,

Angel

You lie in bed, the soft sheets wrapped around you as your mind drifts, you can't help but imagine how you'll look on the next call-how you'll make sure every inch of you is perfect for him. You run your fingers through your hair, mentally picturing yourself in the right lighting, the right angle.

You want to be flawless, to catch his attention in a way that makes him crave you more. The thought of impressing him, of hearing his approval, fills you with anticipation.

You slip out of bed, the warmth of the blankets leaving you with a soft shiver. You know exactly what you need, and the idea of finding the perfect lingerie set for him sends a thrill through your body. You quickly get dressed, pulling on something comfortable, and head out to the nearest Victoria's Secret, your mind racing with anticipation.

As you walk through the store, your fingers graze the delicate fabrics, envisioning how it will look on you. You want it to be just right, so perfect for him.

A stunning pink lace lingerie set catches your eye. The corset is beautiful, hugging the waist in all the right places, cinching you in perfectly, making your curves pop. The lace details are delicate, almost fragile, and the tiny bows scattered along it only add to the allure.

Attached to the corset is a skirt made of the same soft pink lace, flowing gently around your hips, teasing just enough.

But it's the garters and thigh-high stockings that really seal the deal. The set is perfect-sexy, feminine, and exactly what you need to make an unforgettable impression. You bite your lip, already imagining how it'll look when you wear it, and you can't help but feel a little thrill run through you at the thought of what's to come.

The next day, you wake up with a flutter of nerves in your stomach, the excitement building as the time for your call draws near. You spend the entire morning getting ready, carefully setting the mood for what's about to unfold.

You start with a long, hot shower, letting the water relax your muscles as you shave every inch of your skin. The scent of your favorite body wash fills the air, and once you're done, you lotion every part of your body, making your skin soft and silky to the touch. You follow with a layer of oil, making sure you glow. You even powder lightly, giving yourself a flawless finish, as if you're preparing for a show, not just a call.

Even though he can't smell you through the screen, you spritz your best perfume- something light, fresh, and sweet-just for the touch of confidence it gives you. It's your little secret, and it makes you feel ready.

You curl your hair perfectly, each wave soft and bouncy, framing your face just the way you like it. When you step back and look at yourself in the mirror, you feel... different. You feel empowered, beautiful, ready. The lingerie set you picked out is waiting for you, laid neatly on your bed.

As the time ticks closer, you take one last glance around your room, making sure everything is just as you want it. Even your bed is perfectly made, the soft sheets and pillows arranged just so, setting the stage for the night ahead. Your heart races with anticipation, knowing every detail is about to fall into place.

You move toward your setup, carefully adjusting your webcam, making sure the angle captures just the right view. Then, you flick on your setup lights, but only direct them toward the bed. The soft glow they cast highlights the space perfectly, making the room feel inviting and intimate. With a deep breath, you switch off your bedroom lights, letting the cool darkness surround you. The only illumination now comes from the candles you've scattered around the room. Their dancing flames flicker softly, casting shadows that add an alluring, romantic vibe to the room. The air feels charged, the atmosphere thick with anticipation.

Everything is set. All that's left is the call. Your nerves mingle with excitement, knowing this is the moment you've been waiting for.

With a deep breath, you step into the lingerie, feeling the soft lace hug your body in all the right ways. The corset cinches your waist, accentuating your curves, while the delicate lace feels like a second skin. You pull on the matching panties, the fabric smooth and soft against your skin.

Carefully, you adjust the tiny skirt, letting it fall perfectly over your hips. It's light, teasing, and just enough to make the outfit feel complete. You attach the stockings to the garters, feeling the smooth fabric stretch over your legs, the garters snug against your thighs, holding them in place.

The set fits you perfectly, every detail just as it should be. You look at yourself in the mirror, feeling a mix of excitement and a little nervousness, knowing that everything is ready now. The candles flicker in the dim room, casting soft light over the delicate lace. You take a final breath, steeling yourself for the call that's about to begin.

You reach for your little white lace mask, your fingers brushing over the delicate fabric. It's the finishing touch. You tie it carefully behind your head, adjusting it so it sits perfectly, framing your eyes and cheeks.

You sit on the edge of the bed, your legs crossed delicately, hands resting in your lap as you try to calm your racing heart. The soft glow from the setup lights bathes you in a flattering hue, while the flickering candlelight creates an intimate ambiance around the room.

You glance at the screen, the little "connecting" symbol spinning as you wait for him to join. Every second feels like an eternity, your nerves buzzing with anticipation.

You adjust the tiny skirt once more, smoothing it down over your thighs, and take a slow, steadying breath. The moment the screen flickers to life, your heart skips a beat. His face appears, and you're immediately struck by the way his sharp features soften slightly as he takes you in. You can see his jaw tighten, his eyes scanning the screen, taking in every detail of you.

You bite your lip, your voice soft as you finally speak.

"Hi..."

The moment his face appears on the screen, he's completely silent. His dark eyes roam over you slowly, taking in every painstaking detail-the delicate pink lingerie hugging your body, the way your perfectly curled hair frames your face, the soft glow of your skin in the candlelight.

His gaze lingers, almost reverent, as though he's trying to memorize every inch of you. The corner of his mouth tugs upward into a faint smirk, but his silence speaks louder than any words could. It's in the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, the way his eyes darken with something raw and unrestrained.

For a moment, the tension hangs thick between you, his voice caught somewhere in his throat. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, rough, and thick with desire. "Christ... you're perfect."

You smile softly, your cheeks warming under his intense gaze. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you let your eyes flicker down shyly for a moment before meeting his again. "Sorry about how I ended our last call...something came up" you say softly, forcing a polite smile. Your voice is steady, but inside, your heart is racing. You can still remember the moment you realized who he was, the rush of shock that made you end the call so abruptly. But you've convinced yourself that he doesn't know, that he couldn't possibly have pieced it together.

On the other side of the screen, his smirk twitches, subtle but unmistakable. His sharp eyes linger on you a little too long, and there's something in his expression —a flicker of amusement, maybe even satisfaction-that makes your stomach twist. He leans back slightly, his tone casual but laced with a knowing edge.

"Something came up, huh?" he repeats, almost like he's testing you. But he doesn't push, letting the moment hang between you.

You nod quickly, desperate to keep the air light, unaware that he already knows exactly why you ended the call-and that he's watching you closely, waiting for you to slip. "Don't worry, sweetheart," he says, leaning in just a little closer, his voice smooth, almost reassuring, "I understand. Things come up. We're good, yeah?"

You clear your throat, trying to shake off the awkwardness that lingers in the air. "So, how've you been?" you ask, your voice a little softer than usual, almost uncertain. You can't help the way your nerves spike, knowing exactly who he is-your brother's boss, a military captain in his 40s. And yet, here he is, sitting across from you on a video call, just another man on the other side of the screen. But it's not just any call-it's this call. This man, so authoritative in his world, is sitting here, watching you.

Price can't help but smile as you talk to him, he knows you're lying. He doesn't call you out on it, but he's enjoying the fact that you don't know that he knows. He can tell just by the sound of your voice alone that you're nervous, but you're trying to act polite.

"I've been good, darlin". Been missing you though", he responds with a soft chuckle. He tries not to sound too desperate or obvious, he wants to play along and see how long it'll take you to crack. You can't help but smile, the warmth spreading across your face as the sound of his voice lingers in your mind. You let out a little giggle, almost shy, but it escapes before you can stop it. "Really?" you ask.

Price can't help but smirk at your school girl giggle, the sound of which seems to go straight to his core. "Yes, really" he responds playfully. "I've been thinking about you a lot, doll" he adds, his voice low. You shift on your bed, feeling a rush of heat flood your cheeks. The way he's looking at you, the way his words hang in the air, makes your heart race and your stomach flutter. You can't help but feel giddy, your body betraying your attempt to stay composed.

“...Thinking about me how?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, and you can't quite bring yourself to meet his gaze. There's a pause on Price's end, a moment that seems to stretch on into eternity as he stares at you through the screen. "Oh, you want specific details, huh darling?" he asks lowly, his eyes roaming over you. He can barely keep his voice steady, his body is heating up just looking at you.

You nod softly, your fingers nervously playing with the fabric of your skirt, twisting and turning as you try to steady your breath. The quiet tension between you both feels like it's building with every second. You can't help but feel a little shy under his gaze, yet at the same time, the thrill of it all keeps you grounded, your curiosity pushing you to want to know more.

