#helped me get out of a really bad art rut

[bytemee]

۶ৎ STUNNER — yu jimin.

“my little angel in disguise..."

⌗ in which— you're a painter who hasn't picked up a brush in months. then one night at your best friends gallery, you meet a stranger who inspires you more than you ever thought possible. you don’t know her name. you don’t know that she’ll disappear before morning. you don’t know that when your hands finally remember how to move, how to paint, it’ll be her face staring back at you from the canvas.

but—when your best friend sees your finished piece, she says eight words that change everything:

"why the hell did you paint the princess?"

pairing. princess!karina x painter!fem!reader

warning(s). language, mentions of alcohol and smoking, mild angst, kissing + implied nsfw but not explicit, happy ending.

word count. 5.7k

authors note. @bimkayd for u. i also have to update my masterlist...bad.

when creativity strikes, it strikes.

like, really fucking hard. and it always comes at the worst times—when you’re in the shower, when you’re half-asleep, when you’re five minutes away from an important meeting you don’t even want to be at. but for the past few months, it hasn’t come at all.

time blurs when you’re stuck in the same four walls, staring at blank canvases like you're trying to have a staring contest with them. the paints dry in their tubes, waiting for you to wake up from whatever this is—this rut, this drought, this fucking nothingness in your head.

yunjin tells you it’s a phase. "everyone goes through it," she says over the phone, her voice tinny with excitement, too busy preparing for her own gallery opening to properly pity you. “come to my exhibit tonight. it’ll help.”

so you go to her art gallery opening. you haven't been out of the house in weeks. you haven't painted anything worth showing in months. it's a miracle you can dress yourself and brush your teeth without collapsing.

the gallery is packed when you arrive, an ocean of well-dressed bodies moving in slow currents, sipping expensive champagne from delicate flutes and admiring the artwork. most of these paintings are by yunjin herself—all bold colors and abstract shapes—but there are a few others here, too, and you spend some time wandering around, looking at them all.

your favorite is a painting done in blues and greys, full of sharp angles and harsh shadows. the paint looks thick enough to feel under your fingertips. there's a small plaque in front of it that reads "untitled" and nothing else. you stare at it for what feels like hours, but it must only be minutes because when you look up, yunjin is standing beside you, smiling.

"do you like it?" she asks.

"i love it," you reply. "it's stunning."

she laughs. "that's what i was going for."

yunjin nudges you playfully with her elbow. “so? feeling inspired yet?”

you scoff, but it lacks real bite. “i don’t think staring at other people’s work is going to magically make me able to paint again.”

“maybe not,” she muses, taking a sip of champagne. “but getting out of your own head for once might.”

you don’t have the energy to argue with her. not when she’s right. not when she’s always right.

you then let her drag you through the gallery, introducing you to people whose names you’ll forget before the night is over. collectors, critics, other artists—everyone here looks effortlessly put together, as if they belong in a world you haven’t touched in far too long. you nod, you shake hands, you make small talk. it takes every ounce of strength you have just to act normal, as if you haven't been locked inside your own head for months now. as if there isn’t a black hole where your creativity used to be.

"your work is so… bold," says one woman, sipping from her champagne flute. "i love it."

"thank you," you say, hoping your smile doesn't look as strained as it feels.

you glance around the room, looking for anything that might distract you from this conversation. a familiar face. a bathroom sign. anything. but all you see are unfamiliar faces and unreadable paintings on the walls, and suddenly you feel dizzy.

claustrophobic.

you need to get out of here.

now.

"excuse me," you mutter, slipping away from the woman before she can ask another question.

you don't know where you're going, but it doesn't matter. as long as it's somewhere else. your shoes click against the tile floor as you weave through the crowd, eyes focused on the exit ahead, sliding out the door into fresh air.

the night is cool on your skin, but not cold. you can still hear the sounds of the city echoing off the buildings, muffled music from inside the gallery mixing with distant traffic and the occasional car horn. it's a beautiful night, perfect weather for an art opening. if only you could appreciate it.

you lean back against the wall, fishing your pack of cigarettes out of your pocket. they're crumpled up but still intact, thanks to the tin foil wrapper you put around them before heading over here. you've been trying to quit lately, but old habits die hard.

besides, you figure you deserve this one.

you light a cigarette and inhale deeply, letting the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling slowly, watching as it curls and dissipates into the air. it tastes terrible—like ash and chemicals and bitter regret—but it calms your nerves, just a little bit.

and then the door swings open again.

at first, you think it's security. some guy ready to kick you out for loitering in the wrong place. but then you see her, stumbling out the back entrance of the gallery, looking flustered and annoyed. she's wearing an expensive-looking gown with a slit up one side, showing off her long legs, and heels so tall you'd trip over them yourself if you tried to walk in them. her hair is perfectly coiffed and her makeup flawless, but her expression says she wants to be anywhere else.

you stare, transfixed. she’s all contrast. elegance and frustration. poise and unrest. a picture-perfect masterpiece comes to life.

"do you have another?" she asks, motioning to your cigarette.

her voice snaps you out of your reverie, and you arch an eyebrow. she looks too perfect, too put together, to be standing here asking you for a cigarette. "you smoke?"

a pause. then, "no. never actually."

you laugh to yourself, not in a mean way, more like you're trying to convince yourself this isn't actually happening. "so why'd you ask me for one?"

"because i want to try," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "i want to try something new."

she’s so fucking out of place here. all that polish, all that perfection—it makes her look like a mirage, something that can't possibly be real. her hair’s perfect, her makeup looks like it was painted on by a master, and that damn dress? it’s made for a runway, not this alley. she’s like someone dropped a fantasy into a real, gritty world, and for some reason she ended up here.

her eyes don’t leave yours as she waits—most likely for you to respond, to offer the cigarette she asked for, to say something, anything—but you stay silent because your mind is working faster than your body right now, and you need a moment to catch up.

“you wouldn’t like it,” you finally say, once the gears have started turning again, your words sounding much steadier than you feel.

her eyebrow furrowed, her lips turning down just slightly at the corners. not quite a frown, not yet, but a near thing. you've never wanted to capture an expression on canvas as much as you do right now, her face in all its beauty and annoyance.

"why not?" she asks, sounding indignant, almost insulted. "do you not trust my judgment? my tastes?"

she seems to be talking herself into it, the challenge sparking something behind her gaze. and though her posture doesn't change, you can practically feel the determination radiating off her.

you laugh. "you're missing out on the exhibit, you know."

"i could say the same to you," she counters. "why are you out here?"

you could give her a simple answer, something about needing a break, needing air, needing to get away from the suffocating crowd of people who actually have something to show for themselves. but none of that would be the truth, so you simply shrug and say—

"—wasn't really feeling the whole art world pretentiousness thing."

"strange place to be if you're not a fan."

"my friend dragged me." you admit, dropping the cigarette butt to the ground and grinding it out with the toe of your shoe.

she cocks her head to the side, eyes flicking down to the now extinguished butt before looking back up. it's her turn to stare at you. to take in your appearance—the plain button-up, dark dress slacks, and polished black leather shoes. if not for the tattoos peeking out from your sleeves and collar, you'd just look like another patron, dressed to impress and blend into the crowd.

"are you an artist as well?"

you smile at the question, "used to be."

her gaze softens, "used to be?"

"haven't painted in a while."

the pout is back, her eyebrows scrunching together as she stares at you, clearly processing this information, taking in your words and decoding them, working through their implications and how they fit into the context. she settles with, "well, do you plan to ever again?"

it's a simple question. one you should have a simple answer to, but life isn't simple. and art, well, art's a fucking mess. your shoulders rise before dropping.

"why not?" her eyes narrow. "have you given up?"

"not giving up." you tell her. "just stuck."

her lips press together like she doesn’t quite believe you. like she’s debating whether to push, whether to pry, whether you’re just making excuses.

"stuck how?" she asks, arms crossing over her chest.

you huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “you ask a lot of questions.”

“i like knowing things,” she says easily. “and i like understanding people. you intrigue me.”

it shouldn’t affect you the way it does. but those words—you intrigue me—they lodge themselves somewhere deep, twisting and turning like a key fitting into a lock you didn’t realize was waiting to be opened.

you glance down, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the pavement, considering how to answer. the truth is ugly. the truth is that you used to paint like your life depended on it—because, in a way, it did. it was your lifeline, your voice, your way of making sense of things when nothing else made sense.

and then, one day, it just—stopped. the inspiration, the fire, the need—all of it dried up, like a well you kept going back to, only to find it emptier each time.

"you ever look at something so much you forget what made it beautiful in the first place?" you ask instead.

she doesn’t answer right away; she just watches you, eyes flickering over your face. trying to read you is like a puzzle box. or a book. you wonder what kind of story she thinks she finds on your face. what she sees, besides the tired bags under your eyes and the slight tremble in your hands.

when she speaks, her voice is quiet. low. it carries across the distance between you and hits you right where it counts.

"i think everything can be beautiful again. if you look at it the right way."

"yeah?" you say, a little more bitter than you mean to. "that easy, huh?"

her lips quirk, not quite a smile, but close. "i didn’t say it was easy. i just think… maybe beauty isn’t lost. maybe it’s just waiting to be found again."

you swallow, forcing yourself to scoff lightly, to shake your head. "you always this philosophical, or is that just the champagne talking?"

she laughs, soft but real. "i haven’t had a single sip tonight."

"then what are you doing out here?"

"i needed fresh air."

your fingers twitch. she speaks again.

