#by god it’s going to get brighter. no matter how long it takes. it will

[cometcare]

Tired. Of everything.

may the world be kinder soon

[usedpidemo]

Filmic (fromis_9 Chaeyoung, Nagyung, & Jiheon)

The first ripple is what you see: the waves of smooth flesh sending shocks throughout her body. Her nails digging into the sheets, her muscles shaking as it struggles to stay on all fours.

The second is what you feel: the tightness of her cunt as it pulses against your throbbing cock, overriding every other thought. Your hands deeply burrowing into her pale skin, trying to maintain some semblance of control, all while you try your best to make yourselves look good in front of the poorly setup camera under a dimly lit bedroom.

No wonder you can’t get it right the first time; you just can’t. 

—————

It’s never as easy as it looks. You can’t simply go through the motions like with any other job. And to be fair, it isn’t exactly your fault: you can blame Chaeyoung for having a tight ass and pussy.

No matter how many times you fuck her, no matter how many positions you put her in, the end result remains the same: one take just isn’t enough. No amount of practice and experience can ever prepare you for just how tight she is, how close she gets you on the initial entry, and how each thrust is like driving a stake through your loins. She feels so good that it’s unbearable.

It doesn’t help that she’s quite the mouthful in bed. 

“Ah—oh my God—yes—” she mindlessly drones on, delivering her demand in comically overexaggerated fashion that you have no clue whether it’s all part of the act or Chaeyoung being Chaeyoung. Same goes for how she backs her ass against your hips, making sure you fill her to the hilt. “Hm—fuck me with that big ass fucking cock—oh fuck—”

To her credit, she’s quite the natural in taking it all. The push and pull of your bodies against each other is enough to generate its own center of gravity. If this were simply a one night stand, you’d already be more than satisfied, but to be her partner, her fuckbuddy—you couldn’t have asked for a better job, even if by all accounts, you’re not doing particularly well right now.

As her ass bounces against your cock, the arch of her back and every ripple caught on camera, she’s putting on quite the show. On the other hand, you’re struggling to keep up, gripping her waist as you pound to her pace, only to find the knot in your stomach burning brighter and hotter. It’s a mistake that comes with the package of having to fuck such a tight, godly woman like Chaeyoung. Slaps of skin rubbing against skin fill the space between thrusts, complemented by the echoes of her whiny cries reaching to the ceiling—

And you’re asking yourself, what sane person—hell what degenerate—even gets off to this shit. Then you look at what's right in front of you. There’s your answer.

“Christ—you’re gonna make me fucking cum—oh my fucking God—” Chaeyoing whines, tossing her dark hair around, so off-putting, you almost lose grip at how unexpected she is.  “Keep fucking that big dick in me—”

You can only respond in deep grunts and frantic breaths, straightening what little resolve you have to at least do your part. Keeping your gaze fixated on the tremble, the little jiggle of her shapely ass, your cock entering and exiting, getting wetter with each slam, staining her sheets—

“Gonna cum for you, baby,” you mumble, biting your lower lip, closing your eyes, trying to stretch moments into hours. “Gonna fucking cum—”

Here’s the thing about Chaeyoung: you don’t have a say when it comes to how long you last, because she dictates it for you. And the moment passes by so quickly, you’re left more blueballed than satisfied. 

You don’t remember the last time you’ve spent longer than five minutes inside her, but it certainly won’t happen tonight. Not while you’re violently throbbing, gasping for air holding your dick as it pulses inside her creamy cunt before you painfully draw it back. Blasting around the entrance of her core, hot and heavy, cumming all over her ass. Her body takes it—as in, effortlessly sucks up your cum, her skin glistening so bright it’s almost blinding. Your only respite is watching it slowly drip down her thighs and onto the sheets.

As the aftermath of your orgasms wash over you both and pass, Chaeyoung rolls onto her back and out of bed. Like you weren’t aggressively pounding into her and tearing into her foundations mere minutes ago. She limps toward the camera, still filming you, before she stops the recording. Checking through the reel, she shows you the footage. Watching yourself go hard into her, your mind can only focus on the noises you’re making, the stark contrast in tones. She laughs; you cringe.

“Wanna go at it again?” she asks you, drawing out a bottle of lube from the bedside drawer, eager to spread it all over herself—and to spread on all fours once more. 

Hand on your beating chest, you tilt up to the ceiling, exhausted, doing something only a rare few on this planet would ever try to Chaeyoung, even though it’s your primary purpose: “How about we get out of bed and go to work?”

—————

Several floors down her apartment building is where your day job lies: a seemingly innocuous bar. The place is usually empty during weekdays, so you barely spend time ‘working’ there, but the weekends are when business picks up.

To be fair, you can hardly call it a job; you co-run the place, but you’re mostly there to serve customers and play matchmaker, most of which happen to be pretty women. It helps that Chaeyoung also hangs out most of the day to entice people inside, giving herself fresh material to work with.

And she sells. 

You’re already sure of what it is, before she even shows her phone, and wouldn’t you know it: it’s the 14th straight video of her back dripping with cum from her latest client, with nausea-inducing shaky cam included. Doing it with you on the side wasn’t enough; Chaeyoung has to get her daily fill from desperate men who have all the money to throw around, or desperate loners to find some temporary companionship. Perhaps both. They get to fuck a hot woman, she gets paid big bucks. It’s a win-win for all parties involved.

You see the large, burning red blot covering most of her ass. It tells you everything.

A quick glance away from her proud look and you see a guy scrambling out of the restroom with a hand between his pants, tissue barely hanging on his fingertips.

Yep. That’ll do.

Back to the stats: it’s another hit. It hasn’t even been 5 hours and her latest post has over half a million views and just as many likes from her subscribers. She’s running up her numbers, and she’s telling you how she’ll make millions in less than a year. You’ve crunched the numbers, and she’s right: you call it anal-ytics, and she just punches you in the arm. Your interpretation of comedy is radically different from hers (and unfortunately, she doesn’t appreciate your sense of humor).

“You should really get on,” Chaeyoung tells you, proudly showing you post after post, every thumbnail almost indistinguishable from one another: each a still frame of her heart-shaped ass. Almost every video has three million views or more, even if none of them pass the five minute mark. Same goes for her pictures. She can post a picture of any of her body parts and it’ll make money. “It’s really tough in this economy, you know? For you, it’ll be light work, just like fucking me.”

“Easy for you to say, Miss ‘I can’t be assed to work a real job so lemme whore out for some cash’ Chaeyoung.” You’re saying this, knowing full well you’re no better than her. 

“Look who’s talking, Mister ‘BIG-1, the number two male pornstar in Korea.’ How’d you end up paying for this bar and every food truck you send to your co-stars? Hm?”

As expected, the rebuttal is brutally honest. You’ve got no counter to that.

But see, the experience has become so numbing: it’s not as easy to get the complete satisfaction of fucking a girl these days, no matter how hot they are. No matter if they’ve got the thickest ass or the biggest tits on the planet. It also doesn’t help that you’re in Chaeyoung’s ass almost every other day when you’re not ‘working.’ At some point, the law of diminishing returns has come to take its dues.

Before the two of you can continue to bicker back and forth, the entrance door bell chimes, and in comes a familiar face, bringing her share of books and laptop with her. 

“Hey. Don’t mind if I brought a friend with me today,” Jiheon says to the four people inside the bar. Trailing right behind her is a fresh face to your small circle. And like most of your guests, she’s undeniably pretty. A face worth plastering on magazine covers and billboards.

There’s a common ground that you and Chaeyoung can stand on. Now you’ve both got some ideas in mind. Fresh blood is much needed around here.

“I’ll have the usual,” Jiheon says out loud, as if everyone recognizes that she’s a regular—which she is. Her partner has been unusually quiet, only mumbling to her with a hand around her face. “My friend will have the best seller,” she shouts right after, essentially acting as her friend’s mouthpiece.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the place, Chaeyoung is goading you into making the first move. “I did the last one. Your turn.”

You lift an eyebrow, hesitant. “Don’t think she’ll want to talk to me—or anyone for that matter.”

“Since when has that ever stopped you?” she replies. You’d assume that Chaeyoung would be more than willing to talk, considering these two are friends and have some knowledge around the industry. Nope—she’s protecting herself by using you as a shield if it falls apart. “Plus, that’s Jiheon. She’ll make anyone open up. Better than me, even.”

Begrudgingly, you concede. Walking over to the counter, you get their drinks. That’s how you get customers to stay for more: by making them feel welcome and making their experience personal. Jiheon’s too focused on her laptop to care at the moment, while her friend is on her phone, quietly scrolling. Shifting in her seat, shaken and uncomfortable, seemingly looking for an excuse to see herself out.

“Thanks,” Jiheon eventually notices, adjusting her glasses. “So—how’s it been?”

“Not much, really,” you reply, “And you?”

“Same. You know how it is.” She’s clicking through what appears to be some form of academic document. You’re so used to seeing Jiheon in uniform for all the wrong reasons that you tend to forget that she’s an actual student outside of the internet. Then again, she’s hardly on social media, with months between posts. “God, research is so boring. I just wanna go full-time with work.”

“Right?” You chuckle, trying to get through her so you can get to her friend, quietly sipping on her drink. Jiheon’s beverage has been hardly touched. “So—who’s your friend here? She’s new.”

Looking up from the laptop screen, she stares directly at you before turning to her shy friend. “Oh, yeah. This is Nagyung. Nakko, this is a friend of mine,” she says, encouraging her to shake hands, which you both do respectfully.

“Nagyung? As in, the actress? Lee Nagyung?”

“Mhm,” she nods, her first spoken word and hopefully many more to come. That explains her quiet and unusual behavior; she doesn’t want to be found and spotted in public. She’s had a few supporting roles here and there, got some awards, and her face is easily recognizable, even if she hasn’t completely broken into the mainstream. How you didn’t catch on right away is a mystery to you.

“Relax. Like I said, he’s a close friend of mine, and this place generally doesn’t get a lot of people, so I like studying here,” Jiheon reassures Nagyung, and she does mostly calm down, albeit still a little tense and jittery. “So—what’s up?”

“Well, you see—”

“Hi! I’m a huge fan of your work in Shadow Beauty,” interjects Chaeyoung out of nowhere, pushing you aside to energetically shake both of Nagyung’s hands. What little goodwill you’ve built between you, gone in an instant. She’s smiling awkwardly, clearly on edge by her manic energy. You’re surprised Chaeyoung can even name one drama she’s starred in, even if that’s what got her on the map. “You know you’d be quite the face in po—”

“Wait.” You immediately cover Chaeyoung’s mouth with your hand, resisting her effort to fight through it and speak her truth. Pulling her aside, you blurt out to Jiheon and Nagyung you’ll return to them in a moment before distancing yourselves to speak in private.

“What the hell?” you question Chaeyoung, pouring out your newfound frustration. “She was just getting comfortable y’know? You can’t just come in and yap up a storm. Not everyone is like that.”

She looks at you with a baffled gaze. Like this is normalized behavior. Like you should expect this to happen with every new person you two meet. “Dunno, she seemed quite into me.”

And you fire a blank-eyed stare back, in complete disbelief at her interpretation. “You can’t be fucking serious right now.”

“Maybe.”

You can only shake your head and sigh—exasperated.

“I’m just saying. Maybe she knows,” says Chaeyoung, in what appears to be an attempt at sounding optimistic. “I mean, isn’t Jiheon—”

“Yeah, no. I don’t think so.” You shut her down before the notion even finds ground. While Jiheon also is a star on her own, she’s quiet in her own right to keep her idol side and personal life completely apart. “Let’s not get any ideas right now, especially with her around.”

“Fair enough. But if she even gets the slightest hint, I’m gonna reel her in.”

“Why are you so adamant about putting Nakko onto porn?” you ask, slightly bothered by Chaeyoung’s resolve. It’s almost twisted in a way. “Last time you did that, Saerom—”

“Okay. That may have been a little too fast,” she interrupts, chuckling at the incident that caused Saerom to walk out. You haven’t been in contact with her since. That was several months ago, and not much has changed since then. “But swear to God, I won’t make that mistake again.”

“You better not.”

So you go back out there first, telling Chaeyoung to wait a few minutes before she can rejoin the conversation. Jiheon and Nagyung are talking it up when you suddenly slide back in. 

“Sorry for that,” you interject, putting on your best smile. Like you’re working service for once. Thousands of possible scenarios are playing out in your head, ranging from ideal to the worst. You’re looking at Jiheon first, then turning your attention to Nagyung. “So—Nakko, right? How’s the whole acting gig working out for you?”

She blinks a few times. Looks at Jiheon, who simply lifts her eyebrows and smiles back, shrugging her shoulders. 

“It’s—” she’s pausing, prolonging the last sound of that word. “Fine? I haven’t had any scripts coming in lately. It’s tough. But I’m doing okay.”

“Hm. Well—I know of a few people who can get you some gigs,” you tell her, your confidence shooting through the moon as you haven’t fumbled through your words. “Trust me, I’m an actor too.”

“Really?” Nagyung intently looks at you upon hearing that you’re a fellow actor..

“Let me introduce you to my friend, Chaeyoung. She knows her connections.” You’re looking over your shoulder, anticipating for her to have your back. You’ve got it all rehearsed and practiced in your head. She doesn’t show up. 

Way to kill the momentum. Again. 

“Oh Jesus—Chaeng.”

Chaeyoung finally emerges from behind the wall, more invested on her phone than the situation. “Oh. Sorry, got caught up with a new client,” she casually says, hastily tapping on the screen. “Anyway, are you interested in doing porn?”  

—————

“So you don’t have to show your face?” Nagyung asks, gobsmacked at what Chaeyoung is showing her on the phone. One look at her face tells you she’s trying to make sense of all this to no avail. Jiheon has put aside her homework to help guide her through the process.

“They’re locked behind paywalls, but these do so well that those are basically bonuses,” she replies, proud of showing her ass getting blasted on camera in every single thumbnail. Between her videos and all the illicit content she posts on the regular, she’s got the best of both worlds in quantity and quality. 

“And you don’t get tired of it? Like at all?”

“Nope! I’d say it’s the best job in the world,” she says, making sure Nagyung sees the monthly revenue on her account, in the millions. All on simple five-minute videos and nude body shots. 

“Heoni, tell me you’re not doing this too,” Nagyung looks at her friend, arching an eyebrow, hoping she isn’t playing along.

Jiheon can only shrug her shoulders and flash a gummy smile back.

Nagyung can’t believe it. Both hands on her forehead, her head is gonna explode in light of this revelation. “Oh my fucking God.”

“Well. I figured you wouldn’t take it so well,” says Jiheon, cheeks flustered and red from embarrassment. “I mean, with you being a serious actor and all.”

“I thought you said you were acting too,” replies Nagyung, feeling a little betrayed by her friend from hiding her secret hustle. “Like theater or drama acting in college—or something.”

It’s a good thing the bar is relatively empty right now, because you’re certain every other sane person would have walked out at this point hearing this conversation.

“I do some of that, yeah,” Jiheon tells her, still shrugging her shoulders, flippant. “But nothing compares to being myself on camera, you know? And also, it does pay extremely well. I can vouch.”

Chaeyoung shows her the most viewed pages on the site, even though Nagyung has no intention to look. This is too much for her to comprehend. At the top spot is Jiheon aka creamandheoni, with chaengrang in second place. It isn’t even close; the disparity between them both is about as large as the gap between runner-up and everyone else. They’ve been dominating the rankings over the past several months, even though their content is mostly them being dominated and used over and over again.

Nagyung’s shaking her head in denial, refusing to buy into their attempts at convincing her. There’s no way in any universe does selling their bodies make more money than true, honest-to-God acting. In no way should they be rewarded more for doing less. It’s far too outrageous of a concept to be taken seriously. 

“We’re not bullshitting you, Nakko,” says Jiheon, patting her friend’s back. “If you want firsthand proof, join us tomorrow to see how it works.”

“Why would I want to go to a porn studio?” questions Nagyung, giving Jiheon a judgmental look for even proposing the idea. “And if one paparazzi or fansite  sees me in there? A stray camera? My career will be over before it even starts.”

“It’s a lot more intricate than that,” Jiheon reassures her, her voice a persistent calm in spite of the uncertainty. An admirable feature that makes her a great professional. “It’s almost the same as filming a drama or movie, with just—a few more gratuitous sex scenes.”

The youngest girl blinks. Realizes there’s a lot more than advertised. “Okay. Maybe a lot more sex scenes, actually.”

“God.” Nagyung’s cursing under her breath, vehemently in denial that she might as well cover her ears. 

All of you could sit here and continue convincing Nakko about trying something new. You’re surprised she hasn’t walked out with the repetitive use of arguments. Show her the monthly stats, the paychecks, the follower counts—it isn’t enough. As a new customer walks in, you figure that this was the sign to stop. The lively air in the room quickly changes to brutal awkwardness.  

But after a while, Nagyung finally breaks the silence, sighing. “All right. I’ll go—”

Before she can go on, you can feel the giddiness emanating from Chaeyoung, so infectious that you contract her fresh spark of energy. Jiheon’s smiling.

“—but if I’m not convinced, I won’t do it, and you won’t be able to change my mind.”

That she was finally won over is more than enough of a reason to celebrate. Even if it’s out of kindness for a friend. You can sense by the appalled look on her face that she’s already regretting this. 

—————

And sure enough, Nagyung follows through on her word. Timely and professional, showing up early in the studio. She’s hilariously overdressed, covering herself with a hoodie, sunglasses, and the thickest layers of clothing possible to maintain complete anonymity. 

“This is where you shoot stuff?” Nagyung asks you, the earliest one inside. The other two women, one of which being your on-screen partner today, haven’t arrived yet. It’s a relatively unassuming, normal building, all things considered—not a grimy shithole that she imagined. 

“Yeah. Productions tend to be incredibly cheap, so much so that we tend to reuse everything,” you tell her, matter-of-fact. “For maximum profit, you know? Like a normal studio.”

“I can believe that.”

Looking out into the distance, you see Jiheon running for her life, almost losing grip on her belongings in her haste. She manages to hold on, successfully catching up with both of you at the studio entrance, with her legs being spent at her expense.

“Sorry I’m late,” she huffs, gasping for air, hands on her knees, tired. A look at your schedule tells you she’s actually almost an hour early. “I had a last-minute photoshoot to do, but here I am.”

You wanna tell her the truth, but you don’t. She’s too sweet of a person to break her heart.

On the other hand, Nagyung doesn’t care. “Heoni, filming doesn’t start for another hour.”

“Really? Damn.” Jiheon flashes a defeated look at her friend and you, devastated at her efforts going to complete waste. She laughs the pain away; it’s evident on her face. “Well that’s what happens when you’ve got your schedules all messed up.”

Not long after, you get a message from Chaeyoung telling you she won’t be able to make it on time, leaving you down to three. Another client, she says, meaning she’s gonna spend most of her day getting railed and filming herself for new content. For her, the grind never stops.

So you climb up the elevator together,   the eighth floor is where the magic happens. Passing through a narrow corridor, a nude woman suddenly emerges from one of the production rooms. Her body trembling, she gives you an inviting wink as she walks in the opposite direction. Nagyung looks back, then at you and Jiheon, alarmed that this is a seemingly normal interaction.

The woman walks into one of the bathrooms, her ass swaying hypnotically as you look back. As she completely disappears from view, Nagyung refocuses her attention back to you, baffled. 

“What the hell? Who was that?”

“Oh, Seoyeon?” You chuckle. “We know each other. Most of us.”

“Most of us?”

As you step inside the room at the far end of the corridor, you explain to Nagyung, “Yeah. The girls are the stars here, and us guys trade partners every week.”

“Jesus.” You can sense the regret in Nagyung’s voice. “That’s gross.”

The comment doesn’t faze neither you nor Jiheon; it was a given considering she’s still an outsider. It’s no different than kissing a traditional co-star—mostly.

But moving on to what’s ahead, the film set is already ready, with the production crew making last minute adjustments. The director fixes his glasses, realizes his cast have finally arrived, and he looks tired. The guy looks so done, even though nothing has happened yet. 

“There you guys are,” he comments, noticing the elephant in the room. “And who’s that?”

“Oh, that’s Na—”

Jiheon’s mouth is suddenly stopped by a harsh blow to her ribs courtesy of Nagyung’s elbow. 

“Sorry. I mean—Christine.”

“Well tell them if they’re not a cast or crew, they should kindly buzz off.”

“No, no. She’s here to learn and wants to join at some point.”

“Join?” He shoots back a puzzled look. Taps his foot. No one in the right mind willingly wants to do porn. It’s the lowest of the low, you’ll admit, and there are better ways to find exposure into the greater entertainment industry, especially if you’ve already got one foot inside. If not for your friend’s influence, you’d keep your double life separate too, just like Jiheon. “Hm. I don’t know.”

At the worst possible time, the director has an existential crisis. He’s hesitant to let her in, but at the same time, doesn’t want to kick her out either. Before his head explodes from anxiety, he tells you to head into the dressing room to get ready at once. 

—————

Inside, Nagyung continues to be stunned at how casual everything is between you and Jiheon. That you’re both undressing right in front of each other, at how normalized nudity is, like you’re in your homes and not preparing to film sex in front of cameras and random strangers. The younger woman brought her actual university uniform along because the company can barely afford to film props, and same goes for you—a simple suit and tie. 

“So this is totally normal? Normal for both of you to just do this? No intimate feelings whatsoever?”

Both of you nod back, humming a harmonious mhm in unison.

“Kind of numb to it at this point,” you say, buttoning the last of your shirt. “I mean, there are some feelings, but we’re professionals. It’s all done with consent, obviously.”

Jiheon chuckles, her trademark gummy smile bouncing back through her mirror as she brushes her hair, putting on the finishing touches on her appearance. “It helps that you’ve got such a nice cock.”

Both of you end up laughing heartily, much to Nagyung’s dismay.

“But for real, I trust you more than anyone,” she tells you, walking over to your side to fix your tie properly, playfully slapping your cheeks. “I mean, that and you being the number one male—”

“Right. Not a real achievement.”

“Come on, carry yourself with pride,” Jiheon remarks, repeatedly clapping your face, turning that little frown upside down. “Who else can say they’re the top male porn star in Korea for six months straight?”

Before things get a little more personal, you hear the director calling your names. It's go time.

—————

Nagyung casually sits behind the others on set, keeping her identity concealed, but she easily stands out based on how overdressed she is compared to everyone else. No one can hardly be arsed to dress up on the job, showing the lack of seriousness. They want to get this over with and move on to better, more dignified work.