You glance up briefly, meeting his eyes for just a moment, the weight of the question hanging in the air. “..l want to know" you murmur, your voice soft but eager. Price's gaze is intense as he stares deeply into your eyes through the screen, taking in your every move.

Your shyness is only making Price want you even more, and the tension between you is growing. When you tell him you want to know his lips curve into a smirk, his eyes flickering over your body. He leans forward, the whiskey glass dangling loosely from his fingers, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Been thinking about that tight little cunt of yours, mostly. Fantasizing about bending you over every fucking surface I see"

Price's blunt words have a powerful effect on you, they make your mind go blank for an instance before a wave of heat washes over you, his voice alone is enough to drive you insane. He's watching you intensely through the screen, taking in your reaction to his filthily words.

"You like the sound of that, baby?" he asks with a smirk, his eyes roaming over you. Price's own words make his own mind start to wander, images of you writhing under him, bent over his desk flooding his mind. "I've been thinking about your soft little moans" he says in a low voice, his eyes roaming over you on the screen. "I've been thinking about how badly I want my hands on you"

Price notices the way your thighs clench in response to his words, and it ignites something in him. "Oh, darlin...are you getting excited?" he asks with a grin, his tone a little teasing. He sets the whiskey glass down, his eyes never leaving yours as he reaches down to adjust his pants, making sure his growing erection is comfortable. "I can tell by the way you're squeezing those thighs together. You're fucking dripping for me, aren't vou. andel?"

Price can't help but admire you through the screen, his eyes darkened with intensity and desire. His hand reaches down to subtly adjust the growing bulge in his pants, trying to ignore the ache in his groin. Your legs are squeezing together, as if trying to find some sort of relief for the ache that's building between your legs.

Your face is flushed, your breathing is becoming more erratic, and you're struggling to keep your eyes on him without looking away out of shyness. Price's voice drops even lower, smooth and commanding, as his gaze locks onto yours.

"Call me daddy," he says, each word deliberate, like a challenge and a request all at once. He leans forward slightly, his tone thick with desire, as he adds, "Can you do that for me, sweetheart?" You blush, the warmth creeping up your neck as you nod, your voice barely a whisper.

'Yes" you reply softly, the word slipping out almost shyly. Price's gaze sharpens, his lips curling into a small smirk. "I want to hear you say it," he commands gently, his tone firm but not unkind. "Say it for me, sweetheart." The room feels heavier with his words, the air thick with tension as he waits, his eyes never leaving you, eager for your response.

You whisper it, barely above a breath, the words almost lost in the quiet room “....Yes, daddy.." you murmur, your face flushed with warmth as you feel his gaze linger on you, intense and expectant. The way the words feel leaving your lips sends a wave of nervous excitement through you, making your heart race all over again.

Price's whole body almost shudders as he hears you call him that, and his eyes nearly roll back in his head. It's almost too much, hearing you refer to him like that.It's a power dynamic that he never knew he craved, until he met you. He takes a moment to collect himself, taking a deep breath and trying to keep his own desire under control. "Good girl" he praises, watching you closely to see how you react to his words.

The soft whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it, a sound so quiet, yet it doesn't go unnoticed.

Price's smirk deepens as he watches you, the shift in your demeanor not lost on him. He can see how his words are affecting you, how they make you tremble, and it only fuels the desire that's already burning inside him.

He leans in slightly, voice dropping to a lower, more possessive tone. "That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs, the words like a caress. "Let me hear more of that." His eyes remain locked on yours, searching for every reaction, every tiny movement you make.

He smirks as he sees your reaction, clearly savoring the effect his words have on you. "Such a good girl, making those sweet little noises for Daddy." He leans back, purposely giving you a glimpse of his muscular frame through his partially unbuttoned shirt.

His voice drops to a commanding growl as his eyes rake hungrily over your image on the screen. "Strip for me, angel. Nice and slow. Let Daddy see that gorgeous body he's been jerking off to every fucking night."

“Yes, daddy" you slip off your panties, tossing them to the end of bed. "Leave the stockings on," he orders, his tone smooth and firm. You slide your fingers over the delicate lace of your lingerie, the fabric clinging to your body just enough to tease, before you begin to pull it away slowly, deliberately. The tension in the air grows thick as you reveal more of you skin, each inch of you body exposed with a careful, almost tantalizing slowness.

Your hands trail down your sides, feeling the smoothness of your skin as you slides the fabric down, the lace brushing against you hips before it slips completely off. You don't rush, letting each moment stretch out, letting the anticipation build. You let the lingerie drop to the floor with a soft flutter, you body now fully exposed, save for the stockings you've kept on, the lace clinging to your legs, a final piece of the puzzle that leaves just enough to the imagination. The room is heavy with your movements, the way your eyes flick up to meet his, revealing just how much you're willing to give in this moment.

He watches with bated breath as you slowly reveal your body, his heart pounding in his chest like a fucking war drum. Every inch of exposed skin makes his mouth water, his dick hardening further in his pants. "Fuck, look at you...like a goddamn wet dream." He reaches out, his finger hovering over the screen, as if he could touch you through it. "I want to see those stockings, angel. I want to see you stand up and let me see how they cling to those fucking perfect legs of yours."

You step off the bed, moving the webcam back as you stand. His eyes lock onto your legs, the black lace stockings clinging to your shapely thighs like a second skin. He swallows hard, his mind racing with images of running his hands up those silky legs. "Turn around"

You turn obediently facing your bed.

He drinks in the view of your back, the way the stockings disappear into the curve of your backside, leaving the rest of you bare. He can't help but notice the slight sway of your hips as you turn. "Bend over," he growls. You can hear him fumbling with something before the sound of a zipper being unzipped, you try to stand and turn to see him.

"Stay," he commands, his voice low and authoritative.

He wraps his fingers around his length, slowly stroking himself as he watches you bent over, the lace stockings hugging your thighs. You let out a frustrated whine "I wanna see you.."

"Not yet," he murmurs, his eyes glued to the screen as he continues to slowly stroke himself, the tip of his thumb rubbing over the sensitive head each time he reaches the top. "Please daddy?"

His hand pauses, his thumb hovering over the tip as he hears those words. He can feel his body tensing, ready to snap. "You calling me daddy isn't going to make me show you," he says gruffly. "Spread them wider," he orders, his voice low and demanding. He watches intently as you comply, the lace stockings stretching taut over your thighs as you widen your stance.

"Put your hand between your legs and rub your fucking cunt," he growls, his voice rough and commanding. He starts to stroke himself faster, watching with rapt attention as he waits for you to follow his orders.

"Slowly." You lift you upper half off the bed enough to slide your hand down to your dripping wet pussy. You let you a whine as you start to rub yourself painfully slow.

He watches intently, his cock throbbing in his hand as he sees your fingers disappear between your legs, moving languidly over your sex. The sight of your slow, teasing touches makes his teeth grind with barely restrained desire.* "Fuck, that's it..."

His eyes narrow as he sees you try to push your fingers inside. "Did I say you could fuck yourself with your fingers?" he snaps, his grip tightening around his cock.

"No, I told you to fucking rub, not shove your fingers in like a goddamn whore."

"Im sorry daddy.."

"You'd better be," he growls, his face contorting with anger and unsatisfied lust. "Now spread your legs wider and rub slower," he demands, his voice dripping with authority and unspent desire. "I want to see your fingers barely touching your little pink folds."

"No please-"

"Yes, because if you don't start fucking listening and doing exactly as I say, I'll hang up this call and leave you fucking spread open and desperate," he interrupts harshly. "So you'd better start rubbing that fucking pussy like I told you before I lose my patience."

"No! i'll listen I promise!"

He watches closely, his cock throbbing as he sees your fingers quiver against your mound, barely grazing the swollen flesh. Each feather-light stroke over your clit makes his breath hitch. "That's it... fuck," he growls approvingly, starting to stroke himself faster.

"You're doing so good being a good girl and listening," he praises softly, his tone deceivingly gentle as he continues to watch your slow, torturous rubs. "But you know what else I want?"

"What daddy?"

"I want to see you spread your lips open with your fingers," he orders, his voice low and thick with desire.

"Use your index and middle finger, spread them open wide so I can see that fucking pink hole." You moan into the bed as you comply.

His eyes widen as he sees your fingers part your lips, revealing the glistening pink interior of your pussy. He can see the head of your clit peeking out from between your folds, and the way your inner lips are slightly puffy and swollen. "Fuck... look at that,"

He continues stroking himself, faster now, his breathing heavier as he takes in the vulgar sight of your exposed sex. His cock throbs in his hand, leaking precum. "Keep holding yourself open," he commands,

"use your other hand and rub your fucking clit. Gentle.'