"and maybe you just need a new muse."

you wonder if she even realizes what she’s saying. if she knows that, somehow, without even trying, she’s already painting herself into every blank canvas in your mind.

the night unravels like a half-finished painting—smudged, chaotic, too many colors bleeding into each other. you don’t remember who kissed whom first, only that one second she was looking at you like she saw something worth figuring out, and the next, your hands were on her waist, and she was breathing against your lips.

it’s desperate. messy. her dress pools on the floor of your too-small apartment, and her skin feels like something you’re not supposed to touch but can’t help but reach for anyway. you don’t ask her name. she doesn’t ask for yours. it’s better that way.

and then, when morning comes, she’s gone. no note, no number, nothing. you don't have to guess if it was real or not because the memories are too vivid, too sharp, for it to be anything but. you lie there for a while, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything over and over in your head.

the way she looked. the way she tasted. the way she felt.

your hands are itching, craving the feeling of your brush in your hand.

it’s not a choice. not really.

your body moves before your mind can catch up, reaching for the brushes, the paints, and the canvas that’s been gathering dust in the corner. the moment the bristles touch the surface, it’s like something clicks back into place—like an old wound finally scabbing over.

she appears in fragments first. the curve of her jaw. the slope of her neck. the way her lips parted like she was about to say something, only to change her mind. it’s obsessive, almost. you don’t even think about what you’re doing, only that you have to do it. the need rushes through you like wildfire, consuming everything in its path.

you don’t know how long you sit there, lost in the act of pulling her from memory onto canvas. hours, maybe.

that’s how yunjin finds you.

she kicks the door shut behind her, dropping a bag onto the counter like she’s another name on your lease. "you alive?" she asks, but then she sees you—sees the paint on your hands, your clothes, your face. sees the finished piece propped up in front of you.

and she stops short.

"oh."

her tone is surprised, breathless, then she laughs, loud and disbelieving.

"oh my god," she says, eyes wide with something between amusement and shock. "why the hell did you paint the princess?"

you blink, exhausted. “what?”

she gestures to the painting like it should be obvious. “why did you paint the princess?”

your stomach drops. “the what?”

she stares at you. “you’re joking.”

“i—” you look at the painting. at her.

your pulse thuds in your ears.

“yunjin,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “what the fuck are you talking about?”

it’s a joke. it has to be.

you wait for yunjin to laugh, to tell you she’s messing with you, but she doesn’t. she just stares at you, then back at the painting, then back at you again like you’re the dumbest person alive.

“you seriously didn’t know?”

your mouth is dry. you shake your head. yunjin lets out a sharp breath.

"oh my god. you—you slept with the princess, and you didn’t even know?” the words hit you like a punch. you stare at the painting—at her—but it doesn’t make sense.

princesses don’t sneak out of fancy events. princesses don't try to bum cigarettes off strangers in alleyways. princesses don’t have one-night stands with random depressed artists they meet in the back of art galleries.

you swallow hard, rubbing a hand down your face. “fuck.”

“yeah,” yunjin says, crossing her arms. “fuck.”

you stare at her, then at the painting, and then back at her. the gears turn in your head, trying to connect the dots, trying to fit this new information into the picture. "are you sure?" you ask, even though you know she wouldn't lie about this. "like, absolutely fucking positive?"

"of course i'm fucking positive!" she throws her hands up. "do you not pay attention to the news at all?"

your mind whirls with the new information.

it’s not that she was just some stranger slipping out before sunrise. she's a princess. a whole gorgeous untouchable, have you said untouchable? — princess.

and now she’s everywhere. on the news, in magazines, her face staring back at you from glowing screens and glossy pages. every headline, every camera flash, every fucking update on her. princess karina seen leaving in the royal car. princess karina attending an art gala. princess karina, princess karina, princess karina.

you try to forget. you try to be normal again—whatever that means. you go back to ignoring your canvases, sitting on the couch, flipping through channels you don’t really watch. you even let yunjin drag you out a few times, shove drinks in your hand, and tell you to move on already. but it doesn’t work.

because she’s still in your head.

so you chase.

not in the obvious way. not in the stupid, reckless, get-yourself-arrested-for-trying-to-climb-the-palace-gates way.

you chase in the quiet ways. the ways that don’t make sense to anyone else. the ways that make yunjin groan and say, “you are literally the most tragic idiot i’ve ever met. but i'll help you anyway."

and that's how you find yourself here. in a palace that is stupidly big.

like, what do you even do with this much space? big. it’s all gold and chandeliers and marble floors and suits of armor standing around, looking vaguely threatening. it makes your skin itch.

you don’t belong here. you know that. but neither did she, that night outside the gallery. and if she could slip out of this world for one night, maybe—just maybe—you can slip in.

yunjin had connections. she always did. you didn’t ask questions when she got you in, just pulled the sleeves of your borrowed suit down and tried not to look like you wanted to throw up.

you have a plan. it doesn't go smoothly.

"i'm sorry, miss. only those on the guest list may enter."

"oh, i—" you scramble to find an excuse. any excuse. "i am on the guest list."

the guard doesn't move. he doesn't even blink.

"what's your name?"

"uh—" your mind blanks. "it's a very long name. very, very long. with a lot of letters. like, a lot of them. you wouldn't be able to pronounce it."

the guard doesn’t look amused. or convinced.

"try me."

you throw out the first thing that comes to mind. "it’s, uh… y/n… the first… y/ln… the third."

silence.

then yunjin, from beside you, coughs so hard you think she might pass out. you nudge her with your elbow, but she’s already turning away, shoulders shaking.

the guard, however, does not laugh. he just stares at you like you’re the dumbest person to ever breathe.

"that’s not a real name."

"it could be," you argue weakly.

he crosses his arms. "it isn’t."

you exhale through your nose, willing yourself not to turn and run. not yet. not when you’re this close.

yunjin, finally recovering, clears her throat and steps in. "okay, okay, my idiot friend here—who, i assure you, is actually very harmless—just has a little bit of trouble with names. what they meant to say is that they’re a guest of lady yu."

the guard squints at you both, skeptical. "lady yu?"

"yes," yunjin says smoothly. "you know, lady yu. very high society. loves art. huge fan of… uh, brush strokes."

you resist the urge to slap a hand over your face.

the guard exhales, clearly debating whether dealing with the two of you is worth his time. eventually, he lifts a radio to his mouth, murmuring something you can’t hear. a beat later, he nods.

"you’re clear to enter."

you don’t ask how yunjin pulled that off; just grab her hand and pull her inside before the guy can change his mind.

and then you’re in.

the palace is even more ridiculous further inside. every inch screams money. gilded ceilings, more enormous chandeliers, even shinier marble floors that make you extra aware of how not rich you are.

you scan the room, searching, heart pounding in your throat. and then—

there.

at the far end of the ballroom, half-surrounded by nobles and dignitaries and all the kinds of people who actually belong here, she stands. regal. poised. effortlessly untouchable.

princess karina.

and she’s looking right at you.

you swallow. she arches an eyebrow. her expression shifts, then she's up and moving. in your direction. then, without a word, her fingers wrap around your wrist, firm but not rough, and she turns, pulling you with her.

you barely have time to process what’s happening before you’re weaving through the gilded halls, past guards who barely spare you a glance, past murmuring guests too distracted by their own conversations to notice the princess slipping away with some stranger in a borrowed suit.

she doesn’t stop until you’re deep in the palace, past the public rooms, past the private suites, past everything anyone else has a right to see. only then does she let go.

you swallow hard, rubbing at your wrist. "subtle."

she ignores you, crossing her arms. "what the hell are you doing here? you're not supposed to be here."

your throat feels dry. "i know."

"then why are you?"

you lick your lips, suddenly 1000x more nervous than you were standing outside the palace gates. "i—" you inhale sharply. "i tried to forget you. and i couldn’t."

"that’s unfortunate."

your chest tightens. "is it?"

she exhales softly through her nose. "what do you want, really?"

and it hits you, all at once, all over again. why you’re here. why you had to come.

you take a step forward, closing the distance between you. your eyes never leave hers. "do you know what it means to be a muse?"

that throws her. a small crease forms between her brows. "i—"

"it means you exist everywhere," you cut in before she can finish. "even when i try to ignore it. even when i don’t want to think about you. you show up in every color, in every stroke of my brush, in every painting i try to create. you are impossible to forget."

her mouth opens and closes. "that doesn’t—you can't—"

"it means you stole something from me," you continue, your voice growing softer as you close the last bit of distance between you. "something i didn’t even realize i was missing until you came into my life and showed me what it meant to feel alive again. you're my muse."

her breath catches at that, lips parting just slightly, as if to speak, but no words come out. you take advantage of the moment, reaching up to cup her face in your hands, brushing a thumb over her cheekbone. she leans into your touch, eyelashes fluttering against her skin, eyes falling shut for a moment. and then they open again, dark and intense and so, so beautiful.

she searches your face as her hand reaches up to rest against yours. you want to kiss her, want to tell her you want her in the simplest terms, in a way that even a princess can understand. you lean forward, pressing your forehead against hers, and ask, "do you feel the same? was it real, what i felt between us?"

you barely whisper the question out loud, barely hearing her inhale as she closes the space between you. her lips brush against yours, featherlight but enough to make your stomach flip. “i can't be that for you,” she says against your mouth.

and your heart breaks. you know you were just a one-time thing, just a quick fling for her. it's the whole princess thing. you knew it would be complicated, but you couldn't stop thinking about her, and she's looking at you with such an intense look, a look that says she can't forget you either, and that has to be worth something, right?

you don't realize you said all of it out loud until she pulls away, blinking rapidly. "wait, no—that's not—that's not what i meant," she stammers, suddenly looking much younger and more vulnerable than you've ever seen her. "that night at the gallery, with you, was real. that was—it was the only time i've ever felt that way."