The director tells you to look into the camera as you’re put into this compromising position; Jiheon bent on the prop desk, her damp underwear in view as you press your bulging pants against her lifted skirt. The job never becomes easy, no matter how much you rehearse. Your co-star, on the other hand, is already having the time of her life; it’s written all over her face. How she wants it. How she badly needs it inside her right now.

Your cock wants her too. The feeling is mutual.

The director checks through the script, which doesn’t matter at all. The story is about as cookie cutter and as generic as anything you’ve seen in theaters lately. She’s the bratty student looking for an out, you’re the teacher with a moral crisis. Of course you’re gonna fold; you don’t need a prompt telling you that you’ll fuck her and bend the rules behind everyone’s back. You’ve seen this movie play out over and over again in different ways. The only difference being that the student is Jiheon. She’s the splitting image of the hot student fantasy that it’s an astonishment this is her first go at the premise.

Ironically, Jiheon follows the script by the book, word for word. You can tell that it’s been written by people whose only experience with sex is through porn and nothing else. If she wanted to, she could genuinely act. There’s something distracting hearing her deliver her lines in a surprisingly professional manner that you flub your cue multiple times. Not to say she’s entirely responsible, but she does contribute quite a bit; you couldn’t be arsed to read yours. So you’ve been winging it, much to your director’s annoyance.

The guy wasn’t expecting to actually direct today. 

“What’s going on, man?” he rages while on the chair, frustrated that you’ve blown your lines eight times. He’s suffering. “Did you even read the script?”

“Mhm,” you tell him, playing down the seriousness of his predicament. The consummate worker she is, Jiheon takes you aside privately for a word as he calls for a quick breather. 

“Something up today?” Jiheon asks you, redirecting your wandering gaze back to her while you search for Nagyung. She has seemingly disappeared between takes.

“I don’t know,” you tell her, unable to figure out the issue yourself. 

“Is it because of Nakko, right?”

“Maybe.”

She looks around the set herself, with Nagyung nowhere to be found. “Well, that’s not what matters right now. If she doesn’t want to, then it is what it is, right?”

You pause for a moment before nodding. “Right.”

A moment later, Nagyung emerges from the dressing room, taking a seat away from everyone else on set. It’s all in your head. The doubt. The unease. Parting in an instant. Like you’ve got something to prove.

So when you go for your ninth take, you feel a completely different person than you were minutes ago. The responses come naturally, even if it’s mostly ad-libs and improvisation. The director keeps it rolling as you effortlessly pace through the nonexistent teasing and pleasantries: commanding Jiheon to drop to her knees and unbuckle your pants like the naughty student she is. 

Even in front of cameras, you can only see her.

The director makes sure your erect cock is in clear view, already dripping with precum. Right on cue, Jiheon looks over her shoulder and looks directly at the camera, wrapping her fingers around your base. A thumbnail worthy shot. She makes sure the sound equipment hears every slurp and hum from her lips when she takes you into her mouth; bobbing her head back and forth as she sucks you dry, making you squirm on the chair.

Grabbing her by the hair, pacing her suction and forcing your cock deep in her throat. Staining her otherwise pristine face and pretty lips with thin streaks of white. Taking slow, passionate licks on your tip, giving herself a taste. Internally, you’re telling yourself you’ll nail this in one take; if you don’t do it now, you won’t do it ever, and no amount of visual effects and post-production can come close to filming that level of authenticity.

You’re not sure whether you’re filming porn or actually going for it at this point.

As more of your cum splatters on her face, Jiheon has your cock gripped in one hand, unbuttoning her shirt with the other. Giving you a blurry glimpse of her cleavage, the ecstasy feels so good that finding focus is nearly impossible. You’re losing it. Meanwhile, the cameras are still rolling, capturing every single detail. Besides the lewd sounds you’re making, the set is eerily quiet, as if they’re letting you both run the show, which you are.

“Yeah—fucking do it—do it baby—” Jiheon rasps, pumping you fast and reckless without concern or consideration, demanding you cum for her. “Come on—give your favorite student what she deserves.”

And quite frankly, you just might.

Thrusting, following her pace, gasping for air, gritting your teeth. As though you’re dangerously close to falling off a cliff. As if her hand wasn’t enough, Jiheon teases you with the faintest touch of her tongue. That needy, thirsty tongue. Tip to tip, squeezing the smallest drop of cum out of your cock, in the lewdest expressions imaginable. She’s putting on quite the show. If you weren’t so preoccupied with keeping yourself together, you’d be disappointed for not keeping up.

The camera absolutely loves Jiheon, that’s for certain. She’s taken to being under the spotlight as easily as putting on shoes: quite effortlessly. All eyes are drawn toward her as she lets it go: pointing your throbbing cock all over her shirt, her bra, and all over her face. She milks you for all your worth; the sensation feels so damn good it hurts. Half her face is painted in your cum, as if her skin can glisten any brighter. And once she finally empties you clean, she licks herself, tastes whatever amount of you she can reach.

If it weren’t for the cameras rolling, you’d pass out right then and there. But there’s still more to do, all in the name of fanservice and views.

As you prop Jiheon on top of the desk, barely able to drag your legs, a quick glimpse of Nagyung tells you everything you need to know. She’s got a hand covering her mouth; you don’t need to see through those sunglasses to sense her shock and disbelief. If only she could walk away now, but she can’t. But before your attention lingers a few moments longer, Jiheon redirects your gaze back to her. Back to what’s important.

You don’t even realize she’s borderline naked, only keeping her stained skirt on her body. Slipping your hand between her legs, you shed her panties down her legs. It’s just as drenched as you expected; there’s no faking it. 

“Smell it,” Jiheon whispers to you, catching you completely off-guard. This wasn’t in the script. You can’t tell whether she’s speaking for herself or if it’s part of the act. Perhaps both.

Before you can even question her, the cameras remind you to stay in character. So you follow. 

Grinning as if she’s caught you in her trap, Jiheon spreads her legs wide, giving you a peek of her soaked pussy. Drawing you like a moth to a flame, you grab her thighs, spread her that extra inch wider, and dive headfirst into her cunt. 

She keens. Her body glued flat to the surface, shaking while your tongue makes work of her slick core. There’s no better place to drown in. The taste is so intoxicating, you can lay in it forever. 

Jiheon lets out these scuffed, disjointed cries of pleasure. Can’t formulate complete sentences, only erratic noises and volumes of profanities. “Fuck—fuck yes—so—so good—mmh—”

All while you’re filling up the room with the sounds of slurping and humming, drowning yourself in the savory nectar of Jiheon’s cunt. The desk begins to rock the rougher and deeper you go, losing yourself in the suffocating sensation of her pussy as her legs close in on your face.

Oh, you’re doing it for real, if there was any doubt.

As Jiheon straightens her knees upward, you can hear her whining grow louder. “Almost there—don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—”

Like you had any intention to. 

“I’m gonna cum—please—it’s so—” 

And Jiheon’s voice cracks before she can finish. Turns into an airy whine as you’re tongue deep in her to care. 

She’s trembling all over when she cums. Turns your face into a canvas, an outlet of her orgasm. A torrent of her juices wash over your face, and you graciously take it all, drowning yourself in her bliss. There’s an authenticity that an intimacy coordinator can’t replicate. Genuine emotions pouring in, of pleasure, of pain, of everything in between. The correct thing to do would be to let it pass organically before moving on.

But of course, the director can’t even do that right.

“Cut!” he yells from his chair, ruining what otherwise would have been a perfect sex scene and continuation. Jiheon’s still in the throes of her peak when the cameras stop rolling, your face still buried deep in her aching core. As you rise up for air, your face is soaked twice over in her slick. Gasping, heaving for much needed air. Another still-worthy image. 

Making Jiheon cum and cumming on her is a reward in and of itself, but still: some positive remark or compliment from the director would have been nice. 

“That was good,” he tells you as the other crew come in to clean up your mess. “But I would have liked a little more dirty talk coming from you. Some degradation, you know? Like maybe calling her a slut, but we can fix that in post. Good work today, guys.”

—————

“So—what do you think?” you ask Nagyung in the dressing room. That one take was all that you did. You and Jiheon are done for the day. At least that’s what you believe.

“I—I don’t—I just—” Nagyung is too stunned to speak. She laughs, because she can’t find the right words to say. The entire time, she had been watching behind her sunglasses, never once removing them. For her eyes and sanity, probably the best decision. “You guys are really fucking crazy.”

“We don’t know what else to tell you,” says Jiheon, calm and casual about the whole thing. Like you didn’t just have sex in front of her for real, despite the film set serving as a backdrop. “I mean—I wished we went through with the penetration, but it is what it is.”

“Thank God you didn’t.” Nagyung remarks, tone sarcastic. “My eyes are gonna need bleach after seeing all that.”

“It’s me, so what I do is honestly tame by comparison,” Jiheon replies, swiveling her chair around, kicking her leg up. “You’ve got girls in threesomes, gangbangs, free use—”

“Okay, we get it.” Nagyung interrupts. “No need to explain any further.”

“But Nakko, wouldn’t you have to do a love scene at some point?” you bounce the notion, using her background as a means to get on equal footing. “I mean, yeah, you’ve got an intimacy coordinator, but—”

She’s quick to shut you down. “I’m not doing a love scene. Not in a million years.”

And you stop talking right then and there.

Nagyung pinches her forehead, stressed out by her internal quandary. You can sense that she doesn’t want to, but can’t say no. It’s palpable through her veins. She’s come at a crossroads with her career. On one hand, there’s opportunities for work and pay, but the implications it could have long term outweigh the short term benefits.

A few minutes of awkward silence follows.

“I don’t have to show my face—right?”

“Nope. Don’t have to,” you answer.

“Your voice though,” Jiheon says, concerned about her friend’s future too. “Your face can easily be masked, but your voice—”

“Yeah, I know,” replies Nagyung, deeply exhaling. “But—I’d rather do everything now and regret it later than not doing anything at all.”

“But your career—” Jiheon is alarmed by her friend’s sudden change of heart.

“Maybe no one recognizes me through my voice and I can moonlight like you do,” says Nagyung. “If it’s a flop, then at least I don’t have to do any more,” she tells her. “I want to test myself. See how far I can go.”

Jiheon takes a look at Nakko before turning to you. You’ve been convinced since she asked that first question. You’re only waiting for her.

You nod. And that’s what finally puts Jiheon at peace.

“Okay.” Jiheon rises from her seat, smiling. “Looks like we’re doing this. No regrets?”

Nagyung smiles back. “No regrets.”

—————

“Shit—oh fuck—oh shit—” Jiheon pants, her suffocating legs wrapped around yours while you pound her against the wall with running water washing down both your drenched, tangled bodies. “Keep going—I need this—need you—fuck!”

The feeling is mutual. Turns out, you can’t get your much needed satisfying orgasms when you’re in front of cameras. Some things are better behind closed doors and between two people alone.

The showers in the studio aren’t designed for quick clean ups; they’re an outlet. A conduit for co-stars to get their proper climaxes in when the cameras aren’t rolling. They’re designed to be as loud and proud as possible. It’s all the more evident when your moans are bouncing off the walls in thunderous, shattering echoes. Not even the running water can cover your tracks. Anyone in close proximity to the bathrooms can hear you. It’s the perfect place to unwind after any filming day.

“So—fucking—embarassing,” you tell Jiheon, more a shot at yourself than a comment about how needy she is. It comes with the package when it comes to shooting porn; something about fucking your partners in private ticks those marks compared to doing it in front of a professional crew. “Can’t believe you made me cum so fucking much—”

“Isn’t that the point?” she whispers back, her nails clawing down, taking lease of your back. Between moans, her body trembles wildly with each thrust you give her. Burying your cock deep inside her needy cunt with each stroke. You give her more of a reason to cling to you. “But maybe—maybe—” she stammers, her head drowning in so much ecstasy that she goes tongue tied. “Maybe—I should have let go sooner—”

Pumping Jiheon at an erratic rhythm, your hips gained a second wind after that much needed respite after filming. Struggling to capture her lips, you barely kiss her. “You can now. Fucking cum for me. Christ—”

The sound of flesh slapping flesh ripples through the room, overpowering even the continuous shower noise. You’re fucking her like you’ve got something to prove. Using her cunt liberally, her walls pulsing tightly against your throbbing cock, quickly burning through what little resolve you have built up. Try as hard as you can, the knot in your stomach lingers and lingers, slowly flooding your head, until you have no other choice—

It all comes crashing down. 

Jiheon melts in your arms, barely hanging on for dear life. The orgasm washes over her in turbulent ripples, shuts her up in an instant. Mouth hung wide, head tilted up for you to rest your head on her neck, moaning these sweet profanities that are music to your ears. She cums all over your cock, urging you to follow her right after—which you do.

The way you cum so soon, it makes you second guess why you’re in this position to begin with. It doesn’t match your best male KAV pornstar title. Nevertheless, you fill her, give her what she’s been fiending for the longest time. It makes the entire ordeal worth it.

You stay in Jiheon a bit longer. A lot longer than you internally promised. Even as your cock withers, you keep yourself buried with what little you have, letting your orgasms pass over quietly. Resting underneath the shower, your bodies entangled like pieces of a puzzle meant for each other, your lips meet halfway in an intimate, delicate kiss.

So maybe you’re starting to catch some feelings. But before it blossoms into something more, Jiheon breaks off the smooch, grinning against your face. She’s flustered all over; she feels the same way.

“I thought you needed help getting hard again,” she remarks, as her fingers push on your lower lip.

Blinking a few times, you reply, “You didn’t help anyway whatsoever.”

She laughs, smilingly cuddling against you before going in for another passionate kiss.

—————

A week later, you’re back in the studio, this time together with Chaeyoung and Jiheon in what’s basically a pornographic blockbuster. The two biggest female stars and the top male star in an internet-breaking film. Your careers have been building toward this moment. Hell, in a rare act of restraint, you decide to abstain from your regular escapades to prepare for this. Inside the dressing room, there’s a little predicament: Chaeyoung’s having a little fit about taking cum head on, because she doesn’t want to mess up her makeup and hair apparently. She’s spoken to the director about changing the scene multiple times to no avail. She’s frustrated. The ironic thing is: she’s the one who’s been talking about it nonstop. So this sudden change of heart comes off as strange and unusual.

“How about I do it?” Jiheon steps in, seeing the frenzied, panicked state Chaeyoung is in. She’s walking back and forth, close to pulling her extensions off, possibly making a bigger mess of herself more than what you’re about to do. “Is it this serious for you to back out last minute, Chaeng?”

“Yes,” Chaeyoung yells at her, making sure everyone hears her desperate plight. “I’ve got a client tonight, and he’s apparently a chaebol, so—”

“I thought you weren’t taking any clients today,” Jiheon says. Even this shoot is that important of an occasion to skip escorting—at least only for today. Apparently not. 

“It’s not often you get a million dollar payday,” Chaeyoung remarks, looking at herself in the mirror, examining every single detail about her. You can sense that she’s itching to leave at the earliest possible opportunity.

“Is it gonna hurt you to tell him that you can delay the meeting for tomorrow?” Jiheon asks, only to immediately realize the answer she’ll give. “Oh yeah—”

“It will.” Both Chaeyoung and Jiheon speak synchronously. 

Suddenly, you enter the dressing room, catching their attention. “Good news, Chaeng. I’ve gotten them to change the scene.”

Before you can say another word, Chaeyoung breathes out a needed sigh of relief, while Jiheon shakes her head. “Thank God,” Chaeyoung says, rubbing a hand on her chest. “So—what now?”

“Told me to come up with a scene,” you tell her. “And I’ve got an idea.”

—————

You can barely hear the director’s echoes from underneath Chaeyoung’s supple ass. Her butt almost fully presses on your face, cutting off most of your sensory functions. You need Chaeng and Jiheon to relay the question for you to fully understand.

“He’s asking if you can finish in this position,” Chaeyoung shouts, while you can barely breath down here. 

“What a ridiculous question,” you’re mumbling to yourself, as if anyone can even hear you right now, while you’re basically dying. To make matters worse, Jiheon’s squatting down on your cock, already buried in her cunt as a sort of unfinished business, sequel baiting move from last week’s session. The two girls are facing each other, all of you already in the nude. Even though you’ve been on-screen for half the runtime, this is their show, and you’re merely a glorified stage prop.

The only reason you can move is because of the grind of Chaeyoung’s ass, which is basically the stand-in for the director yelling action!

If only you can see what’s up there. How hot it would be to see Chaeyoung and Jiheon making out and caressing each other’s bodies. You know that’s what’s happening because you can hear the sound of muffled hums and gentle kisses. Even without your presence, this one scene alone would singlehandedly break the internet. The two top Korean pornstars fucking is about as surefire of a hit as any theatrical blockbuster.

All the better, Jiheon’s taking your cock as she kisses her co-star, her rhythm constantly disrupted, giving Chaeyoung all the leeway to go down on her svelte body. As always, she’s the loudest one in the room, the one with the highest sounding cries, the one with the sharpest moans. Chaeyoung’s got her arms wrapped around her back, taking purchase of her frame between passionate kisses. She goes down on the one thing she’s envious of, beside her ranking as number one: her supple, shapely tits.

Meanwhile, you’ve got your tongue buried between Chaeyoung’s ass, licking up her slick core, drinking as much of her nectar as you desire. You haven’t had a taste of her in a week, so this was like quenching thirst in the middle of a hot, dry desert.

Squatting on top of you, both women are gingerly bouncing on your helpless body, taking as much of you as they possibly can. Shared experience and common interest working at play. The pleasure sends shockwaves through their nerves, causing them to abruptly freeze in place. Taking this opportunity to dig your hands on Chaeyoung’s thick thighs, deeply slurping into her suffocating heat. They’re making music with their passionate, lust-filled moans.

The pleasure appears to be far more overwhelming than thought. Chaeyoung and Jiheon tremble atop you while they ride you in slow, sloppy motions. Their bodies feel heavy to move smoothly; this is your handiwork. You feel the harsh grip of their nails on your chest. The desperation. The need to cling for support.

“Oh,” you hear a prolonged whine, unsure who it’s from. “Oh God—”

Their breaths are heaving, deep, heavy. Moments stretching into minutes. Minutes stretching into hours. You’ve found true solace between Chaeyoung’s ass and inside Jiheon’s cunt. 

You hear a follow up groan. A continuous crescendo. It’s familiar enough for you to guess it’s Jiheon, and you’d be proven correct. In the midst of this mess, you never realized your own undoing had passed, and it’s because your mind lingered on Chaeyoung’s hole. You never felt the twitch of your cock at all. The creamy load that you were intending to share between the two women, all of it sucked up by Jiheon’s needy pussy instead.

It’s gonna be a challenge to tell Chaeyoung that she’ll have to drink it out of Jiheon’s cunt. 

A brief stir, followed by a gravelly echo, and then Chaeyoung hops off your face, letting you see the light. Jiheon also clambers off your cock, your connection broken by a thick string of cum glued between your skin.

The director rises from his chair, seemingly frustrated for some reason. He’s surveying the scene; it’s a mess. “God dammit. You came too soon.”

Your hips are drenched in a pool of your own sticky load. Likewise, Jiheon’s thigh is dripping to the floor full of you. It’s unlike you to finish quite prematurely. Elsewhere, your face is coated in Chaeyoung’s slick, but not to the same extent as your groin.

“How much did you film?” Jiheon asks him, professional sounding like always, albeit barely suppressing her laughter.

“About four minutes.” 

Four minutes is about 20 short of what was expected. As much as you savored the sensation, you’re not sure you can spend another five beneath Chaeyoung’s ass.

The director pinches his nose, thinking of possible ways to prolong the scene and deliver the best product possible. It may be porn, but it’s still people’s livelihoods at stake. In the meantime, the assistant calls for a break, meaning all three of you head back to the dressing room for a breather and additional touch-ups.

Taking a chair for yourselves, you can’t find the words to speak. So do your co-stars. 

The sound of the door swinging open captures all your attention, foregoing the customary knock. An unprofessional action, but then—

You see the person entering the room, and you all shut up.

“Hey y’all,” Nagyung says, bringing half a dozen shopping bags with her. She’s wearing sunglasses to hide her identity, of course. “Don’t mind if I make myself comfortable.”

You have no objections, even if you couldn’t outright say it. The other two share your sentiment. After all, it’s been a week since you last saw her. Something about a magazine feature, Jiheon said, explaining her sudden absence from your small friend circle. But now, she’s here, in the flesh, visiting during one of your more important film shoots.

The first thing Nagyung points out after setting her bags aside is the thick layer of cum on Jiheon’s skin. “I must have missed out on a hot scene,” she remarks, her gaze lingering on the large blot. Not even her bathrobe can hide the evidence.

“You only got here just now?” Jiheon asks, to which she merely nods.

“Should have gotten here earlier,” Chaeyoung comments, chuckling at her absent friend. “I swear, it was so—so—hot.”

“I bet it was,” Nagyung replies back, lightly shaking her head.

Before it goes awkwardly silent once more, you turn to Nagyung, asking her the big one. “So—have you decided? I thought you weren’t gonna come back.”

Facing you, Nagyung hesitates for a moment. “Well,” she pauses, taking a deep breath to formulate her response. “I have thought about it. A lot. And as you know, I’d like to challenge myself, so—”

“Does that mean—” Chaeyoung interjects.

“Quiet, Chaeng.” You shush her.

Pausing again, Nagyung has this look of resignation and acceptance on her face. “Might as well give it a go.”

In an instant, Chaeyoung’s eyes light up, brimming with newfound energy. On the other hand, you and Jiheon silently nod. 

“Do everything and regret it later—”

“—Rather than not doing anything at all.” Everyone, including you, finishes Nagyung’s sentence in unison. 

“Exactly.” is her remark, amazed at how well all three of you know her mantra.

“I can’t wait,” Chaeyoung tells her, excited at the countless possibilities. “Us three, running the top of the ranks. It’s gonna be so fun.”

“Easy there. Nakko, I know this is gonna be a little bit of an adjustment, but it’s really a blast. Trust us,” says Jiheon, approaching her to be her guide through her new job. “And wouldn’t you know it, you have the best worker on standby to help you out too.”

“And who would that be?”

Jiheon points directly at you. Across your seat, Nagyung gently smiles, expectant and excited. Her friend is giving you a thumbs up, as if you’re a hundred percent down for the responsibility, when in reality, you’re not ready to guide a newcomer through the ropes. Especially one with a well-established public reputation like Lee Nagyung’s.

—————

“So, are you gonna like post that?” Nagyung asks, looking over her shoulder with a wary look. You’ve got her in bed laying on her stomach, her clothes lost on the floor save for her shirt, and you towering behind her, her bare ass trembling with your cock’s touch. With Chaeyoung out for tonight, the little studio where you normally shoot your films with her is available for practice—and you’re gonna take advantage of her absence. “My fees are hefty, you know.”