"Please daddy" your other hand goes down to rub your clit. His cock twitches as he watches you hesitantly start to rub your clit, your fingers moving in cautious circles. "Yeah, just like that," he encourages hoarsely, stroking himself in tandem with your movements. "Nice and slow, get yourself fucking wet."

He watches intently as your fingers circle faster, your breathing growing more labored with each passing second. The sight of your fingers glistening with arousal makes his cock ache with need. "Look at that fucking pussy, getting all wet for me," he murmurs approvingly.

"Please let me-"

He squeezes his throbbing cock harder, feeling a bead of precum trickle down the shaft as he imagines sliding into your slick heat. "Fuck, I wish I was there, burying myself deep in this tight little pussy"

"I need you-*

The conversation takes a subtle shift as Price leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his intense gaze locked on you through the screen. His voice, low and deliberate, cuts through the quiet hum of the call.

"You know, sweetheart," he starts, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips, "this would be so much better if I were there in person." You stand up from the bed, turning to face the webcam.

The weight of his words makes your heart skip, and you pause, your hands stilling on the bedspread. He studies your reaction, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he already knows the effect he's having on you. "What do you say, doll?" he continues, his tone smooth and confident, laced with something deeper.

“I could come over... see you for real." He lets the suggestion hang in the air, watching as your eyes widen slightly, your cheeks flushing at the thought. "No cameras, no screens. Just you and me."

[if-loves]

because you're everything (i have left)

// Phainon

sum: Is it so wrong that Phainon is everything you know?

wc: 1001

warnings: 3.0 story quest spoilers, amphoreus inaccuracies, ooc phainon, written before phainon release, implied (??) yan phainon, reader is a hot mess tbh

a/n: help i tried to make him yan but this just devolved into codependent relationship 

likes & reblogs appreciated :)

Phainon has known you his whole life. You have both seen each other in your most vulnerable of times, as children who had yet to understand the cruelties of the world, and as adults who have suffered the cruelties of the world. Through it all, you and Phainon held onto each other, mumbling promises of never leaving each other.

That was when Aedes Elysiae first fell to the savage flames, and the two of you were the only ones who managed to escape.

Years have passed since then, but the sight still lives in your mind, a vivid image that only seems to refresh and worsen the pain and guilt in your heart. Could you have done something and saved at least one more person? Was the way you were acting at the moment too selfish? Had you been a little stronger, a little smarter, would your home still be standing? 

You know enough about Phainon to know that for all his act as a playful young man, he harbours a grief and rage so deep in his soul even you don't know if you'd be able to coax it out of him. It's true he'd do many things for you, yes, but asking him to open up may be a boundary even if you can't cross.

But you'd do anything to keep Phainon happy, because you know he would do the same for you - because you're all each other has to remind you of home. Because you're all each other has left.

Upon finding asylum in Okhema, Phainon decided to leave his original name behind with the ruins of Aedes Elysiae and start somewhat anew in the Holy City. He had even told you to forget the name you've known him by all your life in favour of this new one, yet asked you sweetly to keep yours.

Sometimes you wonder if, had it not been for the destruction that rained upon your village that day, you and Phainon would be as close as you were today. Would you have shared all these intimate moments, like kissing and cuddling and all that naturally followed after, if everything was still as you had known. Would he have looked at you with the same disarming smile he always does when he comes back from another mission, or would he have slowly left you, like watching a boat be carried away by the sea's currents. 

You try not to let yourself be consumed by these thoughts. Phainon wouldn't be happy to know you doubt his love for you, and you'd hate to make him sad. He works so hard to keep you safe and happy, so the least you could do was make him happy when he was home. 

You'd do anything to make him happy. Even if it meant isolating yourself in the four walls of this home, even if it meant reducing yourself to nothing more than the one he'd come home to, even if it meant sacrificing your happiness for his, because this is what love is, isn't it? 

Phainon tells you he loves you often, while holding your face gently in his calloused hands. There's an emotion in his eyes you can't quite decipher, but it reminds you of a feeling you're very familiar with - guilt. You wonder why he feels that way, and why it only appears when he looks at you. What emotions does he harbour inside that lonely head of his?

You think it's hard to imagine Phainon wanting to hurt people. He's always been a kind person, even as a child and especially as an adult. He's always wanted the best for everyone, and he's never done anything to make you feel otherwise, so it's no surprise that when he tells you to never leave the house without him, and to never answer any knocks on the doors or windows, and to never open the curtains and windows, you listened. As a Chrysos Heir, he must be privy to some sensitive information, and as your lover, he must only wish to protect you. Phainon would never do anything to hurt you.

Despite your unwavering faith in him, you find it especially difficult to control your thoughts on particularly lonely days like these. He told you that he may be gone for awhile for some business to do with being a Chrysos Heir, and left you with a chase kiss on your lips before he was locking the door on his way out. How long would he be gone this time? 

Without him around, the disease named fear starts its infection and spreads throughout your soul. You're well aware of its tell tale signs, and you have yet to find a remedy for it that isn't Phainon's presence. It starts slowly, taking its time to seep into the crevices of your soul, before it comes crashing down on you and all of a sudden you're drowning.

Is Phainon taking care of you because you're all that's left of Aedes Elysiae? Do you deserve everything that Phainon has given you? Was your life worth the deaths of all those villagers? Phainon is a Chrysos Heir, greatness is written in his script since the moment he was born. What were you?

It's okay, though. Because when Phainon walks through the door, all your doubts disappear in an instant. He engulfs you warmly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, and everything feels right even if only for a moment.

But sometimes even his presence isn't enough to dispel some of your doubts. Does Phainon truly love you for you, or does he love you for what you remind him of? Of a bygone past that only exists in your memories, that smells of ash and sounds of screams, that the both of you can't let go of, even as it threatens the destruction of you and him? 

But it's okay if it’s Phainon, you think. Because you love him. Because he's all you have left.

[transformers-spike]

(Not a request)

I’ve been like honestly thinking, what would certain bots call their little human partners? Like I could imagine TFA megs being “my darling” but like at the same time I don’t. Just a random ramble I hope you could help me out here bc it’s been on my mind for a while🥲

I've been discussing this question with @drunkeninlovesailor this morning and we've brainstormed a bunch - so keep in mind we've also come up with a bit of extra worldbuilding (since we don't always vibe with official sources) Honestly, it depends on how well a bot is acquainted with/willing to use human terms. TFA Megatron for example would only use "my darling" if he knows it terribly flusters the human. He obviously looks down on humanity (and this includes everyone but his human - whom he still looks down upon to a degree but shhhhh). If his planet's terms don't have the same impact, then "darling" it is. But if he were to use a Cybertronian term, he would go for "my spark" (meaning "person I cannot live without"). TFP Megatron always goes for something that's a thin line between affectionate and demeaning. Things like "little one" where you're really questioning if he views you as someone he loves or a glorified pet. To be fair he's weird with everyone - any affection he has is mixed with murderous intent. TFP Optimus would call you something that shows his respect and appreciation for you. Not big on nicknames, but I'm sure you can get him to adopt something - be it Cybertronian or human lingo TFP Bulkhead and Breakdown are well-acquainted with human media (thanks to Miko and Knock Out) - but the nicknames they choose are either obscure references or sickeningly sweet to a point it gets ridiculous. Are they aware of this? Mostly Bulkhead - Breakdown would call you cotton candy with a straight face because it's sweet so it must be affectionate, right? TFP Ratchet would refer to you as his associate and later friend until he finally figures out his feelings and admits to himself he's been pining for so long it's starting to take a toll on him. Then he'll start calling his human "my spark" in private, because he's old as balls. But also "sweetspark" if he's feeling playful. Although he's willing to adopt some human terms as well and lovingly mock you by using the most grotesquely cute nicknames when you're alone. TFP Starscream? Absolute disaster. He tries so hard but he's too self-aware about how weird it sounds to call you anything affectionate. Usually everything he uses sounds demeaning even if he starts them with "my" - ie: my fleshbag. Unless you're in private and he's feeling particularly generous, at which point he's going to see if he can use some of the human lingo he learned while scouring the internet. He's testing them out to see which ones work - this can either make or break your boner. He's trying to seduce you not call you his "honey bear" TFP Smokescreen is a virgin who's never been with anyone before (you can pry this headcanon from my cold dead hands) so he's navigating the land of pet names with even less experience. Don't let him use the internet though because he'll probably end up calling you his bitch and see nothing wrong with that. Cybertronian terms tend to be easier. He says sweetspark and acts smooth to impress you, but all it takes is a sultry voice and his entire system needs to reboot. TFP Knock Out has a good grip of human lingo and is the best at mixing human and Cybertronian nicknames. He can easily switch between sweetspark and love - my spark and darling. Heck if he wants to be a smug bitch he'll call you kid/kiddo by saying Newspark.