"but," like always

her gaze softens. "we can't. you can't just come in here like this."

she says the last bit as if you've done something wrong, and her hands pull back to her sides. you don't have it in you to care about her rules anymore. her hands fall to her sides, but you stay still, your forehead hovering near hers, your breath mixing.

"i don't care about protocol," you whisper. "i care about you."

"stop," she says, softer than before. "you can't just say things like that and expect me to—"

"expect you to what?" your voice rises, sharp edges showing. "feel the same? you already do. you’re just scared. and i get it. i do. but don’t pretend this didn’t mean anything."

"i'm not pretending," she snaps, taking a step back, composure cracking. "i haven't stopped thinking about you either, okay? but that doesn’t change the fact that this—us—it’s impossible."

"why? because you wear a crown and i wear paint under my nails?"

"because my life isn’t mine!" she yells. "because everything i do is watched and calculated and twisted into something ugly. if they knew you were here—if they saw us like this—"

"then let them see," you say, helpless and stupid and in love. "i'll stand in front of every one of them and say it. i'll tell them how i look at you like the sun rises in your mouth and sets in your goddamn spine. i don't care."

"well, i care!" she shouts, her voice shaking now, full of fire and something just comparable to fear. "i can't afford to want things. not like you do. not recklessly. i don't get to choose who i love."

it's quiet.

"you need to leave."

you don’t move.

"if you don’t, i'll call the guards."

you flinch, and she notices. her jaw clenches. it takes everything in you not to beg.

“don’t make me do that,” she whispers. “please. just go.”

your throat is tight. you nod once.

you turn, heart heavy, the room blurring at the edges. when you open the door, yunjin is waiting, quiet and still in the corridor, like she knew this was how it’d end.

you don’t say a word as she walks beside you down the long hallway, past the grand ballroom, and out of the palace. she doesn’t push for information or ask about what happened. she just lets you stew in your thoughts, and you are grateful. when you get back to your apartment, you collapse onto the bed. you don’t cry—you never really did, even in high school, and now doesn't seem like a good time to start—but you come pretty fucking close.

you lie there for hours. maybe days. hard to tell. just you, your ceiling, and the hollow space behind your ribs where your heart used to sit before she carved it out with a single sentence and left like it didn’t matter.

you tell yourself it was stupid to fall for her. she’s a fucking princess. what were you expecting? that she’d run off with you into the sunset like a fairy tale? that she’d burn her whole world down just to be with someone who wears the same hoodie four days in a row and forgets to buy groceries until you’re eating plain rice and mustard?

but it still hurts.

the gallery night is yunjin’s idea. she throws a flyer at your chest and tells you to “get a grip and make rent.” you roll your eyes, but deep down you know she’s right. you need something to do with your hands, something to keep you from climbing the palace walls like some deranged romantic with a death wish.

you don’t expect anyone to show up, but people come. some friends. some strangers. a few art freaks who talk way too much about your “use of longing and space.” you just nod along, pretending you're three seconds away from yelling in their face.

everything is her. every painting. every messy, unblended brushstroke. every fucking streak of white paint on the canvas because she wore that blue dress when you first met, and now it’s like your brain can’t forget.

the last person leaves, some guy who said a lot of things you didn't understand, and you don't really remember the specifics of it, but you're pretty sure you shook hands, and maybe he wrote down your name and contact info? you don't remember. but there are no more guests. so you’re cleaning up. closing things. mentally debating whether or not you can drink paint thinner and survive.

the door creaks open behind you, and you don’t even look.

“sorry,” you call over your shoulder, wiping your hands on a rag. “we’re closed. private event's over.”

no response. just the sound of the door shutting. then —

“are you always this rude to royalty?”

you freeze.

slowly, slowly, you turn around. and she's standing there, in a white coat with her arms folded against her chest. there are shadows under her eyes, like she hasn’t been sleeping either. it takes everything in you not to run to her. not to kiss her until she forgets all the reasons why she ran the first time. you settle for swallowing hard and clearing your throat.

“you could’ve just knocked."

“i did." she lifts her hand. “twice. and then i panicked and came in anyway.”

you stare. she fidgets.

she looks down at her shoes. looks back up again. looks back down again. like she doesn’t know what to do with herself now that she's here. finally, she takes a step forward. you take a step back. it's reflex at this point, some instinct to keep her from getting too close.

"i came to apologize," she starts, sounding unsure, which isn't like her at all. "for—everything."

karina runs a hand through her hair. your throat goes tight at the familiarity of the action, at how much she reminds you of that night, that stupid dress, and the way she kissed you, indicating that she didn’t care what came next.

you exhale.

"don’t apologize," you say, because the words feel heavy and foreign in your mouth, because she's been living a life you can't even begin to imagine, because none of that matters if she's here, looking at you like this, and you have to believe in something. "you didn't do anything wrong. and if anyone needs to apologize, it should be me. i shouldn't have—"

"you were right," she cuts in before you can finish.

it throws you. "what?"

she swallows hard, glancing down at the floor, at your shoes. then back up again, holding your gaze this time. "i don't know much about art, but i know what you meant…for someone to be your muse." her voice drops low. "and i think you're mine."

you blink. "oh."

a pause. her cheeks flush, eyes widening in panic.

"was that—did that make sense? i probably sound like a—"

"yeah."

you nod, trying not to smile as you watch her rambling, trying not to stare too obviously at how her whole face is blushing now.

you want to tell her everything. to show her everything.

you settle for, "i mean, it does make sense."

it does. it doesn’t. none of this does, not in a normal way. it's the kind of thing you tell your grandkids about someday. or maybe a therapist, if you can ever afford one. either way, it makes something flicker deep within your chest.

you pause.

"so what do you mean, exactly?"

her lips purse. her eyes are pleading now. she looks younger. more human. not so much a princess anymore as she does someone trying to figure out how to tell the world to screw off. you're struck, again, with how much you love her. it feels like a physical ache in your chest.

"i want this," she says quietly, gesturing between the two of you. "i want this so much it scares me."

you're not used to this, to feeling seen by someone who isn't yunjin, and it throws you off. you clear your throat again, shifting from one foot to the other. "i want this too."

a pause. you try not to stare too openly at her lips. you fail miserably.

"we'll figure it out," she says softly. "together. whatever that looks like."

"together."

the word hangs between you, heavy with everything left unsaid. and then—

you don’t even realize what's happening until she's already moving forward, pulling you down to her level. you can smell her perfume. you can see every single detail of her face as she stares back at you. your lips are a breath apart. she hesitates.

"tell me you don't want this," she murmurs. "and i'll go."

your chest constricts, throat tight. you want to tell her it'll never be easy, not when you're you, and not when she's her, not when this could be so much more complicated than either of you are prepared for. but you also want this, want her, want to know what her skin feels like against your palms and whether or not the words i love you sound good when spoken aloud. you swallow hard, hands tightening on her hips.

"i can't," you whisper. "i don't think i've ever wanted anything more."

a smile flickers over her face. it's gone too quickly. "good."

her lips are on yours, soft and gentle, and everything in your life shifts back into focus, into place.

there are things you can't explain. the way she feels pressed against your chest, warm and perfect and yours, for now at least. the way your hands shake when you brush your thumb over the curve of her cheek. the way she tastes like starlight.

and there are things you don't have to.

[ayyy-pee]

𝟛 𝕀𝕤𝕟'𝕥 𝕒 ℂ𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕕

Discord 18+ - Twitter - JJK Masterlist

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Suguru Geto x Female Reader

WC: 5.4k

Summary: It's Satoru's birthday. And you give him the best gift he could ask for.

Story Warning: Established Relationship, Smut, Threesome, Blowjob, Mutual Masturbation, Female Masturbation, Male Masturbation, Cum Eating, Profanity because come on..., Anal Sex, Ass Stuff, Vaginal Penetration, Vaginal Fingering, Cute Lil Nicknames, Oral Sex (M/M), Oral Sex (F/M - female receiving and male receiving), Creampies, Gojo Satoru moaning and groaning and whimpering and whining and..., Three way Sex??, Suguru Getting Fucked in the Ass While He Fucks Reader - HELP!!!

Art by: Ilameys (Twitter)

It’s Satoru’s birthday.

And currently, he’s receiving the best gift he could have asked for from his sweet girlfriend. It’s incredible, practically has him on the verge of tears. He's so grateful for you.

When you’d first come to him with this proposal, honestly? Satoru was wary. This could change things for you both, in either a good way or bad. But, the most surprising part was that Satoru still ended up saying yes. And it’s a good thing he did because he’s not finding it in himself to be able to regret it when you’re doing that with your tongue.

“Oh, you’re gonna fucking kill me.” Satoru’s head lolls back, mouth opening slightly as a soft groan leaves his lips. Right now, he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, legs spread wide as he lets you have your way with him. You’ve got your pretty lips wrapped around his most sensitive area, slowly working him closer and closer to his release.

You hum sensually around him and his back stiffens, the vibration of your voice shooting straight through his cock and up his spine and it’s got his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Ah –” he pants, hand coming down to find purchase on the back of your head. He pushes your head down, forcing your throat open to take his entire swollen length down your throat until you’re gagging and squeezing around him and he’s whimpering, hips thrusting up mercilessly. 

“Like that, baby.” He whines, watching how you sputter and choke on his cock. “Just like that. Fuck, you’re gonna make me–”

A pair of arms wraps around Satoru’s shoulders from behind just before a warm pair of lips press a kiss to his temple, along his cheek, a hot tongue dragging along the shell of his ear. And Satoru thinks he really might cum down your throat until he hears a soft –

“Easy, Satoru.” 

It’s immediate, the way he releases you and you come up for air with a rough gasp. Your hands find Satoru’s throbbing length automatically, stroking him lazily as you catch your breath.