“No,” you tell her, shaking your head with a slimy, shit-eating grin. On one hand is your cock, pumping yourself hard against her core, the other holding a camera. Her ass is already wiggling against your shaft, and you don’t know whether you can capture this view perfectly once you start rolling. “This work of cinema is for my eyes only.”

Nagyung braces herself and clings to the edge of the mattress as you slowly dip into her pussy, suppressing her moans before she’s utterly consumed by your cock. By the way she reacts, you recognize that she’s born for the cameras, born for this moment.

—————

Later that week, you hear an unexpected knock on your apartment door. Under any other circumstance, you wouldn’t bother to entertain it at all; Chaeyoung’s sudden booty calls happen hours in advance. She would never come over this late. A look through the outside camera shows you a new presence: Nagyung.

You’ve got some questions running through your mind, but you’ll cross that bridge when you get there. So you welcome her inside without a second thought.

As soon as she enters your place, Nagyung sheds off the thick coat she’d been wearing unceremoniously, letting it fall to the floor. Her tits are protruding through her shirt, and she’s sporting the skimpiest pair of jean shorts you’d ever seen. 

“Thanks for letting me in,” she remarks, tone low. Picking up the discarded clothing off the ground, she opts to lay it on your couch rather than the rack close to the entrance. “Sorry if this is all out of nowhere—”

“No worries,” you miraculously manage to blurt out, your gaze lingering on her fine pair of legs. Her slim yet toned physique makes your mouth water. Can’t find the resolve to look anywhere but her eyes, no matter how hard you try. “But—how’d you get my address?”

“Friends know friends. Wasn’t hard.” She’s walking around your apartment, taking mental notes of your place. For someone with your line of work, it’s relatively modest and normal, like you’ve been doing a 9-to-5.

“Right.” You pick up her coat and set it on the rack without her noticing.

Nagyung turns around, facing you eye to eye as you approach her in the living room. Hands behind her pockets, graceful and cordial. The words that come out of her lips aren’t. “You’ve got the best dick around, and after that little trial run we did, I’d like a little more of it.”

It’s so sudden and unanticipated that you can only blink in response..

“So show me then. I need to see it again.” Every step she takes toward you, another step over that line. Her gaze, fierce and intense, goes from you down to your pajamas. Her hands reach for your pajamas, clawing at the fabric to feel your cock. The reaction is immediate; you can feel yourself throb at her hands, the need to free your raging dick. “You wouldn’t turn down a pretty girl like me, would you now?”

Never. Not in a million years. This seems like the exception. You know there are better ways to ease her in, to make the process a lot more comfortable. It’s not an easy adjustment. However, her eyes are begging, pleading in earnest for her to be thrown straight into the fire.

Under the shallowest guise of morality, you hesitate. Swallowing your throat, your voice goes hoarse—falls flat, lacks conviction: “I—I don’t think you should—it’s too soon.”

Your answer falls on deaf ears, because Nagyung continues to hold your cock, squeezing your ballsack. She gives you this teasing, offended look—a response to your half-assed attempt at convincing her otherwise. Sticking her tongue out like it’s second nature, the same manner she does on her Instagram photos. “Really? Did you say this to Jiheon too, huh?”

It seems to light a fire in Nagyung’s soul. She slides down your loose pajamas, enough to let your cock breathe in the air—and for her fingers to touch your tip. Enough for some precum to spill into her hand. Your head begins to spin; you’re feeling lightheaded. 

“Christ—Nakko—we can do this—just not now—” you say, deeply inhaling as she releases you from her grip. 

She takes a finger into her mouth, tastes a bit of you, before coating her lips with your sheen. Lifting an eyebrow, she appears totally unconvinced. “Again. Is this what Jiheon heard when she wanted to do this the first time?”

“No—”

Before you can get another word off, she drops to her knees, forcing your pajamas down to the floor. Your erection inches away from her nose, one hand wraps around the base, delicately pumping you, disrupting your train of thought. Her other hand holds onto your thigh, pulling you close. She dives in, takes you into her mouth, without hesitation. Filling herself with cock and soft hums, her tongue works backwards, licking from the hilt up to your tip in abrupt, erratic motions. 

Fucking hell, she’s such a natural at it.

“Everytime you answer incorrectly,” she mutters, struggling to take in your length, choking halfway before lodging you back in comfortably. “I’m gonna make you cum, but you won’t get to unload in my pussy.”

There are some fates worse than death; this is one of them.

Nevertheless, Nagyung continues to blow you effortlessly, like she was meant for it. This is essentially her audition and she’s passing with flying colors. Her harsh suction and smooth slurping splinters your senses, sends chills down your spine. The only thing you can do is grab her hair, find some semblance of control, but she moves at her pace, at her rhythm—and it’s a mess.

Not even thrusting into her throat can impede her.

“Just be honest with me,” she says, her voice making your cock vibrate. Her fingers remain active pumping, jerking you hard, measuring your load. “You’re trying to protect me, right? You wouldn’t want to be responsible for ruining my acting career?”

You shake your head in denial, even as she continues her assault on your senses. Wrong answer.

“I don’t really care all that much. I just want your cock right now.” Nose to chest, Nagyung’s cheeks hollow out as she invites you throat deep. No gag reflex, even as she whimpers quietly, suffocating, gasping for air. Your fingers thread between strands of her hair, holding her in place, exactly as she wants. 

Merely a blur between your legs, she lightly bobs her head back and forth, relinquishing control into your hand. She’s too far gone, and so are you. You’re more than happy to oblige. 

Taking a brief opportunity to look up at you, Nagyung looks directly into your eyes. She’s never been more proud of herself. Proud to prove a point, proud to make you shut up like this. Internally, you are too; you’ve never had anyone blow you like this, take you into their mouth like it’s built to hold cock. 

“This is all on you, Nakko,” you huff, shutting your eyes, relishing the hot sensation of her mouth and lips. The yank on her hair tightens. “You wanted this.”

She songfully hums, her only response, currently immersed in taking as much of your cock as possible. You reward her, thrusting into her throat without care for comfort or rhythm, without respite. She coughs, she whines, she keens. Tears begin falling from her eyes, but she continues to take it extremely well. 

But neither of you can take it for long. Especially you with how new this sensation feels coming from her.

Your fingers twist her hair into a makeshift leash, controlling her pace to match yours. Except not really, you’re still going at full speed, never letting up for even a second. The ecstasy, the euphoria from using her mouth is too good to let go. Both her hands have given up, settling on your thighs for support. She has conceded complete control into your grasp. You’re now responsible as to whether or not you will ruin her career.

And you just might. After all, she’d given herself over, essentially coming to your side for greener pasture. You can only hope she really doesn’t regret it later.

“Gonna cum,” you groan out, pumping into her mouth, unrelenting. She feels so good, you can barely keep one eye open while she essentially rests on your pelvis, close to flying over the edge.

Nagyung makes this incomprehensible sound, garbled by cock—something between the lines of cumming all over face and never stopping. The thought never crossed your mind. Beside, you’ve got other concerns—particularly, the knot in your stomach tightening past repair. 

For a few precious moments, you feel it: the blaze of lust burning everything in sight, including Nagyung’s face. She chokes, gags on it one more time before releasing you from her grip, her hands returning to the base, intent on making sure you don’t miss a spot on her pristine features. 

Instead, your plunge between her lips again, her eyes widening, and fire away. Her mouth floods with a torrent of cum, thick, hot, filling her throat to the brim. She swallows it all, avoids wasting a single drop, and even she can’t fight it off any longer. She gave up her rights the moment she forced you into her mouth.

Even as the pulse weakens, and you eventually pull out again, Nagyung graciously drinks it up. Savors the taste like its water, like you’re the key to life itself. And while you’re able to avert a career-ending scandal by preserving her pretty face, there’s enough residue to stain her lips and chin, something you can wave off as an accident. 

The same can’t be said for her body hugging shirt. It’s mostly drenched in slick and sheen. Unsalvageable.

It’s the least of your worries right now. Your legs turn wobbly, and you slump back onto the couch, your strength drained all thanks to Nagyung.

“Okay. You got me,” you say, gasping between sentences, gathering as much needed oxygen for your lungs. Placing a hand on your chest, a glance at the woman and she’s licking up her lips for whatever cum’s left. “But—I still don’t think we should—”

Nagyung gets up from the floor and removes her shirt, tossing it aside. You’re rendered speechless at the last second. She’s not wearing any bra, her tits are out in full force, nipples taut and hot. But she’s not done yet; she makes quick work of her shorts, kicking aside her shoes before baring herself completely before your eyes. The sight leaves you shellshocked, your jaw completely agape.

As if you needed any more convincing that she’s ready to do porn. She’s got the makings of a top star; the looks, the body, the expressions, the voice—everything.

Extending out her hand to you, you grab and she pulls you from the couch before taking you to the bedroom. She lands belly first on the mattress, before arching her back, showing her plump ass directly before your presence. More importantly, she’s showing you how needy is through her wet panties, which you quickly slip off. Her wet holes, splayed and throbbing, drawing you in.

“Don’t you see how badly I want it,” she tells you, straightening her body on her fours as you join her in bed. “I’m ready. Just—please shove that big fucking cock inside my slutty hole. Please.”

It’s about as lewd as it sounds, yet still sincere. She’s too good of an actress to be doing mindless pornography.

For a moment, you consider otherwise. But then she’s continuing to whine ‘Please’ in the softest tone possible, and you can’t help but concede. Besides, you knew in your heart you were never gonna turn down a body and pussy like hers.

Lining your cock between her aching core, you give Nagyung a slap on her ass. In return, she yelps. Then another. Two should be enough, one for each cheek. But the visual of her body jiggling, rippling with each palmful as her skin turns from pale white to fiery red sets you further down an addicting, dangerous spiral. 

“Fuck, you’re really good at this,” you mutter, helping yourself to another palmful of ass. Her body trembles, glides down till you have her melted on the mattress. “Calling yourself a slut? Just like that? And I thought you wanted to be taken seriously as an actress.”

“No. I’m a slut,” she whines, her nails digging into the sheets, holding on for dear life. “I’m a slut for big cock, and I don’t care if it ruins me. Just please—shove that big cock inside me already. I can’t take it anymore.”

You want to test her a bit longer. More. To see how long it’ll take before she completely breaks. To find her limits and push them. And based on how needy she sounds, not that much longer.

“If you insist.” You hiss against her ear, spinning her around so she can meet you eye to eye. She’s trembling, anxious, ready to receive what she deserves. Hovering atop her, helpless and vulnerable, you gently slide in—and then she keens.

Nagyung’s cry of pleasure reaches high to the ceiling, filling the room with a sharp echo. The impact is immediate; her walls pulsate against your cock so tightly that it steals your breath. Impossible to drag yourself out. You can only gasp and catch yourself from grunting as loud as her, though it may have been better to give in. 

You feel her refusing to let go, the grip she has on you nigh inescapable. But you eventually slide back out, only to slip back in. Another whine forced from her lips. She’s doing it on purpose, you conclude, a way to break you back. A means to get you to fly over the edge.

Pinning her down to the sheets, going down on her neck, Nagyung’s sensitive to the touch. She quivers beneath you while you acclimate to her warmth, pounding her needy cunt at a slow, tempered pace. The tightness of her pussy enraptures you, continues to take your breath away. She’s all but a blur in your eyes, with her voice being the only guiding light as you fuck her. Her legs slowly wrap around you, keeping you in place so that you have no outs. 

Not that you had any intention of pulling away any time soon. 

Especially when she’s beginning—pleading—in the most strained of tones. 

“Ah—this—cock—this is so—oh my fucking God—” she whines, breathing heavily between words, her lips twisting in ecstasy. By impulse, her nails leave marks over your back, clinging to you desperately. “So fucking big—don’t you ever stop—”

“Never,” is your only response, and it’s oh so right. Your cock glides in and out of her core like water, effortless and silky. Your head is in a daze, going overboard through the unforgiving heat of Nagyung’s cunt. You’ve got a hand squeezed on her breast, surprisingly hefty for her proportions and size. You’re forcing out these noises from her, whether it may be a little cry or a deep whine. You can’t simply touch and admire her; you have to ruin her.

She’s dangerous; she’s an addiction you can’t get enough of. 

The bed begins to rattle, joined by the repeated, rhythmic smacks of skin slapping against skin. Pushing further along into her cunt, like you’re going to drown if you’re not balls deep inside her. It’s unlike you to go farther than normal, but you’re past the point of rational thought; the only thing that can set your mind right is what’s waiting on the other side.

“Nakko,” you mouth, and it comes out naturally. Like it’s meant to be. You can’t stop; you’re so far gone at this point. 

As you try to pull your head away, Nagyung twists her arms around your neck, wrapping you in an awkward, uncoordinated kiss. It’s sloppy and disjointed; your lips barely meet, her breath tense and hot, but passionate and sincere. Mouthing the gentlest ‘more’ and ‘so good and ‘harder’’ something you’re quite familiar with. A little reprieve and distraction from what’s to come. 

But the calm doesn’t last too long. The feeling continues to balloon higher and higher till it’s you’re at the tipping point of exploding. It doesn’t help that Nagyung continues to encourage you with all the little things; her shrilly whines, her clawing at your hair and back, her body bouncing with each thrust, causing her tits to ripple, and of course, the tightness of her cunt.

“So close—I’m gonna cum—oh God I’m going to cum—” Nagyung cries, biting on her lower lip, moving her head around to find your lips again. She narrowly misses you, your lips by her chin, breathing on her neck.

“Cum for me, Nakko,” you tell her, keeping her breaths labored and erratic, your thrusts unrelenting—like you’ve ripped the brakes off your own hips. The grip around your waist is beginning to waver. “Just—cum all over me—cum for me, slut—”

That one word. That one damned word that she’d been avoiding this entire time—is what breaks her. She embraces it now. Forget about saving face; this is who Nagyung really is. A slut.

Because she cums. Hard. Her pussy quivers, her body tenses up, and her feet curl in the air as the orgasm washes over her. Tilting her head to the side, letting out this impassioned cry of pain and pleasure as you fill her to the hilt, filthy and heavenly in every single way. Fingers embedded deep into your skin, uncaring about all the marks she’s leaving on your body; a fair trade-off for what you’re leaving in her. 

She washes all over you, a fresh wave of slick and nectar that floods your cock, and as you push further on, you realize you’re not any better. If anything, you’re dangerously close to falling apart too.

“Gonna fucking cum—” you hiss, kissing her cheek repeatedly, pulling on her dark locks, going down on her neck again in a last-ditch effort to delay the inevitable. 

“Please—” she murmurs back, unable to resist you, unable to find a moment to catch her breath. “Don’t cum anywhere else—cum inside me—fill me up—please—”

With a tone like hers, it’s impossible to decline such an offer.

And mercifully, the end comes not long after. 

Pressing Nagyung deep into the mattress, your bodies melt as one. Burying yourself deep inside her, leaving an evident mark on her neck as your connection reaches its apex. You feel it—the violent, continuous pulse of your cock unloading shot after shot inside her needy cunt till she’s drained you of your worth. A cacophony of whispers fall against your ear, the same comment of ‘so warm—so much—’ in that order, until you’re both met with a calming silence, only accompanied by your steady breaths.

Can’t move, even as your cock withers in her warmth, insisting to stay. You’ve got each other in a warm embrace, unwilling to let go. You’re resting your head right beneath hers, kissing what little of her chest you can reach. Basking in the afterglow of sex, taking all the time in the world to let everything sink in. Even now, it’s all a blur; a complete disruption of the status quo.

Tilting her head down to glance at you, Nagyung quietly breathes, her lips melding into a little smile. “Well—this is—” before she goes blank, still overwhelmed over the events that have transpired.

“Yeah,” is all you can say, just as tongue tied, like you’ve both come to the same conclusion.

As she leans in to meet you for a deep, passionate kiss, you both hear a voice echo in the distance. ‘Cut!’ the director tells you, and you both lay down, drained and exhausted. His applause echoes around the room while he approaches you both, pleased with your efforts.

While he yaps on about something, you take a moment to hush something to Nagyung. “Christ. Nakko, you’re a natural.”

She smiles at your remark, caressing the back of your head. “You’re not half-bad yourself.”

—————

“Jesus.” Nagyung looks at her phone in utter disbelief and shock. Across the table, Jiheon leans forward to take a peep herself. The title is irrelevant (but partially responsible); what matters is the view count. And to no one’s surprise, it’s a hit. Her debut ‘film’ has notched 14 million views in a little over 24 hours, a new site best, surpassing the previous record by a complete landslide. It isn’t even close; just like that, a new star is born.

“See?” Jiheon looks on, proud. “By the rate you’re going, you’ll surpass me and Chaeng in no time. And it’ll be rightfully deserved.”

“Sure, but—” Nagyung looks around the bar, trying to catch a glimpse of Chaeyoung, whom she hasn’t seen in a week. “I don’t wanna post as often as you do, you know? Make it a big deal whenever I do this. Also when my agency eventually finds out, I’m toast.

“Doesn’t matter. We all know it’s you,” Jiheon jests, raising her eyebrows playfully, much to her friend’s annoyance. By request, Nagyung had her face explicitly blurred out and cut whenever possible during sex scenes, even though she had taken up the daunting task herself instead of getting a body double. “But we’re all well protected, and this is all under the table, high security shit. So don’t worry. Besides, it pays well, if not better for a day’s work.”

Just then, Chaeyoung emerges from the restrooms, adjusting her jeans as she walks over to their table. Taking her seat besides Nagyung, she gives her a friendly kiss and embrace. “Congrats on the debut, Nakko. That was very hot, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Nagyung quietly smiles at her, tone respectful and gentle. “So—where’s he?”

Right as Chaeyoung is about to open her mouth, you come out of the bathroom, wiping off soiled tissue roll glued to your fingers and pants. Chaeyoung smirks while the other two silently giggle and suppress their laughter. It’s been a week since she’s had her hands all over you, and this is how you catch up with each other.

“So, what’s next?” Chaeyoung asks, addressing the elephant in the room. “I assume you’ll be going back to doing regular acting roles now that this is all behind you—”

“Mmm—I don’t think so.” Nagyung interrupts. “Still haven’t got a new role yet, officially, but I’ve been penciled in for one as a rich asshole student.”

“You sure that wasn’t for me?” Jiheon interjects, eliciting a hearty laugh out of everyone around the table.

“Good one. But that was a fun experience, honestly. All thanks to this guy over here,” Nagyung says, pointing her finger directly at you, drawing all the girls’ attention.

Tilting your head, you remark, “Just doing my job, that’s all there is to it.”

“Easiest job in the world, am I right?” Chaeyoung teases, smirking devilishly, like she’s ready to go another round. 

Trying to remain well-mannered and polished, you reply, “It wouldn’t be as easy if she wasn’t cooperative on set, so there’s that.”

“Right.” Chaeyoung looks down, tone sarcastic, her fingers tapping on the table. “Definitely didn’t practice the night before. Am sure.”

“Anyway,” Jiheon interjects, redirecting the conversation back to the topic at hand. “So—what will you do, Nakko?”

Nagyung gives herself a moment to think. Then, her eyes pop wide open, like an idea just hit her.

“How would you three like to break the internet one more time?”

—————

(A/N: Thank you for the commission! I hope I was able to deliver a worthwhile product; between IRL stuff dragging the whole month of February down, barely had time to truly focus on writing. And funnily enough, the three idols requested all happen to be part of the redebuting fromis lineup. I'm glad fromis will continue on in some capacity, but it's still a bummer that we lost out on Saerom, Seoyeon, and Jisun (which, considering how much they've been shelved and mismanaged since debut, is understandable). Thank you for reading!)

[click4rainy]

Scruffy Man//Logan Howlett boyfriend Head Canons

👽:my favorite old man frfr 😪 (not proof read)

⚠️: smutty

SFW💛

★ Logan is fiercely protective of you, sometimes it can border on overbearing…If he senses danger just know he’s quick to step in without hesitation. “Just—stay close to me alright?” “I don’t care if it’s just a noise, stay behind me. I’ll check it out.”

★ This man is rough and rugged, always. But only you get to see his softer, more vulnerable side. Especially during quiet moments (aka when wade’s not home)

★ “Don’t go paradin’ this to the entire city now, but you’re my favorite person on this god forsaken planet.” He’ll murmur while bringing your hand up to his lips.

★ Logan is loyal to a FAULT! Once he commits, that’s it. He’s all in whether you like it or not. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right here with you. Don’t think for a second I’d ever leave.” His loyalty runs deep and he’ll stand by you no matter the circumstances or the cost.

★ Peanut isn’t big on flowery words or poetry. But his love for you is shown through touch—rough bear hugs, protective hand holding, or giving you forehead kisses.

★ Again, rather than words this man expresses his love for you with his actions. “C’mere…” he mutters, pulling you into a hug that’s as secure as it is slightly crushing…

★ Fixing things around the house, cooking a simple, hearty meal. He tends to your wounds and pampers you when needed.

★ Logan’s temper flares if he feels like someone is crossing a line with you. “This guy botherin’ you?” He’ll ask cocking a brow, eyes narrowing as he sizes up the situation.

★ He’s got a dry, sarcastic sense of humor. Always expect sharp, quick witted one liners. “You’re late.” You’ll say, hand on hip. Smirking, he’ll reply some shit like “Time’s a human construct, babe.”

★ For someone who holds a gruff and rough exterior, he’s surprisingly a good cuddler. He’ll pull you close without a word, “Didn’t know I needed this til now.” He’ll smirk, relishing the warmth you provide.

★ Logan is the type of boyfriend who will stare at you when you’re not looking. His gaze can vary from intense affection to slight sadness. Sometimes he’ll reflect on the fear of losing you when he get’s lost in his admiration…

★ “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” You’ll ask whenever catching his stare. He just shakes his head slightly. “Just…takin’ it all in.”

★ Not one for fancy dates, he’ll plan out more low-key, intimate activities like camping in the woods, hiking together, or road trips on his motorcycle.

★ “I know a spot a few miles out. Stars are brighter there. Thought we could use the peace tonight.”

★ He has the absolute BEST stories. He shares stories behind his scars, memories from his long life during intimate moments. “This one?” He traces the mark up his arm. “Happened back in ‘78. Remind me to tell you about it when we get more whiskey.”

★ Whenever you’re feeling sad, or down, Logan knows how to be there, how to be present without speaking. “You don’t have to talk if you’re not ready. I’m here for ya…” He’ll sit beside you, offering you silent support and reassurance by giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze.

