#had a bit of an art block for a bit but i return!

[spac3trash]

let’s make some noise!

[fistfuloflightning]

…I am so sorry. I’ll have to get used to it. He’ll be my father-in-law, after all.

Jiuyuan bc you know that’s how I roll

[arctic-hands]

My best advice to sick and disabled kids, as someone whose been sick to the point of disabilty since I was four, is to pick up a creative hobby. Learn to draw, take up knitting, learn the guitar if you're strong enough to hold one and take up ukulele if you're not. Do something that will stimulate your brain and give you the satisfaction of creation, as well as distraction.

My parents' idea of occupying my time thru appointments and infusions and hospitalizations and sick days was just piling me with books and video games. Which is fine! Great escapism, fun to do, saves you from boredom. But sometimes you don't need to escape, sometimes you need to create, and not knowing how or where to start fills you with a feeling of frustration and helplessness. Reading gave me a fantastic imagination and I created worlds in my head that I had no way of getting out to share or saving for posterity.

My parents had hobbies of their own. Mom's a fiber artist and dad's a musician, and I asked them repeatedly over my childhood to teach me what they were doing but they always waffled on it and never did. Hell I didn't even learn how to cook until I was eighteen. So I was left with books and video games and no sense of satisfaction in my ability to do anything.

I took up art in my mid twenties, mostly by watching YouTube tutorials or checking out how to draw books from the library. They say the best time to start is yesterday, but the second best time is to start is today. I don't create art every day. I have more pain and exhaustion days than I do creative days. But when I can create it feels empowering, and power is something I don't have as a disabled person.

And I'm not saying take up a creative hobby so you have something to sell to fall back financially when you're too sick to work (obvs if you want to you can, but that's not the point of this advice). Paint pictures just to hang up in your bedroom. Crochet clothes for your dog. Write songs with lyrics that only make sense to you. And if no one is willing to teach you these skills, seek out resources and basically teach yourself.

I don't know how to end this post, but I am begging every sick kid (and sick adults too, for that matter) to not just wait for your life to end, distracting yourself solely with passive hobbies like books and games that have been scripted out to have pre-determined endings decided for you. Find an outlet you can do to create, for your own sense of satisfaction if nothing else.

[chris-prank]

A desperate yandere in your area

Chapter 1 : Something warm

Sub pathetic yandere x GN reader

CW: NSFW, pet play?, praise kink, masturbation, humping, porn with plot, yandere behavior, mention of stalking and use of y/n

Next chapter

Word count: Over 3K

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The winter cold had arrived in town, but you had underestimated it. You could clearly see the vapor escape your mouth as you breathed on your palms to warm them up. It was lunch break, so you had decided to treat yourself with a hot drink at the local coffee shop. They had a large variety of food and drinks, which was always nice when in a rush.  It was really close to the place you worked at, so the perfect opportunity to get some fresh air in your system. 

I wonder if Jacce is going to be there today, you ask yourself while rubbing your hands together and placing them in your pockets. He was one of the baristas. He always took the time to make little doodles on your cup to go or make foam art if you stayed for longer. You never really had a deep conversation, but you often thought it would be nice to get to know him. 

You arrived in front of the open sign and swiftly pushed the door to take shelter from the cold. Jacce seemed to cheer up as he noticed you. He made his way to the counter, a small smile gracing his lips while he adjusted his apron. Despite his tall figure, Jacce’s hunched over pose almost made him eye to eye with you. Emphasis on almost, he was still way taller.

“Welcome back! Wh-what can I get you today?” 

You told him you wanted a chicken soup with your hot drink, since you had the time to stay a bit longer today. While ordering, you noticed little button pins on his neck strap. One was definitely the pansexual flag and the other was the band Ghost’s logo. 

“I like your button pins!” You commented while handing him the right amount of money, your fingers brushing lightly against his palm. 

“O-oh! Thanks! you're the first client to notice them… well to say something about it at least.”

He started fidgeting with them and gave you a sheepish grin. You swore his face had gotten more flushed than before, but not thinking much of it you made your way to a nearby table. Soon, Jacce arrived with your food ready in hand. You took the tray and admired his work of art. It was a cute Shiba Inu made of foam milk coming out of the mug. He really made it impressively detailed. You took a glance at the soup and the croissant next to it… A croissant? Your neurons finally made the connections that you didn’t order this, after a good second of zoning out. You looked up at Jacce, but he simply glanced away. Oh, it was on purpose. 

“Aw! You didn’t have to!” 

“It’s nothing really…You are m— our favorite regular after all, I need to treat you from time to time.” He pouted, as if it was an insult not to give you special attention. His comment turned your cheeks slightly red. You didn’t know at all that the people working here liked you this much. 

Jacce stayed in place despite already giving you your order. It seemed like the barista wanted to chat longer, but another customer was waiting, so he left reluctantly. 

“The art is really cute by the way!” You shouted from your seat. You saw Jacce lit up with a giddy smile, but in a matter of seconds he returned to his neutral face when addressing the man at the counter. 

You took out your phone to take a picture of the little foam dog before it disappeared into the warm liquid. After that you decided to attack the croissant first, not wanting to give your tongue a second degree burn with the chicken soup or the drink. You took a huge bite, crumbs falling on your laps despite your best efforts. They really had amazing pastry here. The price reflected that, and your wallet definitely knew it well. You were so wrapped in your own little world that your brain blocked out everything going on around you, until an angry voice disturbed your peace. 

“DON’T try to give excuses!”

“S-sir, p-please…”

A man, probably in his fifties, was menacingly pointing his finger at Jacce. He anxiously ran a hand through his mud brown hair, looking everywhere except in the clients eyes. Your heartbeat picked up in pace as you watched the scene unfold, you didn’t want to imagine how the poor barista felt. 

“I don’t have any music playing, I swear! It’s just to take out surrendering noises when I’m —”

“Your generation are such snowflakes! I want to talk to your manager!” 

Jacce let out an anxious laugh before answering.

“I a-am actually the… manager, but I’m als–”

“FOR GOD SAKE! Proof that this place is run by idiots!”

Ok, this guy is seriously going overboard. You looked around to watch the reaction of the other customers. They were understandably all silent, almost frozen in their seats. Seeing no one ready to advocate for the poor guy caused your protective side to kick in. 

“How is it even a problem if he can hear you perfectly?”

The man turned to you with a surprise expression, not expecting anyone to intervene, but soon enough he gave you the same angry stare Jacce had received.  

“It’s a matter of respect.”

“Well you're not being really respectful right now.”

“Are you fricking— You know what? You just lost a valuable customer.” He spat out at the barista and stormed off, but not before knocking over a stand of straws. 

Jacce was visibly affected by this whole encounter. He almost looked like he was going to have an anxiety attack, because of the way he was gripping his shirt. You quickly went up to the counter and kneeled down to clean up the mess. 

“I am so sorry for you, people can be so rude! That’s why I prefer a job without any social interaction, a pure paradise I tell you!” you joked, trying to soothe him. “I hope it didn’t ruin your day…”

Your attention wandered away as you picked off the ground the reusable straws. You could hear Jacce say something, but only for it to be mixed with the background noises. 

“Mm what did you say?”

“Oh em— I just said that it won’t affect the rest of my day, don't worry.”

Jacce’s hand reached up and it looked like he was scratching his neck. He seemed to have calmed down which made you a bit relieved. After all that, you went back to your table and finished your food and drink. You told Jacce goodbye before going back to your own job. 

The rest of your day went normally, but it was still pretty intense. You were at least glad that you didn’t have to deal with angry clients unlike a certain someone. On that note your mind wandered back to Jacce. Next time you should try to get to know him better. He seemed to be eager for it as well. 

***

I hope they’ll come by today,  Jacce whined internally as he tried to search out the window for a glimpse of his beloved. It has been two days since the last time he officially saw them, two days too much in his opinion. He did follow them after work, but it wasn’t the same. The barista wanted to talk to them, even if it was just for a second. 

Jacce mindlessly twisted the sleeve of his forest green turtleneck between his fingers. He had a huge collection of thrifted knitted turtleneck sweater, but this one was definitely his favorite since it was the softest on his skin. 

After one more hour of torture, waiting for a certain someone, they finally pushed open the door of the coffee shop. It took merely a second for Jacce to notice them. He wanted to run to the counter to make sure his coworkers didn't steal this moment from him, but it would have looked suspicious. Luckily, everyone else was too busy to take care of it.

“Welcome back! Wh-what can I get for you today?” The question was more a force of habits than an honest one. Jacce knew perfectly their favorite drink and how they wanted it to be prepared. Just like he expected, y/n ordered the same thing as usual, but with chicken soup. That’s a good sign, he thought; they always order something to eat when they are planning on staying. 

Jacce told them the price and took the chance to admire their complexion while they were busy searching in their wallet. He really loved everything about his darling, from head to toe. As they paid, he felt the tip of y/n finger brush against his palm, shooting heat to his face and somewhere else. 

“I like your button pins!”

The sudden compliment caught him off guard. He was already overjoyed by the touch of his favorite client, but this was definitely making his face burn ten times more. He awkwardly thanked them, but thankfully they didn’t seem to notice his intense reaction, instead leaving to take a seat soon after their interaction. 

Jacce calmed himself down as he brainstormed what he could possibly make in milk foam this time. He ended up with the idea of a cute dog. Everyone likes dogs, right? He sure hoped they did. Furthermore, he took the opportunity to add a croissant next to the bowl of soup. It was a slow day anyway and it's not like it was making the business lose a lot of money. The barista carefully took the tray and brought it to their table. Normally they would just call people at the counter to get their order, but he seriously wasn’t going to bother y/n for such a silly thing. 

Jacce was so proud at the stunned look on his the customers face when they saw the little Shiba Inu made out of foam milk and the free croissant. He couldn’t help but sweat as they looked up at him. 

“Aw Jacce! You didn’t have to!” 

“It’s nothing really…You are m— our favorite regular after all, I need to treat you from time to time.” He pouted. 

He soon noticed that they were blushing. Fuck! I made them blush! That’s what he wanted more than anything, to make them love him just as much as he loved them. This definitely was a good sign.  If only he could stay longer to admire them from up close, but no. Another customer had to enter and ruin the only good moment of his day. 

“The art is really cute by the way!” He heard them shout from their table as he left. Jacce lit up with a giddy smile, but in a matter of seconds he returned to his neutral face when addressing the man at the counter. 

“What can I get you sir?” He asks with a monotone voice while gently tugging at his only dark strand of hair. 

“I’ll get a black cof– are you listening to music, young man?” 

Jacce looked up at the client that had noticed his earbuds.

“No sir, I can assure you I’m not.”

“DON’T lie to me!”

“S-sir, p-please…”

The man, probably in his fifties, menacingly pointed his finger at him. Jacce anxiously ran a hand through his mud brown hair, looking everywhere except in the clients eyes. This was going worse than he expected. He could feel himself sweating profusely. 

“I don’t have a-any music playing, I swear! It’s just to take out surrendering noises when I’m —”

“Your generation are such snowflakes! I want to talk to your manager!” 

Jacce let out an anxious laugh before answering.

“I a-am actually the… manager, but I’m als–”

“FOR GOD SAKE! Proof that this place is run by idiots!”

A worker named Pierre opened his mouth to intervene, but he was not quick enough it seemed.  

“How is it even a problem sir if he can hear you perfectly?”

Jacce had to hold himself back to not cry from happiness. There they were, his precious love standing up for him. 

The man turned to them with a surprise expression, not expecting anyone to speak up, but soon enough gave y/n an angry stare. Jacce couldn’t let that slide. This man was definitely banned from the shop.   

“It’s a matter of respect.”

“Well you're not being really respectful right now.”

“Are you fricking— You know what? You just lost a valuable customer.” He spat out in Jacce’s way and stormed off, but not before knocking over a stand of straws. 

Jacce could never get used to situations like this, it always affected him. Still, he tried his best to regulate his breathing as he gripped his shirt. Y/n quickly went up to the counter and kneeled down out of view. The barista leaned against the counter to look at what they were doing. His darling was cleaning up the mess the waste of air had just caused. 

“I am so sorry for you, people can be so rude! That’s why I prefer a job without any social interaction, a pure paradise I tell you!” They joked, “I hope it didn’t ruin your day…”

It was so sweet of them, not only did they advocate on his behalf but they were thoughtful enough to lift his spirit too. Jacce really couldn’t wait to be theirs and repay them for all their kindness. 

“No need to worry about that, you made it perfect already.”

“Mm what did you say?”

“Oh em— I just said that it won’t affect the rest of my day, don’t worry.”

The man could feel his erection pressing painfully against the restraint of his pants. Instinctively, he reached up to the collar hidden under his clothes to brush it with his fingers. It had a tag with Jacce engraved on the front. On the backside it said “property of” followed by y/n and their phone number. He clenched his fist, he really couldn’t wait to get home.

When they left, the rest of Jacce’s day consisted of him daydreaming about the chivalry of his sweetheart. Once he arrived at his house, it was a matter of seconds before his pants were taken off. He didn’t even wait to be in his room, instead opting for the cold tile floor of his bathroom. He took out of one of the cabinets a small bottle of lotion, opened it with his left hand and generously poured the content on the other. He had these bottles scattered all around his home, including the bag that he brought with him everywhere he went. Biting his bottom lips, he ran his hand down his happy trail, where it connected to the base of his shaft. A doggy-like whine escaped his lips as he began to wrap his finger around it and slowly moved up.

“S-shit Mmfff! Please…A-aahh use me master.”

Wet noises soon started echoing around the room and the hallway, accompanying the incessant buzzing of electricity. It was a true miracle that Jacce never got a noise complaint since he moved into this house. His neighbor could definitely hear his nightly worshiping session if they went out into their backyard. It's not like he was loud on purpose, but when it came to the object of his affection he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. It made him wonder on some occasions if he didn’t end up in a neighborhood full of perverts that loved listening to his lewd activities. At this point, his legs had started shaking violently from how sensitive he was, making him lean more against the wall for support.

“I’m just a dumb little puppy for y-you, t-touching my-myself everyday …Nnhg.”

He arched his back as his hand stroked his cock at a higher speed, crying out for them desperately. His imagination couldn’t settle on one vision. He kept switching from images of them bouncing on his cock to them bobbing their head up and down on it and even having them fuck his little ass raw. He only slowed down his movements to run his thumb under the foreskin of its head, filling his brain with an other wave of pleasure. 

“I’m a… greedy little mutt, so Uugh so greedy.” 

He cursed at himself under his breath for having such lewd fantasies about the person he loved, which turned him on even more. Precum was abundantly leaking out of the tip of his dick now, resembling pearly water drops. Wanting more, he used his free hand to reach under his turtleneck and pinched at his nipples. Jacce bullied the poor thing by twisting it between is fingers. He couldn’t help but shiver from the stimulation he was giving himself. 

“I j-just Unnf want to b-be yours.”

He sincerely wanted them to use him, ravage him even, but he also yearned for the sensations his darling would give his body. They would be so good for him just like he would be for them. 

Despite the fact that he wanted to continue more than anything, it had to last longer. As he felt his climax approaching, Jacce loosened his grip on his shaft. A pathetic whine escaped his lips while he tried to keep himself from cumming. He staggered to his feet, gripping the sink for support. He felt so weak, his legs hardly supporting his weight anymore. Every friction his dick received made him fold in half, prolonging even more his travel to his room. As he continued his journey, a long string of precum was left behind him. He will have clean it later, but for now he didn’t care if he made a mess. In a way, it was part of the fun.

He finally crawled onto the bed, lazily placing a pillow between his legs. It was wrapped with one of y/n stolen hoodies, in other words, his most prized possessions. Jacce winced when the fabric made direct contact with his glistening cock. He closed his eyes, trying to picture them under him, praising him for being able to hold his orgasm. He was being such a good boy for y/n, why couldn’t they see? 

He started humping that thing like the horny mutt he was. His ass wiggling cutely from the incessant movement. Jacce wanted them to see him like this so badly. A pure mess that couldn’t help but make high pitched whines at every trust. 

“I j–just want to cum for you, all f–for you.” He mumbled, while tears rolled down his face, cheek flushed. 

His cock was so sensitive, giving him the perfect mixture of pain and pleasure. He wasn’t capable of closing his mouth anymore, drool leaking out of it like a waterfall. Jacce tried to keep up the speed as he chased his inevitable climax.

“Master, I'm c-cumming, A-ah… I'm cumming! I… l-love you!” He cried out while thrusting his hips forward uncontrollably, shooting hot ropes of cum all over the pillow. 

After falling face first onto the bed, he pulled it up to his chest, cradling the dirty hoodie as if it was really them, but ultimately it wasn’t enough. He was just too impatient to tease himself for an extended period of time. In addition, the desire to cum and becoming dumb for a few seconds was way too alluring. Jacce was sure that if he was with y/n, they would edge him way longer than what he could ever do. 

He knew for a fact that's what they would do, since, one time at the cafe, he had the chance to watch them enter the code on their computer. With that crucial information he was able to open it when he broke into their house came unannounced. He was stunned when he saw the tags of the spicy fanfiction his precious darling reads. They both had the same taste in terms of kinky sex. Another proof to fill his delusion that he was destined to be theirs. 

As he laid there, tired and dazed, he thought about how nice it would be to be enveloped by their smell. He took a big breath into the hoodie. Yay it lost the particular scent he was looking for. He knew it was wrong, but maybe he could pay them a “visit”…just to feel a bit closer. Jacce looked at the clock. He still had time to do it before they arrived at their apartment. 

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Even if I only post it now, this was actually the first yandere story I ever wrote, back in september of 2023, so the writing maybe be less good than my other stuff!

This story will also be posted on my ao3 account

Plus an old drawing I made back then for this chapter

[kupidachillea]

Olympians x You (hcs or imagines)

Author note: Geez, it’s been awhile. Sorry, I’ve been in bit of a funk, got both writers block and art block but I just want to drop this. I still have a few things in my drafts, but for now I’ll feed you guys this.

TW (trigger warning):This may have a few Yandere themes in it. And while the Olympians themselves aren’t really yanderes- they do share similar tendencies considering their myths. Please note that this isn’t completely accurate to their mythology- but it’s just a bit of fun so please take no offence and be nice in the comments.

CW (content warning)⚠️: readers either 17-18+ (to read this I mean), light mentions of nudity, molesting and sexual harassment, toxic behaviour. General (hinted) Yandere behaviour. Reader’s discretion is advised.

🏺- You weren’t sure how you got here but somehow you ended up on mount Olympus of all places.

🪡- Your brain was fuzzy and you hadn’t yet registered the 12 + looming faces above you. When you did notice, they were bickering in a language you didn’t understand (or at the very least, understood a little). It was jarring and you were still trying to get your bearings.

-🏺 You noticed one of them, a woman, dressed in garments fit for royalty (in ancient times at least) and had somewhat of a peacock aesthetic to it, yelling and pointing accusingly at a man, presumably her husband. She didn’t seem happy. Hera. Queen of the Olympians..that means the other must’ve been Zeus..oh boy

🪡- Zeus looked as if he was trying to quell his wife’s anger before things got more out of hand. There were a few others in the back that looked bored of the situation- as if a similar thing has happened before, while others looked mildly amused.

🏺- Despite all that- the argument seemed to have turned completely to you. Hera turning her rage towards you. “You! Where did you come from, how did you arrive here!?” She’d ask in anger, it was evident she had very little patience if any at all, thankfully though she was now speaking a language you could understand. You scrambled to answer her, your body trembling slightly at how her voice shook the marble floor you were sat on.

🪡- You tried to explain to her that you didn’t know how you got here. Your brain still fuzzy with images that didn’t clear up or make sense. This obviously didn’t help the Queen’s anger and you could see her patience slipping. She would scoff and turn back towards the other gods, them discussing what they should do with you.

🏺 - Some suggestions were thrown around, some you weren’t so fond of. Multiple times did they suggest either killing you or throwing you off the mountain (which would kill you anyway). However those ideas were shut down immediately by more ‘kindhearted’ gods. This hasn’t happened in centuries- a human spawning on top of their mountain out of the blue..they aren’t really prepared for this.

🪡- They were almost all out of ideas, until one golden haired music deity bent down to your height and took a closer look at you. His eyes shining as he took in your appearance before a smile started to work its way on his lips. “How about we keep them..?” He suddenly asked, his gaze still set on the little (little to them anyway) human in front of him.

🏺- This made everyone pause and even you were shocked by the suggestion. You found it ridiculous and you argued that despite how flattering it was- you didn’t want to stay with them and you wanted to be returned back to your home. The gods only seemed to ignore you, as if you were a child having an unreasonable temper tantrum. They were all considering keeping you here!

🪡- “Well…” Hermes started. You could tell since he was a bit shorter than the others and he had his signature winged sandals. “It has been quite awhile since the gods have had a plaything..” he would mutter reluctantly. He wasn’t entirely sold on the idea, despite how his father and brothers (most anyway) were grinning like idiots. You, obviously , did not appreciate being referred to as a plaything.

🏺- “Then it is settled..this little one shall be our new plaything!” Zeus grinned, a little too happy for both yours and Hera’s taste. You were about to give them a piece of your mind but was swiftly silenced by a threatening gaze from Hera..to your surprise. And thus began your horrible life with the Olympians..

….

🪡- You were stripped of your modern clothing and given a chiton to wear instead. “It’s too modern for our liking..” Aphrodite would say as she felt up your body in ways that made you shiver in discomfort. “We’re use to our people…how should I say this? Showing a little more skin…” the goddess of love would chuckle sweetly, while you would stare at her in embarrassment and maybe even a hint of disgust. While you could understand where she was coming from- it still didn’t stop you personally from being uncomfortable with they way she was touching you.

🏺-You’d also be dressed up in fine jewellery, much to your surprise..anklets of gold, bangles made of bronze, necklaces etc. sweet smelling oil perfumes covering your body- anything to make seem more ‘appealing’ to the gods and goddess. You were their plaything after all, so it made sense for them to dress you how they liked..no matter how much you disliked it.

🪡- They’d occasionally have you pour them wine at banquets or sit on their laps to just sit there and look pretty. The main gods that did this were of course Zeus, Apollo, Poseidon, definitely Dionysus and at some point Hermes. You didn’t really appreciate this, but rejecting their request would result in a ‘punishment’ for you.

🏺- To your surprise..Ares rarely touched you without your permission, but he was a little mean here and there. He along with Athena and Demeter weren’t as…’touchy’ as the others. And Artemis …you appreciated that..though just because they didn’t touch you in inappropriate ways doesn’t mean they weren’t as ‘crazy’ as the rest.

🪡- For example, while Artemis wasn’t big on being a pest in terms of touching you, she did take you out on hunts..which..wasn’t so bad in your opinion. It was much better than being up on the mountain most days..she thought a little more rationally- but of course- her twin, Apollo, would see you hanging out with his sister and get a little possessive about it. Which you didn’t understand- you weren’t any of their lovers (even if they thought so), but even so..most hunting trips were cut short because of him.

🏺- When you finally got moments to breathe away from the gods..you’d spend it out in the garden..hidden away from everyone and thing..it was your quiet time up until one of the gods summoned you. You found out that you weren’t the first human to be in this position (and probably not the last)..according to one of the lesser known gods (maybe Hebe) you were told that centuries before, a young lad was taken into the heavens to serve Zeus but had been placed into the stars as the constellation known as Aquarius.