“Thank you,” you choke out, voice hoarse from the abuse your throat just took. “He almost fucking killed me.” You scowl at Satoru who scowls right back before he pouts.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He coos down to you gently. He runs his fingers over your cheek softly. “Just got excited about my birthday present.”

There’s a quiet chuckle behind him and a large pair of hands come down to run along Satoru’s bare chest. “Be gentle, Satoru. Don’t wear yourself out before I get to have fun with you.”

Those lips trail sweet kisses along Satoru’s jaw before moving down his neck, all while those hands find his swollen length. Satoru’s head falls back again, a deep groan following. His pleasure overtakes him. So much so that he doesn’t notice the bed shifting with movement. Doesn’t notice when you release your hold on him to trade places. Doesn’t notice when you move onto the bed behind him and lick along the pulsepoint in his neck.

It’s only when his cock enters the wet cavern of another mouth that his eyes shoot open and his back arches against you at the same time his hips rut forward. The sensation is overwhelming, just as good as you, but different. Has him seeing stars in the best way. His gaze falls to his lap, eyes connecting with a pair of golden orbs peering up at him just as his tip nudges at their throat, slipping even deeper once they open up for him.

“Fucking hell, Suguru,” Satoru grits. You’re biting down on his neck, sucking lightly, marking him and Satoru’s eyes roll back again. The vision of Suguru buried nose deep in the tuft of white hair that sits between his legs as he takes Satoru down his throat…You touching him, kissing him, moaning lustfully in his ear…Suguru’s muffled groans…It all has his head swimming, has his heart beating thunderously in his ears.

Satoru turns his head to the side, catching your lips in a fiery kiss and your hands fly to his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue delves deep into your mouth. He claims you greedily, grunting and panting into you, nipping roughly at your lips, already swollen from Satoru fucking your face just moments before. 

This is heaven, Satoru thinks. Pure fucking nirvana. He would have never guessed that he’d be ending his birthday like this. Being catered to by his girlfriend and his best friend. It’s a dream come true. He only hopes every birthday after is just like this one because if you ever ask to do this again, he’ll agree without hesitation.

It’s all so incredibly obscene – the view of you three pleasuring each other. The sounds coming from the three of you. Suguru moaning and slurping as his head sloppily bobs up and down on Satoru’s dick. You, whimpering into Satoru’s mouth after every wet kiss.

“You taste so fucking good, ‘Toru,” Suguru rasps quietly after coming off Satoru’s cock with a loud POP. You hum in agreement, suddenly breaking the kiss and leaving Satoru chasing your lips with a whimper. It’s so cute, his hair disheveled and cheeks dusted an adorable shade of pink.

You giggle when he tries to reach your lips again and you gently comb your fingers through his snowy locks. It has Satoru shuddering beneath your touch.

“He does, doesn’t he?” You ask the man between your boyfriend’s thighs, pouting as you watch Satoru lean forward again, desperately trying to get to your mouth once more. So you take pity on the poor man and give him a soft peck to appease him. “He tastes so sweet. Right, Sugu?”

You gaze down to watch Suguru nod, running his tongue flat from the base of Satoru’s cock to his head, where a shiny new bead of precum begins to form. He wraps his lips around the angry red tip and sucks greedily, taking every drop he can. It has Satoru falling back on the bed, sucking in a sharp breath, a string of curses shortly following.

“Is Sugu doing a good job, babe?” You coo, still running your fingers through his hair. Satoru nods quickly, a high pitched “mhmm” rushing past his lips. Meanwhile, Suguru has now taken to delicately catering to Satoru’s balls with his tongue, lapping and suckling his sack while his fist pumps his cock.

“Gonna cum, baby,” Satoru softly, his hips thrusting into Suguru’s hand as he chases his high. You dip your head, kissing him sweetly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, gonna cum, ‘m gonna cum,” his voice rises, abdomen tensing as he feels his release quickly rushing from his balls.

You turn your attention to Suguru who laps hungrily at Satoru’s tip. “Open up, Sugu.” You tell him and Suguru opens wide, groaning when Satoru’s hips come up one last time before you watch thick ropes of cum spurt from his tip and land on Suguru’s tongue. Satoru’s thighs shake with his release, a garbled string of curses falling from his lips. And you caress his skin gently, whispering sweet words to him, talking him through his release.

Satoru thinks this must be such a sexy sight for you – watching your boyfriend unravel beneath the touch of his best friend. He can tell by the way you squeeze your thighs together as you speak to him, seeking some sort of relief. It’s so cute how you’re getting off watching someone else get him off. But he wants you to feel good, too.

So he reaches for you, his large hand squeezing your thigh, voice choking out, “C’mere” while Suguru presses soft smooches to Satoru’s softening cock. Your boyfriend pulls you towards him, tapping your legs, indicating what he wants you to do – spread them and sit on his face. 

And who are you to deny the birthday boy?

You move to position yourself over Satoru, facing the head board, but he stops you, twirling his finger in the air, a goofy grin splayed across his face. “Turn around.” His voice comes out rougher than he means for it to, but he’s trying really fucking hard to hold it together because at the moment, Suguru’s nimble fingers are caressing along his inner thighs, his thumb is brushing against Satoru’s hole and Satoru’s hips are bucking up on instinct. He’s already getting hard again, but he’s still so sensitive from his last release that he fears he might cum again, and soon if Suguru keeps it up.

You turn, now facing Suguru and watching his ministrations that have your boyfriend squeezing onto your thighs for dear life. “Want you to watch me fuck his mouth while you fuck mine.” He tells you.

You sigh softly, try to squeeze your thighs together again to find that sweet relief you’ve been getting while watching Suguru suck your boyfriend off, but Satoru’s head blocks your way. He laughs, smacking your ass harshly and pulling a loud yelp from you just before he pulls you down to his face.

The force has you falling forward, quickly catching yourself so that you’re now on all fours, inches away from Suguru’s face. His golden eyes look up into yours as he hollows his cheeks before he swallows your boyfriend’s cock all the way to the base again. At the same time, Satoru growls into your core, sucks at your swollen clit, eliciting a pornographic moan from you that echoes throughout the bedroom.

Suguru is so good at that, at taking all of Satoru. You love the way his tongue flicks at his tip, how he laps at Satoru’s pretty dick with his pink tongue, how his eyes bore into yours while he has Satoru whimpering into your sopping cunt. And on the other end, you wish it was you making Satoru’s legs shake, making him thrust involuntarily into your mouth, making him cry out when you suck him just right.

It’s driving you crazy.

And Suguru must know it because his eyes never leave yours. You can tell he’s enjoying this, too, his eyes narrowing with joy when your mouth falls slack as Satoru runs his hot tongue along your folds. Satoru takes your clit into his mouth again and sucks, moaning into your cunt when you gush onto his tongue.

“Ah, Satoru, right there, baby. Shit –”

It’s Suguru who moans in response, watching as Satoru eats you out while his friend now lazily strokes his cock.

“You’re fucking sexy,” Suguru sighs, eyes raking over your body before landing on your mouth. He bites down on his lip and you can see his mind going a million miles a minute right then. He leans forward, softly licking Satoru’s tip before he asks. “Can I kiss her, Satoru?”

Your eyes widen just slightly when Satoru lifts you off of his face. “Only if she wants to,” he grunts before he’s back to devouring you like a man starved. Suguru’s eyes are still locked onto you.

“Is that okay with you, pretty?” He asks, letting his tongue hang out of his mouth so he can tap Satoru’s cock against it. “You wanna kiss me?”

Your breath hitches and you mewl quietly, fists clenching the sheets on either side of your boyfriend. Suguru’s lips are so pretty, so swollen from sucking Satoru off. He’s so fucking sexy. You want to kiss Suguru so badly, it has you clenching around Satoru’s tongue as he thrusts the muscle into your walls. So you nod eagerly. Yes, you want to kiss him. He knows you want to, but Suguru is so much like Satoru that you know what it is he wants. He wants you to say it. 

“I–” you bite back a moan as Satoru licks a fat stripe over your clit at the same time Suguru licks one up Satoru’s dick. “Wanna kiss you, Sugu. Wanna kiss you so, so bad.”

A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest and he stands, closing the gap between you. He doesn’t kiss you just yet, though. He just watches you with hooded eyes, your chest heaving with each heavy pant as Satoru wrecks your pussy with his tongue. It’s then that Satoru decides to slip a finger into your tight hole, groaning when you cry out his name and clench around his thick digit.

And Suguru takes advantage of the moment, quickly leaning forward. His mouth claiming yours, swallowing every cry of Satoru’s name. Your head is spinning, the familiar taste of Satoru on his tongue mixed with his foreign one making your heart race. Suguru holds your face still while he slides his tongue along yours, bites your lip, grunts into your mouth. His free hand finds one of your hands and places it on Satoru’s length, wrapping your fingers around your boyfriend and using your hand to jerk him off.

“Good girl,” Suguru purrs against your lips and both you and Satoru let out a pathetic whimper. Suguru’s lips are back on yours immediately, his hand guiding you along Satoru’s cock, squeezing at the tip before sliding back down to the base. “So good, sweetheart.” He lets go of your hand, kissing you before he stands and takes his own cock in his hand. “I saw the way you were taking Satoru’s dick in your mouth earlier. Can you do it again for me?”

Satoru smacks your ass, pulling back just enough to mutter, “show him, baby. Let him see how you take my cock down your throat.”

You think you and Suguru are just as good. Hell, Suguru could probably give you some pointers but who gives a fuck about any of that when you’ve got your boyfriend’s face buried between your legs and his best friend’s dick in your face, begging to watch you please your man?

You fist Satoru’s cock, squeezing hard and reveling in the way he gasps into your core. Then your lips wrap around his length, eyes set on the way Suguru stares down at you. He strokes himself, tongue poking his cheek as he watches you in amusement.