★ Sure, he’s blunt and straightforward. But with you, he’s also soft spoken. “I love you” “How did I get so lucky?” “You gonna let me hold you already or what?”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

NSFW💦🤭

★ He’ll never admit it, (he will) but he thinks it’s totally hot when you take control. Mostly because it’s a rare treat when you decide to do so. “Alright, alright. I’m sat.” “I love it when you get aggressive.”

★ He’s an experienced man. Who knows what he wants and exactly how to get it. “Mhmm—just like that…” “god damn baby…” “that’s right~”

★ Man’s got stamina for days. I’m talking about round after round. He’s down as long as you are.

★ “Oh, come on princess, I know you can take it a little longer.” He smiles, pounding into you relentlessly, his hand on the back of your head while pushing your face into the pillows.

★ Logan is rough around the edges…so of course you’re in for some rough treatment during freaky deaky time. “Quit squirmin’ and take it.” He grunts, pinning your wrists above your head, drilling into you with quick, harsh thrusts.

★ “God damn you’re snug.” He says, smacking your ass harshly while wrapping your hair around his free hand, pulling your head back as he sets a brutal pace.

★ Logan loves marking your skin during intimacy. Biting your shoulders. Nuzzling into the crook of your neck, sucking and leaving dark marks along the column of your delicate skin while soothing each sting with a tender kiss.

★ “look at you.” Logan coos, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “All beat up and tired. We haven’t even started yet.”

★ Gets off from overstimulating you with his cock. Rolling his hips against yours, slowly and agonizingly after making you cum several times already. Smirking while splitting you open. Using zero effort while your hands fist into the sheets. Legs trembling and a sheen of sweat on your forehead.

★ “Gonna make you walk crooked—fuck you til you’re beggin’ me to stop. Then keep goin’ til I get my fill. How’s that sound?” He teases, rubbing the tip of his cock against your buzzing, numb cunt before slamming into you without another word.

★ Loves it when you get on your knees for him. “Atta girl. Now, open up for me.” He commands gently, fisting your hair up into a ponytail for you. (Or just gripping your melon if you have short hair)

★ He’s not going to fuck your face unless you ask him to. Usually letting you set your own pace when you’re tasting him. Keeping your hair out of the way while praising you.

★ “Take it all baby..” “perfect.” “You’re damn good at thi—s aren’t you?” “Swallow for me…” his grip will tighten in your hair (or not) as you bob your head up and down his shaft. Feeling his cock throb in your hot mouth before spewing thick, white ropes down your throat.

★ He low key likes thigh riding. Like…a lot. It seriously is one of his favorite ways to make you a whimpering, whining mess.

★ “Fuck, you’re doing so good—” He’ll praise you, hands sliding up and down your sides before firmly gripping your hips, grinding you harder against his thigh. “You like that?”

★ After care…Logan knows his way around the block when it comes to pampering the love of his life. Especially after fucking you senseless.

★ Has a habit of getting too rough with you sometimes. Happens to the best of us, right? “Let me see those marks…” he’ll whisper, tracing over your skin with his finger tips.

★ “You alright?” “Still with me, sweetheart?” “just relax, that’s right. Let me take care of you.” “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” “C’mere, let me hold you”

★ Massaging your back, getting you a drink, cleaning you up and getting you a fresh set of clothing, running a bubble bath or shower. Whatever works best in the moment for you, he’ll do it.

[ju-nebugg]

moments from trb that make me lose my mind (pt. 2)

- “once your balls drop, that beard’ll come in great. like a fucking rug. you eat soup, it’ll filter out the potatoes. terrier style. do you have hair on your legs? i’ve never noticed.” ronan lynch i love you so much

- ronan panicking and letting the mask slip when gansey was staring down that wasp

- ronan being jealous that gansey was leaving henrietta with adam and saying “do you not want me to come” and gansey responding with “i would take all of you anywhere with me”

- “the sky as blue as death above him” like WHAT

- “i didn’t realize that ‘midget’ was the adam parrish type” ronan your yearning is showing

- gansey’s smile being “complicated” when he notices adam and blue holding hands

- “…blue’s dress had gotten hitched up and gansey could see a long, slender triangle of her thigh. adam’s hand was braced a few inches away on the seat, knuckles pale with his hatred of flying. there was nothing particularly intimate about the way they sat, but something about the scene made gansey feel strange, like he’d heard an unpleasant statement and later forgotten everything about the words but the way they had made him feel.” (long quote i know but holy fucking shit)

- obligatory “i’m always straight.” “oh, man, that’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told.”

- gansey doing his little indie film main character scream to god in a field

- gansey pointing at people. so much pointing. what a dork. i love him so much

- also his vocabulary. what a NERD <333333

- ronan pissing all over the state of virginia

- gansey calling blue “the table everyone wants at starbucks”

- “i just fed chainsaw but she’ll need it again.” “this,” gansey replied, “is precisely why i didn’t want to have a baby with you.”

- adam’s immediate thought when holding blue’s hand is to worry about crushing her fingers :(

- ronan forgetting to be “cool or surly” when translating cabeswater’s latin, and apologizing over and over again good lord and gansey only responding with “it’s okay, you’re doing really well”

- the whole “coincidence because it wasn’t” trend

- gansey being SO NERVOUS to ask blue to hang out at the church, and then sounding “fourteen shades brighter” when she accepts

- gansey’s arms being super fucking ripped from rowing and blue Noticing

- “aquamarine is a wonderful color, and i won’t be made to feel bad for wearing it”

- “gansey’s voice, when he replied, was a little rough. ‘well, if you killed adam, i’d be quite upset.’”

- “on the inside, he sort of wished he looked more like the camaro. which was to say, more like adam.”

- gansey planning out his “cunning thing to say to blue when he saw her next”

- ronan walking in on adam and blue flirting and immediately shoving chainsaw in their faces. hm.

- “no matter how hard he tried, he kept becoming a gansey”

- “out of the blue?” “i’d prefer if you didn’t use that expression.”

- BUTTERNUT

- blue being reluctantly attracted to gansey’s glasses

- ronan trying so hard to give adam an excuse not to go home, and then going absolutely apeshit when adam gets hurt

- neeve’s voice sounding like a “computerized voicemail menu” (can you tell i’m in love with maggie’s descriptors)

- “gansey was just a guy with a lot of stuff and a hole inside him that chewed away more of his heart every year.” oh god

- ronan carrying all of adam’s possessions into monmouth on his back

- gansey saying things like “excelsior” and “yee haw” for no one but himself

- gansey being miserable and blue liking him better that way

- ‘“crushed and broken,” gansey said. “just the way women like ‘em.”’ correct!

- “cabeswater was just as literal as ronan was” HMMMMMMMMM CURIOUS

- ronan writing “remembered” on the red mustang and walking away without a word shut UPPPPPP

- ganseys first question after adam sacrifices himself being “was i so awful?”

- “they didn’t even have the authority to choose an alcoholic beverage. they couldn’t be deciding who deserved to live or die.”

(pt. 1)

as soon as i can stumble my way to a bookstore, dream thieves will be annotated to hell and back. expect more yelling very soon <3

[idv-sunsxin3]

Rody, Vincent // Thoughts on S/O

Notes// I've got these random brainrots like, if reader has to play this game connected to the deadplate game in the pov of a journalist to solve some kind of case related to Manon's disappearance-- so Rody and Vincent would be having npcs with extra dialogue lines that talk about their s/o(Y/N, not manon). The other idea of us playing in the pov as the s/o(separate) would be interesting too.

Rody//

•NPC!Rody can be seen walking and catering patrons with a friendly smile. He was wearing roller skates as he often has his hands busy with dish plates during his work shift.

•If you stay long enough to shift restaurant, there is a chance he would stutter his performance a bit as his arms tremble to keep the plates from not falling in his hands.

•When talking to him, his speech is usually rush as he has to shift from one corner of the restaurant to the other, his eyes everywhere as he rambles on yet keeping a friendly aura through his firm smile.

•"Hello- welcome to La Gueule le Saturne! Allow me to guide you to the right table. "

•"Yes? Please stay seated for the mean time, I'll be right back with you soon!"

•"Would you like to order?"

•(asked about S/O) "Oh- Oh? My lover?" *sheepish smile with a goofy blush suddenly* "They're doing great." *easily goes back to work*

•Whether as a coworker or customer, one thing clear is that when you're a bit closer enough, you eventually get to know his S/O's name.

•"We can talk later!"

•"What's up? Need a hand?"

•"Uh--- can you take care of the other tables? Thanks!"

•"mmm... I wonder what kinds of flowers should I give for Y/N this time?" *dozing off in the kitchen for a moment *

•(When asked about S/O) "Y/N are at home, and they are taking care of our apartment.. If only i can convince them to not move a finger.. God, they're so wonderful-- Oh, excuse me." *catches almost getting too deep into the topic before trying to quickly go back to work*

Internal Thoughts//

I love Y/N... I must work hard for them. Without them, I'll be nothing... So I have to do more than my best to give them the love and care they need! I must please them. I must serve them... Well, even if it's too much.. I'm willing to give them everything... my everything.

I promise them a brighter future... where we don't have to worry about money and bills. I just need to earn and save more.

This journalist keeps coming over pretty often--- I wonder what they are looking for? Why are they so curious of my honey? I need to keep S/O safe from unwanted attention - I'll just try and answer briefly as possible.

___

Vincent//

•Usually you'll see NPC!Vincent in the corner watching the cooks work to check for perfection. No matter how early you are, it's already clear that he's the boss. The one who is the first person to open the restaurant

•Day 4, you can find him walking to the dumpster area to smoke in his break.

•When interacting with him. He'll show a polite, charismatic persona when talking to you as a visitor or patron.

•"Good day, what may I help you..?" *fake smile*

•"Hello, are there any problems with a dish you have ordered? We can try and fix something to recompensate it."

•"Looking for me...?"

•"Oh- may I ask what you are doing here, Monsieur/Mademoiselle? Rody should have informed me about you coming here -"

• (When asked about S/O) "Mm... About my fiancé? They're doing well, thank you for asking." *maintaing a fake smile*

•If you happened to end up working for him as a waiter or cook, his demeanor would probably be a different story.

•"..."

•"What do you need?"

•"......"

•"Why are you still here? You better not try chit-chats on me."

•"...What?"

•(When asked about s/o) "S/O? They're at work. Any business with them? I can let them know on your behalf with anything you need to inform later. Just go back to work."

Internal Thoughts//

I keep mentioning Y/N as "my fiancé " through the press and the public. In reality, We're not officially engaged, but I like the sound of it, and i do it so no one can bother to make advancements on me - I need to be seen as... royally taken.

The journalist keeps asking questions to me... even having the audacity to press on matters related to my Y/N. If they know what really happened to Manon, I must make a backup plan...

And do not fret, mon cher. I'll soon place a real ring on that pretty finger on yours... Once the evidence needs to be rid of from anyone's reach.

[kumabeom]

mistletoe - beomgyu

summary : beomgyu spends the entirety of yeonjun’s christmas party trying to get you under the mistletoe with him.

warnings : 1.2k words, AGAIN NOT PROOFREAD, beomgyu gets annoyed at yeonjun who is plotting a revenge plan

it was rare for beomgyu to have some sort of annoyance targeted towards yeonjun. typically, it was the other way around, usually, beomgyu was the one who attempted to make yeonjun get riled up. it was never the other way around. in fact, beomgyu woke up feeling rather happy today. he woke up, spent a bit of time to himself, then got ready to attend yeonjun’s christmas party. once he was ready, he went to go pick you up.

when he picked you up, god, he felt his heart drop into his stomach. in fact, he was so ready to drop the whole party thing just to stay in with you. unfortunately it just wasn’t a party that he could sit out. especially if it was his bestfriend’s party, not to mention how you helped pick a gift out for him and now you were so excited to see and hear yeonjuns reaction.

so when the two of you arrived at yeonjun’s house, seeing all the mistletoes placed in doorways, beomgyu had one goal. he needed to get you underneath one of those mistletoes and kiss you. it wasn’t a want, it was a need.

the first time that beomgyu sent a death stare right into yeonjun’s back was the second that he saw you right within the doorframe, beomgyu started to make his way over to you, noticing the way that you seemed to be looking around for him. eyes glistening even brighter than ever when you caught sight of him, excitedly calling him over. but beomgyu took one look above you and watched as yeonjun removed the mistletoe from behind, sticking his tongue out at beomgyu. your excitement still on full display as you missed yeonjun’s devious act. although you noticed beomgyu’s gradual decline in attitude, looking up and noticing that the mistletoe was completely gone. walking over to beomgyu and still placing a kiss on his lip.. the issue lied in the fact that beomgyu wanted to kiss you under the mistletoe.. not just anywhere else, he always had time to kiss you, but a kiss under the mistletoe was special.

the second time that beomgyu got annoyed was when the two of you were finally underneath the mistletoe at the same time, lips about to meet, when yeonjun happened to bump into beomgyu, moving him completely to the side and leaving yeonjun under the mistletoe with you. of course, yeonjun wasn’t that messed up to actually mess around with your relationship. so he just patted your shoulder and kept moving, attending to other guests that he had over. beomgyu felt furious, and to make matters worse, yeonjun removed the mistletoe. again.

the third time was beomgyu’s last and final straw, deciding to grab a mistletoe that yeonjun had hung up, stuffing it into his pocket. and when he felt the time was right, he pulled it out right above the two of you. although, you made a bit of a mistake and you hadn’t realized what he was doing until yeonjun already had a hold of the stolen mistletoe.

this all caused beomgyu to get rather upset, and at this point something in his gut was telling him that you were in on it too! how could it have taken you so long to realize there was a literal mistletoe hanging above the two of you! and when he got pushed out of the way by yeonjun, why didn’t you cling onto his arm so that yeonjun’s small shove wouldn’t have impacted him in the way it did! oh he was just so furious, you noticed his change in demeanor throughout the night. he easily recovered from the first accident, hoping that it was going to be the last one of the night. but as he noticed the reoccurring pattern, he only got more upset.

the two of you were standing there, together, arm in arm as you watched yeonjun and a few of his friends take shots, giving cheers to a merry and jolly christmas. although at this point, beomgyu couldn’t even handle to look at yeonjun in the eyes. he couldn’t even look at you in the eyes and he wasn’t even sure why! maybe he was still conspiring this theory against you, but he just felt so annoyed, it started to blind his rational thinking.

you watched as he suddenly barged out, leaving you stranded by yourself. you truly did feel guilty, especially for the way that you could’ve prevented some of these from happening. you took a look at yeonjun and he nodded as he passed you a mistletoe, one that used to be hanging but he took down due to beomgyu’s attempt to kiss you. you thanked him for it, exiting the loud crowd and finally basking in silence, you found beomgyu sitting on yeonjun’s porch. taking a seat next to him as he let out a sigh.

“all done with your boyfriend.” he commented, you knew he didn’t mean it, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. you truly hadn’t known that beomgyu was going to end up so upset at what yeonjun told you was his plan of revenge for all the annoyance that beomgyu had given him.

“are you gonna dump me..?” you innocently asked, knowing how you were going to approach his previous comment.

“no..” he muttered, picking at the stupid flowers yeonjun had outside of his home. beomgyu wasn’t even sure how he found a random flower when it was the middle of winter.

“then of course i’m not.. i love my boyfriend even when he gets a little mad.. but he makes me the happiest in the world.” you couldn’t help but giggle, a smile finally breaking on beomgyu’s face as he turned over to look at you, only barely realizing that you had no sweater on, the cold hitting you all at once.

“are you insane ! why’d you come out here with no jacket on ! you’re going to get sick !” he quickly removed his own puffer jacket, enveloping you in his warmth. you smiled, placing a kiss on his cheek, as you innocently pointed to your own puffer jacket that was sitting on yeonjun’s lawn chair. you put it there hoping that it would encourage beomgyu to walk over to you, which it did. what he also didn’t notice was the mistletoe hanging over his head. one that you had placed above him right before he had turned to look at you. he watched as you moved the direction of your finger from your jacket to the plant hanging right above the two of you.

placing your hands carefully on his cheeks and pulling him gently into a kiss. which he gladly returned, his hand coming up to caress your cheek, while the other was holding a spot on your waist. he loved this, he loved you.

all he ever wanted was to make a memorable christmas special for you and he really needed to make it happen. it was needless to say that beomgyu was always a romantic person, so obviously he just needed to complete his goal.

“-wanna go inside..?” you asked, removing beomgyu’s jackets and placing it back around his shoulders, grabbing yours off of yeonjun’s chair and placing it around you. you turned to look at beomgyu but he was waving you over, innocent smile on his face. you walked over, knowing exactly what it was that he wanted, pressing one more kiss on his lips as you walked underneath the mistletoe

“i wanna go home and watch a movie with you..”

©️kumabeom

permanent taglist : @run2seob @soobadooba @mrsyawnzzn @matcha-binz @tinyelfperson @strwbrrykthv @bloomngspring

[lowkeylaufeysons]

big fish

You don't like what you see in the mirror, face worn by years of being a Hunter, the changes that have crept in with time. Rafayel disagrees with this assessment.

rafayel/afab!mc | qi yu/afab!mc

tags: older mc and older rafayel, established relationship, insecurities about getting older, rafayel comforts you and tells you how much he loves you, hurt/comfort i'm sorry!! un-beta'd.

Your hair is more silver these days. Rafayel notices you lingering in front of the cheap box dye at the grocery store. He sees you frown and sigh sometimes at your reflection, the creams and lotions on the counter beginning to outnumber his paints.

It pains him to realize that you don't like what you see in the mirror anymore, when you shy away from taking photos, the way you fidget and hide when you model for him. This self-scrutiny, Rafayel thinks, is unwarranted. The Sea God's heart, your heart, his bride-- your flame burns even brighter as the two of you traverse life's path. Every morning he thanks the sea for this lifetime, this current lifetime where there are no prophecies, no palace walls, no suffocating sands.

This is the first time he's been lucky, no, privileged to grow old with you.

And yet you are unhappy.

--

The moon is halfway through its journey for the night when Rafayel calls to you from the bath. He's already in the claw foot tub, completely submerged, luxuriating with his eyes closed. No matter how long the day, how tired either of you were, this nightly ritual was sacred.

He remains underwater as you approach, blowing exaggerated bubbles.

Glub glub glub glub.

Rafayel opens his eyes just as you sit at the edge of the tub, smiling fondly down at him. The moonlight is kind enough to illuminate the crinkles by your eyes, the brilliance in your hair, the pearl earrings he made you. He holds his breath, willing the water to still, etching the visual of you peering down at him through the ripples into his memory. He sees this every night, more or less, but every night is special.

He indulges in the moment just a little longer before he surfaces, arms open, wordlessly inviting you to join.

"Are you worried about drying out?" you tease, maneuvering your chest on top of his.

He curls a lock of your hair around his finger, pressing a reverent kiss on the strands. "Talia once told me I should carry a portable humidifier or mister around."

You pretend to consider it, "I guess I do need to take care of you like a plant huh."

"You've kept me alive so far, Miss Bodyguard."

Gently, he tilts your head to gaze into the mirror at the corner of the room.

"I want to hold you like this forever," he sighs, drawing you closer.

You meet his gaze in the mirror, "There's not much left to look at I'm afraid," you say with a dry laugh, breaking eye contact to go back to nuzzling his neck.

There it was again.

Rafayel frowns as he wipes away the water (or was it tears?) from your cheek.

"Can I tell you a little secret?" he murmurs.

The words fall out of his mouth before you answer.

"I've looked forward to this part of our lives for a very long time," he says. Your brows knit together and you tilt your head, not quite understanding. No matter, you would soon.

All those lifetimes, he thinks, that I’ve dreamed of seeing the cute lines start to appear in the corners of your eyes. The mosaic of new shades in your hair. He's never seen them, not once, not in Whalefall City, not on Philos.

Every time he awoke in the depths he prayed that this life would give him that chance. At times, Rafayel found himself bitter seeing older couples. How fortunate they were. To have each other. To have and to hold. It was selfish of him, he knew, to tell you how you should feel about yourself, but the little heartbreak within you, he wouldn't stand for it.

“My beautiful bride," Rafayel declares, breaking through the stillness of the night, "These right here—" he places a soft kiss by your temple, "are proof that I make you smile.”

He places a kiss at the corner of your mouth, holding you firmly as you giggle and squirm. “These right here, are proof that I make you laugh.”

"Rafayel--"

"Nope," he stops your complaint with a firm kiss. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to see this part of you? Of us? Aren’t we so lucky that we can finally see each other through all the seasons of our life?”

Gently, he holds your wrist, nuzzling your palm, "I have more wrinkles now too, and my hands are slower than they used to be. I almost slipped on another paintbrush this morning."

"This is the first time for both of us," he's aware that he's trembling, voice cracking as he tries impress upon you just what he means, "Don't deprive us of this okay? Don't hide. The tides change, as do our vessels, it's so remarkable that we get to do this together."

He feels you take in an unsteady breath as you nod.

"I want you to appreciate your body, this body, for honoring your vows. For bringing you home safe from missions. For coming back into my arms. For coming back to this shore."

You're sobbing now, and he is too. The water has long since become tepid, but as you sink into his love, his admiration, you've never felt warmer.

author's note: I was inspired by this tweet, and a little bit by the movie Big Fish which I adore <3 it's ramble-y but thanks for reading! Shout out to Joy for keeping me company while I typed this out instead of doing work. Comments, likes, reblogs always appreciated <3

divider: @/cafekitsune

[infiniteeight8]

Steter Prompt because I'm terrible at smut myself : Stiles drunkenly bets he can take Peter in his Beta form and Peter takes him up on it.

Bonus points if certain things are bigger in Beta mode 😉😏

I went with established relationship smut because it made the set up easier. 😀 I also skip over or abbreviate some things I’d normally write out, because I am trying not to let every fill go past 300 words. I mean, I failed, but if I hadn’t this would be even longer! 😂 

Warning for drunk sex. They are both drunk, they’re both into it, but it’s a thing.

-

“I bet I could take you,” Stiles says with all the confidence of the totally plastered.

Peter, none too sober thanks to the wolfsbane laced wine he’s been drinking all evening, scoffs. “In beta form? Have you forgotten the claws and the fangs and the speed and the strength and the healing factor?”

Stiles leers at Peter. “I didn’t say in a fight.”

It takes a minute for that to process in Peter’s liquor soaked brain. When it does he smirks and runs a slow look over Stiles. “Oh, you think so, do you?”

“Yeah, I do think so,” Stiles announces.