[varda-starqueen]

Oh gosh... So, @valar-did-me-wrong you're imagining me as Adar's hand 🤣?

Sorry to disappoint, but I look nothing like Adar's hand - my own hands are in fact very small, so small I can fit children's rings 🙈 If Nenya was on me, she might fit my thumb 🤣 I imagine Adar's hand could completely encase mine (which is a very pleasant imagining indeed!!!)

I think I have preconceived ideas about what you all look like both from your PFPs but also what my mind conjures up from your usernames 🤣

But if you want to play then I'm curious!

No pressure tags: @gauntletgirlie @greenleaf4stuff @laurarcrazystrange @dobriy-nunciy @gulval75 @hikarielizabethbloom @itwillbeourswansong @zaldritzosrose

If you have a real life person as your pfp, I don't care if it's Taylor Swift or something, my subconscious will assume you look like that irl. Sometimes my subconscious even assumes that I look like my pfp irl. And if your pfp is not a real life person... Tbh my subconscious still assumes you look like that irl.

You know what, tag yourself... How close in appearance do you think you are to your pfp? Interpret how you will

[echo-riot]

Sevika/Ellie/Abby Valentine’s Day Headcanons

Warnings: Nothing, just fluff <3

Don’t ask why i created these before valentines day.

Sevika

• Sevika isn’t one for grand gestures or public displays of affection. She prefers a quiet, intimate evening with just the two of you. A dimly lit room, a bottle of expensive liquor, and her favorite jazz record playing softly in the background set the perfect mood.

• Sevika doesn’t do cheesy. Instead, she gifts you something practical but meaningful. Maybe it’s a piece of jewelry she noticed you eyeing weeks ago, or a custom-made weapon if you’re a fighter like her. She’ll hand it to you with a casual “Don’t make a big deal about it” but secretly loves seeing your reaction.

• Valentine’s Day in Zaun isn’t exactly safe, but Sevika makes sure no one bothers you. She’ll keep a hand on your lower back or her arm draped over your shoulder whenever you’re out together. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, they’ll regret it.

• If you’re lucky, Sevika might attempt to cook dinner for you. She’ll act confident, but halfway through, the kitchen might start to resemble a war zone. Even if it’s borderline inedible, you appreciate the effort, and she’ll grumble when you laugh at her frustration.

• Sevika’s love language is all about touch. On Valentine’s Day, she’s extra attentive, holding your hand, pulling you into her lap, and planting soft kisses on your temple. When she thinks no one is watching, she might even brush her fingers through your hair or kiss your knuckles.

• She loves unwinding with a good cigar and a card game, and Valentine’s Day is no exception. She’ll invite you to play, but the stakes will be playful—loser has to give the winner a kiss or let them choose the next activity.

• As much as she pretends she’s indifferent about Valentine’s Day, Sevika has a soft, romantic streak. She might surprise you with fresh flowers (smuggled in from Piltover), a handwritten note, or an old photograph of the two of you that she had framed.

• After a few drinks, Sevika lets her guard down. She’ll pull you close and murmur things she’d never say in the daylight—how much you mean to her, how she’d do anything to keep you safe, and how she can’t imagine life without you.

• The night ends with you curled up in her arms, her prosthetic resting on your waist as she traces lazy patterns on your skin. She’s at her most vulnerable here, holding you like you’re her anchor in the chaotic world of Zaun.

Ellie

• Ellie doesn’t make a huge deal out of Valentine’s Day but secretly looks forward to it, wanting to make you smile. She pretends it’s “just another day” but absolutely has a stash of plans up her sleeve.

• She’s not great with words, but she spends way too much time making you a card. It’s covered in silly doodles, random jokes, and a cheesy line like, “You’re the fungus to my Joel.” She gets embarrassed handing it over, muttering, “Don’t laugh, okay?”

• Since resources are limited, Ellie gets creative with her gift. She’ll leave little notes or arrows leading you to a hidden treasure she found or crafted, like a cool comic, a barely used book, or a mixtape she made with scraps of old music.

• All day, Ellie bombards you with goofy, Valentine-themed pickup lines. “Are you a clicker? Because you’ve got me clicking with you,” or “Are you immune too? Because you’re infecting my heart.” She cracks herself up more than you do.

• Instead of a quiet evening, Ellie plans an “adventure” date. It could be exploring an abandoned building to find cool trinkets, sledding on an old piece of scrap metal, or watching the stars together. She loves the thrill of doing something unique with you.

• Ellie insists on making you a meal, which might involve some questionable apocalypse cooking techniques. Burnt rations or an oddly cooked rabbit aside, you love the effort, and she playfully demands a “5-star review.”

• After dinner, she grabs her guitar and plays you a song. It’s something heartfelt but rough around the edges, and she might even mix in some silly lyrics to make you laugh. She’ll get flustered if you tell her how much you loved it.

• Ellie thrives on teasing you, especially on Valentine’s Day. She might jokingly challenge you to a snowball fight or wrestle you over who loves the other more. She grins ear to ear when you play along.

• Despite all the jokes and casual attitude, Ellie pours her heart into the day. She doesn’t always know how to express her feelings, but she makes sure you know how much you mean to her through small, meaningful gestures.

• At the end of the day, Ellie pulls you into a cozy spot, maybe by a campfire or under a worn blanket. She wraps her arms around you, rests her chin on your shoulder, and murmurs, “Happy Valentine’s Day, idiot,” in the softest, most loving voice.

Abby Anderson

• Abby isn’t the type for over-the-top romantic gestures, but she puts genuine thought into making the day special. She plans something meaningful and personal, knowing you’ll appreciate her effort more than flashy displays.

• Abby isn’t one to waste resources, so she makes you something by hand. Whether it’s carving a small trinket out of wood, sewing a patch onto your jacket, or crafting a bracelet from scavenged materials, it’s clear she put time and love into it.

• She’s an early riser and uses the quiet hours to set up a surprise for you. Maybe it’s breakfast (even if it’s just rationed eggs and stale bread) or a small bouquet of wildflowers she found during a patrol.

• Abby loves physical activity, so she might suggest spending the day doing something active together, like sparring, jogging along a scenic route, or even teaching you self-defense. She insists it’s romantic because “nothing says love like staying alive together.”

• Abby takes Valentine’s Day as an opportunity to remind you how deeply she cares. She’s more attentive than usual, always checking on you and subtly positioning herself between you and any potential danger during patrols or outings.

• If you’re not in the middle of a crisis, Abby will try to cook a special meal for you. She’ll be super focused, brows furrowed as she works, and will pretend not to care about your opinion—but she lights up when you compliment her cooking.

• Throughout the day, Abby shows her love through actions. She’ll sharpen your weapons, fix your gear, or give you an impromptu massage after a long day. It’s her way of saying, “I’ve got your back.”

• Abby isn’t the best with words, but she thrives in quiet, intimate moments. Sitting beside you, sharing stories, or just leaning against each other while watching the sunset makes her feel at peace.

• She’ll surprise you with small, cheesy gestures, like nervously handing you a clumsily written love note or trying to draw a heart on the dusty mirror of an old building. It’s rare, but when it happens, it melts your heart.

• Abby’s love language is physical touch. She spends the day holding your hand, pulling you into her lap, or giving you bear hugs that lift you off the ground. Her kisses are soft and lingering, and she’ll mutter, “You’re everything to me,” when no one else is around.

• As the day winds down, Abby makes sure you feel safe and loved. She’ll hold you close, fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back, and promise, “No matter what happens, I’ll always be here for you.”