“Cute,” Suguru mutters, smiling when Satoru hums.

Satoru pulls away from you again, brows pinching together as he tries to catch his breath while you take him down to the hilt over and over again. “Fuck, baby. Suck my fucking dick, just like that,” Satoru rolls his hips up and in this position, he’s so much deeper, you’re struggling not to gag before he’s even touched your throat. “You’re so – ah, ah, shit – oh, you’re so fucking good. Such a good fucking girl for us.” 

He’s gasping desperately now, words catching in his throat and coming out as broken sobs and he pushes his hips up into your face, wanting more. But Satoru thinks he might cum again soon if you and Suguru keep swapping his dick like this. His balls already feel so tight, ready for another release.

He can hear the wet slap of Suguru fucking his hand as he watches you suck him off, as Satoru eats you out and it has his mind lighting up with ideas. Satoru wants you, of course. He always wants you, but he wants Suguru, too. And as his eyes watch Suguru get off watching you, clear desire in his eyes, Satoru thinks he has a solution that will make you all very happy.

You’re halfway down his shaft again when Satoru taps your thighs, signaling for you to get up. You do so immediately, Suguru slowing his motions, though his chest still rises and falls rapidly as his eyes stay locked on you. Satoru motions for you to lie down, so you do. He turns to Suguru, candid as ever when he asks, “You wanna fuck my girlfriend?”

You see the way Suguru’s eyes widen and then they’re closing, little crescent moons on his face as a sly smile spreads across his lips. “Real fucking bad, Satoru.”

Satoru nods, lips in a thin line as he processes this information. He holds his hand out to Suguru who takes it and crawls onto the bed with his knees. He runs his fingers through Suguru’s dark strands and then he tightens his grip, pulling Suguru’s lips onto his. They’re both groaning, hands in each other’s hair as their tongues tangle.

“I want you to fuck her, too,” Satoru grunts into Suguru’s mouth. “And I wanna fuck you while you do it.” His friend moans back into him, pulling Satoru closer, their hips colliding as their desire takes over. You look on, fingers idly rubbing your clit as you watch the two men practically fall apart any time their cocks brush against each other.

You want them both so badly, you don’t know what to do. But it’s not about you. It’s about Satoru and what he wants. And whatever he wants, you’ll do. So you watch and wait, playing with yourself while your boyfriend and his best friend caress each other. And it’s only when you finally whimper, feeling left out that the men finally break the kiss.

“I’m sorry, baby.” Satoru says, lips pink and puffy from his intense makeout session. He pouts, looking back at Suguru briefly who is right back to staring at you, his gaze observing the way your fingers play with your pretty pussy. Satoru grins, because he can see in the way Suguru watches you, that he finally understands why Satoru loves you so fucking much. And he hasn’t even fully had you. Not yet, anyway.

“Do you want Sugu to fuck you, baby?” Satoru asks when he sees you bite your lip as Suguru begins stroking his cock again. You nod quickly, without hesitation. Because like Suguru, you want to fuck him real fucking bad, too. “Use your words, beautiful.”

“I want Sugu to fuck me, ‘Toru,” you whine, slipping one of your fingers into your core. It’s nothing like the feeling of Satoru’s fingers stretching you but it makes your back arch off the bed just the same.

Behind Satoru, Suguru hisses, squeezing his cock in his fist. “I don’t know if I’ll last long, though. Not when you’re making cute little noises like that.”

Suguru is as honest as Satoru always is. No wonder they’re so close.

His response makes your boyfriend throw his head back with a loud laugh. “I probably won’t either. You good with this? I mean, it’s been awhile since we…” Satoru motions between the two of them and Suguru chuckles.

“I’ll be fine. Just make sure it’s wet enough.”

With that, Suguru moves past Satoru, golden orbs staring into your eyes as he crawls between your legs. “If you ever want to stop, let me know.” He tells you, gently. Then he’s leaning forward to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

Your arms come up, wrapping them around his shoulders and pulling him into another kiss. Satoru simply watches, his hand already wrapped around his dick and pumping slowly. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited to see this. “Be good to my girl, Sugu,” he groans, squeezing his tip. 

Satoru is mesmerized, watching the way Suguru grips your waist and squeezes the soft flesh. How that same hand slowly caresses a path up your torso, through the valley of your breasts where he stops briefly and takes his time taking each pebbled nipple between his fingers. How he swallows every soft whine and moan that falls from your lips with a kiss.

Any other person pulling this response from you would have Satoru fuming, but he loves you both more than anything in this world. In different ways, but his body reacts to you both just the same – with pure and raw desire. If it’s not him giving you this pleasure, he’s glad that it’s his best friend.

Suguru presses his hips into yours, his length resting between your folds. You push your tongue into his mouth with a soft sigh and Suguru sucks gently on the wet muscle, grunting when he feels your wetness cover his length. His cock pulses erratically against your core, twitching with need every time you moan into him, any time you roll your hips upwards and rub your slick cunt against him.

“Shit, beautiful. You keep that up and I’m gonna cum before I even get to fuck you.” He presses his lips hard against yours, breathing against you. “You already feel so goddamn good. So fucking wet. Can’t wait to fuck your pretty little cunt.”

His words have you reeling, arousal dripping from your core as you clutch his shoulders. You want this, you want him, you need him. And you tell him that. “So fuck me, Suguru.” You keen into his mouth. “Need you to fuck me so bad, please, please.”

“Ahh, fuck,” Suguru buries his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply before letting out a shuddering breath. His hand slips between your bodies, gripping his cock and lining himself up with your entrance. Behind him, you can see and hear Satoru rummaging around in your bedside table, only for a brief moment before he’s back on the bed.

His voice calls to you and you see his hand press to the center of Suguru’s back, pushing him forward, just a bit so that you have a clear view of him over Suguru’s broad shoulders. “Eyes on me, baby. Okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe.

Suguru slips into you, bottoming out immediately and you arch into him, your sensitive breasts pressing against his bare skin. He’s thick. Thicker than Satoru and stretches you so deliciously, you have to gasp in order to catch your breath. It doesn’t help that over his shoulder, you can see the pride on Satoru’s face. Like he’s proud of you for taking his best friend so well. He probably is. Which only makes your walls squeeze down on Suguru even tighter.

You can hear Suguru shushing you shakily. But he’s trying to keep his composure, too. Trying not to drain his balls in your sweet cunt in the two seconds he’s been inside you. 

Behind him, Satoru runs his hand gently along Suguru’s spine. “Feels amazing, right? I love that tight little pussy.” He says, and you can feel Suguru nodding his head, unable to answer. His breaths are still shaky, quiet grunts being panted against your skin. “Does he feel good, baby?” He asks you. 

And you hum, your fingers playing with the hair on Suguru’s nape soothingly.

“I know he does,” Satoru agrees. “He’s got an amazing dick.”

You can hear Satoru pop the cap to something you can only assume is the bottle of lube you keep in your nightstand, because you hear the telltale sound of liquid spurting from a bottle and feel Suguru tense for just a second above you. Satoru taps his cock against Suguru’s ass, loving the way the man’s muscles tense each time. He has one hand on your knee while he peers down at you, drinking in the sight of your flushed face, body glistening with sweat and your eyes glazed over with lust. 

‘Stunning,’ he thinks to himself. Satoru wants to watch your fucked out expression when it’s the only other person he loves buried inside you. He touches Suguru’s back, muttering. “Don’t leave her waiting, Sugu. Fuck her.”

It’s all Suguru needs to hear before he pulls his hips back slowly, all the way until his tip sits inside of you. And even just the tip is so heavy, your walls clench involuntarily, trying desperately to suck him back in.

“Shit, ‘Toru. Can’t believe you get this pussy to yourself all the time,” Suguru growls. And then he bottoms out, again and again, fucking you at a brutal pace. You cry out, gripping onto Suguru’s shoulders tightly as he pounds into you. His hips piston into yours, immediately finding your g-spot and pushing you closer and closer to your release. Your eyes threaten to shut, the pleasure taking over, until you catch sight of Satoru. He shakes his head in disapproval, his words to you echoing through your mind.

“Eyes on me.”

So you force your eyes open, watching Satoru who is now focused on running his length between Suguru’s ass cheeks. He’s slick with the lubricant Satoru has used and ready for him, but Satoru is enjoying watching the way Suguru’s hips move against yours way too much, how well you’re taking his friend, how you’re clutching onto him while he stuffs you full of his cock repeatedly.

“Oh, you’re doing so well, baby.” Satoru praises. And it didn’t really matter which one of you he was speaking to because you and Suguru both whimper in response.

Satoru loves the way his friend’s dick disappears into you. He loves how you spread your legs just a little more to accommodate him. He loves how your toes curl when Suguru hits your sweet spot. And he loves how Suguru’s balls tighten a little more with each thrust.

He knows you’re all close to reaching your peak at any moment and as much as he’d love for you all to fuck each other until the sun came up and his birthday was long over, Satoru can’t take being left out anymore.

Pressing his hand to Suguru’s lower back, he halts his friend’s movements just for a moment. He’s not able to hide the lopsided grin on his face when he hears the way you both whine in protest. He’s tempted to make you both wait, drag it out a little more, but when he spreads Suguru before him, sees the way his hole twitches in anticipation, he tosses that idea out of the window.

He bites down on his lip, because Suguru’s hole is just as pretty as he remembers it. Tiny, brown, cute. He can’t wait to fuck it. And clearly Suguru can’t wait either, because he opens his mouth and groans:

“Satoru.” He smashes his lips into yours. “Fuck me, Satoru.” His pleas come between muffled kisses, but Satoru can hear it all the same.