Twenty minutes later, he’s feeling a lot less confident, no matter how long Peter spent fingering him. Peter’s cock is much bigger in beta form, and that is absolutely not the beer goggles talking. 

Peter stretches, gives his hips a little shimmy, and smirks. “Give up?”

Well, if he’d been close before, he sure wasn’t now. “Hell, no,” Stiles blusters. He shoves Peter so that he flops down onto his back on the bed and crawls over him. “You stay right there, I’m taking this at my own pace.”

Peter snickers, but obligingly folds his hands behind his head. Stiles positions himself over Peter’s cock and slowly, slowly lowers himself down.

The first breach isn’t too bad. Peter is thicker, yeah, but he’d also worked Stiles open very thoroughly on his fingers and Stiles is dripping with lube. Eyes closed, focusing on his breathing, Stiles inches downward. And downward. His thighs are burning, and it feels like Peter’s cock goes on forever. By the time he finally comes to a careful rest across Peter’s hips, Stiles feels like he ought to be able to taste Peter’s cock. He’s stuffed to the absolute brim, so full he’s already feeling zings of pleasure from where Peter is pressed up against his prostate.

Prying his eyes open, Stiles grins triumphantly at Peter. “Told you!” he crows.

“I’m very impressed,” Peter says, a little breathless. He moves his arms behind his head and lays his hands on Stiles’s hips. “Mind if I help you with the ride?”

Considering how Stiles’s thighs are aching… “Not too fast.”

“Oh, not to worry,” Peter says, beta eyes flaring brighter. “I want to enjoy this.”

Stiles moans as Peter lifts him, then cries out as his weight pulls him down onto Peter again. God, the size of it, Stiles gets the feeling of fullness and the shock of a thrust. He moves as much as he can with his tired legs and with Peter’s help Stiles is soon bouncing on his dick, moaning almost continuously. 

“You are fucking perfect,” Peter groans, thrusting his hips up even as he pulls Stiles down.

“I’m gonna remember you said that,” Stiles gasps. They’re moving faster now, skin slapping together loudly, the waves of pleasure almost continuous, and fuck, they have to do this again, Stiles has never felt anything like it, and the prick of Peter’s claws in his hips only makes it better.

Peter comes with a roar, pulling Stiles down onto him hard. Stiles grinds down desperately and tips over into his own climax with a wail.

Still sitting astride Peter, his heart pounding, Stiles has to laugh. 

“What?” Peter demands.

It takes Stiles a minute to get it out: “What do you think the neighbours made of those sex noises?”

Peter laughs even louder than Stiles.

[satvruu]

ೀ how they hug you

rewritten and reposted of my hc set from my old blog @/star-puff! thank you to all my old dedications as well as my new ones @kurooppi @wyllsravengard for making my return to this fandom possible <3

feedback is very appreciated!

ft. yuuji, megumi, gojo, getou, nanami

itadori yuuji embraces you warmly, fondly, sunlight streaming through the window and scattering over your bare skin. it's someplace safe and comforting, enveloped in his arms like he's taken it upon himself to protect you from everything horrible in the world; he is your knight, he is your shield, your safe haven to escape to, no matter how many wounds he will endure in the process. ("yuuji," you whisper, a hand coming up to rest gently on his arm. he bleeds desperation. "i'm okay, i promise." yuuji squeezes you tighter, trembling, and you wonder what you can do to make it true for him, too.) he holds you for far too long for it to be anything casual, but you can't really complain about it anyway—it's better this than to witness the alternative. after all, what is the sun without a place to hold its warmth; what becomes of a hero when they fail to protect the things that matter most?

fushigurou megumi comes to you slow, steady, a ripple of water in the pond. you coax him out gently, holding your arms out before wrapping them around him. his breath hitches (always, no matter how many times he tries to hide it) and his body stiffens, arms frozen at his sides. but slowly, surely, your head buried in his chest, megumi's arms begin to wrap around you in a manner you can only describe as tender—as if you could break if he held onto you too tight. (truthfully, megumi thinks he's just afraid. the jujutsu world is a dangerous one, after all, even to those who only know of it by name. megumi has lost too many people, and you're the one person he can't afford to lose.) he flinches at the thought, pulling away. you draw yourself closer in him, instead. moonlight behind the clouds, you'd gladly hold onto this night forever if it meant megumi was by your side.

gojo satoru is known as many things—a child prodigy, the strongest, a boy-god making his presence known on the lowly earth, but to you, he is simply just obnoxious. satoru makes it a spectacle each time he sees you: hollering, gallivanting, draping himself over you with his long limbs and impossible-to-miss frame. you huff and complain and uselessly try to drag yourself away from him each time, but satoru hooks onto you and refuses to let you go, nuzzling his face into yours. (they're mine, the action screams, a blaring warning to anyone unfortunate enough to get caught in the collateral. you've been too caught up in your irritation of him to notice this, of course, and you're certainly not someone who would take the explicit meaning of it kindly, but satoru finds that he doesn't really care. not when he has more important things to attend to.) gojo satoru is many things, but the one thing he absolutely isn't is someone who can share.

getou suguru smells of sandalwood incense, a musky amber you think you could identify blind. sometimes, you think you remember a different suguru, a kinder suguru, one that had easier things to worry about, a brighter look in his eyes, an easier weight to his gait. if you think back far enough, you suppose it might have been because he had somebody else by his side to keep it that way, a brighter light shining next to him to keep the darkness at bay. (but that was a long time ago. now, suguru is the one left to be lit by the fire, stuck in the ashes of his own kin for a future little understand. you're not sure who is to blame for that anymore.) you're not the light that can save him—no one can be, not anymore. when suguru reaches out to you, rare vulnerability bubbling over in a way you can only describe as drowning—as crumbling—the only thing you can do is curl yourself next to him in the incense burner, smearing yourself in the ash.

nanami kento thinks you need this, especially after a long, hard day. the melting comes slow: his hands on your back, gentle pats and quiet whispers of comfort as he rests his chin on your head. and then comes everything else. his hands slot perfectly into the dip of your back, the small of your waist, thumbs rubbing small circles over the fabric of your clothes, and in the eyes of no one but yourselves, the two of you begin to sway back and forth to a quiet melody nanami begins to hum. you cling onto the fabric of his shirt, trying to memorie the smell of his cologne, the rumble of his voice, the warmth of his arms. (it's too much, to have a memory of a future that will inevitably happen. you almost want to cry. don't go, you want to say, a lump in your throat, wishing for the impossible. don't go.) and still, selfish as you are, nanami hugs you like you're slow dancing in the dark.

[bishopsbeloved]

crystal clear

kate bishop x fem reader

there’s something about kate bishop that you can’t get enough of. you need to be close to her, always, but you’ll take whatever you can get — even if that means you’re just her fuckbuddy.

fwb to lovers, fluff and angst (happy ending), mentions of sex, god i love kate bishop, 3.3k words

read this fic on ao3!

Kate Bishop doesn’t swing by your borough very often.

When she does, it’s for either superheroing or sex. Her being in the area for the former will inevitably lead to her calling you for the latter.

You met through a mutual friend in college. You got on really well as friends at first, but you were undeniably attracted to her (who wouldn’t be?), and at a drunken New Year’s party she proved that attraction mutual when you were her New Year’s kiss. You ended up doing a lot more than kissing that night, and when you woke up in her bed the next morning she ever-so-casually suggested that the two of you “do this again sometime”.

“It’ll be good for both of us,” she shrugged. “You’re stressed with school, I’m stressed with… this,” she nodded over at her suit and bow, haphazardly discarded in the corner of her room.

You knew it wasn’t a good idea. You knew somewhere deep within you that you wouldn’t be satisfied with just sex. Kate Bishop is the kind of person that it’s difficult to get enough of, and you wanted all of her. But you’d take whatever you could get.

The two of you laid out ground rules, of course. Neither of you would sleep with anyone else (Kate didn’t have the time to find anyone else, and you didn’t have the interest). You wouldn’t tell any of your other friends (“America will never let me hear the end of it,” Kate said, nose wrinkling), and, most importantly, rule number one, you wouldn’t let it ruin the friendship.

“It’s just sex,” Kate insisted. “We can’t— I don’t do relationships.”

It’s not like it was news to you. Kate Bishop doesn’t do relationships, ever. Everyone knows it. You bit your lip and nodded, stomach already sinking a little. In retrospect, that should’ve been your first warning sign.

You hadn’t meant to break rule number one, though. Honest. If anything, it’s Kate’s fault, for being so… Kate. And it’s didn’t happen all at once, either. In an effort to maintain your pre-existing friendship, you both continued your routine of coffees every Wednesday morning, and walks with Pizza Dog in Central Park. Everything was as it always was on the surface, but within you could feel a shift begin, no matter how badly you wanted things to stay the same. Every time you caught yourself staring at her too long or laughing too hard at something dumb she said or your heart doing that stupid fluttering thing, you did everything in your power to put a stop to it. But you were helpless. Kate Bishop is a beacon, a lighthouse, and you’re drawn in to her against your will, no matter what you’re doing — whether it’s movie night or a coffee not-date or those late-night talks after sex or, yes, the sex itself. The sex is great. Just like everything else with her.

Fuck.

It happens gradually, so gradually, but everything comes to a crescendo when you roll over one morning and she’s already awake, staring at you with such depth and warmth in her big blue eyes. You blink back at her for a moment and know with frightening clarity that you’re in love with her. It’s crystal clear. You can taste your love for her on your lips when she kisses you good morning, and it terrifies you.

You don’t know what to do. You can’t tell her, that’ll ruin everything. It’s the number one condition of this arrangement — don’t jeopardise the friendship. This will do more than just jeopardise it. She’ll never want to talk to you again. And now that you’ve gotten used to Kate Bishop’s presence in your life, you never want to let it go. She makes your days brighter, she’s a joy to be around no matter what you’re doing, and you want to be around her in whatever capacity is achievable. Even if that capacity is friends who fuck sometimes.

So even though it’s a bad, awful idea, even though you’re already breaking the most important rule of the agreement, you carry on with it. You respond to every you up? text and then try to ignore the way your chest hurts the next morning when she walks out the door. Sometimes she’s gone before you even wake up. You think you prefer that, in some ways. At least you don’t have to watch her go.

Kate’s visits to your part of the city are sporadic, and mainly motivated by you, to be honest. There’ll be times when she doesn’t call in on you for a week, and then the next she’ll be at your place for three nights in a row. (She always makes an effort to maintain your Wednesday morning meets, though — a gesture you’d be touched by if you knew no better.)

This week has been one of those in which you haven’t seen her at all. Your life is a little less bright when she’s not around, although you do your best to distract yourself with college things and coursework, and your attempts are generally semi-successful. You’re just getting ready to turn in for the night when your phone chirps out the little notification tone reserved exclusively for Kate, and her name flashes on your lockscreen.

kate bishop <3: you awake? i’m abt five mins away

Your heart is in your throat, but you of course tell her yes.

kate bishop <3: ok omw

you: do i need to have the bandaids ready?

Your teasing, of course, refers to all of the times she’s shown up on your doorstep a little worse for wear. You’re sure you’re a qualified nurse by this point.

kate bishop <3: no

kate bishop <3: …yes

you: see you soon

You place your phone down, grinning stupidly to yourself.

(You are very, very stupid.)

In barely any time at all she is sat on your kitchen counter with you stood between her legs, gently dabbing at the most recent gash on her forehead.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” you reassure her exasperatedly.

“There was a lot of blood,” she pouts. You laugh softly.

“That’s what flesh wounds do. Even small ones. You should know that by now,” you tease, carefully extracting a Band-Aid from the packaging.

She sighs. “No, I think I’m seriously injured, and I need a pretty girl to kiss it better.”

If literally anybody else had said that you would not be smiling dopily back at them with a stomach full of butterflies. But it’s Kate Bishop, so you place the Band-Aid over her forehead cut before dropping a kiss on top of it. “Better?”

“Maybe if we kissed in… some other places.” The latter half is said against your skin as she wraps her arms around your waist to draw you in closer. You can’t help but melt into her arms as she begins to trail kisses down your neck, and the lower she gets the more open-mouthed they become. She grins wickedly when you start to make those little noises at the back of your throat that she loves to draw out of you.

“So sensitive,” she murmurs, her hands beginning to slide lower. Her eyes meet yours and they’re dark and stormy in the way that sets your stomach alight.

“Katie,” you pant, and she pauses to look up at you. “Maybe we shouldn’t— if you’re so seriously injured,” you try breathlessly, and she laughs. (The sound sends a little shiver up your spine. You adore her laugh.)

“You know I’ll eat pussy no matter what’s wrong with me,” she retorts, and you feel your face heat up. Yes, you do know that. You know it from experience. There was a time she had a broken nose, and — well — the activities she roped you into didn’t help that broken nose.

So you let yourself succumb to her touch, as you do every other night she wants you, and try your best to quash the bad, bad feeling that’s been threatening to surface the last few months.

Part of it is guilt, you think. You’re pretty much lying to her — or lying by omission, anyway — when you continue to pretend you’re not breaking the most important rule. You kind of feel like you’re violating her. She didn’t sign up for her dumb fuckbuddy hopelessly pining after her.

But also, you’re beginning to feel that maybe you deserve happiness. Maybe you deserve better than being the dumb fuckbuddy who hopelessly pines. You want to love, and be loved. You can’t stomach meaningless sex anymore, and you can’t stomach being meaningless to Kate.

Maybe if this ends now, you and Kate can still salvage your friendship.

You know ending things won’t be easy. That’s why you’ve been putting it off for this long. But you have to stop giving yourself false hope. It’s getting pathetic.

Even as you’re coming on her tongue you tell yourself resolutely this is the last time you’ll sleep with Kate Bishop.

When the act in question is over, she lays her head on your bare chest, humming softly. Your love for her hits you all at once; it sets you alight and sickens you all over again. You can’t do this anymore. This ends now.

“Kate,” you say quietly. “I’ve been thinking.”

The way that you say it makes her shoulders tense, she can tell something’s not right. She moves to sit up so she can see your face and take your hand between hers. You gently retract your hand, you don’t meet her eyes, and the cleft between her brows only deepens. “What? What is it?”

“I think,” you say shakily, “I think this… should end now.” You swallow, still not really looking at her.

“Why?” She says it quietly, and you can’t glean much else from her one-word response.

“I don’t really wanna be someone’s fuckbuddy anymore. I want to be someone’s girlfriend,” you admit.

Kate is silent for a few moments. “You know that I— I don’t —”

“Do relationships? Yeah,” you exhale. You tilt back your head, looking at the ceiling, anywhere but her. “So that’s why I’m saying we should— maybe we stop.”

“Okay,” she says eventually, and despite yourself you feel your shoulders sag a little as she confirms your beliefs. She doesn’t reciprocate your feelings. This is what it’s always been — just sex.

You feel her eyes on you and you’re careful to keep your gaze averted. You’re certain that if you look at her you’ll cry. Because you’re not looking at her, though, you miss the way she opens her mouth to say something else before thinking better and closing it again. You don’t see the way her bottom lip trembles as she turns away from you and begins to gather her various belongings, scattered across your room. You grab your phone from the nightstand and scroll through it mindlessly while Kate fixes her messy sex hair in the mirror. You only look up when she moves to open the door.

“I’ll… I’ll text you when I’m in the neighbourhood,” she says half-heartedly.

You press your lips together and nod. “See you around, Katie.”

“Bye, Y/N/N,” she murmurs, and closes the door behind her. You finally allow the tears to spill from your eyes.

You didn’t expect her to actually follow through. There’s radio silence between the two of you for a good while. You chicken out of breaking it to ask if Wednesday mornings are still on, and she certainly doesn’t initiate conversation, so you don’t see or hear from Kate Bishop for almost a fortnight (which is probably for the best, you’ll admit, since she’s left you in a right state). When she finally does text you, you almost fall out of your bed reading it, and have to double check that you’re not seeing things.

Sure enough, though:

kate bishop <3 (now):

can i come over?

You hastily type out a reply.

sure, when?

kate bishop <3: now lol?

kate bishop <3: i’m already omw

This makes you shoot out of bed. You’ve taken the definitely-not-breakup hard, and pretty much haven’t left your bed in the two weeks since you last saw Kate, much less your apartment. You’ve kinda just spent your time crying, eating ice cream and ignoring America’s threatening texts that come through when you miss another game night. You’re just not ready to face Kate in a social setting. One on one, though, is probably manageable. At least if it goes downhill no one else will see you cry. You’ll need to clean yourself up, though.

You spend the few extra minutes you know you’ll have, because Kate says hi to every dog she sees on the sidewalk, shovelling clothes from the floor into your closet in a vain attempt to make your place look a little more presentable, and questioning why you said yes to her coming over at all. When you hear a knock on the door, the silly little pattern only she does (“how else will you know it’s me?” she always says), you feel sick to your stomach.

You answer the door, and the two of you blink at each other for a few moments. Sure, it’s only been two weeks, but it also feels like there’s been a lifetime of change between you. The Band-Aid you put on her forehead when you last saw her is gone, and the cut beneath it is almost healed. A few others have replaced it on various different parts of her face, though. Her hair is loose, her cheeks are a little flushed from the journey to you and god, she’s so pretty.

“Hi,” you squeak out, and before you can do anything else she’s rushed forward and her arms are wrapping around you, tightly. It takes you a minute to process but then you return the hug, just as hard, breathing her in like it’s the last time you’ll ever see her.

“Hi,” you say again, but it’s much quieter this time, a whisper in her ear. She hums a greeting back into yours.

“I really missed you,” she murmurs quietly, and your breath hitches. You weren’t expecting any of this. She holds you close to her for a moment longer before finally letting you go. You don’t really know what to do with yourself, so you just step aside and let her into your apartment, closing the door behind her.

She wanders into the middle of your room, intently taking in everything like it’s her first visit. It’s not — far from it — and not much has changed since she was last here. There’s a moment of silence, and you can see the cogs turning in her brain. She’s building herself up to something. You don’t know what exactly, you don’t know what’s about to happen, but she’s got that faraway look in her eye.

“Kate,” you say tentatively, “what—”

She spins around to look at you, like you saying her name has grounded her, and she earnestly reaches for your hands. You give them to her uncertainly.

“Y/N,” she says, and her voice is thick with emotion in a way you’ve never heard it before. “I—”

She studies you intensely for a long, long moment before pulling you flush against her and pressing her lips to yours.

You can’t help it. Your eyes flutter shut at the familiar sensation, at the way she tastes, and your hands slide through her hair. The way she feels against you makes your head spin, and you’re gasping into her mouth and she’s whining, backing up towards the couch, and then suddenly she’s sat on it and you’re on her lap and Kate’s tongue is beginning to slide against yours, and it’s so good. You groan, your brain beginning to catch up with your body, and it takes every shred of willpower you possess to gently push her back.

“Katie,” you say weakly. She leans up desperately to reconnect the kiss, and when you shift from her lap to the empty seat on the couch next to her she makes a quiet noise of protest, her hands reaching out for you. “Kate. I told you I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Her face falls. She looks like a kicked puppy, and your heart clenches, but then she presses her lips together and looks up at you with determination.

“Y/N,” she says, reaching again for your hand. She’s not deterred when you don’t let her take it. She takes a deep breath, and you know as she opens her mouth you’re in for one of her trademark Kate Bishop rambles. “I am a fucking idiot. Think of the stupidest person you‘ve ever met and times it by twelve and that’s me. I literally—” She buries her face in her hands for a moment before continuing. “I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have let you end things. That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Which is seriously saying something, you literally watched me shoot down a priceless historical bell last year. You are— you’re— it wasn’t just sex to me, Y/N,” she says desperately, and this time when she reaches for your hand you let her. “I don’t think it ever was. I don’t know. I said I don’t do relationships, because it’s true usually I don’t, and that’s what you agreed to when we started this so I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and also I didn’t know how to tell you that I’m maybe a tiny bit obsessed with you, like I’m always thinking about you, how do you say that to someone? That’s not a normal thing to say, and then I didn’t want to freak you out and then you wanted to end things so I thought maybe that would be easier for you, I thought maybe you didn’t want me like that so I just let it happen which why did I do that, but then it was too late because I’m an idiot so I was trying to let it go, but I can’t sleep, Y/N, all I can think about is you, and I’m sorry I didn’t know what to do, but I do. I do want a relationship with you, I want it so bad I want everything with you, and if you don’t then you can forget this ever happened because I don’t want to make anything weird and America will kill me if I ruin her perfect Wii Sports game night team, but I just— I really had to tell you. I want a relationship with you, I want to be your girlfriend. I want— yeah. Yeah,” she says breathlessly, her eyes bright, and when she finishes her spiel her shoulders drop in the way they always do, like a physical weight has been lifted from her body. You stare up at her adoringly, and take her face between both of your hands.

“Kate Bishop,” you say sincerely, “you are such an idiot.”

“Wh—” she manages, before your lips meet with hers again.

This kiss is different. For the first time, the two of you are on the same page. Kate Bishop is yours, she wants you, and the thought makes you want to sing. On her lips now you taste something beautiful blossoming between you. You kiss her until you’re breathless, until the air that’s in your lungs is hers, and then you rest your head in the crook of her neck while she holds you as close to her as she can, clutching you like she can’t believe this is real, her chest heaving and hands shaky.

“I— I really do want to be your girlfriend,” she whispers again, and this time it’s so gentle and vulnerable. Your heart bursts at the way she’s so earnestly giving herself to you, no matter how much she swore she wouldn’t.

“Okay,” you tell her, and when your eyes meet hers are full of hope. “Okay.”

[annoyinglovetyrant]

The ride on the chopper was dull, smoke from the plethora of lit cigarettes wafting quickly out of the slid open doors as they fly through the air. The men aboard the ship are quiet, the high of the mission having dissipated long ago. Nikto sat silently, his eyes following the blur of trees and brush as he passes overhead. He thinks how the trees remind him of you; an overwhelming presence among nature, yet silent and strong. A beauty that has always existed in this world, and will always exist. It doesn’t matter if your physical form changes through the years, even when you two grow old and die together, your beauty will always remain. Your love continuously making the universe a brighter place.

He steps off the helicopter with quick and deliberate action, not bothering to say a word to any of his comrades, wanting, needing, to see you again. It’s like this for him every time, cursing himself for leaving you, for not getting to you fast enough. Eventually, he makes it out of the base, to his motorcycle, and heads to you. If you’d ask, he wouldn’t remember anything of the ride back. It’s an overwhelming time for him; his mind alone, consumed with thoughts of you. You. You. You.