[hypnobeauty]

A Chance Encounter - a cho hyun-ju x reader fic (part 3)

summary: a story about how you and Hyun-ju met and the following years of your relationship. part 1 / part 2 cw: no use of y/n, reader is afab, angst, fluff, hyun is unsure of herself, pre-squid game, slice of life. a/n: hello! i'm back with another part. it is probably the biggest one so far. i wish they were my barbies and i could make them kiss. anyway! i have quite a bit of the story drafted, we'll probably get into the relationship next part. it is out of my control, i never imagined i'd write so many parts lol enjoy xx comments are always appreciated ♥ taglist: @strayteez3staner @dekiruxxx @jeongteen @sunnysurvives @3leni @etta-huracan @honeyhyunju @basoressia - comment if you’d like to be tagged.

part 3. a door left open

the uber ride was awkward at first, the kind of silence where neither of you seemed to know where to start. hyun-ju sat stiffly beside you, her hands folded neatly on her lap, her gaze fixed firmly on the window. you could see her shoulders tense, and you thought about how tired she must be.

you decided to break the silence. “so, are you in pain? be honest.”

she turned her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “a little,” she admitted. “mostly just… tired.”

“that’s fair,” you said, giving her a sympathetic smile. “surgery’s no joke. i remember when my cousin had his wisdom teeth out—he tried to eat a cheeseburger the same day. ended up crying into his fries. don’t be like him.”

that earned a small giggle from her, and you took it as a good sign.

“you’re lucky i didn’t let ha-neul come with us,” you added, leaning in conspiratorially. “she would’ve pestered you with questions about your nose—she’s obsessed with noses right now. it’s been her only personality trait for weeks.”

this time, hyun-ju chuckled, soft but genuine. “what’s wrong with her nose?”

“nothing,” you said, grinning. “she just decided it’s not ‘cute’ enough. she almost picked one that would’ve made her look like michael jackson. i had to intervene.”

that got a laugh out of her—small, but real. “michael jackson?”

you nodded, feigning solemnity. “i told her, ‘ha-neul, your nose is fine. it’s perfect. no glitter gloves necessary.’ she almost went through with it anyway.”

hyun-ju laughed a bit more, finally relaxing a bit. the sound eased something in your chest.

“you’re good at this,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter now.

“at what?”

“making people feel comfortable.”

you shrugged, feeling a little shy. “oh. i just think it’s nice to be kind. and honestly? helping you was no big deal. it’s what anyone would do.”

“not anyone,” she said, looking at you for the first time since you got in the car.

*

when the uber pulled up to her building, you hopped out with her, offering to help her up to her apartment “do you need help getting upstairs?”

she shook her head firmly, already reaching for the door handle. “no, it’s fine. i can manage.”

“okay,” you said, “at least let me give you my number. if you need anything, just text me, okay?”

hyun-ju hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly, her eyes flickering with something unreadable. you exchanged numbers, and she disappeared into her building while you climbed back into the car.

later that night, as she sat on her couch, her phone buzzed.

hey, it’s me. i hope you’re feeling better. please keep me updated, and don’t hesitate to ask for help. you deserve it too.

she read it almost immediately. you watched the little “read” notification appear at the bottom of the screen. but no reply came.

hyun stared at the message for a long time, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. she typed out a reply, then deleted it. typed another, then deleted that too. nothing felt right. nothing felt good enough. finally, she locked her phone and set it down,

*

as the uber pulled away from hyun-ju’s building, you leaned back in the seat, finally exhaling the tension you hadn’t realized you were holding. before you could fully settle, your phone buzzed in your pocket. ha-neul’s name lit up the screen.

“heeyy,” you answered, bracing yourself.

“what happened? you just disappeared! did i miss an emergency rhinoplasty?” her tone was playful but edged with curiosity.

you sighed. “no emergency. i just… ended up helping someone.”

“helping someone? who?”

you hesitated. “the woman from the waiting room. remember her, hyun-ju? she had just had surgery, and the clinic wouldn’t let her leave without someone to sign her out.”

there was a pause, then an incredulous laugh. “wait, so you ditched me for someone you barely know?”

“it wasn’t like that,” you said quickly. “she needed help, and no one else was there. i couldn’t just leave her.”

another pause, but this time, ha-neul’s tone softened. “you’re too nice for your own good, you know that?”

“maybe,” you admitted.

“and she’s pretty, isn’t she?” ha-neul’s teasing edge was back.

you laughed, flustered. “i mean… i guess? that’s not the point.”

there was a beat of silence on the line. then, she snorted. “well, i didn’t know you were into girls.”

“what?” you sputtered.

“oh, don’t act surprised. i knew it since that day,” she teased mercilessly.

“to be honest,” you admitted, “me neither.”

“oh my god, you are so into her! i knew it! since the first time we saw her, i knew something was up.”

“i’m not into her,” you said, though your voice didn’t sound as convincing as you’d hoped.

“sure, sure,” she said, dragging out the words. “you’re just playing knight in shining armor for no reason at all.”

you rolled your eyes but smiled despite yourself. “goodbye, ha-neul.”

“oh, this isn’t over. i’m going to interrogate you later.”

you hung up with a laugh, shaking your head. from that day on, ha-neul teased you mercilessly—she found a way to always bring up hyun-ju, teasing you about how you’d never been so straightforward with anyone before, and even your friends got in on it after she spilled the story at dinner the following night.

the only problem? hyun-ju never replied.

*

you sent her a series of messages over the next week:

hey, how are you feeling today? let me know if you need anything.

i live close by—it’s no trouble at all.

two days later:

hey, stranger! ha-neul had her surgery today and looked worse than you, haha.

sorry, i didn’t mean to say you looked bad, just… well, bruised. are you okay?

hyun brought you up in therapy the following week, sitting across from her therapist—a kind, middle-aged woman who specialized in lgbtq+ mental health.

“i met someone,” hyun said hesitantly, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

her therapist’s face lit up. “that’s wonderful, hyun-ju. tell me about her.”

“she’s… nice,” hyun said, struggling to find the words. “she helped me after my surgery. we talked a little. she’s funny.”

“and how do you feel about her?”

hyun hesitated, then shrugged. “i don’t know. it feels… weird. like, she sees me. as me. and that’s good, but it’s scary too.”

her therapist nodded thoughtfully. “it sounds like you’re afraid of being vulnerable.”

hyun wasn’t sure what to say, so her therapist continued. “are you planning to stay in touch with her?”

“i think so,” hyun said cautiously. “but it’s scary. what if i say the wrong thing? what if i ruin it?”

her therapist smiled gently. “relationships—friendships, too—are about taking risks. you don’t have to have all the answers or the perfect words. just being honest and showing up is enough.  let her in a little and see what happens.”

hyun left the session feeling lighter, more hopeful.

*

but when the messages from you kept coming, her anxiety crept back in.

each time her phone buzzed, she felt a pang of guilt. she typed out replies over and over, but nothing felt good enough. her fear of saying the wrong thing left her paralyzed, so she said nothing at all.

three days after the last message:

i’m starting to get worried, hyun-ju. just let me know if you’re fine.

another day:

i pass by your building every day on my way to work. should i stop by?

and finally:

hey, hyun-ju. did something happen? sorry if i came on too strong—i was genuinely worried about you.

i can see you’re reading these, but you never reply… i get it. i’ll leave you alone now. sorry if i made you uncomfortable.

after that, the chat stayed silent. when she received your last message, guilt and regret gnawed at her. she wanted to scream. to hit something. to do anything but face the truth: she had let fear win again.

in her next therapy session, when the doctor asked about you, hyun-ju lied.

“it… didn’t work out,” she said quickly, not meeting her therapist’s eyes. “she probably realized we’re too different.”

the therapist gave her a kind smile but didn’t press further. “that’s okay, hyun-ju. not every connection works out. what matters is that you tried, and you allowed yourself to open up, even if only for a moment.”

hyun-ju nodded, but her stomach churned. she couldn’t bring herself to admit the truth—that she hadn’t replied to a single message.

*

you stared at the chat for a long time after sending that last message. the little grey avatar beside her name felt cold, distant—you wished she had a profile pic. your own days moved forward, though you found yourself thinking of her often. you reread your messages to her, trying to pinpoint where you’d gone wrong. even ha-neul, who had teased you endlessly at first, stopped mentioning her after seeing how the silence weighed on you.

life went on. but hyun-ju had awakened in you feelings you had never taken seriously before and now you couldn’t help feeling like something had been left unresolved.