He obliges, pushing his tip to Suguru’s entrance and slowly rolling his hips forward. “So needy,” he grits out. Because just as he remembers, Suguru is so fucking hot, so fucking tight, he can’t do anything but fully focus on getting his cock as deep as he can go. And just as he remembers, Suguru takes him so fucking well, fits him like a glove. Satoru presses his weight into Suguru once he’s completely buried inside and hears a quiet “oh my god” fall from your lips as Suguru inadvertently pushes himself deeper into your core. Next to your head, Suguru balls the bedsheets into his fist.

“God, Sugu. Still so good. Still so fucking good.”

Suguru feels his length throb painfully. He needs to cum so badly, he can’t take much more. Between your cunt gripping him so tightly, threatening to milk him of every drop, and Satoru’s cock stuffing him to the brim, he’s about three pumps away from blowing his load. And you’re not doing much better. Your mouth is slack and you’re staring almost blankly behind him at your boyfriend as he slowly pulls out and drives his hips forward again.

“Shit, shit!” Suguru cries when Satoru gives him a harsh thrust that has him tapping the sweet spongy spot in your walls. The moment Suguru hits it, you’re letting out your own strangled cry, back coming up off the bed.

Every thrust from Satoru has Suguru pushing deeper into you in turn, has all three of you crying out as you fuck each other closer to your releases. Your moans, grunts and curses fill the bedroom in tune with the sinful sounds of skin slapping.

Satoru is leaned forward now, hands gripping Suguru’s waist as he slams into his friend frantically.

“Oh fuck,” Satoru grunts. “Fuck her, Suguru. Fuck her pussy while I stretch your ass for me.”

And Suguru listens, timing his thrusts with Satoru’s so that he’s able to fuck you and be fucked by Satoru. His brows are tightly knitted together, forehead glistening with sweat and nostrils flared as he gives everything he can and takes everything Satoru has to offer.

It’s all too much for you – too much to feel, too much to watch, too much to hear. And it’s the two men above you moaning each other’s names that has you tumbling over the edge.

Your orgasm crashes over you so quickly, so unexpectedly, that band in your belly snapping before you can even stop it and you’re screaming some jumbled blend of Satoru and Suguru’s names as your walls convulse and contract around Suguru’s cock.

Then it’s Suguru, who can’t hold on a second longer, toppling over the edge with you when Satoru leans forward and bites onto his shoulder as he fucks into him relentlessly. Simultaneously, your cunt is sucking him in, begging for him to paint your walls. And he wants to, he’s holding on for a moment of reprieve, for Satoru to give him even the smallest window to pull out of your vice grip. But then you say the words he wasn’t expecting, even as your eyes are glued on Satoru and the way he fucks his ass. 

“Cum in me, Sugu. Fucking fill my pussy. I need your cum so bad.”

You’re begging him, the same way your cunt is begging. You want him to flood your walls, and in that moment he doesn’t give a fuck if Satoru approves or not. You do, and that’s all that matters to him.

He lets Satoru slam into him again and again, tapping his prostate repeatedly until finally, Suguru’s mouth falls into with a loud groan, his dick twitching within the confines of your walls as he floods your pussy with his seed. You’re still squeezing around him, your greedy little cunt milking him for all that he’s worth until he’s whimpering pathetically into your mouth with hungry kisses.

And finally, it’s Satoru who reaches his peak once again. His unblinking stare drinks in the sight of you two losing yourselves in each other. He was already so close, barely holding on, but now he fucks into his best friend, watches as he and his girlfriend pant into each other’s mouths, thinks about the fact that your pussy is probably so full of Suguru’s thick, hot cum that it’s likely leaking onto your bedsheets and soon enough he’s spilling himself into Suguru’s ass hole.

He clenches his teeth, biting down the guttural moan that threatens to escape him. And he’s shuddering, physically shaking as he keeps fucking into Suguru, hoping to empty every last drop into his friend while he has the chance.

“Fucking damnit,” he grunts, thrusting two, three more times before he falls forward onto Suguru’s back with a sharp gasp. He’s completely spent. He wouldn’t be able to get his dick up again even if he wanted to.

Tomorrow, things will go back to normal and you’ll likely never speak of this again unless another special occasion rolls around, or you all find yourselves in the mood again. So Satoru leans forward, reaching over Suguru’s shoulder to cup the back of your head and pull your lips to his, effectively breaking the kiss you and his friend were sharing. Satoru presses his lips to yours roughly, suddenly feeling petty and possessive. Then he turns to Suguru and claims his mouth as well, just as possessively.

You all stay like that for a while. Still connected, both through your kisses and through your groins until Satoru sighs in exhaustion, before he climbs off of Suguru. Suguru follows after, pulling out of you with a quiet hiss. They both lay on each side of you, wrapping their arms around your tired body as they nuzzle against you.

Satoru laughs quietly to himself next to you.

“What?” You ask, your brow coming up curiously. Your boyfriend shakes his head, a goofy grin on his face as he looks between you and Suguru.

“Nothing. Just…this is the best birthday ever.”

[jules1331]

dilf!art headcanons!! ⋆. ୨୧˚⋆ mdni!!!

⋆. ୨୧˚⋆ ⋆. ୨୧˚⋆ ⋆. ୨୧˚⋆ ⋆. ୨୧˚⋆ ⋆. ୨୧˚⋆ ⋆. ୨୧˚⋆ ⋆. ୨୧˚⋆ ⋆. ୨୧˚⋆

dilf!art and is oral fixation! he cannot go a minute without tasting you. when you come back from work, the gym, any place really. trust, his mouth will be on you quick. his eyes fluttered shut as he mouths and nibbles on your jaw, “s’sooo good, missed you so much.”

dilf!art is insanely good with his hands. do not get me started, when he loses a tennis match, he needs to know that he is atleast good at something—so he gets you wrecked with only his fingers. your pliable body pressed to his chest, his left hand keeping your thighs spread as his right hand’s fingers are thrusting in and out of you, the squelching noises being overshadowed by his groans and whimpers in your ear—“fuck baby—making a whole mess of my fingers..”

dilf!art needs needs needs your praise!! after his messy divorce from tashi, he hangs onto your every word. even a simple “good job!” from you gets him semi-hard. his hips are rutting into you, inching himself deeper and deeper, his moans filling your mouth as he swallows your sounds, his hands everywhere they can reach. his lips moving desperately as they mutter, “am—am i going good? fuck you feel so goooood—“

dilf!art likes, no…LOVES dry-humping. he’s crawling into bed behind you, whining as he tugs at your shirt, “baby please—! need you so bad, please just a little? i’ll be quick i promise—“ he knows you just got home from work and are exhausted, but it’s not like he can help it. without even waiting for your answer he’s already humping your ass while drooling.

dilf!art who’s a massive gooner. he hates when you don’t accompany him on his away tennis games. how is he gonna be satiated if your not constantly within a 1 foot radius?? he has albums of porn material of you to use when he’s bored. pictures of you riding him, giving him head, or just pictures of you barely clothed.

⋆. ୨୧˚⋆ ⋆. ୨୧˚⋆ ⋆. ୨୧˚⋆ ⋆. ୨୧˚⋆ ⋆. ୨୧˚⋆ ⋆. ୨୧˚⋆ ⋆. ୨୧˚⋆ ⋆. ୨୧˚⋆

authors note: first time writing AND for something not supernatural related—tell me if u guys like it!!

[jesuistrestriste]

ohhh sageee i hath returnedddd, forgive me if this isnt that coherent, im extremely tired.

so, im thinkin about puppy!reader and puppy!art going on a playdate that their owners, Tashi and Patrick, set up for them. (i call Tashi, dear lorddd i need her to own me so damn bad🙏😩) anyways, as planned, it ends up with the two pups gettin too needy and usin each other. honestly im really just beggin to be bred and knotted by art

sageeEEE <3

tashi's always got you on such a short leash too (sometimes literally), so it's so hard to contain yourself when you meet art !! you get all warm and fuzzy at the smell of him and the sight of his pretty blonde curls.

art, on the other hand, is playful and kind and excitable and very much not disciplined by patrick. like, at all. but he's generally a good boy so pat doesn't actually feel the need to do much. the one thing he should have taught art not to do, though, is hump everything in sight.

so when patrick brings art over to tashi's, he's beaming as he springs out to greet you—rubbing his nose into your neck and breathing in the smell of your pheromones and everything there is to know and like about you. patrick plops down on the couch next to your owner, and she gives a soft tug on your collar when art begins to try to roll his hips up against yours.

a pout on your lips is all the resistance tashi gets from you before you back away and art is called over by patrick.

half an hour goes by, both you and art sitting on the ground in front of tashi and patrick respectively, and then the two make the mistake of deciding to leave their puppies alone in favor of going out to grab more wine.

another half hour passes, and when the two brunettes return to the home, they get so surprised by the sight they see when they walk in that they nearly drop the two bottles of sauvignon blanc !

art's got you trapped between his body and the luxurious rug laid out on the hardwood floor, rutting into your sticky body without a care in the world. he can't help it, and neither can you. it was foolish, really, for tashi and pat to have left you two alone together and not expect a scene like this one to come as a consequence. neither of you are even grounded enough to notice them watching.

your slick is all over the floor, dripping down from your hole as you bite into art's shoulder. he whines out and then tenses all over just as a current of white-hot pleasure rips through him and you.

his knot swells, locking him deep inside you as he pants and writhes and humps his spilling load into your cunt. your back arches up and you nearly yelp as the stretch from the knot aches within your soft walls, but it's painfully good. ten more seconds of both of you riding out your highs is all that is needed for you to snap back to your senses and lift your head up enough to spot the two slightly-amused owners peering down at the mess from the doorway.

art's still too gone to even move; continuously jolting his hips as his come continues to breed you.

tashi considers shooing the two boys out the door so that she can get you alone and spank you as punishment, and patrick almost considers doing the same to art, but they both silently agree with just a look to each other that the feeling of being uncomfortably knot-locked for the foreseeable future will be enough for the both of you to learn your lesson. hopefully.