It scares him sometimes, the utmost devotion to you. The all-consuming thoughts. Sometimes, he even forgets why he’s doing what he’s doing, why he’s even a soldier. Why hasn’t he quit and moved in with you? What was his purpose? He’ll remember the pain, but always it’ll be overcome with thoughts of you, of your love. A man like him can never go back to how he was, but.. maybe you’re healing him as much as his broken mind will allow.

He steps into your home: it’s warm, comforting, the smell that’s permanently etched into your walls he can only describe as.. kind.

He doesn’t see you immediately, you not sitting in your usual spot on the couch. You don’t run out to him either, something that instantly makes his heart drop to the floor. His feet work fast, the worst possible thoughts and scenarios running across his mind, and he barrels to your bedroom, one you share with him nightly when he’s on leave.

He bursts the door open, not bothering to be subtle in his movements, and he sees you.

He falls to his knees instantly

You’re alive.

But, that’s not what brings him to his knees. No, it’s what you’re wearing

A holy dress, something fitted perfectly to your form. A veil sits on your head, causing the sunlight to reflect off the white of the fabric, resulting in an impromptu halo to form around you. A singular cross sits across the chest, as the short skirt of the dress fits to your thighs. White stockings and heels making your legs look Devine. He was right.

You are his salvation

All the pain, all the torture he’d endured, and now God has sent him his reward.

He doesn’t cry, he can’t. He doesn’t hear your surprise, or what you say to him as you run to him, worried that he’s injured, or worse, dying. No, this is the opposite for him. You’ve saved him. In this moment, he truly believes you are Holy, an angel sent just for him.

His hands trembles drastically, reaching to you, cupping your soft cheeks in his paws. His breathing is ragged and fast, he can’t bring himself to speak either. Can’t bring himself to spout a prayer, can’t bring himself to worship you. He watches the worry on your face, the worry only reserved for him, and his hands fall.

The air around him seems like it’s left, leaving only you, and he enjoys it.

He doesn’t need air, when he has you.

It takes him several efforts to finally swallow the lump in his throat, and when he finally does, all he can manage to say is:

“You are our Holy Devinity.”

[dangerous-yam-fries]

Male Naga x GN!Reader - NSFW

Asks and Suggestions are open and encouraged!

Warnings: Stalking, envenomation, kidnapping, hemipenes, prehensile dicks, breeding, mentions of ovipositor(s), outdoor sex, MINORS GET OUT LEAVE DON'T COME BACK

As a snake-human hybrid Hyacinth is rather reserved and thus initially shy. He’s fairly young, so quite daring as well, but in a socially awkward way. He’s absolutely crazy about you, memorizing everything about you, especially your face and body.

Hyacinth has lived in the jungle for a very long time, and has had to fight tooth and nail to stay alive, so he has many scars and blemishes. Lots of sunburns too, calloused hands, as well as skin and scales peeling in certain places.

So no matter what you look like, he still considers himself to be far uglier and more repulsive than you. You’re like a god or an angel, and you look even brighter under the sun, like you’re the sun.

After he sets his sights on you, he’ll be better about trying to stay safe, so that he’ll be more presentable when he reveals himself to you. He starts to change his diet to make his scales shinier, spending hours cleaning it.

Once he… liberates you from your normal life, he won’t take his eyes off of you for a second. Many snakes can go weeks without eating, so he’ll likely stay in his cave with you until you become comfortable. If he absolutely has to eat and you haven’t warmed up to him yet, he’ll sedate you. Don’t worry, it’s for your own good!

Just as Hyacinth is nitpicky with his diet, he will be with yours as well. You’ll only be allowed to eat the highest quality fruits and meats, and under no circumstances will you go hungry on his watch. After all, you must be energized for all of your rigorous mating sessions!

Speaking of mating, a snake can have sex for 10-75 hours, and in the earlier days of you being taken, he’ll even push past that. Hyacinth will sedate you if need be, but prefers not to, after all, he wants you to do as you please with his body. He loves it when you caress his tail, specifically the tip and his hips where it fades from man to snake.

Hyacinth has two prehensile dicks that come out of genital slit. They are are pink fading into purple at the base, and about 6 inches each, but on the thinner side. His dicks don’t look like that of a human, they’re… pointed, but not sharp. He’s always erect, and fully lubricated, so he’s up for getting down whenever, wherever.

He wants to be able to fuck you out in the jungle, in a river, up in a tree, in flowery-filled clearings, everywhere. Hyacinth doesn’t care if you’re seen, it just means that every creature in the jungle knows who you belong to, him. And he loves cock warming, he constantly wants to be inside of you, often wriggling into your hole while you’re asleep, even without moving he can cum from how warm and soft your insides are.

Hyacinth is a heavy romantic, but a little… weird in his courting. Before you meet, you’ll find dead animals at your doorstep and in places that you frequent, often accompanied by flowers and fruits. He watches you from dusk until dawn, making sure that you sleep undisturbed and unharmed. Even after you’re together, Hyacinth will watch you sleep, sometimes just admiring you in the dim light. He of course brings you fruits, flowers, and dead animals once you’re together, but he tones it down a bit and adjusts his gifts to your liking. He’ll even try to steal from human camps to get you clothes and human snacks. Hyacinth tried some chips once, and they tasted like they had so little nutrition that he banned you from eating them.

Once he can trust you to stay with him, he’ll start taking you outside, berry picking or bathing, usually ending in having sex under the warm sun. Again, Hyacinth loves having sex during the day, especially if it’s sunny, it’s so warm and comfortable, he’s even fallen asleep a few times like that. His dicks inside of you, the sweet warmth around him lulling him to sleep after just a few rounds.

After a few months into the relationship, he’ll bring up kids. Your gender doesn’t matter, you’re already so perfect, so he’s confident that you’ll make a great incubator. Hyacinth will do his best to breed his eggs into you, but to do so, he has to go into a short hibernation first. To accommodate an ovipositor, he’ll have to sleep for about a month, and you’ll have to take care of him.

To prepare, he’ll make you weapons and even milk some of his venom to use on enemies. Hyacinth will stock up on food, even going as far as to steal non-perishables from humans. He’ll be so worried when he goes into his sleep, making sure to spend the days leading up it with you, loving you.

After a harsh, solitary life in the ruthless jungles, if he trusts you enough with his unconscious body, trusting that you won’t run away or kill him, then he truly loves you<3

[shady-tavern]

Preview for "Making Miracles" the March Short Story

(Warnings ahead for death, dissociation and suicidal ideation, please be sure to take care of yourselves)

*.*.*.*

"The Gods provide," was the favorite sentence of your family whenever trouble brewed. Your grandparents had said it when they had been alive and your parents did as well now, as did your younger brother.

In all honesty, you had no idea if they were right or not. Sometimes it looked like the gods did provide and other times nothing but days-long hard work could even begin to solve a problem. You would like for them to be right however, simply because it would make them happy.

Your father was an upbeat, colorful man, who seemed to sing more often than not, hair long and braided and he always insisted on embroidering everyone's clothes. You loved him dearly and no matter what was going on, he always took a moment to listen to you, his soul and heart kind and warm.

Your mother was more fiery in comparison, her laugh ringing through the house like cheerful bells, her grin fierce and she never shied away from the challenges of life. No matter how busy she was, she was always willing to fight for you and the rest of her family. She made everyone around her better and brighter, just like her spirit was.

You liked to think that your little brother had been born with chaos in his heart. Your parents only laughed when you said so in a mock-grumble. In their opinion both their children were perfectly lovely. 

For all that your little brother could get on your very last nerve, especially when he was in one of his mischievous moods, you knew you could always count on him. The two of you could be real shits to each other, but absolute nightmares to anyone who dared to come after you or your family.

All in all, you led a happy life. Not always an easy one, but a good one nonetheless. When your magical abilities showed themselves when you were fourteen years old, your parents didn't hesitate to send you to a mage academy, full of pride and love for you.

Your little brother just smiled that perfectly innocent smile and asked if you could learn spells that opened doors or would turn them invisible. 

You knew that the cobbler's son had said very mean things about his best friend and he had been thinking about how to get revenge ever since. Harmless revenge at the end of the day, but still something that would make the other boy's overblown ego deflate a little.

You just patted him on the shoulder in silent agreement and then you went on your merry way.

The mage academy was both very demanding and very fun. You found two amazing best friends named Iza and Gil. They were, like you, a little daring and rather willing to experiment around. 

Magic was amazing and as long as you didn't have to rigidly follow spell instructions, it was rather easy to use. You did better with improvising compared to pre-determined, carefully selected and thought out spell casting.

Which, of course, at times bit you in the ass quite a bit. As it turned out, thinking ahead wasn't the worst idea, especially in a spar against talented, more practiced mages.

You wrote home frequently and visited during the holidays, helping your little brother get his revenge. Afterwards you showed off the spells you had learned, making all your father's flowers bloom to the point where they were the most beautiful in town and you helped your mother in her forge, carefully etching runes across steel to imbue it with a little blessing. A little magic.

A little bit of wondrousness wrapped around the mundane.

"The Gods provide," your mother said with a laugh, reaching out to pull you into a hug as she pressed a grinning kiss to your temple. "And you are certainly a gift they gave us. You and your brother both. My little god-made miracles."

"Eh," you made a mock-unsure, doubtful noise and she laughed, giving your back a pat as she returned to her work.

You left to meet up with your friends for the rest of the day, since they didn't live too far from your hometown. The three of you were thick as thieves and you loved them more than anything in the world. You could entrust them with all your secrets, your good and bad parts and they did the same. With them, no matter where you were, you had a safe place.

Yeah, life was good and it stayed good even with some harsh lessons in-between, some bad experiences and rough times. Because you had love in your life and that gave you strength and hope and you always had someone to lean on, to get a moment's reprieve, when you felt like caving in yourself. You could always wade through the dark to make it back into the light and therefore, life was good. 

And then, your little brother fell in love and you got to watch him be as besotted with someone as your parents were with each other. The young man he brought home was quite the polite, friendly lad and he clearly was just as in love with your brother as he was with him. You were quite happy for them both.

Your best friends Iza and Gil started to date each other shortly after you all came back from the holidays and you had to admit that, apparently, your people-knowledge wasn't as good as you had thought. Because you had not seen it coming, but now that they had mentioned how long they had liked each other, you did start to see it.

You couldn't help but be amused as well as relieved at how insistent they were that you had to keep hanging out with them no matter what. Your little trio would be lacking without you, they said.

Your friendship indeed remained as strong as ever and the three of you graduated as full-fledged mages, ready to explore the world and make a name for yourselves. To your surprise, you soon received a letter by one of the archmages of the north, who had selected you among a couple other graduates to come study under her. 

It was an incredible opportunity, but it would also take you away from home for at least three to five years, depending on how long you would stay. Coming back home would take too long to be worth the time you'd have off.

"A chance like that doesn't come along just any old day," Iza insisted, giving you a giddy little tap with her fingers on your lower arm. She was visibly very happy for you and she bumped your shoulders together. "Gil and I will make sure to check in with your family, so don't you worry about any of us."

With such reassurances bolstering you and everyone's insistence that, as long as this was what you wanted, you should not let such a chance slip by, you wrote your acceptance to the archmage. Your bags were packed and you were soon on your way, making your friends and family promise that they would write to you regularly.

The archmage was incredible once you arrived. She, just like you, only followed guidelines when it suited her and you had never had a better, more talented teacher. She was as demanding as she was rewarding and whenever you wrote back home, your letters were filled with your excitement about the things you had learned.

The years passed as well as they could have and while at times problems emerged that worried you, things could be resolved sooner or later. The Gods indeed provided at times as well. 

You felt like you could do amazing things on your own now and you were eager to wrap up your apprenticeship and return home at last. All that was left was presenting what you could do, the spells you had changed into something better and the spells you had invented to a gathering of the council of archmages. If they were impressed with you, if you could convince them, they might bestow the title of archmage onto you as well.

Once you received that honor, you would head straight back home. Both your brother and your friends desired to get married and they had told you they'd make sure to wait for your return. You loved them all so much, even if you never really told them that.

You were nearly done with said apprenticeship when you noticed that it had been a while since you had received any letters. How long had it been, two months? Three? You weren't too concerned at first, considering that sometimes the riders delivering their letters could be held up by a number of things.

It had once taken half a year for a letter to arrive because there had been massive flooding and the rider of the postal service had fallen sick in some backwater village where he was unable to contact the service so someone else could take over for him.

Then you heard the rumblings of war at the horizon and still you didn't grow worried. Your hometown was in a peaceful, slightly remote valley after all and Iza and Gil were there as well. Two mages could keep themselves and those around them safe from harm.

So you wrapped up your apprenticeship with a happy smile, the archmage you considered a good friend and even better mentor taking you to the council of archmages.

You were viciously nervous, but you made sure to present everything with confidence and aplomb, even if you had to fake it. You held your breath as the council discussed their decision and at last, they presented you with the title of archmage.

You just barely held back a shout of joy and the moment you and your mentor were out of the council building, you cheered loudly together, hugging each other and laughing joyfully. You had done it!

Your mentor last wrote you a glowing recommendation, in case you wished to work for nobility or in another high-ranking job and she told you to come visit her whenever you liked. Her enchanted tower would let you enter without issue.

With that thick letter in your pack, along with the certification that made you an archmage and your pride puffed up and happy in your chest, you were eager to go back home. You traveled fast, the good weather on your side and you made sure to skirt the areas where armies clashed.

You only had a vague idea why this war had gotten started – something about succession and the prince not wanting his niece on the throne, bogus like that – and you were happy to not get within a mile's radius of the conflict.

There were already plenty of mages at war as well and you had no desire to join, neither for money nor for glory.

At last you crossed into the valley where your hometown laid and as you walked faster, smiling with happy anticipation, you started to notice strange things. The hard-packed dirt road was wider and churned up, trees along the road felled and there were large campsites, long abandoned but the vegetation still struggled to recover.

And then you saw the first village and where you had expected to see old neighbors, to say hello and be greeted in return, you saw nothing but burnt-down husks.

An army had come through here, you realized and the joy curdled swiftly into a terrible feeling you had never felt before in your life. Of course you had known fear and worry, as well as self-doubt and struggles. 

But this was different. This was a nameless dread that gripped you like invisible hands, squeezing your throat tighter, kicking your heart into a faster rhythm like a startled horse, your stomach getting speared by an ice-lance of fear.

You rushed forward, your brisk walk turning into a jog at the next burnt village and then into a full-on sprint when you saw, up the hill, your hometown, blackened and nearly gone. Ash and rubble was all that remained.

You were shouting as you approached, a desperate kind of hope clawing through your veins. It felt like that hope was the only thing that kept you together, like stubborn threads making sure worn, old clothes didn't fully fall apart.

You skidded to a stop, breath catching in your lungs and for a brief moment it felt like your entire body entered some kind of stasis, your gaze stuck on the body half buried beneath blackened and charred remains of a house. The flesh was so badly burnt that not even insects or other animals had wanted to eat it.

That was the cobbler's house, a distant part of you realized and you forced yourself to keep moving.

More and more bodies laid strewn about, some torn to pieces, though you could not tell if it had been by animals or your fellow humans. Some had only left shredded clothes and chewed apart shoes behind as they had gotten devoured by wild animals. Others were nothing but bones, picked clean and chewed on.

How long...how long ago had the attack taken place? It must've been months.

You thought back to the sudden lack of letters and you nearly threw up as your stomach heaved. All this time...all this time that you had been safe and happy, playing with magic like a...like a child and your family and friends had been thrust into the middle of a stupid, senseless, needless war.

There were banners in the dirt, brown with a white, rearing horse and distantly you remembered that it belonged to the brother of the late king, who clearly had no desire to see his niece on the throne.

You felt strangely distant to your own body as you kept walking forward, like someone caught in a bad fever dream as you headed for your home. The place you remembered as standing tall and broad, having been extended twice. Once so your brother and his beloved could move into their own space together and another time so you could have your own place as well, for living and for practicing magic.

Iza and Gil had lived there in the meantime.

It took you a moment to realize you had reached your home, because it was...gone. Crushed and caved in by something that must've been magic.

Of course. Iza and Gil would not have simply died, they would have fought and even an army would struggle against two mages who worked together as smoothly as clockwork. It certainly would have allowed most people in your hometown to escape, while Iza and Gil guarded their retreat.

But if the army had mages in their employ, then nothing but ruin would remain if Iza and Gil lost.

They must have lost, a numb, distant part of you thought as you stared at your old home, flattened like cardboard stacks that a giant stepped on. Your arm felt heavy and distant, your magic felt heavy and distant, as you started to levitate the pieces, trying to find something.

You did. In a divot, like a round shield had protected them, you saw four curled together bodies. You saw the dirty, embroidered clothing, the work of your father, the carefully made jewelry your mother had gifted for birthdays and special occasions. 

Something peeled off the pieces you had floating, falling to the earth with dull thuds and you stared at the crushed and half pulverized bodies of your best friends. It had to be them, when you saw Gil's necklace hanging from a nearly shattered neck, his head gone and the other body had Iza's enchanted iron hand still stuck to her arm, which had separated from the rest of her remains when she had fallen just now.

The broken pieces of your home thudded to the ground as you dropped the levitation spell and you felt dizzy and reeling and distant and breathless all at once.

You had no feeling in your fingers when you made yourself move, carefully wrapping the bodies and casting a stasis spell, followed by a shielding spell, the same that Iza and Gil must've cast to protect your family. It hadn't been enough.

You had no idea how long you stood there or when you started to move or really what you were doing. It felt like you were drifting in and out of focus, collecting bodies, clearing roads and streets and levitating aside debris to try and find everyone.

You didn't count the bodies, but deep down, a part of you knew that no one had survived. An entire town, wiped out.

Because some people argued whose ass got to sit on the throne. What a joke.

*.*.*

If you'd like to read the whole story on march or any of my other short stories, feel free to check out my patreon or my ko-fi! Thank you all so much for your support, it means the world to me!

Additionally, you can find more of my short stories here in my masterpost! Happy reading everyone!

[darling2411]

A Bullet wound and a friendly stranger

Jason Todd x reader

word count: 1.2 K

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"Damn it!" he groans in pain. How did this happen? Obviously someone shot him, but that never happened.

He is a trained killer. No one should be able to take a hit at him, he was gone before anyone could even notice him being there in the first place.

But the steady trip of crimson blood running down his arm left no doubt that he got hit, but how did someone find him?

It didn't matter he had to get his wound cleaned and he really had to leave the dark alley before someone found him in the company of two dead bodies.

The dark haired man stumbled out of the alley and into the busy streets of the city, leaving behind the death that he caused. It was as if he stepped into another world. The sun breaking through the thick clouds made the city's glass buildings shine as bright as  the stars in the night sky he was used to seeing. Jason was so blinded by the lights that he accidentally ran into an oncoming woman, who seemed to be deeply involved in the book she was holding. 

"Oh gosh I am so sorry" the beautiful girl states, "I wasn't paying attention at all, totally my fault." Her smile was even brighter than the city lights.

He saw her lips move but didn't hear the words they were forming. She had really pretty lips, and her eyes ,whoa her eyes were beyond beautiful, they were magnificent. Jason decided then and there that they were his new favourite sight.

"Are you alright?" she asked after he didn't react to her former statement.

"I´m sorry, I-", what was he supposed to say? Sorry that I didn't answer because I was too busy staring at your gorgeous face?, "I was lost in thought. Sorry that I bumped into you." why was he suddenly so nervous? He didn't get nervous.

"Like I said before, it was totally my fault." she said while taking him in. Her eyes widened when she noticed the blood dripping down his arm."Oh god you´re bleeding. Let me help you clean that up. That's the least I can do. My apartment isn't far."

"How could I deny a beautiful woman like yourself inviting me to her home?", he replied, a smirk playing on his perfectly kissable lips.

She was even more beautiful when she blushed and he loved that he made her.

"Come on."

The walk back to her place was quiet, filled with stolen glances and the occasional brush of his fingers against hers. He couldn’t stop seeking her presence.

"You can sit down wherever, I´m going to get some stuff to clean up that wound." she says while walking through the door, Jason close behind.

He decided to sit down at the kitchen table not wanting to get blood on her comfy looking couch.

Her apartment was full of life. Everywhere you looked  parts of her life were displayed.

Framed photos with family and friends, pictures of places she visited, books that adorned every place she could fit them. She was the exact opposite of him.

Where she was light he was dark, where she was joyful he was grumpy and where she was life he was death.

When the woman whose name Jason still didn't know returned he was reading in one of her books.

Had she been gone that long? Without him noticing she looked at him again really looked at him. Taking in his bulging biceps. His gorgeous face and soft looking hair. Then she realised what he was holding in his hands that looked so much bigger than hers.

"What are you doing?" she squeaked. He had opened one of the books that laid on her kitchen counter, she had just read it this morning and forgot to return it to it´s righteous place. He didn't think anything about it. Though it was a harmless romance novel, the titel `Twisted Games` definitely deceiving. This was not a simple little romance novel.

"Crawl to me " he was hooked from the very first words on the page he opened and then the spicy stuff came. He couldn't stop, he just wanted to read a few pages until the pretty woman returned but now? He couldn't put it down and additionally he was turned on.

"Don´t read that" she stomps over to him, her face flushed with embarrassment. As she glances at the page he is on her eyes widens and if possible she blushes even more."Oh god, why did you have to open that book at that page" she says more to herself than him. Is she ashamed? Huh.

"Why? Don´t want me knowing about the filthy things you read about?", Jason leans closer," Tell me pretty girl, do you only enjoy reading these things or do you also like to be treated that way?" His voice dropped and he could see her pulse quickening. Could hear her breath hitch. He was attuned to every little thing she did. Painfully aware of how close she was and how good she smelled. Vanilla and was that cherry? Whatever it was, it was intoxicating and it made him want to do filthy things to her. Things like the ones she reads about.

"I-"she stammers, "I think, uhm" she closes her eyes for a second, inhales and then opens them again to directly look at him ," I think I should take a look at your wound before it turns into something serious."

He watched her as she cut off the sleeves of the tight shirt he was wearing. Eyes widening when she saw the ugly flesh wound the bullet left. That was going  to leave a scar, another one in his collection. He felt incredibly stupid not to wear his red Hood suit and mask today.

"How did that happen", she asks him, concern evident in her voice and on her face.

"Don't worry about it, pretty girl." He didn't want her knowing who he was what he didn’t and he definitely couldn't let her in on his secret. That would surely cost him every chance he ever had at getting to know her better.

"[y/n]" she mumbles, hands busy disinfecting his wound. “Now you don’t have to keep calling me pretty girl.”