🪡- You shivered at the thought..you didn’t want that to happen to you. To be placed in the stars? Doomed to forever look down on earth and watch your family and friends grow? It may have been an honour back then but to you it was almost like a death sentence.

🏺- Either way, life with the Olympians got harder to cope with. Your privacy was always compromised and you were forced to many things you didn’t like. Sometimes the gods would be as bold to sneak up on you while you were bathing and either join you in the pool or touching up your nude body.

🪡-Often giving excuses for why they would do so, or simply ignoring your protest. It wasn’t hard to manhandle you after all..they were gods, and you were a puny human. Why should they care about your thoughts and feelings. It progressively got worse with them kissing your neck or cheek without your permission too- Apollo was the main culprit of that..

🏺- Sometimes you found yourself crying in a corner by yourself at the situation you were in. The only person willing to comfort you being Hestia. She obviously didn’t approve of this but she couldn’t do much besides being a safe space for you to turn to, which you appreciated.

🪡- But no matter how you protest, run, hide, or try to defy them; you are still theirs. That how they see it anyway, and they won’t change their mind..

[neteyamsyawntu]

Patterns of Your Love

Neteyam x Human!Reader

✨Friendly Disclaimer: The content of this story contains aged-up characters! If this is something that makes you uncomfortable, please feel free to click or scroll away. The last thing I want is for anyone to read something they are uncomfortable with, however if you decide to interact with any negativity, you will be blocked from my blog as a result.

WARNINGS: 🔞MINORS DNI🔞, SMUT including fingering,thigh riding, p in v/m&f intercourse, dirty talk, pet names, size difference, interspecies relationship, alien genitalia

Word count~4340 Art work created by @zeroseydorum

The heat of the Pandoran sun radiated through the thick branches of the trees above where you and Neteyam laid in the plush grass of the forest. Neteyam’s eyes were closed, muscles relaxed as he allowed your small form to lay across his chest, his comparably large hand supporting your waist, caressing your side gently with a thumb. You were propped up on your forearms staring down at him intently, counting each of his calming breaths, noting the small occasional hums he would let slip as he exhaled. Your eyes drifted to his long braids, splayed out in the grass around his head like separate coinciding streams of water.  A sliver of sunlight painted in a diagonal line across his face. Everything about him seemed so perfect. One of the things that had immediately caught your eyes about him was his stripes. They seemed thicker in comparison to the other na’vi. Decorating his body so beautifully. Every stripe seemed purposeful. Your eyes lingered on the angled pattern on his forehead, following their flow of movement across his face. With careful fingers you raise your hand, gently gliding the tips of your fingers along his cheekbone, tracing the stripe toward the center of his face until it trails off before moving your hand up toward his forehead. Stretching your index and middle fingers apart, you place them at his hairline then slowly move them down, following the slanted lines of his stripes, progressively closing your fingers as you reach the place in the center of his brow bone. A low hum rumbled in Neteyam’s throat as your fingers repeated the action, your own mind transfixed on him, ”That feels nice…” his voice breaks the silence in a smooth whisper, a relaxed smile growing on his lips, “Does it?” you whisper back, reflecting his own smile. Your question is met with a satisfied hum in response, prompting you to repeat the action a few more times, watching Neteyam relax further under your touch. Your hand drifts down toward his chest, fingers immediately caressing the thick stripes along his pectoral, noting the brief hitch in Neteyam’s breathing as your feathery touches move across his skin. 

“What are you doing?” He asks with a slight chuckle in his voice, finally opening his eyes to look down at you. Your eyes meet his for a brief moment, returning his smile before glancing back down at the pattern on his skin, “Your stripes are so pretty” you reply, trailing your fingers down the center of his chest, noticing how his muscles tense slightly at your actions causing you to quirk a curious brow, “Is my big, mighty warrior sensitive?” You chuckle with a playful smirk. Neteyam moves his hand to caress your jaw carefully, shifting your gaze back to his own, his thumb wanting to press over your lips, mentally cursing the oxygen mask that guarded your face, “Do not tease me, little one” Neteyam scolds you with his own playful smile, “Besides… You know full well what you do to me.”. Your gaze fell from his face to his body once more, admiring his azure skin with your finger tips. As his chest faltered a bit from his shaky breath, a new idea formed in your mind. You shifted your gaze to the side of his head, where his nearly bunny-like ears flicked absentmindedly. Carefully you shift your weight forward, just enough to place your hands by the sides of his head without having to strain. Just as carefully you allow your hands to gently cup the Na’vi’s long ears, which flick a bit in response at the touch. “My yawne…” Neteyam warns in a low purr, his eyes now watching you closely in attempts to perhaps read your mind on whatever scheme you had conjured, “What are you thinking, little one?”, “Just… testing a quick theory” you whisper semi focused as you try to hide your smirk. The moment your thumb and index fingers shift to lightly pinch his ears, you get a reaction you would never expect from him; a shaky gasp sounds in the air, his muscles tighten beneath you just as his hands move to encompass your backside, holding you impossibly close to him. His ears now hot beneath the pads of your fingers.

Your lips loosen as you finally allow a giggle to break through them, giving another brush of your thumbs along his ears that sends shivers down Neteyam’s spine, delight painting your features while watching his eyes roll and flutter shut, only briefly. Although there is nothing particularly erotic about the rubbing of his ears, the expression and now sudden shift in the rising and falling of his chest, has your mind wandering elsewhere. Swinging a leg over his slim waist and placing your palms on his chest to steady yourself, you peer down at him with a feline smirk, “So the big tough kitty really is sensitive.”. When Neteyam’s eyes meet yours, his pupils are dilated, glazed with a softness you only ever see him give you and yet… you could swear part of that look held some sort of primal challenge. It’s when his large hands snake up your thighs that you understand the meaning of that look, “Perhaps… although aren’t humans more sensitive than na’vi?” He hums, purposely drawing out the words as his fingers purposefully caress your thighs as they make their way up to your hips, his thumbs massaging the divots there with the type of predatory gentleness that makes your pulse quicken. 

“Your skin is much softer… your bodies are squishier…” Neteyam purrs, perhaps more to himself as his amber eyes follow the trailing of his hands whilst they give your hips a gentle squeeze before slowly moving upward, pushing beneath the fabric of your shirt to run his thumbs along your ribs, just under your breasts. His ears perk when the sound of your exo-pack mask enhances the sound of your staggered breathing, pulling the edge of his lips into a smirk, “See?”. You pull back out of his reach crossing your are over your chest defiantly, “What? You expect me not to react when you’re…” Neteyam cocks his head to the side, that same predatory look gleaming in his eyes. You blow out a hot breath in a fleeting attempt to slow your heart rate, momentarily fogging the glass of your mask, “Stop looking at me like that.”. 

Neteyam chuckles, shifting his weight to anchor himself onto his elbows, simultaneously causing you to adjust your own weight as well to stop you from slipping down his abs. The position mimicking that of a lion getting ready to pounce, “And how, tawtute, am I looking at you?”, “Like a cat toying with its meal before devouring it.” You huff out a nervous laugh, noting the way he leans to one side to allow one of his arms free to cup your lower back, his thumb trailing along your spine, his face coming ever so slightly closer to yours, “Is that what my sky dancer wishes? To be devoured?” Not ‘sky person’, but ‘dancer’ because you were not a human fueled by greed or destruction. You were soft, gentle, free spirited, and his. 

Yet as you stammer trying to find the words, Neteyam leans closer until his lips meet with the column of your throat, extinguishing your tongue of any protest or comeback you would’ve conjured and leaving it with only the ability to sigh, leaning into his touch, your fingers instinctually weaving through his braids. His hold on your lower back remains firm as he carefully shifts into a sitting position, his other hand holding the side of your face, to which you have zero hesitation in leaning into the warmth of his palm, presenting more of your neck to him. A low sultry purr answers your gesture in thanks as his lips begin leaving kiss after wet kiss along your throat while his hand at your lower back drifts up your torso, proceeding his conquest in teasing the underside of your breast. Your breath catches for a moment and Neteyam’s lips ascend to your ear, his exhale against it causing you to shiver, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, “Shall we see what noises I can squeeze out of you?” Neteyam whispers, his hand making the shift to finally touch your aching breast, his fingers tracing along its peak before giving it an experimental squeeze to emphasize his words. 

Your lips part as the warmth of his palm encompasses your mound, his calluses pulling at the sensitive skin of your peaked nipple with the motion in a way that has you immediately biting your lip again. A thud sounds from behind Neteyam at the impatient bat of his tail against the ground. While he was no stranger to this song and dance of trying to coax the most delicious sounds from you, it still made him somewhat annoyed when he didn’t get immediate results for his excursions. “How my sky dancer loves to play…” Neteyam murmurs against the skin of your neck, dragging his lips down to the peak of your collarbone, “Play as you like, yawne. I will have you singing soon enough.” he purrs, giving your breast in his hand a more assertive squeeze as his tongue glides back up the column of your throat, the fangs of his bottom jaw dragging slightly, in a way that has your body arching into him in response, finally drawing a sweet, lust coated whimper from your lips. You can feel Neteyam's satisfied smirk against your neck, as well as that same satisfaction forming into a firmness that is now pressing into you as you sit on his lap, “Miklor…”(beautiful sounding). Fuck if hearing him speak his mother tongue didn't instantly turn you into a puddle, then the clenching of your core would definitely do the trick. The growing need to have him impossibly closer, touching every inch of you, filling you, ebbed at the corners of your mind, beckoning desire to the forefront that had you squirming against the hardness that pressed against your clothed ass. The seam of your shorts grinding so deliciously against the thin fabric of his loincloth had Neteyam huffing out a ragged breath that sent a chill down your spine. Neteyam's hand pressed at your lower back, held you firmly against him, whilst the middle finger of his hand that remained under your shirt stroked tight, lazy circles around the perked bud of your breast, his mouth busy with adorning your neck in love bites for you to return to the lab with later, all of it dousing your body in heat, you wouldn't be surprised if the blood in your veins had become molten lava, “Teyam…” you coo, fisting your hands in his braids, a low purr rumbling in his chest at the sound, before using your hold on his braids to urge him back and off your neck, “No more playing,” you whisper breathlessly, wining your hips against him for emphasis, “please.”. He needed no further explanation of your wants, yet his eyes took in your body, possibilities of how this could go painting a string of pictures in his mind, by the hungry look in them. “Stand for me, ma'yawntu. Strip.” The command coming out gentle on his tongue as you watched you rise, his hand drifting behind himself to untie the knot of his loincloth, the minute your skin left his, his eyes never leaving your own for a moment, even as he tossed the flimsy garment to the side, perching to sit on his knees as he gave himself a long and slow stroke. 

You swallowed the excess saliva that had manifested in your mouth at the sight as your hands moved to first remove your top, then your shoes, moving slowly in an effort to give him a good show. As you moved to remove your panties along with your shorts, Neteyam’s “No,” halted your movments, “Leave those for me.”. You obliged him, stepping out of your shorts and walking between his parted knees, Neteyam's hands instinctively reaching up to guide you, resting on your hips, pulling you closer until his lips met with your soft stomach. His thumbs slide over the band of your panties whilst he continue to leave kisses along your belly, his eyes lifting toward your own for only a moment, before his fingers delicately looping around the top of your panties, before pulling them gently down your legs. The scent of your bare arousal was enough to send a shiver through Neteyam’s spine, making his body go rigid, as his eyes rolled back before closing, his teeth nipping lovingly at your stomach that despite his restraint, had you yelping with slight surprise. “You complain a lot about my own playing, when you can't even seem to stop, yourself.” you protest, shifting your hips to avert his attention from your stomach down to the aching between your thighs. You hadn't even registered that one of Neteyam's hands had drifted down your leg, until you felt his calloused fingertips smoothing over your inner thigh, traveling higher and higher until two of them glide through your wet folds, just enough to part them.

Your pulse immediately jumps, your hands anchoring on his shoulders to steady yourself, “Mmn, but it is so fun to watch you squirm, yawne. It delights me to see my mate act so needy for me.” Neteyam purrs, dragging the lubricated fingers over your clit, slowly circling it whilst your hips buck at the touch, the nerves in your thighs demanding to close, which takes nearly every muscle in your body not to obey; to let Neteyam swirl your bundle of nerves and whined the forming knot in your stomach tighter, the mental leash you had on your vocal cords long forgotten, relinquishing sweet music for Neteyam's ears. “Awe, my sweet mate makes such pretty noises… tell me how good it feels, yawne.”. Your mind seems full of static, only being able to process the feeling of his fingers, the tightening in your core, your only response being to chase his fingers by swaying your hips along with him. “Uh- uh… use that pretty voice, love.” he urges, poking at your entrance with his fingertips for extra motivation. You swallow thickly, trying to steady your breathing as to try to make your voice as clear as possible, yet to no avail as your words come out nearly trembling, “It feels so good Teyam, I…I can hardly keep standing like this.”, “Oh?” and with that his fingers submerge themselves into your soaked cunt, scissoring twice to help with the stretch. The sound that breaks from you is like a song from the great mother herself, your fingernails digging into the blue muscles of his shoulder as your hips instinctively move against his hand, “More… more…”, “You want more, yawne? I've hardly started… so greedy.” Neteyam hums not sounding at all upset as his fingers curl against the spongy bit inside of you. “My greedy little sky dancer… I want to watch you dance for me…” he whispers, hot breath fanning against your ear and much to your dismay, Neteyam removes his fingers from within you, a whine that wasn't completely voluntary, following it from your throat.

Your growing pout causes Neteyam to chuckle as he shifts his weight slightly, still resting on his knees, but now sitting on his heels, the back of his hand now placed purposefully atop his thigh, his fingers still glistening with your juices now pointing skyward, “Sit.”. The command was simple enough, but you couldn’t stop the drifting of your eyes to the place between his thighs, where his cock twitched in eagerly. “That is for later, for now…” He curled his fingers in a sort of beckoning motion, “sit.”. You didn't recall how many steps it took until you were straddling Neteyam's thigh and you couldn't find it in you to care at the tips of his fingers brush your folds, his thumb gently swiping over your clit as you lowered yourself onto him, sinking his fingers back home. “Ahh~...” You moan as you sit completely on his thigh, with Neteyam now knuckle deep in your sex. “Mmnh you’re so warm inside, yawne.. so tight. Let us get you ready for more, hm? Dance…” he cooed sweetly, his fingers repeating that beckoning motion inside of you that serves as enough to jumpstart your movements. You grind your hips into his palm, your juices squelching below you with the motion. For a moment you see Neteyam's eyelids flutter, his lips curl back in the slightest of snarls, before settling for a look so heavy with lust it had you swearing under your breath, you nearly thought you'd combust at the sight alone. Sparing a glance between his legs once again, you witnessed the evidence of that look. His cock nearly red at the tip, twitching with each sway of your hips, as if he were imagining it inside of you instead of his fingers. You knew if you were his size, a na'vi, he wouldn't have wasted a second before burying himself in you, but alas, you were a fragile human. A small delicate thing that, despite whatever protests you could throw his way, you know that Neteyam would always take his time with you. “Eyes on me, yawne.” Neteyam says in more of a growl, as if just the sight of you looking at his was shredding his self control, yet before you could so much as lift your gaze- “Haah! Tey-.” he began bouncing his leg, thus you along with it, sending you up and down on his fingers at his will. Your fingernails nearly broke skin as you bounced atop his legs, moaning uncontrollably as he fucked you on his fingers. 

Neteyam's gaze seemed to devour you like a piece of art; watching the each bounce of your breasts, the juices painting his palm and thigh, thrust after thrust how they pooled on his blue skin. It was almost to much, his cock was aching to the point of pain- and then he felt your touch on it's head, not even processing when or how your hand had gone from gripping his shoulder, to rolling his cock head in your palm and… fuck did it feel good. Too good. It was almost too easy to imagine pinning you on the forest floor, lining himself with your cunt and- No, you needed to finish first before he could have you. He needed to be sure you were ready for him. Your body trembled as Neteyam began curling his fingers repeatedly as he continued to bounce his leg, the mixed sensation throwing you into the merciful arms of release as you writhed and shook, mewling out in a hitched voice as you came undone. He continued, slowly the bouncing of his thigh and shifting his curling fingers in the massaging motion, letting you ride out your high. Neteyam huffed a small laugh as your forehead leaned against his chest for support, your breathing heavy and uneven. “You… you play too much, Teyam.”, this prompted another laugh as Neteyam lowered his knee, his free hand snaking from your hip to around your backside, as he carefully lowered you onto the plush grass. Once your back was flush against the ground, Neteyam now leaning over you, he withdrew his fingers, bringing them below pelvis to smear your lingering juices along his shaft, letting out a sigh at the contact, a sound that had your chest tightening. He had been so patient, so gentle, and now you would reward him for his efforts. 

Slowly you spread your legs wide, bringing your knees to your chest, watching as Neteyam continued to give himself a few more pumps to ease the hurt. When his eyes finally lifted to see you spread before him, the sound that came from him was nothing, but primal need. He ran his tongue over his lips to moisten them as he carefully leaned down, bringing your face closer to his own until his forehead rested against yours. Despite the hunger, his amber eyes swam with so much Earth shattering love that you felt you could weep and perhaps it showed in your face, because Neteyam cooed your name so softly and sincerely you almost didn't hear it, before he raised his lips to kiss your hairline, once again mentally cursing the obstruction of your mask that kept him from kissing your lips. When he pulled away, it was only enough to weave a hand between you to guide his cock closer to where you both longed for him to be. At the feel of his tip prodding at your entrance, Neteyam leaned down to place a gentle kiss at your ear, whispering sweet praises as inch by delicious, suffocating, filling inch he pushed into you. The shudder that rippled down his back muscles as your tightness took hold of him, as if it would never let go. “Siltsan, ma’ syulang…” (Well done, my flower). As Neteyam looked up to take in your expression, he found your eyes closed, brows scrunched, but not in pain as you breathed, “I don't think I'll ever get used to that first thrust… thank Eywa.”. 

Neteyam couldn't help, but chuckle before leaning down to bite your earlobe, “Such a dirty mouth on my mate…” he cooed, yet as you were about to retort, Neteyam pulled out slightly before plunging back in, his muscles flexing at the motion. “Ohh…shit…”, the curse natural on his tongue as again he thrusted slowly into you. The fifth time his tip pressed kissed your cervix, Neteyam had to bite back a growl. He was desperate, but he wouldn’t allow himself to throw caution to the wind, not just for your safety, but to savor this feeling for as long as he could. He maneuvered enough to set your legs over his shoulders, his knees spreading wider through the grass as he scooped an arm beneath your shoulders, pressing your front flush against his own seamlessly, like he was trying to get as close to you as possible- to force your bodies to become one and when he rolled his hips again, you rolled yours with him. Neteyam's ears pressed flat against the sides of his head and he let out a soft whimper, he was content to stay like this forever. “Teyam, please…” You begged, rolling your hips before he could move again, giving his cock a loving squeeze with a clench of your inner walls and with it, an invisible tether had broken loose. Neteyam reeled his hips back at the same steady pace he had, but when he drove back in, your body bucked with his. “Fuck! yes… like that… please.” and he did, again and again, faster, harder, until it was all he could do to bring your hips down onto each of his thrusts, driving your back into the grass each time. His lips were in a frenzy on your ears, neck and chest; wherever he could reach, you decorated your skin in wet kisses, nips, and licks and you couldn't find it within you to give a shit about how many marks he was leaving, not when it meant he was putting his claim on you in the most intimate way he could, Your body writhed and bucked beneath him, your legs that had been barking for being in the same position too long, had become an after thought as one ograsm began as another ended. 

Only when Neteyam pulled away, wrapping your legs around his slim waist did you suddenly remember they needed relief, yet the euphoria of it was short lived as you were hauled into his lap, both arms wrapping around you as he somehow drove himself deeper at the new angle. Neteyam buried his face between your neck and shoulder, his grunts and moans lingering in your ear. He was close, the breathless whines that new fell from his lips indicated as much. So close you could feel the restraint in his thrusts, where one moment he pistoned into you, filling the space around you with wet slapping, the next he held your pelvis flush against his own as he ground himself into you. Your brows furrowed through your mask as his whines became more pitched, desperate you realized, like the finish line was nearly there, yet somehow out of reach. So you did what you could, clinging to him and whispering in his ear between moans, “I love you.”, “I love you.”, “My mate.”, “Mine.”, it was the last two words that clanged through him like a burst of energy as Neteyam gave a few rough thrusts, bringing your body to meet them each time, that he finally went over the edge, spilling as much of his seed as he could into you before it began to spill where you were still connected. 

The moment he stilled inside of you, you both let out a sigh in unison, your bodies drenched with sweat, skin hot and sticky to the touch. It was when you each pulled back to look at each other that Neteyam’s eyes widened, taking in your body before him. “What? What's wrong?” You immediately ask, following his gaze, but that was all the proof you needed. From what you could see, your chest was littered with redish-purple spots, which you could only assume were on your neck as well, and then the embarrassment of having to walk into the lab like this hit. Neteyam merely laughed, trying as gentle as possible to lay you back down on the grass, withdrawing himself from you before laying on his side beside you. “You say my stripes are pretty, but I must say… I do find spots to be a good look on you.” then you laughed with him only after feining disapproval at his joke, giving his shoulder a playful shove before snuggling into his warmth.

Even rereading this story I'm super proud with how it turned out. I hope it holds up to everyone who read it previously and that new readers enjoy it as well.♡

Tag list:  @luvv4j4ybe11, @sullybothersmate ,@yourfavwh0r3 @Awiltedpeony @xylianasblog @pandoraslxna @blue-slxt @hotdsworld @itchaboi-itchyboy @erenjaegerwifee

If you would like to be added or removed from a specific taglist, just let me know!

[iamgonnagetyouback]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

You sit at the small, candle-lit table in the cozy café, staring at your boyfriend Mattheo, who is currently giving Theo his undivided attention. What was supposed to be a romantic evening between the two of you has been thoroughly hijacked by none other than Theodore Nott, who sits directly across from you both, ranting about Quidditch—again.

Your jaw clenches as Theo goes on, passionately describing some absurd play he saw during the last match, waving his hands around like he’s delivering a TED Talk. Mattheo nods along, clearly entertained.

“Honestly, Mattheo,” Theo says, leaning forward dramatically, “the way the Chasers were handling the Quaffle, it was like they were intentionally throwing the game! The whole thing was a disaster.”

You roll your eyes, stirring your drink just to give your hands something to do before you snap. You came here for a cozy date with your boyfriend, not to sit through another episode of Theo’s Quidditch Chronicles. Noticing that Mattheo hasn’t looked your way in ten minutes, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

You gently place a hand on Mattheo’s arm, trying to pull his attention back to you. “Matty,” you say sweetly, leaning in slightly, “do you want to order dessert now? Maybe something to share?”

Mattheo finally turns to you, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, babe, sounds good. What were you thinking?”