[artdcnaldson]

hnnnnghnbhbbn repressed art is so yummy you always match my freak im tweaking rn!!!

also the little nods to patrick adding to his repressed-ness!!!!!! its so scrumptious

i dont know where you wanna take this but i have soooo many ideas i need him so bad

i just keep thinking about her finding loopholes to convince art to give in…

rn now in my mind i have smth smth about her being just so horny and wanting to play, so maybe going to wherever he is and telling him she needs a toy… like asking him for his hand and using it to touch herself and his hand just gets soooo soaked and wet and he really doesn’t wanna move it cause thats immoral, hes just helping out, but maybe hell crook his fingers inside and just watch how she goes crazyyyyyy… maybe he’ll make her squirt… yeah…

ily btw you get me!!!

- 🐚

I’m sorry this took so long that’s my bad baby </3 I read this came passed out died was brought back to life etc. please forgive me 💔

But hngnngngng I imagine he’s so willing and needy after you let him rut against ur thighs and get off :(( all clingy bc he’s like wait maybe she’s the one 🥺

Which is…… but anyways!!

But yeah god he’s just. A living breathing wet dream. He comes in from the courts all sweaty and flushed and smiley, chugging Gatorade or water or whatever. And it just fucking sets you off. You’ve spent weeks soaked and needy with no release outside of your hand. You just need something.

So you ask where Pat is (heading to the country club to swim) and how long he’s going to be gone (three hours max, but no less than one). So you drag him into your room, lock the door.

“Can I use your fingers, baby? You don’t have to move them, just let me play with them. They’re so pretty, I want to feel them. Please?”

And he blushes, looks nervous, but notes. “O-okay. Just tell me what to do.”

He’s so willing, so sweet. He swallows hard when you guide his hand between his thighs, when he feels how warm and wet you are. The first pussy he’s ever touched 🥺 and he gets hard so fast.

But he has to remind himself it’s not for him! He’s trying to help! Like you help. And it’s not wrong as long as he’s not really moving his hand, just like it’s okay if he humps you because it’s just him moving not you <3 so he ignores how hard he is, just lets you guide his hand because he’s just your sweet little toy <3

He thinks it’s interesting, the way you fold down some of his fingers, posing him like a doll. He lets out a choked sort of whine as you press his fingertips to your entrance. You’re so warm and wet inside, tight around his fingers, squeezing him.

He’s flushed the prettiest pink, moaning pathetically as you use his fingers. And his brain is so fuzzy, filled only with the feeling of you hot around his fingers, dripping wet and sticky down his palm.

“Can you—“ you gesture with the hand that’s not circling your clit, curving your fingers.

He shouldn’t. But he’s already got his fingers in your pussy and he’s probably already going to hell anyway. He crooks his fingers so they press against the front wall. Your eyes roll back, you make the prettiest, most desperate sound.

He smiles so proudly as you start grinding down against his fingers, all desperate and needy. Feels your cunt clamping down around him, feels the rush of wetness and release as you finish.

And you look so pretty, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, mouth ajar as soft moans spill out. You pull his fingers out of your sensitive cunt and Art actually fucking whines at the sight of his fingers glistening and sticky with your juices.

“You can taste,” you encourage with a coy smile. “You’ll like it, I think.”

He moans when he pushes those fingers between his lips, tasting the tang of your arousal. It’s not enough— he laves his tongue over his fingertips and knuckles, trying to swallow down every hint of you.

And you’re laid out before him, legs spread, glistening pussy just fucking teasing him. He wants to just taste you— to bury his face between your thighs, lap at your drenched folds, make you cum again. All him this time, none of your guidance.

But he can’t, the poor thing.

[perfectlovevn]

Hi

Idkkk but I think I saw a question about how the milos would react to a masochistic player? So I was wondering how they would react to a player who is the complete opposite (sadistic), or maybe both simultaneously (I don't know if this has been asked yet either☹️). I don't need it to be anything too extreme, but the player should be visibly like that

I actually thought about this a bit and I don't think Eris is sadistic (or maybe she is?), I don't really know what would be in that category, but she does seem to enjoy the suffering of others sometimes. Whatever, the Milos probably don't know.

Btw!! I love your game, It's so different from other things I've played with yandere/obsessive characters before (although not saying that the others things are bad), It was kind of refreshing? to play KWJDLW LIKE SERIOUSLY😭💗 this literally broke me out of my creative block as an artist. For some reason after finishing playing I immediately wanted to draw the Milos, which I won't show you bcs I'm shy, but just so you know.

Ohh and I've been obsessed with this game for weeks or maybe months now. This is even the first question I've asked on a blog because... erm I already said I'm shy👹 I was just a little curious and wanted to tell you how much I like your game.

Hope to see more of your work in the future!💗 (and I hope you don't mind the rather long text)

-🌀 anon

Hmm, well, I’d say that I wrote Eris to be domineering in a sense, but I left it a bit ambiguous whether or not they are actually more sadistic or masochistic but just giving hints to both. But thank you! I’m really happy I was able to help you out of your creative rut. Honestly I’d love to see any art you have for me.

PreMilo would probably be rather squeamish about it if Eris purposefully caused him physical harm. But if you mean more like just watching him suffer generally, depending on how much it pleases Eris. I think he might purposefully get him to hurt himself more for Eris possibly to the point of developing a liking to it.

Manipulation Milo would be happy to throw himself off a cliff or otherwise be hurt by Eris. He’d be really happy about it actually. I think he might even try to goad Eris into punishing him. All attention is good attention for him.

Violence Milo on the other hand would probably not like it as much but he’d reframe it as toughening himself up, so he might find being hurt as a way to get stronger. I think he’d be very easy to hurt emotionally though since he wants to be a good guard dog for Eris.

[exocynraku]

sorry if this is a bit strange to say but your style is so charming :] are there any specific inspirations you have? ALSO can i ask where you learned anatomy from? drawing cats has always been a pain for me and i’m wondering if you have any tips… and i hope you have a lovely day!!! love your works so much :]

thank you veery much.. warrior cats related? ursiday, lupiine, thunderc1an/rebe adventures, movdotmov, assignedk9, bunnyfarm and many popular warrior cats artists on youtube come to mind. otherwise, a lot of what I take inspiration from is manga. i didn't really learn it from anywhere persay, just practice. if you look at some of my first ever wc designs, i could definitely do better now LOL. i'd love to give you more specific tips but literally how i learn is just draw cats. i drew almost all day every day in early covid days when i wasn't in school, and did like, 10 designs a day. ( i wouldn't recommend doing this though, cause now i have Wrist Pain <3 ). so my best advice to you is just draw cats. i never had a problem with seeing my art as 'bad' because in the beginning i was horrendously egotistical and though whatever my current artstyle at the time was was absolutely peak, but i know a lot of people do, so you really need to push yourself forward. even if you see problems in your art now, you have to keep drawing to rectify them. you could study a hundred art books and go to dozens of dozens of classes and look at tons of tutorials but if you don't actually DRAW anything, you aren't going to learn. if you're experiencing artblock, draw something you like which is easy for you (i usually draw my fursona). etc. the minimal amount of tips i CAN give you is to trace. not in like a post-it-online-claiming-its-yours sort of way, but find an artist you like and trace their pieces. specifically, trace the things you like from them, like the paws or face. i do this not often i would say but enough it's able to help me, plus it usually gets me out of ruts where i don't like certain parts of my art. also, real pictures. i'd say this helps more for things like understanding cat anatomy vs how to stylize it. for resources, i'll give you this and this. i can also say, if you're not liking your art, it might be the brush you're using. change it up, i have TONS downloaded and will spend literally hours finding and editing one to what i like. also, get rid of any idea of an "artstyle". you may develop something concrete eventually, but don't stick yourself to a box in the beginning. also, KEEP EVERYTHING. going back and looking at my old designs and art is extremely entertaining, and it can show you how much you're improved over time. tldr: just draw. it's how i learned. a couple other things, but 90% of it is literally just keep drawing.

[ukiyowi]

December Snapshot 🌷

Note: Happy December Babes!! A small glimpse into what you're December will be like 💞 if you like it please reblog, it really helps and if you want a paid reading hmu! It's all 30% off all December! And if you book before 5th December it'll be 40% off!!

Read left to right 1/2 then 3/4 🌸

Masterlist || Paid Readings || Tip 🍯

🍯 Pile 1

Okay so your December is going to start off very well but you may have some bumps in the road, lets talk about that. You will see your finances improve in December and will find yourself in a position where you are able to help not only yourself but possibly family members and friends who need monetary help as well, you may also get a raise or a promotion or a boss/person in authority under whom you work could put in a few good words for you to the higher ups leading to you getting more opportunities.

This December is all about reaping what you have already sowed and worked hard for. You will find yourself being a great communicator and in harmony in your interpersonal relationships, especially romantic ones, if you do not have someone already, a potential romantic partner may be entering or has entered your life who will be pursuing you, this person could possibly have strong Aries/fire energy and be someone who has a very infectious laugh and possibly freckles as well, they could be very outgoing.

Now onto the bumps, so December is going to do for you which you have not done for yourself so far, very cleaning much in the spirit of cleaning your energy and weeding out people you do not need or who do not have your best interest at heart. You may have been ignoring the flaws in certain relationships not wanting them to fall apart, as well as ignoring a certain opportunity you may be too scared to take, this is related to music or art heavily, and this December the universe will kinda thrust these things upon you and you may find yourself as well as certain people around you heartbroken nearing the end of this month as you prepare for the new year.