"[y/n] ." he tries out her name on his tongue. It sounded perfect. She also liked the way he said her name. As if he hadn't done anything else in his life. It sounded so familiar. “ I like calling you pretty girl”

"Does this hurt?" [y/n]  asks, instead of acknowledging what he said. 

"Not really"Should he hiss, act like it hurt? This little wound was nothing against everything else he had had to endure before. "I mean it burns and everything but it's not as bad as it looks."

"If you say so. I think you have a high pain tolerance. I'm sure I would be crying by now." she laughs. Shit, why did she have to say that? Now he was thinking of her with tears streaming down her face but in a different setting.

Her body writhing under his, tears of overstimulation streaming down her face and her soft voice begging him to stop and keep going simultaneously. 

God what was she doing to him? He never reacted this way to anyone. He was always in control of his emotions, never really feeling anything. It was a part of the job. And [y/n] made him feel more in the half hour he spent with her than he felt in the last months of his life.

A weird feeling emerged in him. He wanted to feel more with her, wanted to keep her around. Needed to be around her. What was this indescribable feeling swelling deep in his chest? He did not know, but he would learn soon enough.

ⓘ This is my first time writing for Jason and I'm more of a Marvel girly so I dont know thaaat much about the DC Comic Universe, but I am trying my best😭

[maudie-duan]

A/N: This will be a six-part series told from the POV of Harry and Marlowe—Yes, this story is based on two High School lovers, but all the characters are of age. I always think it’s a fine line writing this kind of story, but I think they can also bring nostalgia for a time when the world as you know it was contained inside the walls of a building, where everything you felt was greater than the sum of our parts. Take it or leave it. I think we can all learn something from our younger selves. It’s a reminder that we always have more to learn, even when we think we have it all figured out.

Changes Masterlist<-

Word Count: 8.6k

Warnings: 18+, Language, Some Spicy Stuff, Teen Angst, Emotions, Body Shaming. (If I miss anything, let me know.)

I held a torch for a girl that I was too cowardly to keep. Hopelessly failing at every opportunity, knowingly letting her down, becoming too concerned about what everyone would think of me, and that was the problem

Me.

There were only five months left of school, and somehow, the teachers were still handing out detentions, trying to teach life lessons that no senior cared about or would take with them; at least for me, it was just another teacher wasting my time. 

That’s what it was, I thought, until I walked into my biology class after school to serve my time.

When you think of pivotal moments in your life, how did they start? It’s usually some sort of happenstance, right? A domino effect—a changing, an undoing, a beginning to an end, or an end to a beginning. However you slice it, whether big or small, the moment always finds a way to reveal itself to you in time. It becomes this inevitable change. Change is always guaranteed because there will always be something in our lives that we can’t control—This was one of those moments—the moment I walked into that classroom, and there was Marlowe.

Trust me, I don’t want to be dramatic, but if there was any moment in my life where it just felt like the gods were on my side, it was this day, at this moment, and I knew it the second we locked eyes. I knew without a doubt that this would be my chance, the only opportunity I had left to shoot my shot because I’m telling you, at that moment, that torch for her never burned brighter. 

I knew I couldn’t walk away from my high school career, knowing I had experienced everything I wanted, but somewhere in my mind, I knew I had never taken my chance with her, and I didn’t think I could live with that.

“Okay—” Mr. Bryant says, the biology teacher, who was already bulldozing right into his lecture, jumping in like Marlowe or I cared, considering we were the only ones serving time for something as petty as having our cellphones out in class, but now, I’m thinking it’s the best decision I’ve made in a while. 

When Marlowe peeks at me from the corner of her eye, my heart skips a beat, knowing she’s aware of my presence in the room, and that alone makes it worth it.

“So starting now—you two fortunate souls will get to spend some quality time with me while I grade the many half-assed biology reports you students insist on turning in—” He blabs, and I’m barely paying attention.

Marlowe runs a hand through her long, dark hair, and I watch it cascade in shiny layers as she shifts it all to one side, giving me the perfect view of her profile. She straightens then, rolling her eyes at his words while he continues, “Just because this is your last few months as seniors doesn’t mean the rules and your work go out the window. This is still school, and in my class, you will abide by my rules—”.

“I just think at some point you need to make some kind of exception…” Marlowe interrupts.

“And why is that, Miss. Asher? What makes you the exception?

Marlowe shrugs and leans back, “I don’t think I’m an exception…” She tells him, enunciating that last word just enough that Bryant is crossing his arms, waiting for the bullshit because no matter what we say, he doesn’t care; for all we know, he’s getting off on this, and we are merely his entertainment for the day.

“The only reason I had my phone out was because I was trying to secure my ride for after school…that was literally it—and if you would have just read the text, you would have seen that—”

“A rule is a rule, Miss Asher—and when you get into the real world, you’ll understand—”

“Well, in the “real world”—” she says, bringing her hands up to make air quotations, “There are exceptions to the rules…and now I don’t even know how I’m getting home—” 

Marlowe is crossing her arms now, matching his stance, and I’m honestly surprised to see this side of her; then again, I’ve never really gotten an opportunity because we haven’t had a class together since eighth grade—when my fascination with her began, but that’s another story for another day. 

“I’m sorry you’re feeling inconvenienced, Miss Asher; now you know how I feel when I have to stop my lesson to take your phone away…”

She scoffs. “Oh my god, dude, it was the last three minutes of class…please just get the cell phone. You have my permission—let’s compare notes…”

“Miss Asher, unless you want to serve another day—which I can tell you don’t—let’s cut the pity party and just get to work…surely you have things to work on—and as for you, Mr. Styles, I would shift your focus elsewhere. It seems Miss Asher has enough going on here without your eyes beating down her neck…”

Marlowe’s head whips in my direction like she had forgotten I was here, and when her eyes roam over my face. It’s like she’s searching, like I’m a distant memory she’s locked away, and I hold my breath, waiting for her eyes to meet mine, then they do, and Marlowe doesn’t look away as fast as I thought she would. Instead, her gaze lingers for a second too long, and I don’t move a muscle. It takes Mr Bryant clearing his throat to snap me out of the trance Marlowe had me in, my whole body burning. 

I watch the realization dawn on her face as she turns away, her brows knitting together in confusion, and then she’s running a hand through her hair again, blocking her face from view, a veil of hair creating a wall, and she doesn’t look at me again. 

Those two hours consumed me, longing for her attention, a girl I knew I could never have. It was by far the most excruciating two hours I’ve spent in a long time. I’ve never been more aware of myself and another person at the same time. 

There have been so many girls, and I don’t say that to brag, just to say that I could have my pick, but Marlowe is the one I’ve wanted—She was unattainable—and whether she knew it or not, I couldn’t say, she was the girl that most guys were tripping over themselves for, but she was taken, so it made my pining even more tragic.

Here I was, a tragic, hopeless mess, trying to scheme up a plan to get her alone, but lucky enough for me, I had two major factors on my side:

One was that she was possibly stranded; for some reason, she didn’t have her car, which meant she was relying on someone else. Two, when it was time to leave this classroom, we were likely the last few people in the building, and it was a long walk from here to the parking lot, so I would have to start plotting my plan of attack.

I would have to hope that the gods were on my side, and if they were, it would have to stay that way. She would need a ride, and I would be that guy.

So when Mr. Bryant handed me my phone and dismissed me, I was out the door, making my slow descent to the parking lot. Morphing into the noisy creep I was becoming. I took my time, and what would have been a fast pace became the tortoise and the hair: slow and steady wins the race. I found myself eavesdropping on her conversation as I formed and reformed my plan, taking in little bits of information at a time.

Marlowe was on the phone the second she stepped through the classroom door. I kept pace with her, staggering a reasonable distance behind, watching her frantic gestures, hoping that each frustrated wave of her hand meant that I was one step closer to getting my chance. She was clearly getting upset with the person on the other end, and if I had to guess, it was probably her boyfriend. I only caught fragments of her conversation, a few “Are you serious?” a very clear, “No, you never told me that,” and the hopeful line of “Just forget it.”

But then my plan goes south when she ducks into the girl’s restroom right before the parking lot, and I knew right then that I was at my fork in the road: I could either look like more of a creep and wait for her outside, but that would give me away, or I could get in my car and wait it out. 

She would have to come through those doors, and I could wait in my car and take my chance if I saw her waiting.

Except that wasn’t the case, of course, because as soon as she stepped outside, she started walking toward—I couldn’t say—My only guess would be home, even though I had no clue where that was or how far of a walk that would be. I knew what I had to do. Now, I would look like a total creep when I drove up next to her; my only saving grace was that it was growing dark outside and getting really cold, too cold to be walking in the thin sweater she had on.

So, in my mind, I did what I had to do, and when I drove up next to her, she didn’t even notice, “Hey, do you need a ride?” I asked while rolling my window down. 

I don’t think it registered at first; she barely glanced my way but soon did a double take when she realized it was me asking, “It’s kind of cold out,” I add, putting my car in park.

She stops, hesitant at first, her body shifting away like maybe she should keep walking, her brows furrowed in confusion like why are you talking to me, and for a split second, I, too, am second-guessing myself because maybe this is weird since we’ve not shared a single word since Jr. High.

“Are you asking me if I need a ride?” she questioned, puzzled, shaking her head curiously. Then, as the wind picked up, she wrapped her sweater around her body. For some reason, I got out of the car, leaving it running; this seemed more personable in my brain. In my head, I thought a dude with an arm hanging out of the window looked more suspicious, but maybe I was wrong. 

Marlowe stiffens at the gesture, taking a reluctant step back just enough that I stop in my tracks, leaving a comfortable distance between us. It feels like I’m coaxing a cat; everything about her posture feels protective, which makes me sad. I could take a million guesses as to why, and I think I know—I thought whatever happened between us that day in middle school would have passed, but I can see that it hasn’t because she’s giving me that same look, waiting for the blow of rejection she never deserved, not then, and not now. 

“I heard you tell Mr. Bryant you didn’t have a ride…I don’t know. I just figured I would ask…” I tell her.

She gives me a silent nod, eyes surveying my face, then looks around like she’s looking for anyone else—anyone else that could help her, anyone but me, at least that’s what it feels like, and I sense the slow, steep of rejection, mounting up my spine. It would be fair, but I don’t want it, not from her, not when it seems like she’s a million miles away from the person she was before; so many changes she’s endured, and maybe I’ve changed just enough to bridge the galaxy that has been stretching out between us for years.

And again, I’m not saying there hasn’t been opportunity after opportunity—whether it was us sharing a passing glance in the hallway or me shooting her a brave smile at a party we both happened to be at, there have been many chances—but it never changed anything—I was never the random person she would make conversation with, even in a small circle of mutual friends; it was always her eyes darting around to everyone else but me.

I guess that’s its own rejection within itself.

“Umm—” she says, “Are you sure?” 

“Positive—” I quip, a little too excited, and this catches her off-guard.

And when she murmurs, “Okay…” still skeptical, I shove my hands in my pocket, trying to relax my face and wait for her move.

When she takes the first step, I casually stroll to the passenger side of the car and open the door for her—yes, I know this may come off as strange, but I did it anyway, and when she gave me another questioning look, bending to get in the car. I gave her my best smile and caught the corner of her mouth turn up, and she bit down on her bottom lip as she settled in. I shut the door and walked around to my side of the car, holding my breath, willing myself not to make a single facial expression because I couldn’t believe I had her in my fucking car. 

I had to grip the wheel to keep my hands from shaking; I had Marlowe in the car, and I had no clue what to do. I thought getting her in the car would be the most challenging part—That was my only plan; there wasn’t anything else, and now I felt like an idiot. 

Before she can even give me a sense of direction, her phone rings, and I slow down, barely out of the parking lot, “Hey, what’s up?” she asks flatly.

“Don’t worry about it. I found a ride—” Marlowe places a hand over the speaker and asks if I can pull over for a second, mouthing the word “Sorry” as she continues her conversation.

“Listen, Trent—” she says, and my stomach drops; it was, in fact, her boyfriend, and in that second, I was praying that she wouldn’t say a word about me. Maybe it wouldn’t be that big of a deal; this car ride could easily be explained, but it wasn’t something I had factored in, and I didn’t have a plan or even an idea of what my end game would be.

Was all of this to say I had a single moment alone, one time with Marlowe Asher? Take her home and live in that daydream, in that small window of time we had, because now I want more of her time; a daydream isn’t enough anymore, and I have no idea how to make that happen.

“Trent—you already said that you were busy tonight. I don’t care, and I wasn’t trying to make it an argument—it just felt random—”

I’m looking out the window, attempting to give her space, and then I reach for the heater to turn it up because it’s so cold in here; the chill adding to the current tremors building in my chest, and I’m trying not to draw any more attention to myself. 

“I hate when you do that, Tren—no, that—I wasn’t accusing you of anything…all I said was the plans seemed random—especially since you didn’t say anything about them anytime I saw you today…”

She huffs out a loud breath, shaking her head, and I glimpse her turn toward the window, watching her reflection in the glass as she rubs her glossed lips together, frustration seizing her ridged posture. 

“Look, Trent—I don’t want to argue…you do you, and I’ll just figure out my own plans tonight—it’s Friday—I’ll just hit up Skylar—”

The second she said Skylar’s name, I thought back to earlier that day, to the blow-off art class I shared with Skylar and Trent. How they had been assigned to be partners a few weeks ago, and although I knew they were friends, there was a palpable shift recently. Maybe a random onlooker wouldn’t be able to spot it, but I did, and it made my blood boil because I knew Trent was dating Marlow, and Skylar was supposedly her best friend. 

Lately, I’ve questioned their friendship, especially when I saw them at parties. The way they interacted—the snide remarks Skylar made toward Marlowe, disguising them as clever jokes when it was evident by Marlowe’s reaction that it wasn’t.

When she tells Trent she loves him and ends the call, a vision of Trent pulling Skylar’s chair toward him in class plays out in my head—the playful gesture warranting a flirty giggle from Skylar. I watched as he leaned down and whispered something in her ear, watching as she bit her lower lip and mouthed the word “Yes,” then he nudged her, standing slightly to adjust his jeans. 

I knew that look all too well; I had seen it a hundred times before. 

I knew this guy like the back of my hand, at least I used to, but that look—the look I had seen him give so many girls in the past, he was into her; just last weekend, I had seen him and Marlowe at a concert. I had gone alone; they hadn’t seen me, so I stayed toward the back, not wanting to make any awkward interactions because that’s what it’s been with him since we stopped hanging out our sophomore year.

Today, you wouldn’t have even known that we had been best buddies since we were kids, playing soccer together like it was life, and back then, it was. It was everything, and you wouldn’t have seen better mates if you tried—We did everything together. It wasn’t that things ended badly; it was more like we grew apart. He chose art and new friends, and I stuck with soccer. I knew everything was chill between us when he caught wind of me becoming soccer captain and congratulated me one day in the hall. 

I remember that was the first time I realized he and Marlowe were a thing; he had caught sight of Marlowe from afar, cutting our conversation short. He said a quick “goodbye” and jogged after her, wrapping his tall stature around, all smiles. I choked on my breath, coughing in air, shock taking over me that Trent Smith, one of the most popular guys in school, was kissing Marlowe Asher in front of everyone, the “chubby girl” he made fun of so many times—well they said she was chubby, but what was chubby then was not chubby now, she just had more curves than the average middle schooler; he even went as far as to say the only thing great about her was her face card.

And it’s funny because it took him until sophomore year to even acknowledge her existence past that remark—it took her changing everything about herself for anyone to see her worth. I’m one of them because even now, I know she’s worthy of so much more, except she’ll never know I’ve always wanted her.

What they saw as flaws, I saw as potential, and even if she was carrying a “little extra weight,” who fucking cares, I shouldn’t have cared, but I did care; I cared about what everyone thought because I was shallow and I wanted friends, and maybe that hasn’t changed, because I can still find ways to justify it. 

“So where, too?” I say, cutting through the silence; it’s like the conversation took her out of the moment as she stares out the window. She glances over at me then, a vacant look in her eyes, somewhere lost in her thoughts, and she sends me a nervous smile

 At least that’s better than the alternative. 

Marlowe gave me her address, and I realize we don’t live far from each other. It would be about a 15-minute drive, and as soon as I hit the gas, the countdown began to form another plan, one where we hang out—anything; just anything to get this one night, this one chance because I don’t think I’ll be lucky enough to get another nor do I deserve it.

The drive is silent at first. There’s nothing but the sound of my engine and the humming of the heater, which is working overtime because it is so hot, and I want so badly to reach and turn it off, but I’m too afraid to move. She’s texting on her phone, her fingers firing away, “Do you mind if I turn on some music?” I speak up.

“Not at all…” she says quickly, almost dropping her phone, and I see she is still on edge. 

I reach for the dial and turn it up. “Do you like Fleet Foxes?” I ask, taking the opportunity to turn down the heat.

She looks over, a smile ghosting her lips, “Yeah—actually…like a lot. It’s crazy because I just went to their concert recently…”

“Oh, no way—I was there too—” I lie like this is new information, like I couldn’t keep my eyes off her the whole concert, glancing over every time the song changed to see her reaction, wishing it was me wrapping my body around her when the band slowed down, and the music went soft. 

Marlowe perks up at this bit of news, “No fucking way, dude—”

“Yeah, no lie…they’re so good!” I gush because it was an excellent concert, and as her eyes wander my face, a slow smile spreads, a single dimple dipping into her left cheek.

She relaxes back into her seat, her eyes still on me when I stop at a red light, “I can’t believe you were there. I didn’t see you…you should have said hi…” She says, this time her smile reaches her eyes, but something about it is shy, something starry-eyed about her gaze, and I recognize this look because this is exactly how she used to look at me in Jr. High. 

Before I found out she had a massive crush on me, and I ruined everything. I remember thinking she had the most beautiful smile and big brown eyes that matched. 

Marlowe’s smile now was like glimpsing the past, as strange as it sounds. I started longing for that girl—For a time before everything changed—before we all had to change, and life was less complicated. When it took less to please everyone, a time when people expected less, and there was more to give.

“I don’t think I saw you there…” I say, telling her another lie, “But I definitely would have said hi…maybe next time—”

My last line has a bashful grin peeking out from the corner of her mouth, and she looks down at her hand then, rubbing her palms flat over her jeans. “Yeah, for sure…”  she says and turns toward the window, trying to hide her smile. Little does she know, I can see it in the reflection every time we pass under a streetlight. 

‘Jesus, Etc.’ by Wilco plays next, and her head whips to the dial, then to me, and I’m already smiling. 

“They’re coming next month—” she announces, grinning from ear to ear.

I laugh, “I know—I’ve already gotten my ticket…” I tell her

She’s completely taken with this news because when she says, “No way!” Joy rushes through her features, her big brown eyes widen, and I feel giddy to keep this excitement going for her. It’s like the music has opened a door, and we both step through it without any uncertainties.

“Oh my gosh—I’m so jealous. Have you heard Wilco’s new album? It’s so good.” 

I shake my head. “No,” I voice, focusing on the road and bite my lower lip, trying not to smile. “I can’t say I have. Is it good? I know I need to listen to it soon, catch up before the concert…”

“Yes, you do—I actually have it…” she declares as she leans forward and reaches into her purse; Marlowe digs around for a couple of seconds, then materializes the CD like she’s pulling a rabbit from a hat.

“No way, Marlowe…you have it?” I ask, surprised and now extremely excited because so far, she’s turning out to be way cooler than I thought, but I figured this much if Trent likes her. 

“Yes—actually, it was between this and Bon Ivers album…”

“Really? Which Bon Iver album? The first or the second?” I ask.

“The first because my friend Skylar scratch my CD to fucking hell….” She answers, shaking her head, annoyed, I can tell. I would be, too, and I realize this is my opportunity, and when I drop my following line, I make sure to sound as casual as possible.

“I have the first one at home…maybe we can trade for a bit?” And I shoot her a quick glance to see if she’s interested. 

She looks down at her CD like she’s contemplating this new negotiation. “Hmm…and when would we trade back?” She questions.

“Anytime you’d want…you just say the word, and it will be right back in your hands…”

Marlowe looks up from the CD, a smile spreading on her face, “Okay—but please just make sure you don’t scratch it—like seriously…I’m kind of a weirdo about my CDs. They’re just like—my lifeline, you know?” Then she laughs.

“God…I sound like such a fucking stoner…sorry, like I’m down to trade for a little bit,” That nervous smile is back, a searching look on her face like maybe she just said too much. 

“You seem fine to me…not a weirdo…promise,” I tell her, surveying her before my eyes are back on the road—and now I have to take my chance because this is the last light before I either turn left and take her home or turn right, and we go to my place.

“Would you mind if we stopped by mine to grab that CD?” I ask, keeping my voice even and calm, like my heart isn’t pounding in my chest, like the ringing in my ears isn’t echoing out the same rhythm of my heartbeat, nearly drowning out the sound of Marlowe’s voice when she says, “Sure—?” more like a question, and her reluctance is back but understandable. 

“Would that be weird?” she tests.

“I don’t think so…” I reply, hoping she answers before the light turns green. “I’m chill with it if you are,” I add, my face burning, and I wonder if she can see. 

She examines me, then, “Sure…” she replies, and swallows, probably just as nervous as me because her smile is gone, and when I move my eyes back to the road, I can see her run her palms down the tops of her jeans again. 

The light turns green, and the sound of the blinker reverberates through the car as the silence settles in.

Marlowe didn’t say a word the rest of the ride, and when I peeked over at her from the corner of my eye, she just looked out the window, fidgeting with a silver ring on her finger. I could only imagine the thoughts running through her head because mine were a swirling mess, sifting through feelings I’d locked away for years. I had never imagined this as a concrete thing, and I wondered how long I could stretch this moment in time, taking in her tiny details.

The walk from my car was literal crickets, their chirping pinging around us, seeming louder than usual. Now that it was dark, the night sky was clear and chalked full of stars. I kept straining my ears, trying to pick up any sound coming from Marlowe, but she was quiet and perfectly composed. When I offered to carry her backpack, she handed it over, eyes never leaving the bag, and then she let go, running a hand through her hair, surveying her surroundings.

“I never realized you lived this close,” she said, clearing her throat as I turned the key in the door, my hands visibly shaking. I know she sees it because when my eyes dart to hers, she staring at my hands, and I hold my breath, pushing the door open, gesturing for her to go in.

“Yeah, me neither…” I pipe up. My answer is delayed when I breathe her in just as a gust of wind picks up and the scent of vanilla invades my nose, and she through the doorway, and I’m closing us in, and now I’m freaking out because what next? I think as I move around, flicking on lights.

I’ve only ever brought girls over to hook up, except they’ve never come through the front door—the expectations were always clear; she would know exactly why she was coming over. I would meet her at the back door; it was a calculated plan, no question about it, and she was in and out, that’s it; the fewer feelings involved, the better. 