But before you can respond, Theo cuts in—again. “Hold on, hold on, Mattheo, you’re not gonna believe this next part.” He leans forward, effectively blocking you out of the conversation once more. “The Seeker, right? He—”

You let out a frustrated sigh, and Mattheo gives you an apologetic look. You’ve had it.

“Theo,” you say, your voice tight with forced patience, “do you mind? We were in the middle of something.”

Theo, unfazed, looks at you with wide, innocent eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, were you saying something?” His tone drips with faux politeness, and you resist the urge to smack him.

“Yes, actually, I was,” you snap, your jaw clenched. “I was talking to my boyfriend.”

Theo raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair as if amused. “Oh, really? Because it seems like my best friend here was more interested in Quidditch.”

You blink at him, feeling your temper flare. “Well, my boyfriend was supposed to be on a date with me, not getting sucked into yet another one of your rants.”

Theo scoffs. “Please, I’m doing you a favor. Do you know how much effort it takes to tolerate Mattheo? I’ve been carrying this friendship for years.”

Your eyes narrow. “You tolerate him? I’ve been dealing with his obsession with dark arts books, his constant need to brood, and don’t even get me started on his messy habits.”

Theo snorts. “Oh, honey, you have no idea. He still hasn’t returned the book I lent him three months ago. I think he’s using it as a doorstop at this point.”

Mattheo, sitting between the two of you, looks utterly baffled, his gaze darting between you and Theo like he’s watching a tennis match. “Uh… guys? I feel like we’re getting a bit off-topic here…”

But you and Theo turn to him in unison, voices sharp.

“Shut up, Mattheo!”

Mattheo’s mouth snaps shut, his eyes wide with shock.

You and Theo turn back to each other, both of you now bonded in your mutual frustration. “He leaves his socks everywhere,” you mutter, crossing your arms.

Theo nods in agreement. “Tell me about it. And he’s always late for our gaming sessions. I swear, he takes longer to get ready than anyone I know.”

“He spends hours in front of the mirror messing with his hair,” you add, glaring at Mattheo for emphasis.

Theo sighs dramatically. “And he has this annoying habit of—wait, what’s with the hair thing? He does that with you too?”

“Every day,” you groan.

Mattheo, now completely lost, throws his hands up in defeat. “What—how did this even turn into—are you two seriously ganging up on me right now?”

You and Theo exchange a look before nodding in unison.

“Yes,” you say, deadpan.

Mattheo blinks, looking utterly dumbfounded. “But… this was supposed to be a date?”

Theo shrugs. “I mean, it’s not my fault you’re an equal-opportunity annoyance.”

You chuckle despite yourself, while Mattheo looks like he’s trying to process how this all spiraled so quickly. He glances between you and Theo, his confusion only growing as the two of you continue your back-and-forth, now completely bonded over your shared grievances about him.

“So, what? Now you two are just… best friends?” Mattheo asks, incredulous.

You and Theo look at each other again, then back at Mattheo.

“Obviously,” you both say at the same time.

Mattheo groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Merlin’s beard… what have I done?”

Theo smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Congratulations, mate. You’ve officially become the least important person at this table.”

You laugh, and even though Mattheo’s clearly exasperated, you can’t help but feel like the night just got a whole lot more entertaining.

inspired by Babe by @thatdammchickennugget!!

[destielnoirbang]

When he drew level, he chanced a glance over at the other man, who turned when he sensed that he’d become a subject of scrutiny. Dean’s breath stopped in his throat. The man’s jaw was sharp as a word spoken in anger, his skin pale and clean-shaven. Long, graceful fingers played idly with one of the free Funtime Liquors matchbooks as he waited. His eyes promised mischief and mysteries. Dean wouldn’t have been surprised to learn the man had just stepped out of a movie screen.Too late, he realized he was staring, and then only because the man’s plump lips had twitched slightly on one side. Dean cleared his throat. “Merry Christmas,” he said. “Merry Christmas to you too, officer,” the man returned. Dean flinched, feeling caught out. Whoever the man was, he was clearly smart if plainclothes didn’t fool him. “That obvious?” he asked. When Dean chanced another glance at the man, he was still looking back, humor glinting in his eyes. “It’s practically stamped on your forehead.” Maybe Dean ought to have taken that for the dismissal it likely was, but the bit of humor in the man’s gaze felt almost akin to a smile. Most men wouldn’t smile at someone they wanted gone. “Haven’t I seen you in a movie?” Dean tried. The man dropped his head with a low, rough chuckle. Dean fought down a surge of embarrassment. A handsome man in a well-cut suit, five blocks from Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, where all the most glamorous Hollywood premieres took place? It wasn’t too outrageous a guess. Dean was about to tell the man “never mind” when he caught Dean’s eyes again and said, “It’s unlikely. Unless you happened to pay very close attention to Youth Number 3 in the opening scene of It Came From Saturn's Rings.” “You were in that?” Dean asked eagerly. This time, there was no fighting the heat on his face. He had a great weakness for science fiction movies, and he remembered seeing a screening of It Came From Saturn's Rings on opening night some three years back. Even working in Hollywood for as long as he had, he’d never stopped being a little starry-eyed about anybody who’d graced the silver screen. His question got him an interesting reaction: the man’s head tipped to the side, his eyes narrowing, the better to study Dean. For the first time, he seemed to put some actual stock in their conversation. “You’ve seen it?” “Yeah,” Dean confirmed, embarrassingly pleased to have found this patch of common ground between them. “It was good.” It hadn’t been anything special, in truth, but the man was smiling in earnest now, one side of those plush lips curving up, and Dean thought he’d do just about anything to keep that smile going.

- Code of Silence

by @friendofcarlotta, art by @rezal-art

Available Now On Ao3!

[frownyalfred]

TRINITY STRIP CLUB?

I had some bits and pieces written for an outsider!POV fic of the Trinity going undercover of a strip club, but I think I scrapped it since I ended up going with a similar storyline for dead man's party.

(snippets below, unedited)

---

“Oh fuck. VIP in the big suite.” 

Amy set down her gatorade, swallowing quickly. “This late?”

Matt tilted the POS screen her way, showing her the time block. “They just grabbed the last two blocks for the night.” 

“Shit,” Amy said, biting her lip, “That’s pricey.” 

“Ask if they want any bottles,” Matt said, immediately switching to business mode, “Actually, don’t ask. Just bring in the champagne.” 

Amy made grabby hands until he stepped out of her way, letting her look at the screen. She thumbed through the schedule, frowning at the room reservation -- John Smith -- and the underlined note: Do not disturb. 

“Taking first dibs?” she asked, glancing at his sweat-soaked shorts critically. Matt stuck his tongue out at her. 

“They don’t care this late,” he said, “It’s all coming off, anyway.” 

Amy scanned the screen one last time -- three guests -- and snagged her serving tray off the counter, going off in search of champagne glasses. 

Matt, wisely, split off for the dressing rooms, likely to freshen up. He was wiping down with baby wipes in full view of the door when Amy passed by a few minutes later, a chilled bottle of Dom Pérignon carefully perched in an ice bucket on her tray. 

“Give ‘em hell,” he said, grinning lewdly. 

Amy made an unimpressed noise, heading for the stairs. 

(line break)

“Hello, welcome to Club Charlie. My name is Amy, I’m going to be your--”

Three heads shot up, staring at her in surprise. Years of training prevented Amy from immediately stopping in her tracks. She balanced the bucket off of her tray and onto the table, focusing on keeping her heels under her. 

“We didn’t order champagne.”

Amy looked up from the bucket, already reaching for the glasses. 

“Compliments of the…” she faltered, “...house, sir.” 

The man in the middle of the couch -- sunglasses, dress shirt open to the third button, broad shoulders -- didn’t seem amused. Delicate lips pressed together, highlighting their curve. 

“We also asked not to be disturbed,” he said. Not upset -- not really, the truly wealthy ones never did -- but on the road to it. “Miss…?”

“Bruce,” the man to his left said, interrupting before Amy could respond, “let her be.” 

He was just as broad-shouldered, wide blue eyes keeping just above her collarbone. On the table in front of him was an iPad and several notepads, half filled in with penciled diagrams. 

“We can drink champagne,” the third person -- a woman, in a deep red, one-shoulder dress -- said, leaning forward, “I will do the honors.” 

Amy handed off the champagne bottle to the woman, mouth slightly open. 

There had to be a convention in town. A convention for highly attractive, black-haired, blue eyed models. It was like staring at a movie star in real life. 

The woman smiled at Amy in thanky, digging a perfectly manicured finger through the foil of the bottle. Before she could offer the bottle opener, the 

“Holy fuck,” she said, stumbling back into the dressing room, “you need to get in there now.” 

“Are they rich?” Matt asked, looking up from where he was tweezing a hair from his upper thigh, “Please tell me they’re good tippers. I got absolutely fucked by that last DJ set.” 

“They’re models,” Amy said, breathless, “literal, actual, fucking works of art. I’ve never seen three more attractive people in my life.” 

“Bullshit,” Matt said, returning to his hair. 

“Seriously. Grab Leslie. There’s three of them.” 

---

“Two birds, one stone,” Sunglasses said under his breath, “I need to be here.” 

“You said you were available,” the younger man protested, “I didn’t think that meant you were at the strip club.” 

“You said it was urgent,” Sunglasses said, raising an eyebrow at his companion, “and I am available.” 

The woman gave Matt and Leslie an encouraging smile as they mounted the stage. 

“I don’t…” next to Sunglasses, the younger man wiped a hand across his face, “Lois is going to kill me.” 

“Lois would already have her wallet out,” Sunglasses muttered, “and you know it.” 

“Gah.” 

“See something you like, gorgeous?” Matt called to the woman, slinging a hand around the center pole. 

The woman’s sculpted eyebrows lifted, lips forming a perfect, cherry-red pout over her champagne flute. “Will you show me something I’ll like, μωρό?”

“Oh God,” the younger man said, glancing back and forth between the two of them, “This was a mistake.” 

Sunglasses glanced up at the stage, looking marginally more pleased than his companion, “Might as well enjoy it, boy scout.” 

“Enjoy it?” 

“More champagne, sir?” Amy asked, darting in with the fresh bottle. The younger man stared up at her in shock. God, his eyes were really fucking blue. She could get lost in those eyes. 

“I--um,” the man shoved it out at her, “Sure. Please. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have --”

His reply was drowned out by the sound of Kim Petras blaring through the VIP suite speakers, marking the beginning of the set. 

[littlemissmasokitten]

Welcome To The After Show Part 1

Pairing: Christian Yu x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut (Minors DNI), Exclusive Situationship, Light Conflict w/ Healthy Communication

Synopsis: Christian Yu, or better known as the workaholic DPR IAN, and you are in a situationship only prevented from being more due to his heavy workload, otherwise, you two absolutely adore each other. Now with the first portion of his tour handled, he's more than ready to give you the attention you've both been needing.

Content Warning: Smut, pet names (Darling, Princess, Baby), LOTS of preface, L-bomb (More on the sweet side, curse my Asexuality), light fingering, nibbling, marking, nipples (lightly mentioned), open-ended.

Ngl, was supposed to have more smut but I got writer's block bad and I just want to throw this out into the world already. BE FREE!

Networks: @othersideoutlawsnetwork Part 2 Continued: Here

It had been a short while since the last time Christian had toured, and yet, so much has changed since then. Even though you hadn’t the chance to be by his side back then, you were proud to be here for him now.

Your relationship had been kept a secret and held a bit ambiguous for some time but everyone on the team knew something was going on between you two. All the times you left his recording studio looking more disheveled than the last, but the rumors still held true. The only thing Christian loved more than your body under his was the art he was creating day in and day out.

Even while you’d wished for your relationship to become something more, you continued to sit back, silently admiring his sleepless nights. You lived for the odd hours he’d wake you with a gentle caress of your face, happily presenting the 4-5 samples he’d created over the last hour you’d been asleep. Being woken by him was always a treat in itself though his diligence not only shone in his work but in the way he’d treated you as well. He was always certain to reward you for your patience and that was more than enough for you. 

The coming days of the Seoul concert were busier than ever. You’d honestly expected he’d disappear off into his own world so you were surprised when he brought over matching luggage cases and invited you along to South Korea with him. Even though you’d only be able to stay in his Seoul apartment while he worked, it was a refreshing change of scenery and felt like a good use of your vacation time. You cozied up in his bed with a book or two and a bit of tea, staying up a little late into the nights just to see him back safe and sound. 

Everyone knew the first day of the concert would be hectic and you stayed behind then as well. Despite the way he returned, stumbling into the apartment worn and exhausted, his eyes lit up telling you every little detail, and how much it warmed his heart getting to see "the lovely Dreamers" once again. In a moment, he clutched your hands in his and he begged you ever-so sweetly to tag along for his second performance the following day. Despite your initial hesitance toward the potential of being spotted, you agreed under the condition of staying in a secluded backstage waiting room.

Now here you are, as you promised you would be. A silent room with a few snacks and beverages, a couch, a chair, and the greyest walls imaginable. It was moments like this that made you wonder if it was really okay to continue living this way. You opened your phone for the Nth time, only to see fancam after fancam of his performances taking over your social feeds. A lighthearted sigh leaves your lips when you see him tying a bow on his head. “He’s so precious, of course this was all worth it”.

As the words leave your lips, you hear a light knock on the door. You eagerly sit up, a twinkle in your eyes. “Yeah?~” The door creaks open with Christian peeking in before sneaking in and closing the door shut behind him. You make your way up and both run into each other's arms once again. “Darling, it must get tiring to always be waiting on me like this but I can promise you…” he leans in, tucking your hair behind your ear to softly whisper against it “I’ve been waiting to get to you just as much as you’ve waited on me”. As each word gently falls upon you, your senses become enveloped by him. 

The softness of his words tickling your ears.

The way his body fits perfectly against yours.

The scent of his sweat infused with the woody cologne he’d put on before the performance.

The sight of his stage makeup drying after running down his face.

By all means, he should be exhausted like any other day but the twinkle in his eyes as he looks down at you says everything you’d needed to hear.

In a moment, your lips are on his, your fingertips tracing up his shoulders to the dampened back of his neck. He gently caresses the small of your back as you exchange feelings for each other with actions alone. Between the heavenly plush of his lips, the delicateness of your tongues just barely swiping between desperate kisses, and warmth of your breaths colliding, what was meant to be a moment of understanding was rapidly spiraling into a deep, familiar desire. 

A breathy moan escapes your lips and he takes it as an opportunity to graze your tongue with his. As quickly as you get a taste, his mouth leave yours and relocates to the base of your neck, one hand reaching up, tangling into your hair as he ever so softly marks you. “You taste delicious, Darling. I'm so lucky to have all this right here, waiting just for me". He guides you back against the arm of the couch and mumbles against your skin "Now, let me show you proper just how I appreciate you".

With a small whine of acceptance leaving your lips, he guides you to lean back, his hand giving your thigh a squeeze, thumb rubbing at the soft plush. He presses kisses down your chest, only stopping to mouth over the peak of your nipple clearly protruding beneath your thin t-shirt.

You loved the way it felt how he touched you, the butterflies in your stomach when he'd give in and spoil you with endless affection. But as his hand crept up your thigh, so had the worries deep in the pit of your stomach. "Christian..." you held his hand in place, causing him to look up to you once again. "What is it, Darling? Is something wrong?"

You swallowed hard and stayed quiet a moment before responding, averting his gaze. "I don't love the way things are ambiguous between us. Sometimes... I wish..." your words trail off.

"I love you, y/n. No doubt about that in my heart" he softly caresses your face. "You've stayed beside me through my best and worst days, you've held on through my busiest months and have been the anchor and breath of fresh air I needed in the times between. If 'official' is what you want, I'm more than ready to give it to you."

Your eyes widened, "Do... do you really mean it?" you say in a near to hushed whisper. He kisses you softly, slowly deepening the kiss, one arm snaking around you before leaning back to whisper against your lips. "More than anything, Princess. If it helps..." his free hand rides the rest of the way up your thigh, rubbing your heat through your leggings, a finger slipping between your folds "you can be as loud as you'd like now and we'll explain it all later."

Your breath hikes in a damn near squeak, only needing to see you eagerly nodding before he returns to ravaging your mouth once again. A second finger slipping between and you'd swear on your life the next day if asked that his fingers had never felt thicker. He nibbles your lip as his finger teases your entrance through the leggings. You give a small yelp, to which he kisses your lip all better.

"Don't get shy on me now, Baby. Lets lay you down this couch and I'll give you good reason to be loud."

The lingering time between then and the couch is spent up in a blind tango, your lips endlessly caressing each other's. Even as he sits you down and leans you back, his body only casts over yours the whole while. You pull him down closer by the loose hanging fabric of his shirt, yearning for him more desperately.

"Is my pretty girl already so needy? Well Darling, I'm more than happy to oblige." He props himself up on one arm, looking deep into your impatient doe eyes. His free hand brushes between your thighs, taking in the sight of you trembling with your breathy, half-lidded gaze. His fingers brush past your clothed core before snaking their way down your waistband and teasing your dampened folds. Your hips buck up for more but he raises his fingers away, kissing you deeply as he settles your hips back down.

"ah ah~, no moving for you, Darling..." he leans and whispers deeply "I've got you."

Part 2 Continued: Here

[vigilante24ish]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Chapter 1. - Chapter 2. - Chapter 3

Chapter 4. - Chapter 5. - Chapter 6

Chapter 7. - Chapter 8. - Chapter 9

Chapter 10. - Chapter 11. - Chapter 12

Chapter 13. - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15

Word Count: 1410

Chapter 15:

After your little talk with Rio, you wandered around the room; keeping an eye on everyone as you went.

You could see that Alice was uncomfortable being around, trying not to touch anything while nostalgia was hidden behind her round red tinted glasses.

Your attention went mostly to Lilia, who had returned to the main room shaken, and you swore she could be on the verge of tears. Glancing behind her, you faintly noticed certain arts on the wall; depicting witches burning at the stake.

Lilia was the oldest amongst you all. You knew that much. You suspected she had bad memories from the time of the trials and felt sympathetic once you .theorised she must have lost friends that way.

Considering her prophetic abilities, you could not comprehend how outcast she must have felt back then.

As you all gathered in the main room, you realized two people were missing... Agatha and Rio.

Narrowing your eyes faintly, you were about to go find them when the speakes got activated. You heard clearly what was supposed to be the conversation between the two witches; coming from the outer part of the recording booth.

"I get the pleasure of watching you do what you do best." Rio voice was heard over the PA.

Agatha's followed next. "Which is?"

"Killl all the witches around you. One by one."

"Then what?"

"You get your power, and I get my bodies."

Agatha gasped loudly. "Hey! That's my coven you're talking about. I'm m not that kind of witch anymore."

Immediately, the three witches rushed towards the booth; clearly furious with what they had just heard.

You trailed back, hesitant to follow your rushing emotions and thoughts.

Something was not right, and you knew it.

Agatha had tried to frame Rio, perhaps to make the coven mistrust her? Or to make herself sound better and regain some of their confidence to her?

You were not sure.

What you were sure about was Agatha's gasp and last words. That spesific gasp and tone was fake, an overdramatic reaction; a mere acting moment to make others buy it.

You remained further back from the group but close enough, to ensure no one would be throwing hands anytime soon.

Their arguments were loud in your ears but then a different sound reached you. Like nails against a blackboard, like a pin draged against glass...

The background demonic and loud noise seemed to strike deep into your magical core and even in your mind, causing you inscrutiating pain.

Before you knew it, you were on your knees; hands pressed tightly against your ears in a futile attempt to block the noise. You made no sound but by the way you bit your bottom lip, it was evident you were in pain.

The rest of the coven had similar reactions, some like Alice and Jen reacting strongly; yet not to the level you did.

Rio was the one least bothered, and Teen tried his best not to react to it. While being busy to explain, he played a record backwards; causing all this.

While everyone was fighting against it, it was Agatha who dared to act.

She was the first to see you on your knees, trying hard to block the sound from driving you mad and he knew that face of yours... the face when you were in pain.

Her own ears hurt and she swore this sound would haunt her nightmares for the years to come but she had to act.

The others were too weak, and she would not be standing there while you were in pain.

She had no idea what was happening, but if it affected you that way, it was bad. She did not stay to think about it and merely grabbed the record player before smashing it to the ground.

To ensure the job was done, she stepped on it and the cursed record; ensuring the sound would stop, and it did.

Now, free of whatever was that, you all took a moment to gather yourself.

You slowly stood up, taking silent deep breaths before you felt a metallic taste in your mouth. Bringing your hand towards your face, your fingers touched something wet against your lips. Upon inspecting it, you realized it was blood... your blood.

To try and fight the pain, you had bit your lip so hard you had actually bled it.

You tried to hide your shock and quickly wiped the evidence with the back of your sleeve, all while avoiding Agatha's intended gaze; not wishing to decipher it at the moment.

Yet Agatha kept watching, eyes darker at the sight of your bleeding lip. She could not help but remember the times she had bitten your lip enough to draw blood, only to lick it and then kiss you with hunger; letting you also taste what your blood felt like.

She managed to focus on the present, not letting her thoughts and fantasies get the best of her.

There were still things she had to focus on.

"We've been cursed." Lilia suddenly said as she recognised what had taken place.

At least that made some sense to you, though you had never truly been cursed; not that way. Physical curses had been your biggest enemy but you could fight, purify them even when the moon was full.

Now verbal... it seemed to be a loophole into everything. You were not how to feel about that.

You didn't have the time to do so, either, for a metronome on the piano nearby started to tick.

"I think this means the trial started." Teen pointed out.

Jen took notice that Rio was not exactly shocked or even scared, like the rest. "Why are you smiling?"

Agatha rolled her eyes. "She's a tourist." Was her argument.

Once again, Jen did not agree. "She's a psycho."

"And nothing's happening." Teen pointed out. "Maybe this curse isn't so bad."

You immediately locked your sharp gaze at him, making him feel uncomfortable. One finger was pointed in his direction.

"Do not, under any circumstance, say those words again." Your voice was serious, and it made every single hair on his body stand on end. "Last thing we need is the Road proving us wrong"

As if your words had once again predicted the future, something unexpected happened.

Lilia started to fan herself with her hands, feeling hotter when suddenly she started to scream. You swore you could see some sort of faint smoke coming from beneath her clothing, and the smell of burning flesh quickly reached your nose.

"It burns!" She shouted, grabbing an invisible wound by her shoulder.

Everyone stood close in panic, not sure how to help when Jen remembered something.

"Alice, protect her." She instructed her fellow witches.

Just like her assigned role, Alice did what she had to do. Using Rio's knife, she carved a circle around a screaming Lilia while changing a protection spell in Latin.

By the time the circle was complete, Lilia was laying on the floor but she was no longer burning by some invisible power.

Jen looked terrified. "I need you to draw one of those circles around me, right now"

You paid her no mind as you helped Lilia stand. You did not ask her anything but you could see in her eyes that she was thankful for your help .

"So, breaking a curse," Teen started as he tried to think what he knew. "Smudge sticks? A salt bath... What if we locate and reason with the witch who cast the curse?"

"Once vengeance is loosed, you can't reel it back in." You so wisely commneted as you stopped holding and supporting Lliliam

"So what do we do?"

Once again, the older witch had an answer. "The only way to end a curse is to face it."