*

a month later, you were standing in line at your favorite café, eyes scanning the pastry display as you tried to choose something to pair with your cappuccino.

unbeknownst to you, at a table near the window, hyun-ju sat with her notebook, calculating the cost of her next procedure. she sipped her coffee absentmindedly, the barista’s voice barely registering as they called out a name—your name.

her pen froze mid-stroke. it wasn’t a common name. could it really be you? as she told herself it wasn’t, she heard your laugh, warm and unmistakable. her head snapped up, and there you were, joking with the barista as they handed you a cup and a paper bag.

hyun-ju stared, her heart pounding. you thanked them and turned toward the door, completely unaware of her. her legs moved before her mind could catch up. one moment she was sitting; the next, she was standing in front of you, her hand gripping your arm.

you had just reached the door when you felt a hand on your arm and a soft voice behind you saying your name. you turned, startled, and found yourself in front of her.

“can w—can we talk?” she asked, her voice low but firm. “please.”

you looked up from her hand—her nails were painted a soft blush pink and you made a mental note to ask her what nail polish it was—, and that familiar floral scent reached your nose. her expression was a mix of hope, fear, and determination.

face-to-face with hyun-ju, you smiled softly. “of course.”

[miss-dollette]

Person Of Interest - Chapter 1. Muse.

Warning: Stalking. Really fucked up opinions on the less fortunate. Remember, this is the salesman we’re talking about.

(A/N): I wrote this over the course of a few days. I haven’t written anything this long in some time, so let me know if I got anything wrong. Also, I’m not Korean and have never visited Korea, so I’m not familiar with Korean culture. Please be easy on me - I don’t even listen to K-Pop and this is my like, second Korean show I’ve watched 😭. Okay, it’s two in the morning and my eyes hurt. Enjoy :)

The little waif appeared at the train station again, as she did every day of the week except Sunday.

He knew that because he had developed a routine of his own-one where he ensured he’d catch a glimpse of her. She was a slight thing, all knobby knees and elbows, with a rounder face that still clung stubbornly to remnants of baby fat. It gave her an air of innocence that would likely never fade into maturity.

Twenty-two years old. A dropout from a prestigious university - why, he didn’t know. She lived with a roommate in a tacky apartment building and was unemployed. Instead, she earned her money playing her violin in the busier sections of the city.

A talented little thing. No matter the weather, her thin but strong fingers coaxed melodies from her instrument, drawing the attention of passersby. The locals knew her well, and they must have appreciated the way her music lured customers to their shops and stands.

The first time he saw her, she was on a concrete platform, playing one of his favorite songs. His hand had stung, his shoulder ached - a long day of recruiting Nothings - but the sound had stopped him in his tracks.

Passersby dropped won into the worn Breton cap she’d laid out in front of her, and each time, she flashed a brief, grateful smile before resuming her tune.

His breath hitched in his chest, his fingers slackening around the handle of his suitcase full of won and two dirty ddakji papers. Even dressed in an oversized coat with patched-up hemlines, she caught his attention in a way that left him stunned.

An elderly man shuffled past her, dropping a few won into her cap before bowing deeply. She paused just long enough to bow back, even lower than he had, before continuing to play.

As the sun sank lower in the sky, lingering spectators began to drift away, heading toward the station to catch their trains. Salarymen and women filed out of their offices, and nearby shops started to close for the night.

When the last stragglers were gone, she stepped down from the platform and retrieved her cap. One by one, she smoothed out the crumpled bills with delicate precision, as though each note were a treasure.

An elderly woman from a nearby food stall approached her, carrying a steaming skewer of dakkochi. Though the girl began counting her bills, ready to pay, the woman shook her head, pressing the food into her hands.

She hesitated, staring at the meat with wide, hungry eyes, before accepting it and bowing low in gratitude.

He watched as she took the first bite, her eyes fluttering shut as though she were savoring the warmth, the taste, the comfort of it. She chewed slowly, and though he couldn’t hear it, he could almost imagine the hum of satisfaction she must have let slip.

It was ridiculous. Fascination with someone so ordinary.

And yet, he couldn’t look away.

How could it be that this crumpled-up, discarded girl had managed to fascinate him so completely?

If he had seen her on any other day, he would have caught her alone, offered her a game of Ddakji, and slapped her cheeks until their softness gave way to mottled bruises. Those babyish cheeks of hers, stained with tears—he could picture it so vividly. Female recruits usually cried by the third slap, but they never stopped playing. The glimmer of hope, of winning back their dignity or even just a few won, kept them in the game.

They were all the same. Male or female. Persistent, pathetic pieces of garbage. That’s what they all had in common.

When she finished her food, she stuffed the crumpled won into a sash tied around her waist, her movements quick yet deliberate. Then she turned her attention to her violin, lifting it with a tenderness that bordered on reverence. She placed the chipped instrument into its worn case so gently that anyone watching might have thought she was laying an infant into its crib.

It was laughable, really.

And yet, he kept watching.

When she stood, she practically skipped toward the train station. Light, careless steps, as though the weight of the world hadn’t settled on her shoulders like it had on everyone else’s. He watched her descend the stairs, each movement unguarded, as though she had nothing to fear.

His fingers tightened around the handle of his suitcase, and his eyes flicked to his watch. The seconds ticked away steadily, a reminder that if he wanted to catch the last train home, he’d need to hurry.

But as he stood there, staring at the spot where she’d disappeared, he felt himself torn.

Head home... or follow her?

The decision hovered in the air, tantalizing and heavy, as the seconds marched on.

He realized that if he didn’t follow her, she’d haunt his thoughts all night. The sound of her tunes, the gleam in her eyes—it would all linger, nagging at him. And what if he never saw the little waif again?

The thought was unbearable.

He took a step toward the station, then another, and another, until he found himself at the platform, watching as she disappeared through the train’s doors.

“Pardon me,” he murmured, brushing past another passenger in his haste.

The man turned sharply, venom already rising to his face - until his gaze fell on him. The glare faltered, melting into something more subdued. Respectful.

It was remarkable, really, how quickly people changed their tune when they caught sight of his tailored coat and polished shoes. They didn’t need to know him, his past, or his purpose. The price tag of his appearance was enough to earn their deference.

How pitiful, he thought, as he adjusted his grip on his suitcase. Once, he’d been nothing - just like them. But now?

Now, he was above them all.

She sat in the distance, wedged between a mother with a toddler clinging to her thighs and a weary salaryman fighting to keep his eyes open. Her violin case rested on her lap, cradled against her chest as though it were something precious, something alive.

He watched her from the corner of his eye, careful not to let his gaze linger too long. If she caught him staring, she’d realize far too soon that she had an observer - and that wouldn’t do. Not that he had any plans of revealing himself.

Fortunately, he was practiced in the art of pursuit. Years of experience had honed his craft, though his targets were typically for a very different purpose.

The train jolted forward, and he swayed slightly, using the motion to adjust his stance, keeping her just within his peripheral vision. She was so unassuming, so small in this world of hurried professionals and exhausted parents. Yet, there was something magnetic about her.

Her oversized coat hung awkwardly off her frame, the patched hemlines almost brushing her knees. It was too large, almost comical, but she wore it without a hint of self-consciousness. Perhaps she didn’t care how it looked, or perhaps she was simply used to making do. The thought both irritated and fascinated him.

He shifted his grip on his suitcase, the leather pressing against his calluses. Would she even be worth it? She wasn’t like the others he had approached. There was a quiet resolve in her, something different. She didn’t wear her desperation as plainly as the others, yet he knew it was there - lurking beneath the surface.

Wasn’t it always?

His lips twitched into the faintest smirk. Everyone had their breaking point. The game just revealed it sooner.

She glanced up briefly, her eyes scanning the train, and his heart seized for a moment. Had she noticed him? No - her gaze swept right past him, uninterested and unseeing. He let out a slow, controlled breath, reminding himself that he was a master at this. Years of practice had taught him how to melt into the background, to become just another face in the crowd.

But watching her, he felt something unusual - a spark of impatience. Normally, he could bide his time, savoring the slow unraveling of his prey’s composure. But with her, the anticipation was different. Her every movement - so small, so deliberate - pulled at something in him, though he couldn’t quite name what.

The train rattled through another stop, and a few passengers shuffled off. She remained in her seat, her hands absently brushing over the scratched surface of her violin case. Did she know how fragile she looked in that moment? The way her fingers lingered on the case, as though drawing strength from it, made his chest tighten in a way that annoyed him.

Perhaps that was it - the illusion of fragility. People like her always looked so easy to break, so willing to bend under pressure. But they never went quietly. No, they always had a streak of stubbornness, a refusal to yield that made the process all the more satisfying.