“My room is this way,” I say, jerking my head toward the stairs, but she doesn’t look at me then; she’s peering around, taking in the room, scanning pictures along the wall as her eyes float to the stairs, then to me, nodding her head, and her eyes stray back to a picture of Trent and me when we were kids. I had honestly forgotten it was there; my mom tended to hang on to old memories, and I watched as Marlowe’s gaze lingered, and then she glimpsed up and took a step toward me.

I took the stairs slower than normal, not wanting to wind her before we reached my room. At the top of the stairs, I flipped the light switch so she wasn’t clouded in darkness, walking to my room at the end of the hall, “You good?” I asked over my shoulder because she was so quiet, making me even more nervous.

“Yeah…all good…” she mumbles, barely loud enough to hear, “Where is your family?” She questions, and her voice picks up then.

“My parents are visiting my sister in England…some kind of award thing—like meet the parents or something…” I answer, casually hoping this doesn’t make her uncomfortable, and open the door to my bedroom and walk in, listening to her footsteps as she follows behind me, and I set her backpack by the door. 

I go straight to my desk, open my CD case, and when I turn around, Marlowe is paused by the door, hand wrapped around the knob, and we lock eyes. “Do you want this open or closed?” she asks.

“Up to you. I don’t mind either way,” I tell her, gathering the binder of CDs. I’m trying to keep myself calm, pretending I’m occupied, when really, the second I hear the door click shut, panic plummets through me, and I strategically place the open case on the floor, crouching down until my butt hits the floor and I start kicking off my shoes.

I look up as she quietly drops her purse by the door, watching me as I nudge my last shoe off. She follows suit, eyes still on me, strides over and gracefully lowers herself to the ground. 

“This is my lifeline—” I joke, scooting the binder toward her. She smiles then, another bashful smile as before, the one that sends a flutter to my stomach—my nerves are getting the best of me because there’s a certain level of vulnerability when you allow someone to search through your music, but I figured this was the only way to break the ice. 

“Wow—” she starts, “I’ve never pictured you liking this much music…” 

I study Marlowe as she traces a finger around a Radiohead disc and slides it from the pouch, “Can we listen to this while I look through the rest?” she asks. 

I smile, then reach for the CD, and she flashes me a toothy grin because we both know this album is good. “In Rainbows is one of my favorite albums by them…” I say, standing to put the CD in my player.

“I would say it’s like neck and neck with OK Computer for me—”

“But we can’t forget Pablo Honey—” I say, cutting in.

“Oh, fuck—” she blurts, pressing her palm to her forehead, “Yes—I don’t know how I could forget that one…Creep is like a classic by now, right? Same with Fake Plastic Trees…but that’s on The Bends, which is also good…shit they’re just fucking amazing?”

“They really are…I watch so many covers on YouTube…” I add, sitting back down. 

“I love watching covers…” she says fondly as if recalling a pleasant memory. I laugh because I thought I was the only one into covers, and then she has me smiling, taking in the dreamy look on her face.

“What…?” She asks shyly, and I shake my head, grinning down at the hole in my jeans, pulling at the threads.

“Nothing…” I breathe, too shy to look back up, and she reaches over and playfully nudges my knee.

“Tell me…” she laughs this time. 

I fall against the side of my bed and peek up, “I guess I never knew you liked music this much…” I tell her, still smiling, my cheeks starting to ache. 

“I mean…I’m sure there’s a lot we don’t know about each other,” she answers, her voice low, and she shoots me a sly grin, eyes flicking to me from the case for a brief second, and then they’re back as she flips the page smiling to herself.

She looks so beautiful, sitting there, rubbing her full lips together to hide the constant smile that hasn’t left her face since I laid my binder on the ground. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be this close—just the two of us—so many details to take in, like the tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose or the way the light picks up on the soft, high lights in her hair; The carved stone elephant necklace she has worn forever, but I forgot about. 

She peeks at me then, her eyes moving to my mouth, and I’m holding my breath again because I know she caught me looking at her, but I don’t look away, even though my cheeks are burning, and as her eyes explore my face again, I exhale slowly, swallowing hard.

 She smirked then, her gaze gradually lowering down my chest, stealing my focus when she drew in her bottom lip, softly biting down, and it had my head racing with every thought that I should be steering clear of; she’s dangerous. 

Is she flirting with me, or is it all in my head? 

 All I know is if she keeps looking at me that way, I may have to readjust my jeans, and that would be too obvious because all I can think about is kissing those luscious-looking lips. 

Her phone buzzes next to her on the ground, and she rips her gaze away just as her eyes hit the top of my jeans. Marlowe pulls in a loud breath through her nose, exhaling slowly, her chest decompressing as she reaches for the phone, the light casting a soft glow on her face. Then her shoulders slump, and I can only guess who it is.

“You can answer that if you’d like…” I offer.

“Nah—It’s just Trent…he’s being fucking weird today. He’s like checking in a lot, and he doesn’t normally do that…or I guess he doesn’t really have a reason to check in. He’s with his mom, so—why would I care,” She confides, her tone unbothered, like maybe the whole situation bores her, or maybe she wants it to seem that way because when he sends a text, she immediately picks up her phone and responds. 

Then, out of nowhere, she says, “Do you smoke?” and tosses her phone to the ground. I think she means weed, but I’m not sure, and when I raise a brow, she’s quick to follow up.

“like weed…do you smoke weed?” 

I laugh, “I don’t normally smoke weed, but soccer just ended. I’m not sure if the school still tests anymore since it was my last season.”

“Oh, that’s right…you guys had a good season. That’s a hell of a way to go out…” She says.

“I know…it made my family really proud—” 

“and yourself…” she adds fast, smirking at me, then looks over at the soccer trophies lining my wall.

“Yeah…I guess,” I answer, feeling a bit embarrassed because I hate this kind of attention, “I would smoke, but I don’t have any.” 

“I have a joint that I rolled this morning before school if you want to smoke,” she tells me, and she grins again, watching my face. I know that I looked surprised because I could feel my eyebrows stretching upward, and then I tried to relax my face.

“You’ve been carrying it around school?” I ask, curious as to how she’s able to get away with that when there are random drug searches all the time, drug dogs in and out of the school, every other day.

She shrugs, “I thought I was hanging out with Trent tonight…so I had it…I wasn’t sure if I was going back home…” she says, coming off a little timid.

Maybe she thinks I’m judging her, but I’m more surprised to know that she stays the night at his house, or at least that’s what I’m assuming, and this opens another door I haven’t thought about in a while—the two of them having sex.

This piques my curiosity even more, and maybe I’m a weirdo for wondering, but what is their sex even like?

“Is that weird for you? She says, and I have to force myself from my thoughts, confused as to what she’s even asking.

“Is what weird…?”

“Trent?” she answers.

“Don’t know—” I lie, “Haven’t really thought about it.” 

“You guys used to be like best friends, right?” 

“Something like that…” I say, “But he’s kind of changed…”

There’s a beat of silence, and she drags her knees to her chest, circling her arms around them, “Well—if it means anything…I’ve never heard him talk shit about you,” she tells me, peering down at her feet.

“Honestly…there’s no bad blood or anything. Trent just chose a different path…that’s all.” I confess.

“Yeah…” is all she says, still gazing down at her feet, and I wonder what she’s thinking, what he’s told her about me, if what she said was true.

We both sat there for a minute, letting the murmur of the music feed the silence. Then Marlowe said, “He’s kind of changed since we started dating…” Her eyes flashed to mine abruptly, making my heart race, her expression unreadable.

“I guess we’ve all changed,” she finishes. 

I nod in agreement, watching a glimmer of sadness streak her face, but she is good at staying neutral, and I wonder where she’s learned this, “So, should we smoke?” I ask

“Fuck yeah—” she says, shooting me a smile, and she stands to her feet swiftly, her excitement taking way as she walks over to her purse. 

She pulls out a perfume bottle, untwists the lid, and out comes a rolled joint, “It might taste a little vanilla-ish…the bottle has been empty for months, but it’s the only way I’ve been able to disguise the scent.”

“And does it work?”

“For sure…last week, a drug dog walked right past me in class, and I swear I almost shit myself,” she laughs out. 

I pull the throw blanket from my bed, laughing, “Fuck…I bet—” I express  “Mind if we smoke outside?” 

“Not at all, “ she answers, following me to my window. It’s honestly the best place to smoke. It has the best view of the neighborhood lake, lined by a walking trail. No one can ever see me, and it’s become the perfect spot to people-watch. I climb out first so that I can help if needed. 

Marlowe’s cardigan snags on the ledge of the window, and she breathes out the word “fuck,” as she steps out onto the landing, turning to gather the material in her hand, “Damn…I just got this—”

“I’m sorry—you can have one of my jump—I mean sweaters if you’d like…” I offered, unsure of how to fix the situation, but it seemed right.

She smiles, “Were you going to say jumper?” her voice teasing. 

“Maybe…what’s it to you?” I joke.

She shrugs her shoulders, her smile wide, “That’s so British—”

I poke my finger into her dimple, then, “Watch it, or I’ll change my mind…” I tell her, my voice lowering. 

“You mean I’d be lucky enough to own a sweater from “The Harry Styles”—” she taunts, placing a hand over her heart. “I’m sure every girl at school has them cataloged…” 

“Whatever—” I laugh, trying to brush off her comment, and though there might be a little truth to her statement, I would rather see her wearing one.

She sits before me, bringing her knees to her chest, and I wrap the blanket around her and sit down next to her, “Aren’t you going to be cold?” she asks.

“Here—do you want my cardigain?” She offers.

“No—No…I’m good. Soccer just ended. It definitely toughens you up during the winter season.”

She eyes me suspiciously as she wraps the blanket around her. “Do you want me to start it…or do you?” she asks.

“You go for it,” I answer.

She brings the joint to her mouth, fidgeting with the lighter until it clicks and ignites, the paper crackling the second the flame comes into contact with it. I watch Marlowe inhale slowly, the tip of the joint blazing orange, until she stops, dragging in a breath through her mouth, and then her pretty lips seal shut as she holds in the smoke and passes me the joint.

As soon as I bring it to my lips, her head drifts back, and she wraps the blanket around her body as she gradually exhales a large cloud of smoke, her eyes closing as the smoke billows in the wind, and I watch as the last puff leaves her body—and she’s so fucking sexy. 

Then her tongue darts out to lick her lips, leaving a soft sheen of shine in the moonlight, and she smooths them together before she takes the joint from me again, eyes meeting mine, and she smirks over at me, her gaze shifting to my mouth as I exhale the smoke burning my lungs.

By the last hit of the joint, I was already high. I couldn’t remember the last time I had smoked or if I’d ever felt this high, but suddenly, I was so cold, and when I heard Marlowe’s voice cutting through the haze of my thoughts, my eyes flitted over to her face, taking in her smile and then I was smiling, laughing, when I heard her laughter.

“You’re high…” She says, reaching over to nudge my shoulder.

“You’re high…” I copy because her eyes are so fucking glossy, and I wonder how she would ever get away with being high at school because they’re a dead giveaway.

She laughs. “You’re cold, aren’t you?” she says, jerking her chin toward me as her eyes dart down my body. I hadn’t realized my arms were wrapped around my torso; god, it was so cold.

“Come—I’ll share the blanket with you…” she suggests, without hesitation, so I scoot closer, and she lifts her arm, opening up space next to her.

The warmth is instantaneous, and the only way I can seal in the heat on my side is to slide my arm around her waist, huddling closer to her body, and somehow, the blanket isn’t as big as I thought.

“Sorry—is that—Shit, I’m sorry…is that weird—” I ask, adjusting my arm.

“Oh—no—umm…no—you’re fine—”

“It’s just that—” I say, fidgeting some more.

“Yeah…your arm—here—is that better?” She asks, pulling my arm around her, and she enfolds my hand around the small of her ribs, resting her hand against mine when I flatten it against her body. 

“I never realized how small this blanket was…” I joke, trying to ease any tension, but maybe there isn’t any, and I’m just too fucking high to tell.

Marlowe eyes me then, a sheepish smile stretching across her face, “Harry…It’s fine.” she whispers, and her face is so close now, closer than it’s ever been, so close that all we would have to do was move our heads a few inches and our lips could touch.

“Okay…” I tell her, matching her tone, “But you’ll tell me if it wasn’t?”

Her thumb brushes over my hand, which is snug against her body now, and I focus on the rise and fall of her breath, feeling too high to keep my eyes open, “Do you feel good,” she asks.

“Perfect,” I smile as a comfortable silence drifts between us. Eventually, Marlowe rests her head on my shoulder, and I let my head fall against hers, smelling that familiar scent of vanilla. Then, like an idiot, I bury my nose into her hair, breathing her in. She laughs, snapping me out of my daze.

“Sorry…” I apologize, “Your hair smells so good…” 

“Does it?” 

“So good…” I confirm, and I wrap my arm around her tighter, then grips my wrist and nestles into my body more.

“I can’t believe you practically have a lake in your backyard…” she blurts.

I laugh because it is actually really random, “ I know…it’s man-made…”

She chuckles, shaking her head, “I would assume so—”

“I mean…like this is a retirement community…”

Marlowe looks up at me, then, “I know… my grandma lives across your lake…”

I smile down at Marlowe, the moon catching the shine in her eyes, and I graze the pad of my thumb down the fabric of her sweater. She smiles then, her white teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

“You’re really pretty…” I breathe, letting the words tumble out without any thought. She glimpses up at me, her smile faltering for a second, and then she huffs a laugh.

“You’re really pretty,” she repeats jokingly.

“I mean it…” I tell her.

“Harry…” 

“What?” I ask.

“You’re just high…” 

“I’m high…but it doesn’t change the way I feel…”

“Yeah?” she asks faintly.

“Yes—I promise…”

She drops her head, nudging into my shoulder again, and I don’t say another word. Eventually, I notice her thumb moving back and forth on my arm, and I give her waist a light squeeze, “Marlowe…” 

“Yeah?” She asks, continuing to caress my arm.

And I lift my head, “What are you thinking right now?” I ask, dying to know every thought running through her head, and she nuzzles her head against me, then lifts her face to meet mine.

“I’m thinking about you…” She says, her words are soft, floating out into the air, and it’s everything I’ve wanted to hear.

“What are you thinking about?” She asks, a slow smile spreading across her face.

“You…” I divulge

“What about me?” she pries, a mischievous grin playing at her features.

“I don’t know…” I say, feeling self-conscious, like every tactic I would typically use to get the girl won’t work on her, and I know deep down that I just need to be honest.

“Like what would it be like to kiss you…” I spill, letting the words hang between us. Then her smile drops, and I think I’ve ruined it, and she sits up, eyes searching my face.

 When they land on my mouth, I feel it in my bones, like maybe she feels it too, and when she says, “I’ve been dying to kiss you for a long time,” I know that’s my green light and I drop the blanket, taking her face in my hand. When her eyes flit shut, I press my lips to her mouth. She lets out a long exhale, pushing warm air through her nose, and I breathe it in, savoring every second. 

And when her mouth begins to move against mine, it’s slow and steady at first, but then a small whimper fills my mouth, and I’m hurrying the kiss as I slowly lean her back, bringing the blanket with me, creating our own little cocoon. I’m lying on my side, trying not to crush her, when I slide my arm under her neck, and she wraps her arms around me then, drawing me closer. 

The kiss is better than I imagined, her lips perfectly soft, like every passing daydream I’ve ever had of her, and when I deepen the kiss, slowing us down, she tugs at my shirt, trying to pull me on top of her as my free hand moves under her sweater tracing the contour of her body, traveling down her waist, until my hand reaches her hip, trying to squeeze her flesh through her jeans.

The grip on my shirt tightens, this time pulling with need, and her hand slides under my shirt, gliding along the top of my jeans. She grabs a handful of the muscle along my side and gently pulls me toward her again. I mumble a throaty “Mmmmm” into her mouth, and I feel the vibration of my voice hum across her lips, adding to the sensation, and it feels so good. 

She must like it too, becuase he hand is moving up my body now, her warm palm moving across my chest, and it feels like everything—Everyting I could have every wanted and we could stay like this, but now I want more.

“Harry…” she sighs the whisper of my name so soft and sweet, jumbling my thoughts even further. 

Then I must be losing my mind because the next thing I know, I’m climbing on top of her, gently nudging a leg between her thighs, creating space for me to press my body to hers, then Marlowe’s legs are opening, inviting me in, and she’s lifting her hips ever so slightly, grinding against my leg, and I softly press into warmth, her hand moving down my body until she grabs a handful of my ass and pulls me closer, lining us up, and I groan the second she rubs against the bulge in my jeans. 

I broke the kiss then because here I was at another crossroads.

 I want to do whatever Marlowe wanted, but if it’s more, I don’t want to do it here. I want her to have every opportunity to call whatever this is off. I don’t want to be another regret, the disappointment I’ve been to her in the past.

There are a million emotions coursing through me, and when I ask, “Do you want to go inside?” she grips my ass tighter, pulling me into her again, smirking up at me.

“I thought you would never ask….” She says, relaxing underneath me, and I kiss her one more time as she releases me, a soft laugh leaving her mouth. Call me young and dumb, but I genuinely don’t think I’ll ever feel this way for anyone else because when I look into those big brown eyes, it’s like I’ve looked into them a million times before, a reminiscent memory of a past we might have shared because her name alone, echos through me like she’s been there all along, and whatever this may be; has to mean something. 

A/N: First Series of the New Year! Hope you like it. The tag list is open if you're interested! So thankful for all the love and support you guys give!!

Changes Masterlist<-

Requests-> Here

[rose-stems]

pretty- like a doll

sanji x reader that wears frilly cute dresses but is a badass

“So pretty,” Sanji thought*, “like a little doll.”*

Those were the first thought’s Sanji ever had about you.

The first thing he noticed was your pretty pink dress, matching shades of white and pink fabric. Fit to match a ribbon in your hair, holding it in a hairstyle half up.

The next thing he noticed, was the way you walked. Feet pointed and graceful but with the excitement of a baby dear skipping around. You bounced up and down, hair and dress flowing perfectly with your movements.

He was so stunned from gazing at you that he stood completely still, hands full of the bread he was planning to drop off at that crews table.

The table you were walking to.

Oh.

Oh.

“Thank God.” Sanji thought helplessly,

There was a surging need to speak with you, one that Sanji had like no other. No one ever commanded his attention like you did and you hadn’t even spoken to him. He felt a bit pathetic, to be so deeply interested in you in only a matter of seconds.

His attention was quickly grabbed again when you politely turned to the green-haired man sitting on the far left. You opened your mouth—*those pretty, pretty lips—*to speak and his ears zeroed in on your voice, picking apart its soft undertones, distinguishing it from every other sound in the restaurant.

“Zoro,”—the green-haired man, Sanji assumes—”you didn’t wake me up.” You chastise him and Sanji feels himself be ripped apart at the seams.

The man replies but Sanji can’t make out his words. His ears are tuned to you and your sound only. The next sound you make is light and airy, a tiny giggle bubbles up and you tilt your head cutely. He wants to fall to his knees.

“C’mon, Zozo, don’t be like that.” You say and then wait, staring down at the man (because in this moment, you are taller.) and rocking slowly on the balls of your feet.

The man seems to pick up on the unsaid message and moves to stand up, grabbing his swords to help the process. You give him some space as he moves out and to the side and then cutely grab your dress, fabric lifting and exposing pearly white ruffles. You’re stunning, a picturesque form blessed by Aphrodite herself.

You sit down and take a few seconds to make yourself comfortable, letting the man wait until you’re ready—as he should. You adjust the fabric so when the man sits back down he doesn’t sit on it.

You face the green-haired man and your face lights up. It shines and your cheeks are full and pink as you smile brighter than the moon and her stars. Your gorgeous, beautiful, adorable, cute, you are so many things all at once and it hits Sanji harder than anything he’s ever seen.

“Thank you.” You say.

And his knees buckle, the feeling of weightlessness snaps Sanji to his senses. He’s been doing nothing but standing in the middle of the Baratie, staring at you like a creep.

He rushes to an isolated place, dropping the plate of bread on the counter of the bathroom. He steadies himself against the counter and tries to will his lungs to work.

Thoughts long forbidden rise up in his mind.

Thoughts no gentleman should ever have about a woman as cute as yourself.

About how he’d love to see your pretty face morph into something dirty and pleasure filled. How he would love to hear the different sounds you’d make. Would you squirm? Oh, god he hopes so-

He thinks about how fucking hot you looked as you confidently gazed at the green-haired man. Demanding and silent, waiting patiently to be treated like how you deserve. Commanding in a way so opposite of how you dressed, commanding in a subtle way, a petite way. But confident, oh so confident and strong and hot.

Fuck.

A stumbled out groan reaches up his throat before he forces it down, covering his mouth in shame.

“Get. It. Together.” He thinks, “You still need to go actually serve them.”

He still needs to serve you. Serve…you.

Yeah, he can do that.

He takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. This is a staff bathroom, one which could be locked from the inside and he takes comfort in that. At least no one can come in and see how utterly pathetic he is over just seeing you. He hadn’t even spoken to you, but oh, he wanted to.

He turns the tap on and splashes some water on his face, the coolness helps him bring feeling back into his cheeks.

Feeling better—more focused and less likely to fall apart—Sanji picks up the bread and leaves the bathroom.

The first thing he does is head into the kitchens, dumping the bread onto a platter to reheat and quickly fixing up another appetizer. He doesn’t think about how he was banned from the kitchen and only hopes Zeff doesn’t walk in. Not that he’d truly regret it, you deserve a better appetizer for waiting so long. When he’d done he has two nice hot plates, the main appetizer and the reheated bread.

Before heading out of the kitchen he stops to gather himself. He feels a creeping sense of shame for how… how he froze. Yes, how he froze up. To serve yo… your table, he needs to at least have a sense of dignity.

How could he be a good server if he kept getting distracted by your beauty?

How could he sweep you off your feet if every time he looked at you the breath knocked out of him?

With a push of the door he went out into the floor. Eyes sweeping the room once before falling onto you, you were chatting animatedly with the green-haired man and a beautiful woman next to you. He almost felt bad about interrupting you. Almost.

“Hi, welcome to Baratie. My name is Sanji, what can I get for you?” He spoke slowly, casting a passing glance at those who sat at your table.

There was the green-haired man with three swords, Zoro, you called him, and a beautiful red-haired woman next to you. On the other side of the table, a little man with a straw hat in overalls and a young man wearing an open shirt.

The straw hat man was currently stuffing his face with bread.