New screams drew your attention and everyone turned to Jen, who was suffering the same effects of the curse.

Alice rushed to repeat the protective circle, doing her best to be fast and save Jen from suffering this burning sensation for long.

Surprisingly, when she was done; something became noticable. Jen's skin seemed to bear a mark, a burnt brand on her skin.

Lilia confirmed she had the same, making you all exchange looks of worry with one another.

This was new, way more physical than the other trial, and you were not sure you liked it that much.

Chapter 16

[daydaydayrk420]

Anything with Chris Evans please -

Be my Muse pt1

Chris Evans x male reader

⚠️nothing really all the good stuff is in part two⚠️

🚨 Minors and girls do not interact 🚨

Y/n/n - nickname

This ended up being longer than I intended to so I split it into two parts

______________________________________________________________

Chris is a famous actor. Most famous for playing Captain America for Marvel. He's also known for being kind and caring.

Now y/n isn't known for anything. He's no celebrity. He's just a guy who works at the local bar. On the weekends though he teaches art class.

It's a weekend class that's joined mostly by old people who are doing it for therapy.

So basically he's just hosting art therapy. But sometipmes there are people who join for the art not the therapy.

And by sometimes I mean this weekend. What's so special about this weekend? Let me tell you then.

Now pull your hand out your pants there's no porn here.

The day started the same as usual. Y/n wakes up. Does his morning routine. Watches YouTube or plays games for two Hours. Check his bag and go to his car.

The drive is half an hour long without traffic. He parks in his usual spot in front of the studio building that he shares with two more classes. Both include art but they work on different days and don't include the therapy. So obviously those two get the youngsters. While y/n gets left with old shaky hands. Which he doesn't mind. He loves seeing the people relax and smile at their art.

He walks in and sees that some of his regulars are already there. They're all elderly people. They're just by their lockers and the cafeteria getting ready for the class. The ones who notice the younger man greet him with a smile. Which he returns.

"Hey, James." Y/n greets kindly at the shorter old man. James is the oldest grandpa here. 95 to be exact. Yes, he's here for the therapy part of the class. He's a veteran. "Hey y/n/m. How are you doing son?" James greets them with a happy tone. He always saw y/n as a family. James has also been part of this class since it started. Which was five years ago.

Y/n smiles and sets down the paper bag with James's favourite doughnuts on the table where the old man had his coffee. "I'm good j. No bar fight this week." The younger man joked as he sat opposite of James. Said man laughs and takes out a doughnut.

This has become a tradition for them. Share a chat and doughnuts before every class. Sometimes even James brings something to bite on.

"What about you? You seem cheery today." Y/n asks as he removes his jacket to get comfortable. James hummed and wiped the sugar pounder off his lips. "I'm happy." He said with a content smile. Which made y/n smile too. "And I have a surprise for you." That caught the younger man with surprise.

"Oh? What's the occasion?" The younger man asks with curiosity. "Let's just say it's my thank you for the happy five years I've had so far." That melts y/n's heart. He knows James suffered with depression and that he still might be. So knowing he can make James happy is all he needs to be happy too.

"The problem is my gift is stuck in traffic and will be here in about an hour." Jame chuckles. Y/n laughs. "Oh? What kind of a gift is that then?" He jokes. He's really curious now. Stuck in traffic?

"I ain't spoiling my long-planned surprise, kid." James laughs. The younger man dramatically pretends to be annoyed but a smile creeps onto his face.

The two of them chat for a bit before they all go to their usual places in the studio.

Y/n first goes to the toilet before he starts the class.

When he returns he takes his usual spot in the front corner of the class where it doesn't block whatever they're painting or drawing. He sets his stuff where he wants it and faces the class. He scans the faces. The elder people seem happy today. They all talk and laugh about their memories from the week.

That's until he notices a new face. A young face. But he's looking away. Y/n tilts his head. He knows that facial structure from somewhere. He's drawn it before.

"Alright. Does everyone have their supplies?" Y/n called out to get everyone's attention. He makes sure everyone nods or checks for everything.

That's when he finally catches the new face. Chris Evans. Chris fucking Evans is talking with James about what pain he's using.

"I see we have a new face here." Y/n cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. Chris looks up and smiles. "Would you like to introduce yourself or would you rather if they want to meet you they come to you." Y/n suggested as he always does so his students aren't uncomfortable.

"I'm alright thanks." Chris smiles. The younger man nods and looks at his papers to see what they're doing. "Alright so as usual. We have fruit on the stand. Or if you want to do your Topic that's fine too. The art style is all up to you, of course." He reads through his notes to make sure he's got everything. "Alright. That's about it. What song should we play first?"

The time passes by. Everyone's drawing including y/n. It's about time that y/n checks in with everyone. So he puts his brush down and goes to the first canvas. Eventually, he gets to James and rests his hand on his shoulders. "Hey, James, how's it going." He asks with a soft voice as he studies what abstract James is painting today.

It's just a bunch of paint splatter on the canvas. "The usual." The old man hummed proudly. Y/n nods and moves on to the next guy. Aka. Chris Evans. Aka Frank Adler. Aka. Y/n big fat celeb crush. But he keeps a friendly smile on his face and looks at the canvas. He stands stunned.

It's him. The charcoal outlines shape him drawing his art. "That's... Sweet." Y/n didn't know what else to say. Chris chuckles. "Thanks."

The younger man admires the drawing for a tad longer than he wanted. Eventually, he snaps out of it and looks at Chris. Who's already looking at him and smiling. Y/n blushes in surprise. Chris hands his hand out. "Chris."

Y/n wants to laugh because he obviously already knows who the man in front of him is but he doesn't and just grabs his hand. "Y/n" he shakes his hand.

"Y/n." The older man murmurs. "Handsome name for a handsome man." Y/n blushes at that again.

"So what brought you to my class?" Y/n wants to start a conversation. He doesn't want to move to the next person. He wants to talk with Chris. "Oh I was invited by James." Chris said casually as if that didn't just blow y/n's mind out of proportion. He looks at James as if asking "this is the gift?" And James winks knowingly.

The younger man faces Chris again and smiles. "James? How'd he manage to do that?" He's genuinely curious. "His granddaughter works with me. She's a movie clothing designer." The older man said as he set down his charcoal.

"Ohh. Jasmine works with movie stuff?" Y/n asks surprised. "You know Jasmine?" Chris looks surprised. "Not personally. Just from stories." The younger man said. Chris nods. "Well I should move on. Keep up your drawing." Y/n smiled and moved on to another person.

The class comes to an end and everyone gathers their things to leave. Y/n has to stay so he can lock up. James and Chris also stay behind.

"So? Happy?" The younger man jumps in surprise when he hears James's voice form behind him. The old man laughs. "I take that as a yes."

The younger man chuckles and nods. "Thank you James. I really appreciate you doing this."

"I know you wanted to meet him for so long. And when I found out that Jasmine knows him I tried my best to bring him here." The old man grins and pats y/n's back.

"Anyway I gotta go my pick-up is here." They hugged goodbye and James left.

"You doing anything after?" Y/n jumps in surprise at the voice from behind him. Chris chuckles. "Sorry didn't mean to scare ya."

"Uh no I'm not doing anything after this." Y/n chuckles nervously. "Would you like to go get some food with me?" The older man asked with a grin. "Sure." The younger man smiles and hides the fireworks that are going off inside his body.

And so they went out. They didn't really have a specific destination they just walked until they found something they'd crave. But that of course didn't last for long because paparazzi have found them. Y/n thinks fast and takes Chris towards the parking lot in front of the studio. He walks fast and moves through some alleys so they could hopefully lose the cameras.

They make it to the car and quickly hop in. They drive off. Once they've calmed down from the adrenaline they both laugh. "Good thinking." Chris praised.

Y/n smiles. "Thanks."

They put on the radio and talk as y/n drives home.

.

..

...

Pt2

[campingwiththecharmings]

Some Like it Hot (2)

AN: HIIIII. Right. So. Part one is here. This...diverted quite a bit from what I had originally intended but, I can't say that I'm too mad about it. 🤭 This has very little to no plot, negl.

(Un-beta’d)

Poe is your muse and you can't help but see the beauty in everything he does.

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 1,481 Pairing: Firefighter!Poe Dameron x Photographer!F!Reader Warnings: PWP, smuffy af, p in v, idiots in love, morning sex, please let me know if i missed anything. AO3

——————

You wake gently, the sunlight streaming through the thin curtains, filling the room with its glow. You smile, eyes fluttering as you stretch, allowing yourself to sink into the mattress a little. The sheets rustle beside you as Poe shifts, drawing your gaze. You take a moment to study him, splayed on his belly, your eyes tracing the soft curve of his lips, the sharp cut of his jaw, smooth brow, and stubbled cheeks. He’s a work of art, really. Just…stunning. Every inch of him is perfect, as if he’d been chiseled from a block of marble by the gods themselves. And if that wasn’t enough, he also had a heart of gold. Never in your life have you met someone so kind and caring, so ready and willing to help others. 

You’d started dating almost immediately after your encounter at your studio (quite literally that same evening), and now here you are, months later waking up with him in your bed. Maybe it’s strange but you love watching him sleep, love to watch the light from the windows play over his bare skin, love to study the way his short curls fall across his forehead. The artist in you longs to capture this moment, and you can’t help but give in. Silently, you reach over to the bedside table and grab your phone, quickly swiping the camera app open and pointing it at him. You take a few moments to get the angle just right, then click the shutter button. 

He knows, of course, knows your gallery is full of photos of him (and occasionally, him and you). That’s not to say that he really gets it though, how inspired you are by him. As far as he’s concerned, he’s just a regular guy. He’s supportive though, indulging your fascination.

Unable to help yourself, you roll toward him, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his lips. He stirs almost immediately, his full lashes fluttering as he opens his warm, brown eyes. You smile at him, pushing your fingers through his mussed curls.

“Morning,” you greet, your voice soft as you rouse him from sleep.

He returns your smile, eyelids heavy as he shifts and rolls onto his side to face you.

“Morning,” he says, his voice rough with sleep. 

His eyes drop to the phone still in your hand and his lips quirk in amusement. “Taking creeper shots of me again?”

You chuckle at his teasing, your cheeks warming. “Guilty.”

He grunts, reaching over and plucking the device from your grasp. “My turn.”

“No, stop,” you laugh, covering your face with your hands. “I haven’t even washed my face yet, come on.”

He tsks, grabbing your hands and playfully pushing them away. “You got me, only fair that I get you.”

You groan theatrically, pouting at him as he sits up and quickly your phone into position. “Yeah but, I’m not you.”

He snorts, the click of your shutter reaching your ears. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Suddenly, you lunge, kicking the blankets away to free your legs and arms. He chuckles, moving the phone out of your reach. 

“Not all of us are as photogenic as you, Poe, just—give it back.”

He rolls onto his back laughing, your phone still clutched in his hand. “A photographer who doesn’t like getting their picture taken. Aren’t you a cliche?”

You growl, crawling over and up his torso, arm outstretched as you reach again for your phone.  “Shut up.”

His laughter becomes muffled as your chest presses against his face, the vibration sending a tiny shiver down your spine. You rise up slightly on your knees, the hand not reaching for your phone braced on his muscled shoulder. His free hand comes to rest on your lower back, steadying you as you reach. 

When you finally manage to take your phone back, he doesn't put up much of a fight, instead taking the opportunity to pull you even closer with his other hand. He nuzzles your breasts through your t-shirt, your breath hitching when his nose bumps against your nipple.

“You had ulterior motives, I see,” you breathe, the fingers of your free hand tangling in his hair as his hands slip down and underneath your shirt.

He chuckles, moving his face back from your chest as he pulls your shirt up and over your head. His hands slide up to your shoulders once you’re bared to him, his eyes meeting yours as he leans in to take your nipple in his mouth. Your lips part in a gasp, your fingers tightening in his curls, and he groans at the slight sting of his scalp. The vibration makes your hips jolt against him, your body instinctively seeking friction as desire quickly wells inside you.

You sigh his name as he releases your nipple, mouthing his way over to your other breast to lavish the same attention. 

“So beautiful,” he mumbles, flicking the tip of his tongue against the pebbled flesh before sucking it into the molten heat of his mouth.

Your head falls back with a moan, your phone slipping from between your fingers and landing on the plush comforter of your bed. Poe’s hands slide down to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he encourages you to keep grinding against him. You can feel the hardness of his cock even through the thick fabric of his pajama pants, your need for him growing. He groans as you move, pulling back from your chest, the absence of his mouth dragging your gaze back to his. You swallow hard, the combination of lust and awe in his eyes making goosebumps rise on your skin.

He pulls your mouth back to his then, licking into it languidly, as if he has all the time in the world. You melt into him, your bare chests pressing together as you wind your arms around his neck. You let yourself get lost in his kiss, in the soft, wet slide of his lips as they brush against yours. It feels like you’re drowning, drowning in a sea of bliss, a sea where Poe is your only lifeline.

Poe slips his fingers beneath the edge of your panties, his thumb briefly circling your clit as he slips the others lower. He works you open gently, your cries of pleasure muffled by his lips and tongue. He brings you to your peak quickly, drawing out your pleasure with each pump and flick of his fingers.

You share a moan when you finally sink down onto his length, your slick heat welcoming him, engulfing him. He pulls your mouth back to his as you begin to ride him, your body rising and falling shallowly at first. His hand on your hip helps to steady you as you gradually increase your pace, your hands braced on his shoulders. 

“Poe,” you whine, throwing your head back as you chase the pleasure racing through you. “Feels so good—fuck, so good.”

He groans as he watches you, his eyes almost black with desire. “You feel like a dream, sweetheart. So beautiful like this.”

A shiver races through you at his words, at his attention. He’s always like this, so present, making you feel so desired, like there’s no one else he’s ever wanted so badly as you. He pulls you close, pressing his forehead against yours as you race toward your release, groaning as you move and clench around him. You moan when his thumb finds your clit, his touch bringing you even closer to the edge.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he breathes, pushing his hips up from the bed every time you sink down onto him again. “Take what you need.”

A few more thrusts and you’re there, body going taught, mouth slack, as you sail over the edge. His moan is broken as you fall apart around him, your body squeezing him, trying to take him with you. He spills himself deep inside you with a groan moments later, his hips stuttering with the force of his release. 

You stay like that for a while, just wrapped around each other, his softening cock still sheathed inside you.  It’s comforting, having him this close, feeling this connected to him. Poe strokes your back soothingly, leaning in to press a soft kiss against the corner of your mouth. You smile, winding your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning across your skin as he melts into you.

“You working today?” you ask, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.

He makes a noise, then shakes his head. “Nope. I’m all yours today, baby.”

You chuckle, eyelashes fluttering as he presses a hot kiss against the side of your neck. “Mmm, don’t threaten me with a good time.”

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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[keyaho]

ˢʸⁿᵒᵖˢⁱˢ: Sloane Matthews had given her all to James Carter, only to learn he was having an affair with her cousin Celeste on their wedding day. After leaving her home town for Los Angeles she returns home a year later for the holidays for her grandmother's annual Christmas retreat. What she thought was going to be a horrible time turned out to be a weekend of renewal and love.

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙾𝚗𝚎 } 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚢

Explore the beauty of life through the art of tea.

𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚌 || banner & divider by me, no chapter warnings

With Kiki tucked in her arms, Sloane followed the bellman as he pushed the cart with her bags towards the elevator. The pet friendly, but luxury, hotel, was brimming with life and families traveling in and out for the holidays. There was laughter, smiles, and excitement while Sloane fell onto her bed in anxiety about driving to her mother’s house. Placing Kiki on the bed, Sloane walked to the shower and turned on the heat, needing a refresh after the long flight. 

Soon the sound of jazz filled the hotel room and she was rubbing shea butter into her legs. It was noon and while she had time before meeting her family, Sloane wanted to see the city a bit and reminisce on what she loved about it before last year. As she slipped on her jeans, Kiki walked by and brushed up against her legs, purring softly for attention. 

“I know, we won’t be here long and guess what?” She says while scooping up the orange and white cat, ‘we can always fly back home.” 

Home for her was the west coast. A nice high rise apartment overlooking the bay two blocks from her management agency. That was her home now, no matter how alone and isolating it was and could be during the holidays and other milestones in her life. She had few people to celebrate with and her friends were all with their own families, tossing back drinks and food in surplus with smiles and laughter of their own. If their photos on IG were any indication. Even her clients were spending time with their families and loved ones while she was wondering if she needed to prepare for battle to face her own. 

Not only was she home for the holiday, she learned the weekend was her cousin’s anniversary party. The same one that slept with her fiance, James Carter, and ruined her wedding last summer. The white dress was tight that afternoon and restricting as James confessed his affair. There was no reconciliation and he parted ways, holding hands with Celeste as they got in the car with “Just Married” on the back. Sloane had learned an hour later they married that morning away from everyone. 

She topped her jeans with an oversized white sweater. It smelled like lavender from her laundry soap and soothed her anxiousness. Kiki rolled at her feet, covering her boots with her large body, making Sloane laugh. The cat had been a surprising addition to her life. She found it outside her office, wailing in agony and shivering. A quick trip to the vet and Kiki was hers, chipped and loved. 

“We’re going to the bakery,’ Sloane says, scooping Kiki into her arms. 

More laughter came as she returned to the lobby, Kiki resting on her shoulder as she walked. The sweater was one of the cat’s favorites and while she perched herself on Sloane’s shoulder that didn’t stop her from reaching out to people passing by for attention. A few children asked to touch and Sloane obliged, Kiki, though quiet was very friendly, especially with children and men. Which led her into some funny situations with her apartment neighbors. 

“Alright,’ she says, stepping out into the 70 degree weather, ‘let’s get those treats.” 

The bakery was just down the street and downtown was just as busy as it had been a year ago. Though now people were scrambling for last minute ingredients, desserts, and alcohol. The bakery sat on the corner, with large glass windows where they displayed different treats and pastries. There was another section reserved for pets and as she grew close to the sweet scents, Kiki began to stir, pushing up to her feet on Sloane’s neck. 

“When we get in here you better not touch anything,’ she whispered. “Touch. Nothing. Kiki.” 

She mothered her cat like a child. Upon entering the bakery, Sweet Paws, the bell above the door chimed and Kiki meowed loudly, announcing their arrival as if it was their store. Sloane rolled her eyes but was quickly pulled into a scuffle as a black cat darted towards her and up her pants. Instinctively, Sloane caught the stray animal and held it. 

“My goodness,’ she coos, ‘what a welcome, pretty baby.” She said, the blue eyes on the cat looked up at her, then to Kiki, then back to her. “She’s harmless,’ Sloane says. Kiki jumped down and Sloane clicked her tongue. “Aht.” Kiki sat, her tail curling around her body as she looked up, annoyed, at Sloane. 

“I wish he would listen like that.” 

Damn. Sloane thought. A tall honey colored, blue-green eyed, gift of heaven walked over to her, a brown and pink bag in his hands. He had a look of distress and elation on his face as he looked between the cat in her arms and her eyes. 

“Yours?” She says, making no move to return the cat. 

“Yeah,’ he laughs. “I thought bringing him out for once would calm him down. He hates when I leave him alone, but now, I’m rethinking his field trips.” His accent was smooth, not from here, and his voice was deep. 

Sloane wondered what happened before she stepped into the bakery. No one seemed to be upset, but it was clear the little black cat had caused a scene. She began to hold out the cat, when it clung to her tighter. The man in front of her was a little nervous as his cat embarrassed him. 

“He likes pretty women.” 

Kiki, not enjoying the neglect, strutted over toward the stranger and rubbed along his legs, in between them, and stretched up his legs. Sloane rolled eyes. 

“Kiki,’ Sloane says, ‘that’s not appropriate.” 

As if she understood, Kiki turned around and arched more into the stretch on the man’s knee. He laughed, and bent down to rub along her chin and back, earning himself a few purrs. 

“Yours?” He says, mirroring her earlier words. 

“More like she chose me.” She watched Kiki plop herself on the ground. "Oh girl, get up,' she thought. "She uh, likes, handsome men." 

"Two peas in a pod huh,' he joked, standing. 

The black cat wiggled, realizing his owner was touching another cat, and leaped out her arms towards him. He caught the cat easily, sliding him into the pocket of his hoodie. A little black head poked out one side. 

"I'm Aaron." He smiled. "Sorry he jumped on you like that." 

Sloane shook her head. "It's okay. Sloane." 

He repeated her name, his accent slurring the letters just a tad. “Well,’ he says, gesturing to the moving line, ‘it was a pleasure, Sloane.” 

He walked past her with a smile and down the busy street. Sloane picked up Kiki and lightly scolded her for her behavior. She placed their order to go and planned to eat back in the hotel room. She wanted a few more moments of peace before the drive. 

The house was a monstrosity. Sloane should have known her Celeste would pick something this extravagant and unnecessary. However, as she stepped up the porch, hearing a few voices through the screen, she swallowed her bitterness and plastered a smile on her face. The driveway was full of cars and she knew a few of who was here. 

As she walked into the house eyes turned to her. She left Kiki back at the hotel, figuring the stress of the situation would stress out the cat. They both couldn’t hide under the couches. 

“Hey, Sloane, baby,’ came one of her aunts, Cheryl.

She didn’t look a day over fifty and her grey hair was braided into a bun. She had been one of few people to comfort her last year. Cheryl occasionally kept in touch the same way her grandmother had. Few people reached out to her after she relocated. 

“I’m glad you showed up,’ she whispered, ‘I haven’t heard from you in a while. How are you doing?” 

Sloane was pulled into a hug and the warmth from it eased some of the tension in her shoulders. 

“I’m fine,’ she replied. “Grandma called me. If she hadn’t I wouldn’t have come.” As she pulled from the hug, she glanced around the room. “Where is she?” 

“Kitchen,’ Cheryl says. “Come on, everyone else is outside.” 

She followed her aunt to the kitchen where she saw her grandmother, Esther, and her mother, Lillian. For a moment time stood still. When Esther turned around and saw her eldest granddaughter, she nearly dropped the cup in her head. Yeah, she had asked her to come, but she had thought it wouldn’t happen. She wouldn’t have blamed Sloane for not coming. The aftermath of that decision last year fractured this family beyond repair. She didn’t want to think about how hurt her grandbaby had been. 

“Hey baby,’ she says, rushing over as fast as her thin frame would take her. 

“Hey grammy,’ Sloane replies. 

“Sloane.” Lillian greets cooly. 

She had been all over Celeste once she learned she had secretly married James. Come to find out, she had spread rumors that they would have made a better couple anyway. Sloane had nothing for her mother, but a nod. Esther took her granddaughter’s hands a brought them to her chest. 

“I’m so glad you are here,’ Esther says. “How are you? No, no, no, we’ll talk over tea tonight.” 

Cheryl smiles and pulls Sloane towards the back door. Lillian simply looks at the pair then to her mother who scowls. 

“You had better do right by her,’ Esther warned. “Some type of mother you are,’ she mumbled while leaving the kitchen, ‘I know damn well I ain’t raise you like that.” 

Outside, Sloane saw most of her family gathered around a large fire pit. There were red oak chairs surrounding it and a few people were sitting down. 