He swallowed, his mind flickering between possibilities. If he approached her now, how would she react? Would she freeze, caught off guard by someone acknowledging her for any other reason besides her violin? Or would she look at him with suspicion, sensing something amiss?

The train slowed, and the voice over the intercom announced the next station. His pulse quickened. She adjusted her grip on her case, her body shifting as she got ready to stand.

He waited until the distance between them widened before stepping off the train. The crowd of passengers spilling onto the platform was his cover, their hurried steps and muted chatter blending him seamlessly into the flow of bodies. Not that she would suspect anyone was following her. Who would?

Once outside the station, she weaved her way past the gleaming high-rises and into narrower, dimly lit streets. The transition was stark - the polished facade of the city gave way to crumbling walls, cracked sidewalks, and flickering streetlights. It made sense for her to live in this part of town. He never imagined she could afford anything more secure.

She paused in front of a small brick building, its exterior worn and unremarkable, much like her. He hung back, watching as she disappeared through the front doors. His pulse steadied, and he exhaled slowly. Following her inside would be foolish - far too risky. A smaller building like this meant she likely knew her neighbors, and a stranger’s presence wouldn’t go unnoticed.

Still, his lips curved into a faint smile. The journey might have ended here, but now he knew where she lived. A detail worth savoring.

Just as he turned to retrace his steps to the station, a light flickered on in one of the windows. His head snapped up, and his gaze locked onto it. A shadow moved against the thin curtain, a familiar silhouette. Her slight frame was unmistakable, and so was that oversized Breton cap perched awkwardly on her head.

Yes, it was her.

For a moment, he stood frozen, watching her shadow shift. She set something down - likely the violin case she had cradled so protectively on the train. He could almost picture her now, brushing the dust off her coat, pulling her hair free from under the cap, perhaps exhaling with relief to finally be home.

His grip on his suitcase tightened.

“I should leave now,” he thought. Lingering too long would be reckless, but something about that glowing window and her faint outline held him captive. It was a glimpse into her world - simple, predictable, fragile. A world so easy to disrupt.

Finally, he turned away, but his steps were slow, reluctant. He had what he came for, but the thought of her shadow, the dim light framing her every movement, stayed with him.

Time to say Goodbye.

[kawhh]

Distracting myself from being an American by thinking about Quinn being obsessed and willing to change anything to stay with me.

I hope you all stay safe, my heart truly goes out to all of you.

It wouldn't even just be the big things - every single aspect of your life, he's willing to change and mould it all. If you have no problems, surely you'll have no reason to ever leave him.

He needs to make sure nothing is wrong. He can't trust you to be as open as he needs - you'll hide things or downplay them. He can't have that. He's always watching, staring, keeping track of your every movement.

Don't like the furniture? He's changing it. He wants you to be perfectly happy.

Bed not soft enough? Instantly changed.

Clothes are uncomfortable? You don't have enough? He's getting them for you personally. He doesn't want anyone else imagining what you look like while they get them.

Someone makes you uncomfortable in his friendship circle? He's not talking to them again.

Nothing is too much for him to correct. His life is about making sure you're as happy and comfortable as you can be, by his side.

[kikidoul]

── BITE ME.

໒꒰ྀི ^ ⸝⸝ ^ ꒱ྀིა 西村 力 x fem! reader content established+secret non-idol au riki is a vampire here ᥫ᭡ warning explicit sexual content submissive! riki cock sucking pussy fingering come eating belly bulge praise kink usage of petnames unprotected sex (wrap it up pls) riki being whiny and cute . . . !? 1402— mlist. | req

note. this was really fun to write tbh… to the anon who requested this, i hope it’s readable for you <3 taglist. @tfwbluu

Everytime Riki closes his eyes, he can imagine sinking his fangs into your neck. He could even taste your sweet, intoxicating blood, feeling it flow through his veins as he took his fill. He doesn’t know how much longer he could restrain himself. The desperation of drinking your blood grows with every second passing. One glance thrown in the clock’s direction tells him it was close to seven in the evening. If he wasn’t wrong, you should be reaching home anytime soon—

“I’m home!” 

Riki didn’t even bother walking from where he sat. He appeared before you, startling the lights out of you as you were in the midst of removing your shoes. He grabbed your things, still sane enough to put them on the dining table. You blinked, bemused when your boyfriend grabbed your wrist, dragging you towards the couch and he made you straddled his lap. 

“Riki, are you alright?” You asked, shivering when he slid his large hands underneath your blouse. 

And that was when you felt it—something poking your thigh from below. Riki buried his face in the crook of your neck, greedily inhaling your scent. His shoulders sagged with relief as your scent overwhelms his senses, calming him down. At the same time, it was driving him insane. He whined, lazily rutting his hips against yours. Your breath hitched in your throat, clenching down on nothing at the delirious friction of his clothed cock rubbing against your clit.

“Riki, wa-wait,” you protested but you couldn’t find it in yourself to stop him, not when he was practically rocking his hips against yours, chasing after his pleasure. 

“Pl-Please, need you,” he mewled, words borderline slurring, sending heat straight down to your throbbing clit. 

You decide to take things into your own hands, considering how your boyfriend was long gone. You reached out, tilting his chin up with your index finger and you cooed at how his lips curled downwards in a cute pout with teary eyes. There was nothing but pure desire written all over his face, the desire to taste your blood and consume you whole. 

“Aw, my poor baby, do you need my help?” You cooed and he eagerly nodded his head, eyes trailing down until they landed on your neck. Riki leaned in but you stopped him, leaning back and he made a noise of protest. 

You clicked your tongue in disapproval. “Ah ah, use your words, baby. Do you need my help?” 

He sniffled, nodding. “Y-Yes, need it. Need your blood,” he mewled and you smiled, tapping his cheek with your fingers. 

“Good boy, go ahead. You can drink,” you replied, tilting your head to the side. 

Riki’s eyes lit up and he leaned forward, hands firmly holding you down by your hips to prevent you from falling off his lap. You involuntarily shivered when he kissed your neck, trailing kisses down until he reached a certain spot—the same spot where he always fed from. You rested your hands on his shoulders, instinctively gripping onto them when you felt him licked your unblemished skin, followed by his fangs piercing through your skin. 

You could never get used to the feeling. There was no pain but instead, it was replaced by pleasure. Your eyelids fluttered shut, letting out a blissed sigh as you felt the familiar feeling of something coursing through your veins. Riki moaned, drunk on your heavenly taste. He couldn’t get enough, never wanting this to be over. With one hand by your hips, his free hand moved to pull your pants and panties down, as much as he could without making you stand. 

A moan was torn from the depths of your throat when you felt his long, calloused fingers rubbing the bud peeking out from your lips. Strength was gradually leaving your body as you grew pliant in his arms but you knew Riki wouldn’t dare to hurt you and you trust him. You groaned as he pushed his fingers in until he was knuckles deep, spreading you open. 

“Fuck, you’re doing so well for me,” you breathed out, hearing the muffled whimper from the other. 

Riki detached his fangs once he had enough, licking the spot to stop the bleeding. At the same time, he pulled his fingers out slowly, not wanting to hurt you. 

“Did I do good?” He asks, looking at you with hopeful eyes. 

You smiled, nodding in agreement. “Yes, baby, you did a great job. Do you want your reward?” 

His face brightened up at your words. “Yes, please.” 

Humming, you moved to get off his lap, chuckling at his sound of protest. You gestured for him to lift his hips so you could unbuckle and remove his pants and underwear, revealing his poor hardened, neglected cock that stood upright. The tip had turned an embarrassing shade of red due to the lack of attention. Tucking a few strands of hair behind your left ear, you leaned forward, glancing up to see Riki’s eyes focused on you. You giggled when his cock subtly twitched as you moved closer and closer, close enough for your lips to graze against the tip. 

“Baby, please,” he whimpered, jerking his hips forward—attempting to slide his cock into your mouth but you merely leaned back, chuckling at the disappointed sound of protest he made. 

“Please what? You need to speak your mind or I won’t know what you want,” you replied, wrapping your fingers around his cock, pumping it at a slow, lazy pace. 

Riki threw his head back, mind blanking out at the delirious sensation of you stroking him. Breathless whimpers and moans spilled from his swollen lips. He jerked his hips forward, his cock moving back and forth within the ring your hand created. His muscles tightened, feeling a rubber band about to snap—

Only for you to pull away. 

“Wha—why!?” He whined, lips curling down to display his evident displeasure that you had denied his orgasm. 