“She’s not here yet, but James is.” Cheryl warned. “He doesn’t look half as good as you do,’ she remarks, ‘has Los Angeles been treating you right?” 

Sloane fiddled with the hem of her shirt. The white off the shoulder sweater was thick and fluffy, giving the illusion of a cloud. Sloane reached up and tugged on the ends of her sew in, the long voluminous curls soft between her finger tips. Conversations began to slow as they grew closer and those gathered watched them approach. 

“Yo,’ one of her cousins said, ‘sup Sloane.” His head tipped up in a nod. 

Chatter began, questions about how she was were prattled off and answered. Among that, James was quiet, but he was watching Sloane like a hawk. He had made his choice, but seeing her after a year and the way she looked gave him some a sense of longing and want. The desire he thought he lost for her began to surface again. 

Sloane began to settle down, the atmosphere wasn’t tense and no one brought up the obvious. Instead, the asked about her clients. She worked for a high tier talent management firm and she had recently acquired Kelvin Harrison Jr. While discussion a few projects with her family, sharing few details as possible, the door to the back porch swung open again and a loud pitched voice caused her ears to suddenly ring. 

“James! Baby!” Celeste cried out, her smile fake and wide as her eyes stayed on Sloane instead of her husband. Here was the show. 

She wore a tight red sweater dress and had thrown a white and black striped cardigan over it. Despite the cooler air, she had on flip flops. When Celeste made it to the group, she threw her arms around James and pressed a long kiss to his lips. He half returned it, knowing it was for show since Sloane was standing there. However, Sloane didn’t feel anything. No anger, sadness, resentment, just apathy. It felt good. 

Sensing the lack of reaction, Celeste then turns to face her cousin. “Hello, Sloane.” 

Sloane nodded in hello and Cheryl reached over to rub her back. 

“Are you excited for our anniversary party this weekend?” She asked. 

It wasn’t discreet but Sloane watched Celeste reach up to “scratch" her chin. The ring on her finger was beautiful, Sloane could admit that, but it was gaudy and clearly meant to be a statement piece rather than an expression of love between two people. 

"I'm here for the holidays,' she quips back quickly, 'nothing more nothing less." 

"Oh, isn't it so good that you have gotten over me and James! Well, maybe you could help with decorating or something, it's going to be a family affair after all." 

The word affair made Sloane wince, which was why Celeste used it. Her pink gloss lips pulled back into a smirk that Sloane knew was full of malice and ill intent. 

"Celeste,' Sloane says, "I rather throw up and eat it before helping you do anything." 

@nayaesworld @peachbuttetfly @harmshake @heauxvibez @avoidthings @mymindisneverhere @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @eilujion @heytaewrites @browngirldominion @insidefeelingofanadult @blackerthings @gwenda-fav @brandithecrystalgem

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Disc0fair browngirldominion Murrylove venusesworld uceyliyah  Venusesworld prettyfilmz simplyzeeka heytaewrites Liquorlaughslove 

[okiedokrie]

High Infidelity

Summary: There are many different ways that you could kill the one you love, the slowest way is never loving them enough. So what happens when you find someone who was all too willing to give you thee attention you craved, you said you'd only dip your toes into the idea, and yet, you find yourself already drowning. The novel you've been writing has been in progress for the better half of two years now, your writer's block beating you up, and your husband hasn't shown you any sympathy. Maybe a visit to the art exhibit from this new artist would jog your creativity, but what happens when this new artist offers you more than just relief from your writer's block?

Characters/Pairing(s): Xu Minghao (The8) x F!Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

AUs/Trope info: Non-idol!AU, Aged-Up!AU, Right Person (not) Too Late

Word Count: 10.6k

Warnings: Infidelity, very inappropriate conversations with a married woman, afab!reader, wears dresses, lmk if i miss something!! (Smut warnings under the cut)

Rating: 18+

A/N: banner and dividers by @daemour!! tysm!! This is also a rewrite/reupload of my own fic, "High Infidelity" on @pyeonghongrie, yes I reskinned my own fic.

A/N 2: Thanks to @nebulousbrainsoup, @kwanisms, @the-boy-meets-evil, @wooahaeproductions, and @gongiz for beta-reading!

Smut Warnings: tipsy sex (not drunk), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, nipple stimulation, masturbation, lmk if i missed anything!

The rain soaked into your skin—cold and icy—piercing you painfully. All your personal belongings were strewn all around you, and your soon-to-be ex-husband was angrily slamming the door shut, but you couldn't help but feel relieved.

After all, you were finally free.

"I'm right here, honey, I love you." He whispers into your skin, slowly unbuttoning your shirt, one button at a time. He kisses your skin every time new skin is revealed to both of you, he kisses your skin so delicately as if you'd break at the slightest touch-

"Y/N, you still haven't dealt with the dishes yet." Your husband, Haru, said monotonously just as you were starting to gain momentum in your writing.

You groan, the interruption making you lose focus and motivation to write. You stare at the last word on your document, gaze burning into each pixel as if hoping that this piece would write itself.

Unfortunately, life said, "Fuck you."

With another groan, you rub and pinch the bridge of your nose, a headache starting to settle in as your husband returns to work as if he didn't just cause you a serious inconvenience.

Standing from your comfortable computer chair, you take calm and even strides toward your kitchen, where only a handful of dishes are left in the sink.

And this little shit didn't even bother washing like, what? 8 dishes? He has to be kidding me, men.

You thought to yourself, your inner monologue only making you more irritated. But you wash them in silence, thinking of ways to calm down and clear your head so you have a clean slate to work with to get inspired again.

I think I should visit the gallery again, there's this new artist that I've been following. He's getting pretty popular, maybe I could draw inspiration from his work?

You think maybe this is the best idea you've had since you put bacon bits on mac & cheese.

Taking the time to visit this gorgeous gallery was the correct move.

Xu Minghao is a passionate man, you can see his dedication to his craft in all the pieces in this gallery. He was a mixed media artist, sometimes his work was pops of color on a canvas, others were sculptures made of clay, made with the most delicate of hands, and others were more niche, like the stained glass piece in another part of the gallery.

One thing about Minghao's work is that his subjects are also subjects of passion.

Paintings of a man's devotion to worshiping his lover's skin, a stained glass recreation of The Birth of Venus by Botticelli, and his latest masterpiece, simply titled "Passion", a sculpture of a woman in the throes of pleasure, with her lover holding her close to him, no gap between their skin, eternally locked in a passionate embrace.

As a romance writer, this is exactly what you need.

You take in this sculpture, the light of the gallery display emphasizing the delicate attention to detail this piece had, you know the man who made this takes pride in this, his work, skills, and dedication finally being realized.

You stare in awe at this piece for a little over 20 minutes, the more you look at it, the more entranced you become of the mastery of this craft.

You feel a presence beside you, a man around 5'11", slightly muscular build, in a turtleneck with glasses sitting delicately on his nose. He has a peculiar hairstyle, a mullet to be exact, and the most gorgeous face you've ever laid your eyes on.

"I see you like this piece in particular," He started, hands in his trouser pockets while smiling fondly at the piece, "'Passion' was a difficult piece for me to finish, ironically enough, I got bored of it quite easily." He continues, turning to face you.

"I'm Minghao, by the way, Xu Minghao. If you haven't already figured it out." He takes a hand out of his pocket, extending it towards you.

"Oh, I'm Y/N, Park Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you, Minghao. Your exhibit is astounding, I love your dedication to your work." You take his hand to shake it,

He chuckles at the compliment, "Oh please, save your praise, I know that name from anywhere. I love your latest work, that book was what inspired this entire collection, to begin with."

You gawk at him, oh my god, he reads smut. My smut.

"Oh my, what an honor! I'm glad you also enjoy my work." You receive the compliment gracefully, "Although, I do want to hear more about why you got bored of this piece in particular, such a wonder to the arts community, surely you aren't downplaying your work?"

He smiles, perfect teeth on display, you swear you’ve never looked at a man like this in your life. You were down bad for his smile.

"I'm not saying I think it's bad, I just got bored of the creative process." He explains, "Although I do want to continue adding to this collection, perhaps we can go and get drinks together? Exchange ideas?" he offers.

You ponder on this for a bit. Going out to drinks with a budding friend wouldn't hurt, right?

"Could I give you my number? Let's set aside a day to chat. I have to get home to my husband before it gets too late."

A smirk came into his face, something dark about a seemingly insignificant change in his expression, “Of course, I look forward to our time together.”

The mug in your hands warmed your palms, and your focus was fixated on the man in front of you. He talked about another piece of his, titled “Longing”; it was heavily inspired by his desire to find someone who shares the same passion as him, the longing to hold someone in a way that nobody else could, intimacy in its purest form.

“It sounds a bit pathetic, I’m known for my work in the art of passion and, to put it simply, sex; but I haven’t been able to find the company of a lover myself. Perhaps that’s just the consequence of being a hopeless romantic. Then again, you wouldn’t know the feeling of being lonely, I assume.” He said calmly, a small chuckle ending his tangent.

“Oh I wouldn’t say that,” You look into the mug in your hands, your reflection swirling in the tea. Your face looks back at you, eyes sunken in and sad, “To put it nicely… my husband robs me of solitude, but fails to offer me company.” You shouldn’t be talking about Haru like this. Your husband works many hours, tirelessly providing you with the house and connections for you to pursue a career in writing. But that wasn’t the reason why your anxiety was swirling in your stomach.

Looking back up at Minghao, the same dark expression sits on his face, a minuscule smirk, barely there even if you squint, “Well, we’re friends now, aren’t we? I could keep you company.”

That. That was a quality of his that you noticed fairly early on. You can never read his true intentions, suggestive prose with just enough deniability to gracefully reject him without the conversation becoming inappropriate.

But your anxiety wasn’t caused by that, no, it was caused by the fact that you didn’t want to reject him.

“I’d like that, Maybe we could head to a bar and get drinks there too? My husband won’t be back for a few months because of a business trip in a few weeks. I could use the company.” You say, looking at him through your lashes; he knows his effect on you, and the mental gymnastics that both of you play over the table was just appropriate enough that to anyone listening, it’s just two friends agreeing to get drinks sometime in the future.

But to both of you, well, only the two of you know what’ll happen once the sun goes down.

“Of course, my schedule is free for the rest of the month. Be sure to think of me if you need company.” He offers you a soft smile, directly contrasting how intensely he’s making eye contact with you. The way he’s looking into your eyes makes you feel vulnerable like he’s directly using them as windows into your head. You’re half-convinced he could read your mind, if he could, he’s a master at hiding it.

You haven’t learned much about him, but from what you do know, you can never take his words at surface level, much less his actions. The way he’s leaning over the table, elbows on the surface, and his shoulders relaxed. His closing the distance, even if just by a hair, and the way his posture suggested the epitome of familiarity, shook you to your core.

His presence is almost suffocating, his dominance over your mind silencing whatever protest his suggestions may have created. You nod dumbly, “Of course, be warned though, I think of you a lot.” This causes his smile to relax into a smirk, the kind that could pass off as a smile if you don’t think too hard about it.

“I’m glad to hear that. I think about you a lot too.” He says picking up his cup of tea, “So much that a collection was born from the thought of you.” He takes a sip from the cup in his hands, eyes meeting yours over the rim of the cup, the way he holds eye contact with you always makes goosebumps litter your skin, the cup hiding the growing smirk on his face, silently enjoying his effect on you.

“Ah, speaking of the collection,” He started again, after setting the cup down, “Would you do me the honor of visiting my studio sometime? I’ll text you the address right now, you can come by at any time if you’re interested.” Taking his phone out from his pocket, feeling your phone vibrate in your pocket, you pick it up. The small device, usually light, feels like a heavy weight on your palm.

Opening your messages, you see that Minghao already sent the address, a building about 20 minutes from the cafe you’re in right now. “Lovely, could I trouble you to pick me up when I decide to visit?” You ask,

“Of course,” He replies, a gentle smile stretches across his face, “I’d love nothing more than to see you more often.”

The first time you entered Minghao’s studio, it felt like a dream. The studio wasn’t small by any means, the place was neat, neater than what you imagined any artist studio would look like. “Make yourself at home, I’ll brew some tea for us,” Minghao said as he took both your coats. Hanging the heavy fabrics on his coat rack, he gently guides you to the couches with a hand on your back, the light touch helping to ground you in this new environment.

He shoots you a quick smile before turning his back to you, setting his electric kettle to boil the water at the perfect temperature for tea. He rummages through his extensive tea set collection, settling on a simple white ceramic set with wooden handles. His eyes meet yours briefly, taking note of how you watch his every movement with care and curiosity, the way you were fascinated with the way his hand veins jumped every time he set a piece of the tea set down.

The kettle finishes boiling, he finally sets it down next to the tea set. “I want to introduce you to this teacake that my friend from home sent me,” He pulls out a teacake about the size of his head from the drawer under the table, wrapped in a slightly stained paper. He carefully unwraps it to show you the rich brown of the aged tea leaves, “This is a 15-year-old aged pu’er, I haven’t had the chance to try it yet, so I’d like to try this with you.”

“What an honor, I read from a recent interview that you were waiting for a good day to taste that right?” You ask, trying to gauge his reaction, if he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it,

“Of course, making a new friend is a special occasion, isn’t it? I’d consider that a good day.” He replies cooly, taking a tea knife and carving out a piece of tea to steep for a second, you watch as he delicately handles the porcelain set, the control in his movements reminding you of his mastery in sculpting, “You know, making tea is much like cultivating a new relationship,” he starts as he stands up to take the kettle off the stand.

“You carefully carve out your leaves, boil your water to the perfect temperature to bloom them, and steep the leaves a few seconds at a time.” You see him pour the water over the tea leaves, dried blades blooming like flowers under the delicate stream. “Each steep of tea is different, starting from the bloom until the flavor develops; and only then will you appreciate the true complexities of what tea has to offer.”

A small smile grows on your face as you watch him pour the first bloom onto his tea pets, “If my assessment is correct, you’re trying to correlate the developing flavors of tea with how our relationship is progressing?” He nods, confirming your hypothesis, “Then, I’ll ask you a question, which steep are we on?” you say with a cheeky smile.

Minhao grins at this, eyes almost disappearing with how wide his smile was, “Literally? The second steep.” He says as he pours more water over the leaves, you let out a chuckle at his little joke, “Figuratively? The fifth.”

You tilt your head a bit, “The fifth? I didn’t realize we were already at that stage.” you say as you accept his offer of a teacup.

He chuckles, “Well, I don’t just share my most expensive teas with anyone, so I might as well share it with one of the most brilliant minds I know.” he said while bringing the cup to his lips, sipping the drink carefully while making eye contact with you over the rim, winking playfully.

You raise your cup as well, the rising steam not being the only reason for your flushed face, you grin against the rim of your cup, savoring the rich and deep aroma of the high-quality tea.

After a while of banter and small talk, you finish your tea, setting down your cup gently on his expensive-feeling coffee table, he stands from his seat, “Could I show you something?” he said, holding his hand out to you. You place your palm on his, the warmth from his hand seeping into your skin. The touch was negligible, simple, even, but the contact with his skin sent electricity through you, like a violent jolt of excitement.

Minghao notices this and smirks, feeling pride swell up in his chest as he pulls you up from the couch, leading you to the other side of the room with a hand on the small of your back. He finally stops in front of a large canvas, laid across what looks like a bare-bones bed frame. You turn to him, curiosity growing on the expression of your face.

“What’s this? This looks fairly new, the paint on the frame still seems wet.” You ask, eyes raking over the splotches of color seemingly placed without much thought or care, it looked like the aftermath of a messy and angry paint spill.

“It is new,” Minghao starts, “I’m trying a new technique where I release frustrations by getting whatever paint catches my eye and throwing cups of it without much thought.” He shrugs, nothing particularly of note, but you do notice the amount of emotion that is in the piece.

“It’s not an elegant piece, but for a collection centered around passion I find it missing raw emotion.” He runs his hand through his face, frustration taking over his features, something you noticed early on was his emotions were closely tied to whatever art was around him, it seems as though the frustration in this one was affecting him at this moment.

“Yes, the human form and sex are great subjects, but pure, raw emotion is hard to capture.” He mumbled, eyebrows furrowing. “So, that’s why I invited you here. Tell me, as someone who’s written longing, despair, and everything in between. How does this make you feel?”

You pause and take in his words, turning back to the canvas and trying to soak in the colors, the shapes, and the emotion behind this piece. Yes, frustration is here. Yes, anger is here. But how does it make you feel?

“It makes me feel like I’m missing out on something.” You say simply, your stomach sinking just thinking about what that might entail. Minghao has a genuine look of shock for the first time since you’ve met him. His head tilted to give his attention to you fully.

“Really? Interesting. That’s the first time I heard that about this piece specifically.” He said with a lopsided grin, seemingly getting a new stroke of genius with your answer. He looks back at the canvas too, shoulders shaking from his restricted laughs. Your answer seemed to entertain him a lot. That much you can figure out, but you can never be sure what goes on in the mind of Xu Minghao.

Just then, your phone starts to ring, you only know one person who would call you at this hour—your Husband. You watch as the expression on Minghao’s face falls, face contorting into something short of a scowl for a split second before settling on his usual cool neutral expression. It was so quick that you barely missed the change, it happened so quickly that you decided it was all in your imagination as you ran to answer the phone.

You pick up the phone, “Hi honey-” You were cut off by your husband speaking,

“Get home, it’s getting late and you haven’t started dinner yet.” He said simply, before promptly dropping the call.

You stand there, the line going dead as you try to hold back tears. You take a deep breath, too afraid to show your face to Minghao in case tears were about to fall from your face. Grabbing your coat, you turn to face the door.

“Thank you for inviting me over, I have to get home now,” you said, your voice a little shaky, as you roughly opened the door.

You were out of his sight as Minghao stood alone in his studio, pondering. As silence took over the space, a dark smirk on his face.

'How long before you break?' he wonders.

The next time you and Minghao meet, you’re sitting on a park bench watching the autumn leaves dance to the silent song in the wind. You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you hear leaves crunch beside you, seeing the tail of Minghao’s long coat swaying in the wind.

He sees you, a smile spreading across his face, his long hair almost covering his face. His fast-paced walking makes the leaves crunch under his weight rhythmically. You think that he looks beautiful under the soft brightness of the autumn morning, only ever seeing him in the harsh rays of high noon or the constant humming of fluorescent lights.

You feel the heat radiating off his body through your and his coats as he sits next to you on the park bench. “Beautiful morning, the view is exquisite.” He says, looking directly at you. You giggle at this, he’s always been such a charmer ever since you met him. You peel the notebook from your lap, “I’m no artist, but the park is too gorgeous this time of year to not at least try to capture on paper.” you say as you open it to show him a relatively crude sketch of the scenery.

“Oh? This feels like a threat to my career.” He says with a chuckle, “But, genuinely, this is an amazing sketch. Are you sure you aren’t an artist?” You think you could get used to how relaxed you were around Minghao, conversations with him flowed so easily, it reminds you of the times your husband used to be invested in you as a person. Perhaps it was easier to compare the thrill of meeting a new person with feeling the start of a romantic spark, it was a dangerous game to play with him.

“No, I’m not, but I can appreciate a masterpiece when I see one.” You say, this time looking at him. He notices this and laughs at the fact that his joke is being used against him. He closes the notebook, handing it to you to put in your tote bag.

“The weather is perfect for a walk, care to join me?” He said, offering his hand for you to take. You accept the offer, the warmth of his palm being something to ground you on such a dreamy morning. Leaves crunch under both your weights in synch, your hand moves from his to hold onto his arm, and you try not to notice the lean muscle of it or the steady and secure way he guides you through the path.

You breathe in the autumn chill, enjoying the comfortable silence that followed the quiet whistle of the wind. “Your book,” Minghao said, his silky voice cutting through the silence effortlessly, “The one that inspired the collection, I’ve been following your publisher’s updates on the series, and I was wondering if you'd be able to share your progress on the second book?”

“Ah, about that.” You grimace, and you shake your head, quelling the urge to complain about your husband’s lack of sympathy for your predicament. “Maybe I’ll tell you another time, it’s not something I can talk about at the moment.”

He hums, luckily, Minghao was never the type to pry, “I get it, ever the tortured poet you are.” he said in a joking tone, you let out a chortle at this, agreeing that you may or may not be one.

Both of you are stopped by a flower vendor, “You both are a lovely pair,” The old man starts, as he turns to Minghao, he asks, “Could I interest you in some flowers? I’m sure your lady would appreciate them.” He smiles.

Before you can correct the old man, Minghao speaks up, “Of course, could I take three of these?” He said, pointing at the basket of Jonquils.

“Of course, you’re in luck too, these are the last off-season flowers I had in my greenhouse.” the old man said as his nimble fingers wrapped the flowers in some yellow tissue paper.

“I'm really lucky indeed.” He agreed while looking at you, your cheeks warming up at the implication. Minghao accepts the flowers and happily pays for them, gracefully handing the bundle to you.

Holding onto the stems, your fingertips graze over the delicate petals of the bright yellow flowers. “Thank you Minghao, they're beautiful.”

He smiles at the way you look at the flowers fondly, simply adoring the way your face lit up; literally, the yellow from the flowers reflected off your face and gave it a yellow hue.

“Shall we continue to walk?” He asks, offering his arm for you to hold again, you hold onto it, the flowers in your other hand. And you let the silence take over again.

Before you knew it, you've spent the entire day laughing and talking with Minghao, only stopping at several vendors for food and other trinkets, feeding the ducks berries, and watching the fish in the pond.

But the day has to end at some point.

You regretfully leave Minghao at the train station, waving goodbye through the glass of the train doors as you watch his figure get smaller and smaller.

Arriving home, you try to find a vase to put your flowers in, setting it down on the kitchen counter, your husband walks in and sees them.

“They're ugly, don't put them anywhere where I could see them.”

He said coldly, you try your best not to scoff at him, still searching for a vacant vase.

Finally finding one, you decide to place the flower vase on the windowsill of your office, the bright flowers contrasting everything else in the room, the dark and neutral furniture your husband got for you.

You jolt, realizing you're comparing your husband to another man.

You expected guilt to eat you up at the realization, but really, you couldn't find a reason to keep defending Haru.

“Could you come over to the studio later tonight? I don't think I should be alone.”

This text from Minghao worried you a bit, you've been spending a lot of time with him recently, you met him 6 more times after he got you flowers at the park, and you never noticed that he could deal with something so sinister.

Of course, you agree to come, your closest confidant in your adult life needs you right now. You wait for your husband to fall asleep in his office, again, before you leave the house, walking to the end of the block before calling a cab.

Arriving at his studio, you already knew the code, punching in the numbers 150526 on the smart lock, the studio opens with a click.

You take cautious steps into the studio, seeing the silhouette of a man on the couch, his back towards the door, nursing what you assume is a wine glass in his hand.

He turns his head to face the door, “You came.” He said, with relief in his voice, a little slurred from the alcohol you assume.

“You called.” You replied. Shrugging off your coat to hang, you join him on the couch. He looked a lot more disheveled compared to the usual clean and put-together Minghao that you know.

His hair is slicked back, some pieces of hair falling onto his face, his tie loosened, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his collarbones and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And glasses resting lowly on his nose.

You look at his face, and you notice dark circles around his eyes.

“Drink, and stay with me. Please.” He asks, no, almost begs you. You don't have the heart to decline. He pours you your glass and you both toast your glasses together.

You take the normal sip and he downs the rest of his, taking in a deep breath as if to steady himself. “Y/N, there's something I need to tell you.”

Your stomach drops at this, anxiety filling the pit of it as you nervously wait for the rest of what he has to say.

“I think I'm in love with-” he pauses, “someone I shouldn't be in love with.” He finishes, leaning forward to pour himself another glass of wine.

Your face falls only slightly, a minuscule change in expression that neither you nor Minghao catch. You cross your hands over your lap as soon as you realize your silence.

“Why can't you be in love with them?” You ask. Your head tilts as you take another sip of your wine. He hums, a smile graces his lips, but it doesn't seem to reach his eyes.

“They refuse to be vulnerable with me, opening up throughout our time together then closing back in the next time I see them.” He says with some fondness, “Also, they're married to someone else.”

“You probably should've led with that.” You mumble lowly, “I see, I know that all too well, wanting someone you can't have, someone so close yet so far. It's suffocating, especially when you haven't felt like yourself in so long, and then this person comes around and gives color back to your sad, gray, life. It's cruel, actually.”

You realize you've been rambling, turning to meet Minghao's eyes, you notice an emotion swirling behind them, something bittersweet, a realization that may change the course of your relationship.

“Anyway, how did you end up falling for them in the first place?” You ask in an attempt to bring the conversation back to him,

“Well, at first it was just a cure for boredom, I saw how receptive they were to my advances and I thought their marriage served as a fun, harmless challenge for me. But I got to know them, spend time with them, I got to witness the color come back into their face and I couldn't help but find it beautiful. That fact that I did that, bring color back into their face, slowly becoming someone again. The moment I saw their face light up with a simple gift I knew I was down, down bad.”

You hum, thinking the person Minghao was talking about is one of the luckiest people in the world right now. To be loved by him was like witnessing Orpheus’ choiceless grief that drove him to save his lover from the underworld, it was like feeling the devotee's dread-filled need to turn around, it was like experiencing the immediate forgiveness of Eurydice.

You wanted to be loved by him.

You both continue to chat and drink, and it isn't long before the two of you finish your second bottle of wine, Minghao offers to pay for your cab home, and he decides he's going to sleep in his studio.

You reflect on the events of that night as you slip into the cold covers of your marital bed, your husband’s side tidy as it was for the past month.

You run your hand over the pristine and cold sheet, imagining someone else filling its space on your bed, as he does your heart.

Minghao added a new piece to his collection, his gallery is still a work in progress and you walk through familiar doors. The very same statue you were entranced by still sits by the entrance, and you see a very familiar figure standing in front of it.

“I feel like this already happened before.” You said cheekily, he snorts at this, handing you a paper bag with tissue paper peeking from the top.

“Maybe this happened before in a dream, maybe we were destined to meet under the judgemental fluorescent lights.” He jokes as you feel the weight of the bag on your fingers.

“What's in the bag, Hao?” You ask cautiously, mischief flashing on his face before he fully turns his body to you, giving you his full attention.

“It's something you might like, maybe.” He said, his confidence faltering toward the end of his sentence. Tucking his hands into his trouser pockets, he eagerly waits for you to open the semi-heavy bag.

You carefully move the paper to the side of the bag, seeing white porcelain peaking back at you, you whip your head with with your face showing an expression of surprise. Minghao smiles, enjoying your reaction to his gift.

“You got me a tea set? That's so thoughtful, thank you.” You say with a smile, inspecting the frog patterns in the glaze.

“You mentioned your husband is leaving for a business trip soon, so I figured you'd like a set so we can have tea at your place. I'll even bring you a teacake to keep.” He said as he pulled a hand out of his trousers, fixing a stray hair that fell from your up-do.

“It's perfect, thank you.” You said, looking up at him, a smile still on your face.

“Do you want to walk around the gallery with me? I added a few pieces since then, and I'd like to talk about them.” he said, offering his arm. You wrap another hand around him, the familiarity of his arm under your palm giving you a sense of calm.

You spent the rest of the day walking around the gallery and chatting, other gallery-goers openly gawked at Minghao. It was obvious, really, the artist is here in the flesh, and he's gorgeous.

Minghao stopped to entertain other guests too, seeing him in his element made pride swell in your chest. His work, and by extension him, is finally being recognized by more people in the community. His hard work and dedication paid off handsomely.

Stopping in front of a mural, you noticed it was a replica of a really old painting. A painting of Ares and Aphrodite getting caught by Hephestus.

“Oof, poor bastards.” You joke, Minghao found this funny too, chuckling with you.

“It’s almost comical how this painting compelled me. I don't know what drove me to recreate the thing as a whole mural, but we both know I'm a little crazy.” He says with a playful groan, you try to hold back a loud laugh by giggling into your palm.

“Well, dear Xu Minghao, everyone knows crazy people are geniuses.” squeezing his arm, you check out the side of his face. His side profile was so sharp and soft at the same time, the dichotomy of his features was an easy subject to study. He's a gorgeous man, too gorgeous for his own good you think.

You both sat down on the bench in front of the mural to chat, and before you knew it, enough time has passed that the gallery was about to close.

Minghao calls a cab for you, and you arrive home in-tact, but not safe.

“Y/n, where have you been running off to these past few weeks?” Your husband questioned you as soon as you entered your home. Your mood instantly dropped, feeling the weight of your actions all at once.

“I'm hanging out with a friend, and it's really not that deep. It's not like I've neglected house work at all. So you should have a reason to care.” You snap back, a little too much for such a simple query. Your husband rises from his seat, cupping your face with a gentle hand for the first time in a long time.

“You’re my wife, of course it's my concern.” He said, just as he was about to make you fall for him again, he said, “We haven't been intimate in a long time, I'm leaving in a few days, so I want to make love to you before I go.”

Ah, there it was. He only ever shows affection for you when he's asking for sex nowadays.

You nod, what followed was unfulfilling and unsatisfying sex. Missionary, a few pumps just to get him off, and he didn't even kiss you.

And obviously, he didn't make you cum.

Your husband is fast asleep in your bed for the first time in months, and yet you can't find it in yourself to be happy about it.

You take out your trusty friend, egg.

The jolts to life with steady vibrations as you press the toy to your clit, relaxing into the sheets as you imagine a pair of calloused hands roaming the plane of your skin.

Controlled pressure and technique only a sculptor could have, his hair falling over his face, and his eyes holding you gaze as if you gave him everything he could ever want by simply existing.

He looks at you like you hung each star in the sky just for him, just so he could watch your skin bathed in moonlight, twinkling like the most precious diamond he could ever have.

This man isn't your husband, It was Minghao.

Your orgasm came unexpectedly, the realization that you were fantasizing about him snapped you back into reality so violently that you ruined your own orgasm.

You huff as you tuck the toy back into its drawer, pulling up the covers to try and sleep off the guilt.

Your husband left for his business trip a few days ago, and you made preparations for your first guest in a while. You finally set up the tea set when you heard a knock at your door, springing up, you head towards the door to look through the peephole, you see Minghao dressed a little more casually, a cap on his head and a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

You swiftly unlock the door for him, he smiles upon seeing you, tipping his cap, he says, “Good evening, it's a pleasure to finally be invited into your home.” You greet him back, stepping to the side to let him enter. As he does, he takes his cap off to let his hair fall onto his face again.

He offers you the flowers and you take them, “I'll go find a vase for these, make yourself at home, dinner is still cooking in the oven.” You said as you turned back to find another vase.

After finding one and setting the flowers in your office again, you find Minghao setting a record on your turntable, a slow tune plays through the air, instantly making the room feel calmer and homey.

“I didn't pin you as the type to have such an extensive vinyl collection, you have good taste too.” He said, swaying to the music by shifting his weight from one leg to another.

“I didn't feel the need to mention it considering I haven't touched those in a while. My husband hates them.” You say solemnly.

“Well, he isn't here now. Let's enjoy the music,” he said, holding his hand out for you to take, “Dance with me?”

You smile as you take his hand, he suddenly pulls you towards him and you land on his chest, his arms wrapping around you securely as you sway to the calm of the music.

You think to yourself, This is nice, this is safe. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be married to Minghao instead.

You turn your head and press your ear to his chest, hear him breathe slowly, his heart beating rhythmically. This is the first time you were ever this close to him, practically holding him in a loving embrace.

His woody cologne almost distracts you, so seductive and masculine and you almost reach up to cup his face, to kiss him. Before you realize that he isn't your husband.

You're both snapped out of your little bubble when the oven dings, signaling that dinner is ready. You break away from him, already missing his warmth as you set the dining table, one that hasn't been used in a while.

You eat dinner with him, talking about your days and how work has been. It's a welcome change of pace from your husband’s tolerance of your presence. You didn't have to beg Minghao for footnotes on his life, you didn't feel like you're taking up too much of his space or time.

It's safe, secure. It feels like you're being celebrated for existing.

You dwell on this feeling long after Minghao heads home, your stomach and heart full. As you slip into the covers you wonder what it'll feel like to hold him under them, for him to kiss the crown of your head and whisper the three words you desperately wanted to hear again.

You fall asleep with the fantasy that when you wake up, he'll be right next to you.

Minghao invited you downtown this time, various pop-up stores of luxury brands recently opened and he just secured a sale of a really expensive painting; so of course, what better way to spend that money than taking a shopping trip with his closest friend.

“This would look amazing on you.” He said while taking out a dress, it's a color that compliments your hair and skin wonderfully. Minghao always knew how to dress.

“Oh, I'm inclined to agree, but I'm not willing to look at the price tag for that one.” You joke, shrugging as you follow him around the store.

“Nonsense, I'm offering to pay.” He said, turning his nose up. “I'm getting this for you, I'll ask the salesperson for more sizes so you can try them on.” He said, turning to the salesperson doing just that.

The salesperson nods enthusiastically, bringing the dresses to the dressing rooms and ushering you in despite your protests. Minghao only smiles in amusement as the curtain hides your figure, he sits on the bench near the dressing rooms in silence, scrolling through Instagram on his phone.

He hears the curtains roll open, it only takes a moment of him looking at you in the dress to take his breath away. It fits you perfectly, hugging your body deliciously. Minghao almost drops his phone onto his lap, his grip loosening, star-struck by your beauty.

“How does it look?” You ask, awkwardly fiddling with the expensive fabric of the dress, feeling a little too expensive to be on your body.

Minghao wordlessly stands from the bench, looking a little dazed, he turns to the salesperson and tells them, “We're getting the dress.” As he walks toward the cashier almost in a trance.

You're a little taken aback by his reaction, but nonetheless you change back into your regular clothes. As soon as you walk out of the dressing room Minghao Pushes you back in with more dresses.

“Please try these on.” He says, not having the strength to look you in the eyes. You comply.

It took you hours of trying on dresses and accessories to the point that you almost bought the store out. Minghao couldn't get enough of the mini-fashion show you were putting on for him, and it's not like the salespeople are complaining either.

You walk out of the first store with multiple bags in hand, you thought that was enough shopping for the whole year maybe, but no, Minghao pulls you into another store, and another, and another, all leaving with bags (multiple) of clothes.

It got so bad to the point that Minghao had to leave your bags in his car so you could free up your hands to buy more stuff.

You stopped trying to fathom the amount of money Minghao was spending on you, yes, he did buy items for himself too, but he looked much more satisfied to provide for you rather than procuring items for himself.

The car ride back home was filled with way too many ‘are you sure's and ‘you really didn't have to's. But Minghao was insistent on you keeping all the items he got for you.

“I'm being serious, you're a gorgeous woman, you deserve to be spoiled like a queen.” he said, turning to you while waiting at a red light, “You need to visit my studio in the clothes I got you, you'll fit right in with my paintings.” He smiles.

Your face flushes at his compliments, a bright and happy smile stretching across your face. You couldn't remember the last time you were this happy with someone. To find joy in the company of another felt liberating, you felt like you deserved this.

Minghao drops you off at your place with your new clothes, helping you get them into your living room like a true gentleman.

“I'll see you next time, Y/n.” He said stopping at your doorstep, annd leaning down to press a kiss on the crown of your head, he took note of what your shampoo smelled like and left. Leaving you awestruck in your doorway as you watch his car drive off.

This studio has become so familiar to you, like a second home almost. Punching in the code was muscle memory at this point, the smell of drying paint and clay becoming a calming scent.

You smooth over the front of your dress, one that Minghao got you, as you enter his studio again. Shrugging off your heavier coat, the beginning of winter creeps closer as the trees lose the last of their leaves.

Minghao just got out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on his paint-stained shirt and apron. He looks at you, the dress, the way it fits on you. And he smiles widely.

“Hey there gorgeous, what are you doing all the way there? You should be over there with the rest of the art.” He says cheekily.

You giggle as you enter the space more, stopping in front of him taking his extended hand and following it, giving him a twirl.

He simply adores the way the fabric flows and shapes around your curves and contours, your skin practically glowing with life.

He fights the urge to kiss you, succeeding for now.

He guides you onto the couch, a turntable sitting next to his stone tea tray on the coffee table. ”Oh? This is new.” You said when you noticed it.

“Oh that? I got it for when you come over. I got a few records too, if you'd like to make yourself comfortable while I brew us some tea.” He said, untying his apron to hang on an easel, turning his back to you and he started preparing tea like before.

His movements and practiced, you'd guess this tea ceremony is second nature to him, considering he always talks about it. This scene is safe, familiar, it's comfortable.

He does this whole song and dance again, you've seen him do this over and over again but you can't seem to get sick of it. It's like you're giving yourself excuses just to keep seeing him.

But they don't feel like excuses, not at all, they're just more reasons why you feel deeply, and so quickly for Minghao.

Again, the both of you talk about everything and anything under the sun, him walking you through all his latest pieces, him plans for new ones creativity vibrating through ever cell in his body.

You imagine him talking so passionately about the future, maybe even a future with you.

Before you could realize what you were doing, you’re holding onto Minghao’s shoulders for support,

and you lean up to kiss him.

Minghao fights the urge to kiss back, he fails.

His hands come up to cup the back of your head tilting his head to deepen the kiss, pouring all his emotions into the simple, gesture of affection.

Your head was spinning, dizzy from his cologne and the wind getting knocked from your lungs as soon as your lips met his. It was electrifying, finally feeling the warmth of his body pressed so close, yet so far from yours.

Oh, you wanted him, so, so badly.

He pulls away first, heaving from the intensity of the kiss, eyes in a daze. Meeting your eyes again, he couldn’t help but lean in for another kiss.

This time he's really pressing into you seemingly drunk off of the feeling of his lips meeting yours. He's just a man at the end of the day, a weak, weak man in the face of paradise.

He came back to his senses once he felt the cool metal of your wedding ring on his neck. Jolting back, he pushed your shoulders back, creating a significant distance between the two of you.

“I, I think you should leave.” He said turning to hide in his studio bathroom to collect his thoughts.

You stood there puzzled, did he not feel the same way you did? But why did he kiss you, twice? Something isn't adding up.

But moreover, you can't ignore the painful sting this rejection gave you. You wanted him, did he not want you? What was the point of trying so hard to make you fall for him when he just decided to back down when he finally had you?

You gather your belongings and leave the studio, the door clicking to lock behind you. The ride back was suffocating, it felt like you left a part of yourself in that studio with Minghao. And you fear that this may be the last time you see him.

You haven’t spoken to Minghao in the weeks following the kiss, your nerves on fire every time you remember how his pillow lips felt so right on yours.

You're standing in front of the mural. The one where Hephestus caught Aphrodite, his wife, and Ares, her lover, having an affair and having sex on their marital bed.

It's funny, looking at this mural. You spent your last weeks wandering his gallery, searching for his shadow, but he always seems to evade you so easily. He's marked you like a bloodstain on a pristine white dress, lingering like fog on a cold autumn day.

Winter is still young, yet you feel cold. So, so cold.

As if your most desperate prayers were heard, Minghao practically materializes next to you.

“Hi. I'm sorry I wasn't able to speak to you for the past few weeks. I'm a coward, a fool to run from you.” He said, both of you looking at the mural and not at each other.

Silence follows, you couldn't look at him, you couldn't speak to him. “Y/n I-”

“This isn't the place to talk about this.” You said coldly.

Minghao flinches a bit, not used to how icy your voice was. It usually greets him so warmly, so lovingly.

“Let's go out to drink, there's a bar that's walking distance from here, if you'd like go go with me. I have too many things to say to you, too many thoughts left unsaid. You deserve to hear them, at least.” He said, remorseful.

You really couldn't find it in yourself to stay mad at him. So you agree to walk with him.

The walk to the bar is silent, unlike your previous walks. You're so far from him, you even refused to hold onto his arm like you usually do.

It's early winter yet Minghao is sweating bullets, he's almost vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass. His nerves are all over the place, he's acting so out of character, nothing like the calm, cool, collected Minghao you've come to know over the past few months.

He takes a deep breathe before you both enter the bar.

A few drinks in and you’re already tipsy, “You know- hic- my husband is being a dick to me.” You drunkenly slurred, “This novel I’ve been writing for over two years now is fucking me in the ass- I- I want to finish it so desperately but all he does is sucks the soul out of me. He’s a giant pain in the ass-!”

Minghao snorts at this, loudly talking over the music of the bar, “Your husband is a fucking dick! Your work is amazing. If I were him, I would do anything to help you get rid of that writer’s block, you know, inspire you.” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’d do that?” You ask, clinging onto his arm, “Thank youuuu hao bear~ you’re the best-!” You giggle into his arm, your weight pressing against his side. You’ve only known him for three months at this point, but his ideas and influence on your work improved your writing and motivation drastically.

“Hao bear? That’s new, you’ve only known me for- what? 3 months? You’re already calling me nicknames!” He holds the back of your head gently, pressing his forehead onto yours, “I should give you a nickname too… Starlight, how does that sound?” At this point, you tune out every other sound other than the sound of his voice and the pounding of your heart.

This man had you in a chokehold the moment you met him, you were fucking doomed from the start.

“Starlight? Yeah, I like it more than a little bit.” You say softly, your words almost getting lost in the noise of the bar.

“Let’s move to somewhere quieter, yeah? Tell me more about your work. We can head to my place to settle down for a bit.” There it is, the same dark, barely there smirk that plagues your stomach with butterflies.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Arriving at Minghao’s place, you take a quick look around his apartment. Everywhere you look is a pop of color, bold splotches of vibrant hues making the place look like it was pulled straight out of the 80s, “Hao, your place is amazing, the furniture brings me so much joy~” You giggle a bit, sitting down at the plush red velvet couch shaped like a seashell.

“Thanks! Most of the furniture is thrifted from retro thrift stores, I like this style more. It brings so much personality to the space.” He passionately talks about them, “Do you want anything to drink? I have water, juice, and beer here.” He says, rummaging through his fridge.

“Oh, just water, please.” You say you have a feeling that you need to at least sober up for whatever the night brings.

He takes two glasses of water and places them down on the coffee table. It’s the only piece in the entire house that is a neutral color, a fine hardwood. You couldn’t tell what it was at a glance, not that it was important anyway.

“So, let’s talk about this book that you’ve been struggling to write now. Could you tell me what it’s about?” He asks, taking a swig of his water, you stare at his side profile while he does, sharp yet delicate features, his Adam’s apple bobbing from his drink.

Bro’s so majestic.

“Well, it’s about an artist who’s losing passion for his work, told from the perspective of his lover. It’s a spicy romance, with, in my opinion, a correct amount of sex scenes-”

“Give me a percentage of how much of it is smut.” Minghao interrupts you,

“Like… 75 percent?” He snorts at this, “Anyway, I’ve been stuck on the last spicy scene of the book, the climax, pun not intended,” You take a swig of your water, “I mean, it’s not like I don’t have experience writing that sort of thing, or lack experience in sex either, but my sex life’s been such a drag with my husband being gone for long periods and-”

Minghao interrupts you again, “And he doesn’t fuck you right, does he?”

The forwardness of his words made you freeze, you contemplated whether to reject him here, to tell him it wasn’t appropriate to talk about this with you, especially about your husband. You know how Minghao looks at you. It wasn’t a secret to anyone that he wanted you, but he never acted in any inappropriate way. He never makes you uncomfortable.

This was no exception. The swirling in your stomach wasn’t because of unease, no, this was because of arousal.

“No, no he doesn’t.”

He leans in, kissing you. This time he's not rushing, no more pushing and pulling, no more things left unsaid. He wants you, he'll have you. That was a promise.

He lifts you from the couch, lips never parting as he carries you to his bedroom, peeling each other's clothes, bumping into walls and furniture. But you couldn't care less, you were lost in each other's embrace and you can't think of another place you'd rather be.

Half-naked on Minghao’s bed, who, need you be reminded, was not your husband.

His hands roamed your sides, the heat from his palms warming your skin, causing it to flush, his soft, plump lips pressing feather-light kisses to your neck. You could feel his breath behind your ear, his hair tickling your cheek.

“How would your husband feel if he knew what you were doing with me right now?” He asks, clearly getting off on the fact that you were in his bed, getting ready to fuck him, a man who wasn’t your husband.

“I hope he’d be disappointed, but at this point, I think he forgot about me.” You say with a chuckle at the end, trying not to ruin the mood.

Minghao gently pulls away from you from that, “What?” he asks quietly, the word almost getting drowned out by the hum of the air conditioning, “Sorry, I know this was supposed to be a taboo, forbidden relationship thing but… I’m angry at him.” He says, avoiding your eyes.

“I know I’ve only known you for a few months, but I never felt this way before. It fucking kills me to think that a woman like you would be forgotten, for what exactly? Work?” He said anger gradually filling his voice. His hand reaches for your face when your eyes meet, thumbs pressing down on your cheekbone. The controlled and purposeful movement reminds you just how pliable you are under his touch. He sculpted you into what he wanted you to be; beautiful, strong, unashamed.

You gently cup his face, still hovering above you, “Kiss me, Minghao.”

And he did.

His lips met yours in a searing embrace, just the force of his passion against yours was dizzying, fiery desire clashing to make fireworks behind the eyelids that fluttered close. You never felt this type of longing from your husband, never felt his devotion being kissed through your lips like Minghao’s tongue was exploring it.

At that moment, you knew you were gone.

Minghao pulled away from you, hazy eyes meeting yours as the string of saliva that connected your mouths broke. At that moment, Minghao was stuck in a trance, his lips coming to meet yours over and over like he couldn’t stop tasting your lips even if he tried. A sweet ambrosia, too saccharine to stop. He’s become addicted to your lips molding onto his like sickly sweet honey sticking to his lips.

Out of breath, he grabs hold of your waist, rolling over to get you on top of him. He reaches behind you, unclasping the hooks of your bra and letting your breasts fall free from it. He cups both of them while you sit up, grinding on his hardening cock through his boxers, he groans at this, reflexively squeezing your boobs.

Placing both of your hands on his pecs, you also give them a gentle squeeze. Minghao notices this and his gaze darkens, passing his thumbs over your hardening nipples. Your pussy clenches onto nothing at this, a soft gasp leaves you as you started to grind harder against Minghao.