You chuckled, rising to your feet to press a chaste kiss on his lips. “Because I’d rather have you cum in me. Unless, you don’t want to.” 

The vampire shook his head at lightning speed. He raised his hands, awkwardly hanging them by your side—unsure if he could hold you. “No, no! Wanna cum in you, please, please.” 

“Since you asked so nicely, who am I to deny you?” 

Resting one hand on his left shoulder to brace yourself while Riki took it upon himself to place his hands on your hips, you reached down to grab his cock and positioned yourself. He watched with bated breath as his cock slowly disappeared, inch by inch as he sunk into your warm, tight cunt. He eventually bottomed out and you moaned, your head spinning at how you were practically split apart on his cock. Riki rubbed circles on your bare skin, unable to tear his eyes away from the faint bulge on your stomach—right where his cock was. 

“Look, you’re so deep,” you breathed out, grabbing his hand to place it over the bulge as you slowly grind your hips against his. 

Riki visibly gulped as he gently pressed down, eliciting a whimper from you. He leans forward, brushing his nose against your neck. You knew what he wanted without him asking, which was why you tilted your head to the side—granting him permission. Your boyfriend wasted no time in digging in, sinking his fangs into your skin. At the same time, you increased your pace, bouncing on his cock. 

“Ngh—Riki, you’re doing so—hah—good for me. Such a good boy, aren’t you?” You moaned, hearing the muffled sound he made at your praise. Your eyes flutter shut when Riki begin thrusted up, pushing the both of you to your climax. 

You shuddered as he spilled inside you, followed by some of his cum slowly rolling down your legs, only to stain the floor. None of you moved for a while, remaining in the same position as you catch your breath. Riki leaned back, cupping your face with his hands and you leaned into his touch—like a touch-starved kitten. 

“Are you alright? Do you feel dizzy?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed with concern written all over his face. 

“I’m fine, don’t worry. What about you?” You shook your head. 

Riki flashed you a boyish smile. “I’m feeling better now, thanks to you.” 

You laughed, pressing a kiss on his nose. “You’re welcome, by the way.” 

[woozinhos]

Mollie Congrats on 1k!!! You deserve it! Can I please request a Joshua smut with arranged marriage trope? I Love your Josh works sm!

Notes: I’m back gang had a lil break but I’m continuing writing :D

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

Smut below the cut

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

You had always known that your life was going to be a product of an arranged marriage, but you never expected to feel this way about your arranged husband. Joshua Hong, the man you were destined to marry, was nothing like you had imagined. He was kind, gentle, and surprisingly understanding of your situation.

As the two of you sat across from each other at the dinner table, discussing the terms of your marriage, you couldn't help but feel a strange flutter in your chest whenever his eyes met yours. He was different from any other man you had met before, and you found yourself drawn to him in a way that you couldn't explain. As the weeks passed, you and Joshua grew closer, finding solace in each other's company despite the circumstances of your marriage.

You found yourself seeking out his touch more and more, craving the feeling of his hand on yours or his arm around your waist. One night, after a particularly stressful day, Joshua came to your room and found you sitting on the edge of your bed, tears streaming down your face. He knelt down in front of you, taking your hands in his.

"Hey," he said softly, his thumbs gently rubbing circles on the back of your hands. "What's wrong?" You looked at him, your heart heavy with the weight of your emotions.

"I don't know," you said, your voice trembling. "I just feel so trapped, like I'm stuck in this life I never wanted." Joshua's expression softened as he listened to you, his eyes filled with understanding.

"I know this isn't ideal," he said quietly. "But I promise you, I'll do everything in my power to make sure you're happy. You don't have to go through this alone." His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself leaning into him, seeking comfort in his presence.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. You buried your face in his chest, feeling safe and protected in his arms. As you held each other, the air between you grew thick with tension, a mixture of unspoken desires and unresolved emotions. You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a mix of vulnerability and need.

"Joshua," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I need you." His eyes darkened at your words, and he cupped your face in his hands, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

"I'm here," he said, his voice low and husky. "I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere." He leaned in, his lips hovering just inches away from yours.

"Tell me what you need," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "I'll give you anything you want." Your heart raced as you looked into his eyes, feeling a mixture of desire and desperation.

"I need you to make me forget," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Forget about the arranged marriage, forget about the expectations and the pressure. I just need to feel something real, something true." Joshua's eyes darkened with a mixture of desire and possessiveness as he heard your words. He pulled you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you tightly as he looked up at you.

"You have no idea how much I want to make you forget," he said, his voice low and husky. "To make you feel good, to make you mine." He captured your lips in a searing kiss, his hands roaming over your body as he pulled you closer to him. You melted into his embrace, surrendering to the heat and passion that was building between you. As the kiss deepened, Joshua's hands began to wander, exploring every inch of your body with a possessive touch. You moaned softly as his lips moved down your neck, his tongue tracing a path of fire along your skin. His hands found the hem of your shirt, and he tugged it off, revealing your bare skin to his hungry gaze.

"Beautiful," he whispered, his eyes raking over your body with a mixture of desire and appreciation. He trailed his fingers down your chest, his touch sending shivers through your body.

"So perfect," he murmured, his lips finding your collarbone and nipping at the sensitive skin there. He began to unbutton your pants, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he was savoring every moment of this. As he slipped your pants off, leaving you in only your underwear, he looked up at you with a possessive glint in his eyes.

"You're mine," he said, his voice low and firm. "No one else can have you like this." You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as you felt his claim over you. He pulled you closer, his body pressed against yours as he continued to kiss and touch you. "Say it," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours," you breathed out, the words feeling both like a surrender and a release. Joshua's eyes darkened with satisfaction at your words, and he kissed you again, his tongue tangling with yours as he pushed you back onto the bed. As he stripped off his clothes, revealing his toned body to you, he couldn't help but let out a low chuckle.

"I can't believe we're doing this," he said, his eyes roaming over your body hungrily. "But I don't care. I want you, and I want you now." Joshua's kiss was hungry and demanding, his tongue exploring your mouth as he pressed his body against yours. He pulled back slightly, his lips hovering just above yours as he spoke.

"I know we should wait," he said, his voice strained with desire. "But I can't help myself. You're too irresistible." You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer as you whispered back.

"I don't want to wait," you said, your voice low and seductive. "I want you now, here, and there's nothing wrong with that." Joshua reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a condom from the drawer. He tore open the package with his teeth, his eyes never leaving yours as he rolled it on.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice rough with desire as he positioned himself between your legs. You nodded, your heart racing with anticipation.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," you whispered, looking up at him with a mixture of desire and trust. He smiled at your response, his eyes filled with a mix of tenderness and passion.

"Good," he said, his voice low and seductive. "Because I'm going to make you feel so good." He leaned down and captured your lips in a searing kiss as he entered you, filling you completely. You gasped against his lips as he began to move, his body rocking against yours with a steady rhythm. The feeling of him inside you was overwhelming, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer to you. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he increased the pace of his thrusts.

"You feel so good," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "So tight, so perfect."

"I can't believe I get to fuck this pussy all the time," he growled, his voice rough with desire. He nipped at your earlobe, his hips moving faster and harder as he continued to thrust into you. You moaned at his words, the sound sending a jolt of pleasure through him.

He continued to whisper filthy things in your ear as he moved, his hands roaming over your body and his lips trailing hot kisses along your neck and collarbone. As he hit a particularly sensitive spot, you arched your back, your body trembling with pleasure. "You like that, don't you?" he said, his voice a low growl. "You like hearing how much I want you, how much I need you." He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent and demanding.

"You're mine, all mine," he repeated, his words punctuated by each powerful thrust. "No one else can have you like this, only me." You were losing yourself in the pleasure, your body writhing beneath him as he continued to drive you closer to the edge. He could feel you starting to tighten around him, and he knew you were close.

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice firm and authoritative. "Let me feel you come apart around me." You obeyed, your body arching off the bed as you reached your climax, waves of pleasure crashing over you. Joshua continued to move, riding out your orgasm and pushing himself closer to his own release. He gritted his teeth, his thrusts becoming erratic as he felt himself nearing his own peak.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he drove himself deeper inside you. "I'm not going to last much longer." With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you and came with a loud groan, his body shaking with the force of his release. He collapsed on top of you, panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as you both lay there, still entwined and breathing heavily. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

"You're incredible," he whispered, his voice soft and full of affection. He lifted his head to look at you, a small smile playing on his lips.

"I think marriage will be good," he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Marriage definitely has its perks."