His nails started to dig into your hips, his own desperately grinding up against you for more friction. Soft moans leave him as he throws his head back against the pillows, eyes fluttering close just so he could focus on the sensations of your clothed cunt grinding against his cock through his boxers.

“God, get off of me before I cum in my underwear like a teenager.” He says with a playful groan, lifting your hips off from his crotch.

“Right, you still need to cum inside of me.” You say back playfully, his eyes darkened at this.

“Fuck, you make me want to keep you forever,” taking one of your hands and placing a kiss on your palm.

He lifts his hips only enough to get his boxers off, shimmying them off to somewhere on the floor near his bed. You also take this time to take your underwear off, secretly hiding it under his pillow when you lean down to kiss him again.

When you both pulled away, another string of saliva connected you two. You took two fingers to swipe at the liquid, bringing it down to rub your clit while you lowered yourself down to grind on his bare cock now.

Minghao hisses, “Fuck, I can feel how wet and warm you are, sweet christ.” he breathes out a shaky breath as you grind your bare wetness on his cock, lubricating the shaft for later. You moan at the contact, body slightly shaking from the friction of the tip of his cock hitting your clit occasionally.

“God, Minghao, fuck I need you inside me.” You desperately whine out. You lifted your hips up to finally hold his hard cock to align it with your pussy, slowly sinking on the thick girth. You throw your head back at the satisfying stretch his dick was making you feel.

“Fuck, you feel so good, so tight and warm,” He moans, he’s not shy about letting you know how good it feels with how vocal he’s being, he takes your right hand and holds it tightly, pressing it against his chest. You could feel his racing heartbeat under his skin, “Let me keep you forever, please, don’t make me beg, run away with me.”

You openly gape at him from this, You’d be a fool to accept this, especially since you’ve only known him for a fraction of the time you knew your husband, but god dammit.

“Take me with you, anywhere you want to go. I’m yours, please take me.” You say desperately. You’ve never been wanted this badly before, and god, you wanted more, for the rest of time.

Minghao abruptly thrusts up into you from this, tightly clenching your hand in his, still pressing on top of his racing heart under the skin. You cry out in pleasure, somehow the sensation of his heart under your palm elevates your pleasure, making you go dizzy at the thought that you’re doing this to him, and only you.

You come close to your climax embarrassingly quick, the sensation of his cock rubbing your velvet walls so perfectly made your head spin. Your ears are ringing so loudly that it almost drowns out your sounds of pleasure, and the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Minghao isn’t far from you either, the same dizzying effect taking hold of his mind too. He’s so close to finishing that he could almost taste it, his moans and whines of your name leaving his lips like a mantra, a prayer, even.

“Minghao I’m gonna cum-!” you say frantically, pressing your forehead onto his as he meets your lips with his for the nth time. You swallow the moans he spills into your mouth as you both climax at the same time. His heart still beating frantically under your palm.

“Did you mean that?” You ask breathlessly, “When you said you wanted me forever, did you mean it?” you couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Exactly, I meant it word for word. Let me replace the ring on your finger with mine.” He smiles at you.

In the end, he did replace the ring on your finger with his, much more extravagant, and elaborate. Your husband wasn’t surprised at your sudden request for a divorce, since your marriage was already failing before you met Minghao.

Still, time was the ultimate truthteller.

Your husband found out about your High Infidelity around the middle of your divorce proceedings, and in a rage, he threw you and all your belongings out onto the driveway. In the middle of winter rain.

The rain soaked into your skin, cold and icy piercing you painfully. All your personal belongings were strewn all around you, and your soon-to-be ex-husband was angrily slamming the door shut, but you couldn't help but feel relieved.

After all, you were finally free.

You finished your book, it received critical acclaim and it was a New York Times Best-Seller.

And you got to marry Minghao, the love of your life. Who you were happily married to until the both of you grew old.

FIN.

[2cutie]

A Touch Possessive

Kung Lao x Female!Reader

summary: 18 + content! Kung Lao doesn't particularly enjoy when you train with Tomas. He thinks that's a pretty fair thing to feel all things considered, and whether or not it was true outside his head was another thing. Whether it was his ego or denial, he doesn't think you'd be too upset if he comes up with a pretty little lie to steal you away.... You won't be, right?

a/n: pretty lil thing, innit? *pats his shoulder* dimples make my brain a bit feral. also this is longgg because I was feeling very self-indulgent. (i should probs start bulleting) but enjoy sharing my sins.

Kung Lao's gaze scans the proximity of the training field, his eyes narrowing in the sun's rays. He was looking for you - of course. When was he not?

It became more of a habitual trait at this point, and he couldn't really help it. But he had a reason this time, at least.

He was just… annoyed that you were spending time away from him. Specifically with other people.

Yeah, it was totally a reason. And no, he wasn't jealous. He had this monologue in his head everyday and every time he settled on not being jealous - therefore he wasn't.

You were a champion that Lord Liu Kang had collected; Modest, sweet, kind. A quick learner. Additionally, a great fighter. So it was really nothing short of due time that Liu kang instilled your assistance in training the rest of the champions.

Lao relished in that! He would purposefully do a poor job just to feel your hands position him to a better stance. He would work harder just to strip off his shirt because he was "sweating too much". He sent Raiden a winning smirk and wink every time you fell for it. Raiden always shook his head in disapproval.

But, that delight deflated when he realized that you would be doing the same to the others as well. Your hands on Kenshi's chest? Raiden's waist?

And when you spread out Johnny's legs with your own to show him a better way to dive out of the way? You didn't actually believe Johnny needed assistance for that, did you? The actor was totally stealing his idea!

Besides, he was your boyfriend, not Johnny.

So there he was, sulking, as he searched the Wu Shi Academy for where you were.

It was after the day's training, one where you were separated to different groups. Not only did he not get to see sweat drip off you, but he didn't get to show off for you either.

Unfulfilling.

His eyes finally fell on you. You were a small distance away, conversing the shade with Tomas at your hip. Part of his mind knew you two were discussing your martial arts - after all, Tomas was most likely your instructor of the day - but the larger, more illogical part of his brain overruled that. Tomas was looking at you with those doe eyes of his after all.

He crossed over to you in record time. He called your name, purposefully interrupting the ninja mid-sentence.

You perked off the wall, looking over Tomas' shoulder upon hearing his voice. "Kung Lao?"

He stopped when was beside Tomas. Well, until he was semi-blocking assassin purposefully but not enough for it to seem on purpose. He was smart when he wanted to be. "You, uh, busy? I need your help with.." Oh, he didn't get this far. "..Something."

You blinked. "Ah." You were mildly disinterested, but who were you to deny those dimples? You turned to Tomas, who only shook his head, dismissing you. You apologized, excusing yourself to fall in step beside Kung Lao. "What's up?"

Kung Lao couldn't resist the creeping smirk on his face. He intertwines is arm in yours, pulling you closer as if to prevent you from turning around. "I kinda lost a paper this morning. You don't mind helping me, right?"

Your face scrunched, both in confusion and disbelief. "A paper?" Seriously? That's what he wanted? You turned your head around, debating about returning to Tomas. Kung Lao walked faster. "Why not just be more organized?"

"That's more of your thing. I'm more unbothered."

"So even you admit it?"

Your cheeky comment didn't go unnoticed as he glances down to you. "It's not like I'm a mess all the time, I mean… most of the time. But not all. That counts for something."

You held back several retorts to that as he guided you to his room. He released you only once you were there, opening the door to his room. He gave a nonchalant shrug and stepped inside.

Unsurprisingly, it was in disarray, but not as much as you expected from him. You eyed it over quickly. A part of you semi-hoped this cursed paper would be in the middle of the floor or somewhere in sight so you could just leave. "What paper is it exactly?"

Chinese decor was sparsely scattered, being a spare room for the monks of the academy before their arrival. There was a crest of his heritage on the wall and the desk pushed to the wall was filled with scattered papers in his messy handwriting, all in mandarin. It seemed a fair place to start.

"Training data. I think I left it somewhere around here." His eyes follow you to his desk, some sort of shallow pride swelling in his chest to have you in his shared space. He closed the door.

"Training data," you repeat, deftly shifting through the papers. "You keep track of that? I mean, that's great. I just didn't really… expect it, I guess."

He comes closer behind you, peering over your shoulder as your muse around on his desk. He feels a little offended at that, even despite it being a lie. "I always keep track of progress and achievements."

A partial lie, anyways.

You hum in response and continue to dig through his litter. You notice that he is not at all helping, but it's not much of a shocker, really. You eyed a familiar receipt in the corner of his desk. "You know.." You pick it up, holding it over your shoulder accusatory. "If you kept track of things the same way you keep tabs of this receipt with your favourite food on it, you'd be fine."

Kung Lao snatched it back. ""Hey, don't look at that! It's the only thing that makes my life worth living, so don't you dare laugh at it!" His tone was playful and exaggerated, but it was a perfect ploy for him to move closer to you.

"Ugh, you are so dramatic," you huffed, rolling your eyes. But you couldn't exactly stop the faint blush that creeped on your cheeks upon feeling the warmth emitting just behind you.

And yes, of course - of course - he noticed. He stood right behind you as you continued your fruitless search, really just keeping your mind busy. He brushed some hair off your neck to get a good look at your face. He smirked at your reaction. "I'm simply passionate about what matters to me."

Ignoring that, you pulled away from his hand and attempted to stay focused. "You could be helping."

"I know." You sent him a look over your shoulder at his dismissive tone. "But I am helping." He continues in a low tone and his arms come beside you, his palms pressed on either side of the desk, trapping you between them. Your fingers stop rummaging when you feel him press against your back. Your eyes narrow suspiciously.. "What's wrong?" He asks in feigned innocence, his lips brushing your ear. "Did I make you lose your concentration?"

"This paper doesn't exist," you state. Not a question.

You felt Kung Lao's smirk grow against your ear. He moved down to nuzzle in the crook of your neck, nodding slowly. "I know." He really couldn't even put up a lie? "I just wanted an excuse to pull you away from Tomas. He can be annoying.."

You really, really wanted to be mad at him. But his warmth, almost scorching against your back felt a little too nice and he pressed tigher to you, encasing you. You felt yourself flush. You put a hand on the desk to stabilize yourself. Focus…

"I wasn't annoyed," you attempted to argue back, keeping your tone straight. "And that's not for you to decide for me."

His right hand shifted from the table to your hip, keeping you in place. "It doesn't matter, I just don't like seeing you with him." He whispered against your neck, mouthing his lips on your skin. He moved towards your ear again, his timbre taking a firm, and almost possessive murmur. "You shouldn't be talking with him."

You felt your gut churn. That tone wasn't doing you any favours. And he knew damn well what he was doing pressing himself behind you while pushing up against the wood, the friction pressing at your core. You knew he heard you thickly swallow. "He is still my mentor," you defend, even through your stuttered breath.

"Yeah, but you don't need to train with him. You train with me too, you know?" Kung Lao defied, voice firm and possessive. His warm hand slid from your hip to your stomach, pulling you back to him tighter.

You grunted, placing your other hand on the desk. You were trying so damn hard to keep your composure, to not prize him for his actions. But feeling him press so suggestively to you, feeling the brief hard on against your ass was maddening.

He felt so annoyingly good. Your hand snaked to his wrist, squeezing a pathetic warning to him. "I am also a student. I cannot stop training simply because you're feeling left out."

You felt his chuckle vibrate beside your ear. It was too easy to sense your failing composure. His hand crept from your belly to interlock his fingers with yours, trapping it against the wood under a firm grasp. "Whatever you say," He mumbled, dripping with a smug, amused tone, knowing damn well he wasn't listening to a thing you were saying. His lips kissed the nape of your neck, his tongue running to taste your skin.

A shiver thrummed through you. How was he so good at this? You're attempting to stay determined, but your facade was crumbling. Your hand clenched beneath his, and you squirmed.

On the contrary, Kung Lao loved the way you were involuntary grinding against his hips. His lips pressed more firmly to your neck, his lips sucking at your delicate skin. His free hand went back to the side of your hip. "Ah, ah, ah," he mocked, "don't move so much."

You let out a huff through your nose. You were done with avoiding him.

But you wouldn't let him win.

In a display of insubordination, you wrapped your arm behind his neck, pushing him closer to you. You ground back on him, firm and deliberate, stealing some power back from him. He groaned, and you felt him twitch against your ass. Your fingers sank into his hair, grabbing at his ponytail.

The hand on your hip gripped tightly and he meets the angle of your hips. "Playing dirty?" He managed to get out, the natural smugness of his voice replaced by arousal.

"Like you don't like it." You leaned your head back against his shoulder, drinking in the tremors of his response. He bit at your earlobe. "You're so annoying."

"I'm taking it as a compliment," He conceded, his tongue caressing a path behind your ear. His hand trailed lower on your stomach, his thumb swiping over your underbelly.

You heart stuttered as his fingers trailed under the layer of your shirt. You tugged his head down to your height, kissing his dimple in permission to continue. You littered kisses along his strong jawline, spreading your legs and grinded against his cock encouragingly. Kung Lao leaned it to your lips, meeting your motion in return easily.

Kung Lao's hand dipped below the pants of your uniform, his dexterous fingers grazing your awaiting folds. "Gods, you're so impatient," he grunts, the rumble reverberating both beside and behind you. His voice was a blend of desire and lust as you melted into his touch.

"You're just slow," you retaliated and nipped at his neck, trying to get him to go faster already. There was no need for him to tease; you were so wet already.

He grunted at the sting of your teeth, a shudder running through him. His head pulled off your shoulder just to look down to you, his dark eyes lusted over. "I'm slow, huh?" He questioned in a low mockery. Before you could even question his response, two fingers dipped easily into you, deep. "Because I'm slow, right?"

Your whole body locked, spine arching back into him at the sudden intrusion. Neither your body or your mind expected to be stuffed so suddenly, and an absolutely pitiful whine broke from your throat. "Ah, fuck, you asshole," you panted, his fingers already setting a steady pace in fucking you open. Your slickness made you take him easily.

"Oohh, look who's getting bratty now," Kung Lao taunted with a sharp flick of his wrist. His simper spread when he felt your hot walls clench around him.

You didn't - couldn't - manage a reply to his irritable remark. Not when his fingers worked you skillfully and steadily.

And by the gods was he good with his fingers.

You were practically convulsing gently against his frame, trying to escape from the growing pleasure that was already gnawing inside you at his fingers alone. Your unbound hand gripped at his forearms, his wrist, his fingers - anything you could reach, trying wordlessly beg him to ease up.

You were eating your words now, feeling yourself mend to a moaning debauched mess, so pliant and submissive. His fingers scratched you deep and practiced; he knew your body all too well.

His eyes burned on your skin as he watched your every reaction. You writhed against his solid frame, but your body was at the mercy he didn't feel like giving you. His sighed, so satisfied, as his gaze fell on how well your pussy swallowed his fingers and drooled over his wrist. "Now look at you, so desperate and helpless.. all from just my fingers." He punctuated his words with a crook of his knuckles, hitting just right to release a whine of pleasure from you.* "You were saying you wanted me to go faster?"

Your mind took too long to process what he had said, and by the time it did, his fingers fucked were pumping in you faster, rougher. His gaze swallowed you, watching your crumble of power.

"K-King Lao, Lao, please, L-Lao," you spluttered, clenching around his fingers as you nearly sobbed. Your hips jerked in time with the thrusts of his wrist, your body chasing the pleasure without your mind's permission. His arm wrapped around your waist, enforcing you to keep partaking in the assault of pleasure. "I-I can't-"

"Yes you can. You can take it," He intercepted, keeping you pinned against him, taught. His fingers were relentless. "Don't tell me. You're overwhelmed by my fingers alone?" He purposefully hit the same spot within you, abusing it over and over again, just to feel that delicious jerk of your hips against his hardening dick.

You want to say more, but you find yourself unable to do anything more than just to stutter out breaths and broken sobs. You feel his other hand snake from your hip down, and you blush hard at the realization of what he's doing.

He spreads your folds lewdly, just for the added torture and for his own satisfaction of having a better look at his assault on you. You were dripping for him, your pussy looking so abused and full as your swallowed around his knuckles, painting them in a clear essence. Your pants fell off your hips and to to the floor finally. You kick them hastily off your ankles, not caring where they land.

You're thankful he's mostly supporting your weight. Your own legs were not an ally anymore, not having the strength as you only leaned back into him, seeking his touch and warmth. Your head fell into his strong bicep, muffling your moans into the muscle. You had half the nerve to sink your teeth into him for torturing you like this, but you were enjoying it more than you were willing to admit.

"All spread out in front of me. How can I not just take you?" Kung Lao's own breath was turning hot and ragged, the puffs hitting against your skin. He was so hard against you now, his eyes lusted over. His tongue darts out to wet his lips while his thigh snakes inbetween yours to open you up further for him.

You felt so exposed, so vulnerable and yet with him it felt so right as he admired you, devoured you with his eyes. Relentless, he pressed his thumbpad against your clit and you let out a shrill of a moan, tears hazing your eyes in pleasure. You felt your clit tremble. "L-Lao, gods, Lao.. I.. I'm going to.."

Lao chuckled deeply at the song of your shattered moan. "You're gonna what, hm?" His fingers kept their steady pace, fucking up into you while his thumb applied more pressure, swirling. He was determined to see you fall apart, to see your fall from grace. "Are you gonna come for me?"

You nodded quickly. There was no use in lying. Your mind was completely unraveled, only focused on the rising glow inside of you. Your hips rode in time with his wrist.

"Do it. Come for me." The command was a hiss in your ear, low and gravelly.

That sent you over, as if his permission held power over you.

Your release hit you - hard and crashing. You convulsed in his hands, her body arching and twitching. Kung Lao worked you through it, working you through you even as the white started to faze out of your vision. He held you firm, wanting to feel each twitch of your climax.

You sobbed and moaned his name, the only thing your mind could process, quivering as you came undone and when he worked you into overstimulation. His fingers slowed as you started to drift away from your high. The new wetness making his coating his fingers thickly.

You stuttered at the movement on your oversensitive walls. Your grimaced, shuddered. "Kung Lao," you warned. "Please."

Alright, he could be nice.

He let his fingers slip out of you, missing your encompassing heat as soon as they left you. His fingers were stained with your mark, your release dripping down his fingers. He held his hand in front of you both, forcing you to get a good look at it all the same. You painted him so beautifully.

There was a primal satisfaction he felt thrum through his body. Kung Lao took a moment to admire the sight, feeling the slick between his fingers. "Gods, look at you," he murmured, full of pride and desire. His eyes shifted to yours as he brought his fingers to his mouth, pressing them to the flat of his tongue. He slowly, savoringly licked them clean.

You groaned at that, a spike of heat bubbling in you again. You took the moment to shallow out your breathing. "You're so gross."

"You love it," he hauntingly responds, his tongue running over his thick fingers, cleaning every last drop you left on him. When he was satisfied, he hugs you to his chest. The same hand finds course to your chin and tilts your head back.

Your mouth was parted as you panted, meeting his eyes back with your glazed ones. Kung Lao's eyes scanned over your face, committing the painting of your features into your brain

"You look so beautiful when you come undone by me." He leaned his mouth forward, hovering just above your lips. You think he's going to kiss you, until his fingers press your lips. The same fingers you came on. "Taste yourself," he ordered.

You didn't protest. His fingers dipped into your mouth and you pressed your tongue to them. Your taste was faint, but still you obediently listened to him. As his fingers pushed deeper, your tongue wraps around his index, slick and warm before you swallow. You suck on them, your eyes never leaving his as you watch his desire unfold in his eyes.

"That's it," he praises. "Taste good, don't you?" You had enough sense to glare harmlessly to him. He takes his fingers out when he's content, a trail of saliva falling disconnecting. "You look adorable trying to glare at me when you're flustered and dazed."

"I can't believe you lied about some paper just to feel me up." You tried to break out of his hold, your mind catching back up to remind you that you should be annoyed with him.

"Hey, hey, don't get mad at me. I was just having some fun." His grip was unrelenting. "I feel like you should reward me for even letting Tomas flirt with you in the first place."

You were allowed enough room to turn in his hands, facing him with an unamused look. "He was not flirting with me," you argued back. "And you don't get anything just for being jealous."

Kung Lao sent you an incredulous look. "Are you really truing to deny it? You must be completely clueless then. It was so obvious. And I wasn't jealous," he added on petulantly.

"Tomas was not.." You trailed off, thinking back to some parts of your conversation with the assassin. Perhaps, just perhaps, Lao had a point. "It's not important," you ignored his smug 'hah!'. "I wasn't flirting with him, anyways."

"You're just as oblivious as always," he retorts. "And just because you weren't doesn't mean anything. I don't like how he was all over you. He knows I'm yours."

You ignored how your heart clenched when he said that. "You are still not getting anything just because you got jealous. And yes," you tacked on quickly, "You are jealous."

"Wha-" He sputtered. "I am not jealous! Why would I be jealous of him of all people?" He huffed, an indication that he was, in fact, incredibly jealous but refused to admit it.

"Possessive then? Infatuated?" You crossed your arms over your chest. "Envious? Bitter? Which synonym would you prefer?"

Kung Lao releases a frustrated huff, knowing this was going nowhere. His eyes flicked away as you continued to drive in your point. "Fine, I was.. a little jealous. Are you happy now?" His tone was still defensive, but there was a small glint of resignation.

"You were all of the above," you corrected, eyeing him.

He rolled his eyes. "Alright, you got me. I'm infatuated, envious, whatever. Anything else you wanna add to the list?

"Sure," you practically purred and reveled in the way his shoulders slumped. "Egotistical, flamboyant, cocky…" He were enjoying the sulking look of his. "And looks so damn good when he admits it."

His brown eyes look back at you, that smirk returning to play on his lips when you mentioned the last part. His ego never took a bruise for too long. "You forgot humble and modest.'

"Oh, right," you muse, matching his energy. You smirk up to him, unfolding your arms as you cock your head to the side. "The great Kung Lao."

His eyes seem to gleam back to you, enjoying the banner. A sense of confidence washed over him at the title. "Greatest warrior of all time." So self-assured.

"And exactly what does the great Kung Lao think he deserves since he so believes he's entitled to something?"

"I think as the Great Kung Lao I'm deserving of many things. Recognition, respect, admiration…" his eyes flicker down to your form, his gaze walking over you "Among other things Tomas won't get."

You give him an unimpressed look. "And what do you want now?" You ask instead.

"Well, for one" He stars, "For you to stay far away from Tomas. And for two.." Kung Lao moves in, backing you up against the desk once more, the back of your thighs digging into the wood "I think I deserve a little reward. For being honest about my feelings." Your legs bend until you're sitting on the edge, and neither of you care about the papers you may be crumpling. His hands are on either side of you again. "A nice, hard, long reward."

Your hands rest of his shoulders, eagerly squeezing at his muscles. His hands come to pull apart your thighs to slot between them. Your turn to lick your lips. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Lao's body is firm as he pulls you by your legs to him. "And I think I'll take here, right now."

"On the desk? Seriously?".

"What? You don't like the idea of it?" His hands explore the contours of your sides. "You didn't mind a moment ago."

You sigh, defeated, and instead pull at his vest. "You're overdressed," you mumble, rising your eyes to his expectantly.

"I can fix that, easy." He moves away just enough to start undoing the buttons. Each undone button is a tease to his tanned skin below, a shade that has your mouth watering in anticipation. He pulls it off his arms, tossing it somewhere on the floor. His chest is bared to you, muscles rippling with the movement.

Your eyes roam him appreciatively and your hands find his skin again, massaging into his toned chest. He's well aware of how built he is, and even more aware of how much you appreciate it.

Kung Lao leans back, his face close to yours as he sends you that cock-eating smirk. "You like the sight, huh?" He teases. Like he had to ask.

"So obnoxious." You pinch his dark nipple in retaliation.

"Hey!" He lets out a shocked gasp, and his chest twitches at the sudden pinch. "Watch it now, that's sensitive." He pouts, rubbing a hand over the abused peck. He gives a brief glare before his smirk creeps back. "Do it again."

You let out an exasperated huff. "Ruining the moment."

He laughs, settling his grip on your hips. "You never complained before. Besides, you're the one who pinched my nipple."

"As if you didnt' like it," you retorted. You brought your hands to his face, carressing over his soft skin, your eyes drinking in his spellbinding features. Your fingers trail over his soft lips, the curve of his smile before tracing the dents of his dimples, staring at them in awe.

The dents deepened. "A fan?" His lips kiss your fingertips.

"Unfortunately."

"Only unfortunately? That hurts." His large hands squeeze you. "Can't help I have a handsome face. Lucky you, hm?" His self-assured confidence was back in full force it seemed.

"Hm," you repeated, matching his tone. "Looks ever better between my thighs."

There was a nice reaction. His eyebrows shot up at your boldness, his teeth peeking beneath his lips. "Is that an invitation?" He asks, voice lowering to a more seductive undertone. His hands shifted the inside of your legs, pushing them.

"Take it as a suggestion, if you will."

His hands stopped the junction of you pelvis. "I think I'll have to take you up on that." He kneels on the floor, quick and impatient, forcing your legs to expose yourself in the process. He's practically drooling already, and you were already bare, ready for him from the previous sin. Your pussy was a delectable sight but he still managed to trail his eyes back up to you when he heard the quick intake of breath.

Your hand shifted to the back of his head.

"Eager?" He teases, his breath fanning over your sensitive skin. You have half the mind to tell him to shut up but the words are lost when he leans in, his tongue licking a long stripe up you.

Your whole body jolts from the contact, and his hands have to hold you down atop your thighs, keeping them spread so you don't squeeze him. Not just yet, anyways. When he presses his lips to yours, sucking, a squeak leaves you and your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling at his scalp.

He can feel you twitch and squirm, both beneath his palms and on his tongue. His ego inflates at the sound of your pleasure. He chuckles, the deep vibrations coursing inside of you. "Sensitive, aren't you?" He teases between licks, his tongue lapping at the wetness unfolding before him. You can feel yourself opening to him. His fingers dig dents into your plush thighs, keeping you in place as he continues, dipping his tongue inside of you.

"Oh gods," you whimper. You can't manage a reply, not right now. You undo his ponytail, letting his hair fall free to his shoulders, and you grip it to ground yourself.

Kung Lao lets out a low moan as he swallows your lather, a taste he can never be filled of, and you jolt at its vibrations. His eyes open to see you, drinking in that delicious look of ecstasy on your face. It spurs him on, his tongue working inside your hot folds with more fervor. "You're shaking," he murmurs between sucks, and his eyes are blown wide as watches between your thighs, full of hunger.

You know that, damn him. But your face still flushes deep red from hearing it from him and you whimper, trying to stifle your moans. Seems you're being stubborn. He can't have that; He'll just have to pull them out of you.

Kung Lao sucks on your clit, grazing it just lightly between his teeth, before his tongue flattens against it to soothe it. He places open mouth kisses to your folds. He wants to hear every sound, feel every whimper and gasp of pleasure on his tongue and lips. He wants it all to be for him. His tongue rides inside you, moving quick and with purpose.

You pull him more taught, pressing the both of you closer, to have him deeper. He sucks and you jerk, a moan leaving deep within your chest. His hands fall away from your thighs, instead dipping underneath your hips and crushing you to him. His mouth covers the whole of you, and he moans in satisfaction as your thighs instantly squeeze around his head, twitching and trembling. An approving grunt follows.

He has more access to you, his tongue exploring each wet cavern and crevice of you, and you can feel each path it takes, each thrust the appendage pulses into you. You're not sure if you can decide if you like his tongue or lips on you better, but fortunately you don't have to decide.

He loves every second of this, loves every drop you make for him to swallow.

Your lips are parted as you heave your breaths, the blush running down your chest and dusting your shoulders. He doubles his efforts, his tongue fucking furiously against you. He wants nothing more than to see you writhe and cry out beneath him.

And yet, when you feel yourself fading, can feel yourself getting too far gone, he stops. Sudden and short, and you feel empty as his and unfulfilled as his tongue sinks out of you.

You hear him growl as he pulls away, not entirely wanting to himself. But he's craving you carnally.

You whine in protest, panting. His chin is wet with your slick and it makes your body flame hotter.

Kung Lao's eyes are darkened with desire, his own breathing ragged. He can still taste you on his tongue, can feel the evidence of his work on his chin. "You taste so good," he praises as he licks his lips. His hands squeeze you encouragingly. "But I need more. I need you."

He rises to his feet without another warning, his body towering over yours since you slipped down to your forearms. One hand stays upon your thigh, the other coming to caress your face, his thumb tracing your plump bottom lip. "I need inside you," *he mummers, voice rugged. His body presses against you, his aching cock pressed right up to your clit through the confines of his fabric, but you still felt it twitching when he feels your wetness touch it. It's evident how much he desires you.

"I think you may have a kink for desk sex," you comment idly, your breath ghosting his lips. You shudder at how hard he is.

He leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a deep kiss. But it's short before he pulls away, his breath hot as he responds. "Maybe." His hand slips to your neck, a shiver running through you. "I think it's just you." He pushes you backward until your back is laying on the desk.

"That's so stupid and cheesy," you comment but bite your lip. He grabs at the top of your uniform and slides the rest of it over top of you, leaving you just in your bra. His eyes soak in the sight hungrily, greedy. It cups your breast so nicely…

But no as perfect as it would be with his hands. With that though, he gropes your bust, pushing the plush of it up against your bra, plumping the skin. He nearly pants at that alone. Maybe he was a boob guy afterall.

It takes his mind a moment to process you responded. "I know you don't mind it." His hand continues to knead over the lace of your bra, a touch possessive. His eyes have a dark gleam to them.

His hand pushes beneath the band of your bra, pushing it up until your bare breasts bounce out below and he wastes no time in pressing his palms to them. You arch into his touch.

A hum of approval sounds in his throat. The peak of your nipples are enticing, and he runs it between his fingers, feeling it harden at the attention. He presses the peak with his thumb, his eyes roaming to your face to watch your expressions.

"You're being handsy," you comment, pretending as if this was having no effect on you.

He tilts his head. "Can you blame me? You're just too tempting." He shifts the bra off you afterward, another garment falling somewhere to the mess of his floor. "There's so much I want to do to you.."

"Why don't you start with kissing me?"

A soft chuckle leaves him. He presses flush against you again, taking in the sight of your flustered skin. "I'm definitely doing that," he mumbles over your lips, teasing you before finally capturing yours in a deep, passionate embrace.

His tongue wastes no time in licking into your mouth, tasting, his hands holding you in place as he tastes you hungrily. You kiss him back with the same fervor, but you let him dominate the path of your lips, the ferocity of the moment. Your legs encompass him, wrapping over his sharp hips. You grind up into him. moaning as he meets your movement, his desire so hard as it slides against your wanting folds. Your fingers find their way back to his hair.

"I have a question," you murmur inbetween of kisses and you nibble on his bottom lip before salving it with your tongue.

Kung Lao shudders. He breaks his next kiss, keeping close as he looks down with lidded eyes. "Listening."

"Can you just get the fuck inside of me already?"

His tongue rolls over his teeth, dimples returning. "So bossy." But his hands are already moving down to the waistband of his pants, pulling them down without a waste of another second. There's a bit of arrogance in his expression when he's there nude above you. "I like it. But can't you wait a little bit longer?" He's purposefully teasing you.

"Make me wait any longer," you started, a grumble in your chest, "And I'm going back to Tomas."

A laugh escapes out of him, his head dipping back in amusement. When the laugh ends, his head dips toward you again, his eyes gleaming with annoyance and a flash of possessiveness. He leans in, his lips hot against your ear, his voice dipping low and dangerous as he speaks. "Don't you dare every joke about that," he nearly growls.

"Then get on with it." You lick a hot stripe from the curve of his collar bone, up the length of his neck, tasting his sweat and pulse beneath his tongue. You stop at his chin, placing a wet kiss there. The sight of his thick, twitching and curved cock nearly makes you feral. Precum drips out of its slit and your mouth waters.

Kung Lao shudders overtop of you, a moan escaping past his lips. His self-control is fading, the desire of how badly he wants you surging forth. It was driving him wild.

He finally kicks off his pants completely.

You are both bare and exposed, the heat between the both of you scorching. Your hands seek his skin, following the valley of his contours before finding purchasing in wrapping around his neck, keeping him close to you. Your breaths mingle, tasting each other's. You're so ready for him, it almost hurts with every pulsing throb that runs through you. You peck his lips, looking into his eyes as you await him.

You don't dare to blink. You always loved watching his expression when he sunk into you, afterall.

He sigh when he finally, finally, lines himself up to you.

His chocolate burn you, committing the feel of your legs around his waist to his vast memory of you. His heart is pounding in the confines of his chest, his body tight with need for you. "You're beautiful," he can't help but mutter, his words barely more than a whisper. He drinks in your every feature, his breath catching in his throat as he finally, slowly, pushes into you.

His girth stretches into you and your warmth envolpes him, so easily encompassing, your body familiarized with every part of him. You grunt at his entrance, your head dipping back onto the desk. Your hips arch up into him, his cock curving into you deeply. He holds you steady.

You're so tight, so hot, so wet. So perfect for him.

Your hand squeezes the back of his neck, the other raking your nails into the curve of his back as you ground yourself into the moment. "Kung Lao," you moan out his name, watching his eyes dilate, his eyebrows scrunch in pleasure as he hilts into you.

He's always so expressive in that moment, with how his lips part open, his eyes haze beyond his control.

"You feel so good," he grunts, ragged and deep, his lips still parted as he breaths out the words. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment at sensation of your nails dipping into his skin, his body rigid with pleasure. He loves that sound of his name on your lips, the way you say it; the way you need him in this moment.

He begins to move, his hips thrusting into you slowly at first. His hand bruise your hips as he tries to maintain the last threads of his control. His eyes open to fixate on your face.

He didn't need to wait for you to adjust. Not when you were so used to him, not when he prepared you so well. He moves inside of you deeper, accumulating you to his increasing movement. His breath fans off your skin, both of your moans slipping into the other's mouth.

You're so slick around his cock. He opens you wider for himself, a hand holding you down on your thigh, while the other glides to the dip of your knee and raises your leg up, settling it over his shoulder to spread you. His angles his hips a new angle, delving into you deeper.

You can practically see the moment in his eyes when he feels you fully adjust to him, the flash of lust over his pupils when he knows he can pummel you. He marks your plush skin possessively, his thumb stroking the skin that plumps under his grip. He drinks in every twitch, every pass of pleasure on your face and every moan that escapes from your lips. His pace increases steadily.

"You're so pretty, Kung Lap," you praise and he kisses your knee. "I like when your hair is down. Fuck, you feel so good." Your hips undulate as his thrusts turn more purposeful, more pointed.

Your compliments wash over him, his pulse jumping. Something in him always burned when you praised him, something primal. "You feel amazing," he responds, hips thrusting faster into you, your skin slapping off each other, the sound filing into the background.

You pussy clenches around him, pulling a moan from the both of you. You shiver at the sound of his moan, a ripple of pleasure coursing through you. You can hear how wet you are becoming, the lewd sound of your sex filling the room, amplifying your shared lust. The desk begins to creak beneath you as he picks up his pace to something more relentless.

Kung Lao's eyelids flutter again. You were going to kill him with how much you twitched and clenched without realizing. The desk was a countertenor to your lyrics of pleasure, urging him on, riling him to to pull more from you.

"You're so tight," he grunts.

You cursed below your breath. He hits into you so deep, so bruising. "You make such pretty sounds, Lao," you whisper. "Please keeping moaning. F-for me."

Your words course a shiver down his spine. He ruts into you, and it earns a deeper and more guttural sound from him. He pushes your thigh further up on his shoulder. "Don't stop talking," he growls out, his breathing coming out more heavy and broken as his thrusts stutter.

You poke an eye open, watching his sanity crumble. Your other eye opens. "You like when I talk to you?" You ask around broken moans. "Like when I praise you for being a good boy?'

Your eyes paint with lust when he nods, his eyes nearly rolling back at the title. "I love it," he gasps, steadying his weight on an arm as his thrusts slam into you. Your voice, your choice of words, drive him wild. His hips buck into you more urgently, less rythmatic, relying more onto his fraying instincts. You know his you a bruise in shape of his hand by tomorrow. "Do not stop. Please don't stop."

Who were you to deny that? "The great Kung Lao falls at such simple words.. So beautiful when he's like this." You moan at a particularly harsh thrust, spine jerking into him* "So pliant. My good boy.. good puppy."

Kung Lao nearly whines at that. You both demean and praise him as one, and he can't resist the pull it has over him, his movements turning sloppy as he ruts into your hips. He released a loud moan, his eyes practically pleading with yours. "I'm your good boy," he agrees, his body all but melting, his hips driving into you with a desperate need.

And yet you crave even more. You know he can give you more. "Don't be so gentle with me, pretty," you coo. "Go harder. Be rough. You can do that for me, can't you? Baby?"

A guttural moan passes his lips at the neediness in your request. He likes it rough. He loves it even more when you give permission to be rough.

"Anything," he nods. "Anything you want." He rightens his grip on and does an experimental thrust into you, harder, brutal as he drags you down onto him in time with his plunge. He doesn't wait for a response, diving right into a savage pace, jackhammering into you at an animalistic rhythm. His muscles strain, but gods he needed this.

The force of his hips send the desk into an endless creaking state that threaten to splinter, scraping against the floorboards. The back of it bangs against the wall with each calculated thrust, but neither of you can find a care to stop. A large part of him is riled knowing someone could hear you both, knowing that they're hearing him claim you.

"T-that's it," you affirmed. "Y-yes, Lao. Doing.. so-so good. Feel so good."

"You're mine," he states with a deep growl," the thought of someone - hopefully Tomas - hearing this was driving him to an almost overwhelming state. His hips bounced off yours in an impairing force, the sound of your coupling growing desperate, urgent.

"Yours," you confirmed. Your head throws back, your throat presented to him. Tempting… "F-fuck, Kung Lao..!"

That smirk returns to his lips, seeing the expanse of your throat bared to him. His head dips to it, his lips sucking over your pulse point. His teeth graze it, teasingly. "You have no idea how good you look like this.."

Moans spill from you, falling from your lips in an overflow and he soaks the vibrations of them, bites them. Your nails leave crescent dents into him, red marks burning into his back.* "Tell me about it," you request in a helpless whimper.

His teeth pave a burning pathway to the side of your cheek, his deep grunts filling your ear. "The way you open up for me." he starts, his voice sensual and gravelly with need, his body practically molding itself against you as he bounces you off of him. "The way your pussy takes me, the way your body responds.. Your moans.."

"Yeah?" Your urge him on, your own body responding to his words. "How wet I get for you?"

Kung Lao moans, the sound guttural. His lips find your jawline, pressing nibbles across it. He's driven by your words. "So wet, so tight."

The best part about that was just how amplified it made the sounds between you two. The loud, wet squelch. It made everything so much more intoxicating.

"You do it to me, it's all you, K-Kung Lao," you sputter out. Your lips messily find his.

This was so obscene, so disgustingly perfect. "All me, no one else," he growls between your tongues' intertwining, his pants hot and heavy as his thighs slam off yours. "No one else can make you feel this."

The hickeys he left tingle on your neck, and you relinquish in their burn. Your tongues dance in a heated, messy display, hands groping any part him you can reach. You find the column of his throat and you squeeze, firmly. "Only you," you agree. "S-so keep fucking me, Kung Lao. Make me come on you, let me feel - fuck - feel you inside me.. Please? So I know I'm yours. I-inside and out."

Kung Lao's lips part in delight, in pure pleasure at the restriction around his throat. The sound of your light begging, telling him to make you come? He would do anything you asked in that moment. "Fuuck, you're mine."

His hands grip onto the underside of your hips and lift you, the change of inclination allowing him to thrust into your warm cavern deeper.

Your moans leave you without any sense of control or restraint. You can only willingly take what he's pounding into you, your mouth agape as moans stream out of your raw throat. You're burning, so is he, and you can feel the familiar urge settling in your stomach.

He knows you're right there on the edge because he's there too, but his focus is entirely on you. "Come for me, baby girl," he grits out, driving into his hips. "I need to feel you." He grunts out your name, and you think that was the thing that truly breaks you.

You bury your fingernails further into him, ground yourself, overwhelmed by him. You moan his name loudly, the only thing your mind could process onto as you came for the second time, more immense than the last.

He watches you you fall apart beneath him, your climax painting you into the perfect picture of debauchery. Your inner walls tremble and grip him, aside your spiraling cries, and it's almost enough to send him following right over the edge. Almost. "You're perfect," he gasps out, gripping your thigh closer to him, using it as an anchoring point to plow into you.

Your breath remains shuddered, moans still slipping past your lips as he continues to fuck into you even in your hazed, barely there mindset as you tried to find solace after your release. Your hips jerk gently out of your control, bucking back up to him as he chases his own ecstasy. Your eyes are blurred, pupils blown wide as you keep your vision trained on him.

One look at your eyes and he knows he's done for, but he holds on, stuttering with more urgency. "I'm close," he rasps out, strained. "So close."

"Please," you beg to him in a soft, needy whisper. He leans back over you, pressing his head into your shoulder. He can practically feel himself tear apart.

Your arms wrap around him in a secured embrace, feeling the way you claw onto him in anticipation for his own release. He faltered, if only for you.

It pushes him into his own pleasure, a lengthy moan escaping his throat, his body tensing while his hips mercilessly still plow into you, burying your head deeply into the crevice of your neck as he comes inside of you. "Fuck," his hisses as he rides through his orgasm, "I'm so-I- you-"

He's sputtering nonsense, his mind so far gone.

"That's it," you whisper encouragingly, shifting your hips to feel his warmth cradle the inside of you, the heat spreading into you deeply. You milk him for all his worth and when he doesn't have more to give, he slows speed down, his thrusts turning soon shallow.

Kung Lao can feel himself shuddering against you, his body reeling from the pleasure still coursing through his veins, the adrenaline that still pumps through him with every hammering pulse of his heart. He's completely wrecked, utterly spent, but he can't bring himself to move away from you, not just yet.

You are in no rush to escape from him either. You just hold onto him there, your bodies intertwined intimately as you bond in the mutual afterglow. He's still inside of you, entrapping his release inside of you, hot and filling. Your fingers glide over the skin of his mark you marked, a comforting sensation for him, while your others glide themselves through his hair. It's quiet between you two as you share a few silent moments

. You nuzzle your cheek on his head, peppering kisses to the crown of his hair. Your pulse steadies in his comfort and you let out a small, content noise. "So good for me," you praise after a pause, when you trust your voice to speak again.

But apparently his mind was already back because you can feel his ego practically bolstering, his senses flooding back into him. He pulls slightly back, hovering closely above you with a self-satisfied look in his eyes. "Perfect, aren't I? He grins. "I do come from a long line of-"

"You're so unsexy." You push his face away from you.

He cackles, his lips widening honestly. He grabs at your wrist, holding it so you can't push him away. "So what? You love it. Don't deny it, you think I'm great."

You make a noise, shaking your head at his pride but even you can't help the sound of affirmation that leaves you. You caress his cheek and you sigh again, silently, your eyes softening in adoration. "Yeah," you begrudgingly agree. "I do love you."

Oooh, he's never letting you live down those words. He cranes into your touch. That winner smirk of his dissolves into a genuine one, his eyes softening. "You better love me," he answers, tone turning more affectionate. He places a kiss to your palm. "You're stuck with me forever, you know that right?"

"Only if you don't burn the world down before then," you confirm.

"I'm not that bad," he protests but there's cheekiness bordering his voice. "I might destroy a few things. But I'm a perfect angel, really."

You want to scoff at that. This saint just committed several sins with you. You raise yourself up and he pulls himself out of you, humming at the loss of your contact. You feel the mess pool between your legs and you grimace. "If you're such a saint, how about you being so generous and carrying me to the shower?"

Kung Lao isn't really listening to you, passive as he takes satisfaction in watching his come pour out of you instead. But he eventually looks back to you. "Demanding as usual." He shakes his head in mock disapproval. "But," he concedes, lifting you easily into his arms. "I suppose I can indulge you once in awhile."

"My hero," you pride him flatly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

His chuckle runs through you in his chest and he squeezes you as he carries you into the adjourned bathroom with prideful strides. "You really should be more grateful, you know," he teases. He sets you gently down in the shower, ensuring your legs can stand on their own before he releases you.

You don't reply for a second, focusing on stabilizing yourself. "You're staying, right?" You don't voice it, but it's an obvious plea for him to shower with you.

Lao raises an eyebrow at you, clearly saying: 'Of course I'm staying', as if he was offended you even thought differently. He steps inside of the shower after you, closing the distance between you and him again. He smiles down at you and walks you back under the water spicket.

You smile up to him, your hands finding trails over his arms to take. You know you really shouldn't tease him, but you just can't help it… "Wanna invite Tomas, too?"

Bad choice for you. His hand was on the nozzle and upon hearing your words, he stops and looks down on you. Did you seriously just ask him that?

"He has his own." His answer was short.

He just.. can't help it when he feels a bit vindictive, twisting the shower on to rain freezing water down onto you. His expression clearly communicated that that's exactly what you deserved and he holds you there tight as you shriek and try to escape.

He watches the water crusade over you, your body shivering and he doesn't fight the satisfied look on his face.

"Lao!" You shriek, your hair weighing down under the cold divets of water. "You asshole!"

He sighs in exaggerated bliss, obviously enjoying the desired effect it had on you. He holds you tighter to him, his body radiating a warmth that contradicts the cold water pouring down on you. "You know you deserved that."

You shiver, goosebumps rising on your skin. His gaze follows the trail of water running down your body, following the lines of your curves. Your nipples perked, hardened. But when you shiver again, your teeth clattering, he finally finds some mercy and turns the water to warm. He moves himself under the stream of water as well, letting it rain over you both. He sighs at the contact.

You harmlessly glare up at him. "You are such…" You honestly had no good comeback.

"Can't help it." His voice lacked remorse. "You provoked me."

"Pain my ass," you mutter beneath your breath, but you know damn well you partially deserved that.

But hell, if you didn't absolutely adore him...

"You have a nice ass," he adds after a moment.

"Lao, if you don't shut up for at least two minutes.."