🍯 Pile 2

Hello pile 2, a lot of soul-searching comes your way this December, you will be trying to bring back the spark you think you have lost over the years because you have grown up, but people will not make this easy for you trust me. There may be people around you who discourage you to do certain things by either making fun of you/teasing you for it or claiming you are too grown to do it but try not to pay any mind to them as these activities, maybe watching old cartoons or colouring could lead to you connecting with your inner spirit and finding inspiration taking you out of ruts both in a creative sense and also with regard to clarity about what you want to do in life.

You have a youthful spirit, where you are not afraid of starting over and December is going to test you on that, you will be called to keep patient in the face of adversity and change courses because of missed chances or I am getting missed flights for some of you which could be related to some trip being cancelled and you could end up having a hitch in your finances where you may have to control your spending this month to maintain balance by maybe living below your means.

You could also end up having an argument with someone with masculine and earthy energy, particularly someone who may have prominent Capricorn in their chart regarding romantic relationships and commitment, this person may want you to start taking responsibility and committing to not only people but also things and could imply that time is ticking for you and that not making any decisions is not better than making bad decisions or mistakes. They could be a mentor figure or a family member.

🍯 Pile 3

To start off, there is going to be a lot of introspection for you this month, you may feel like nothing's going your way or that nothing is going in general, the amount of stagnation could lead you to feel like whatever you are doing is wrong and could really frustrate you. However, because your financial stability this month is going to be off the charts, you will keep doing what you are doing and build a lot of relationships around you with people who could help you enhance it even further.

You will find yourself getting lucky financially and experience accomplishments that you are already expecting, to be honest, which is why you could feel stagnant even after this.

The reason you may be introspecting this month could be to do with you wanting quietude from the hustle and bustle of the grind life and rethink if this is what you really want. You could question your lifestyle maybe you are someone who is in the middle of city life and have a job or school/college life that is very hectic and you may have a chance to get away from it for a bit and you have to make the choice to either go with the flow or challenge the universe and decide you prefer things the way they are.

December will bring about situations especially career wise where you will need to be willing to let go of preconceived notions and switch perspectives that you do not NEED to constantly grind to get what you want because you will get it due to you deserving it and having the skills to accomplish it. This month will be closing out by you finding yourself confused about these things and trying to make up your mind, this could lead to you hesitating to confront the cracks that may have been forming in your life ideologically rather than materially.

🍯 Pile 4

Oh, Pile 4 this month you will be stepping into your power! Deserved! This could be after a long while of contemplation regarding if you deserve it, but then realising you would not have gotten the opportunities if you did not. You will be working alongside possibly an older person who will teach you how to embody the traits of a leader, being strict yet understanding and building relationships with your peers where you do not feel like you are overshadowing them, which could be a concern of yours.

This month will require you to do a lot of learning, from skills to adopting new ideas and how to be adaptable, being able to communicate effectively and clearly with a wide range of people you will really find yourself in a better place careerwise than you may have in the past months. You will be grabbing all the opportunities you will get to strengthen your relationships with people and go after opportunities ranging from jobs and school to getting something you may have wanted for a while like a bag or a car. You will be very lucky and "right place, right time" could be a strong statement for this month for you.

However, because of all of this and the changing tides, you being new to these things you could feel anxious and overwhelmed by all the responsibilities. Although you would be able to complete them and keep up with them, you could start questioning yourself again, this self-doubt could lead to maybe hitting a tiny bump in the road where you could fumble something moderately important, but this would just make you more determined to trust yourself going forward. You will also take time to relax and rejuvenate this month, and could start meditating! And if not, it would be advisable to because it helps a lot (speaking from personal experience).

Do not plagiarise, copy or reword this is all my work, all rights reserved to Ukiyowi

[filmflowersbangtan]

I Must Still Want You pt. 2

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: angst (so. much. angst) | smut

word count: 4k

warnings: rough sex | infidelity | explicit sex scene | I'm so sorry in advance if I make some of you angry with this one. I promise it'll get better in future chapters.

author's note: hey...I'm back. I have so much in store. I know I've said it before and then I disappeared again, but I finally left a toxic relationship that had me in a writer's rut for a very long time and I also stopped following BTS for a while. But then they all came out with their incredible solos, and V's "Layover" was so beautiful it had stirred up so many ideas. It also somehow aligns with this story so well, so I couldn't help myself. I'm really proud of this one. I put so much heart and soul into this. This is not the end of this series.

part i | part iii

----

At first, Taehyung understood. The excuses as to why you couldn’t come home for the holidays, why you couldn’t come home for his birthday, why he couldn’t come visit. Art school was difficult, adjusting to California was difficult, but making friends was easy. Making friends had always been easy for you. You and your mom were on bad terms, that’s why you couldn’t come home. You had deadlines and couldn’t afford distractions, that’s why Taehyung couldn’t come visit.

Then there were the arguments after Taehyung lost all his patience with you. And then the texts and phone calls became more and more infrequent until there were none at all. Taehyung’s calls went to voicemails, his messages echoed in a chamber of emptiness.

Months passed by like this, with Taehyung only knowing you were alive through news from your mom, whose lawn he mowed and driveway he shoveled. He sat with her sometimes for coffee. He didn’t dare going into your room again after he saw that your mother transformed it, pushing an untouched treadmill in the same corner your bed used to be.

And then, about a year after the two of you unofficially broke up, you posted on Instagram. A man was kneeling before you as you wore a stunning dress Taehyung had never see you wear before. An expensive dress. There were letters hung behind the two of you in the background. Taehyung stopped breathing. The letters read:

Will you marry me?

Still not breathing, he swiped right to see another picture of your left hand—a hand he used to hold so much he could still feel the ghost of its warmth—displaying a gaudy engagement ring encrusted with a sickening number of diamonds. The camera’s flash made them glimmer in a way that made Taehyung nauseous.

Despite everything, Taehyung had been taking the unofficial breakup well. He never said anything about it to your mother although he desperately wanted to understand why you stopped talking to him or know if she knew. He didn’t rot in bed. He didn’t stop photography. While you had been gone, he discovered a newfound love of singing and his roommate Jungkook was a small-time producer and part-time DJ, and through him Taehyung had virtually unlimited access to a studio. Instead of succumbing into a debilitating depression, Taehyung worked on his very first EP. He had finished a few days before the Instagram post. He was going to send it to you. He knew you were going to love it. Maybe it would even make you speak to him.

But the post.

Taehyung dropped his phone on his bed and steadily walked to the bathroom, breathing through his nose. An ugly surge of emotion ravished him. He thought he was going to cry, but when he closed the door behind him, he stumbled to the toilet. And vomited.

Jungkook rushed in, his headphones dangling from around his neck, concern stretched across his face. “Bro, you good? It sounds like you’re dying.”

Taehyung wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. His eyes and throat burned. Thick snot crept down his lips. He wasn’t going to cry, but seeing Jungkook standing there pummeled him. His dear friend who didn’t even know Taehyung had been going through a breakup. How was he going to explain this? He couldn’t. He dropped his head back into the toilet bowl and heaved.

Later, after Taehyung cleaned himself up and Jungkook sat him down on the couch with a cup of water, he told Jungkook everything.

Jungkook had been quiet the entire time, nodding to let Taehyung know that he was listening. But when Taehyung finished, gesturing to his phone because he couldn’t speak the words “she’s engaged,” Jungkook looked at the post himself.

A brief and subtle expression flickered across his face as he swiped. It was there and then it was gone, only noticeable in the slight tremble in the eyebrows and the momentary clench of the jaw. He looked up at Taehyung whose eyes were rimmed in red and whose hands were quivering as he dabbed at his nose with a napkin.

With a venom that Taehyung did not know his roommate possessed, Jungkook said, “That bitch.”

--

After grieving for a month, Taehyung pulled himself out of bed. He went to a party where Jungkook was DJing and downed shot after shot of anything anyone would hand him. He blacked out and woke up in his own bed wearing the same sweaty clothes from the night before, feeling like hell. He looked at his text messages to make sure that he didn’t say anything fucked up to anyone and noticed your contact at the top.

Of course, he reached out to you. How embarrassing. He cringed, afraid to read what he said, but all he sent was a link to his EP. Somehow, that was worse. He absolutely wanted to die.

And of course, you didn’t respond.

--

A year stuttered by. Sometimes when Taehyung looked in the mirror, he didn’t recognize himself. He was dirty blond now and handsome and miserable. He had slept with so many people in the last few months—girls, mostly but sometimes guys, too. He had had so many threesomes that he’d lost count. People on campus knew who he was now. He had gone from having one friend in his first year of college to becoming a name that people sighed dreamily as they said it.

Still nothing from you.

And then, one morning while nursing a hangover at the dining table in his shared apartment with Jungkook, a text from your mom. Maybe he was reading into it, but there was a tone of sadness in the wording, possibly regret. It said:

Y/N is back in town. Her grandmother died last week and the funeral is Friday. Please come if you feel comfortable. If you don’t, I understand.

There it was again. That roiling sensation inside of him. That urgent need to vomit.

The first time he had a threesome with Jungkook, he couldn’t perform. He had fumbled to the bathroom, his pants undone, and hurled into the toilet until the girl left. He had thought Jungkook would be pissed, but instead he sat on the bathroom floor with him in silence.

Now, Jungkook paused, a spoonful of cereal and milk halfway to his mouth. “I know that look,” he said. “What happened?”

Taehyung cleared his throat. “Y/N’s grandmother died.”

Jungkook wrinkled his nose. “So? Fuck her and her grandma.”

In other circumstances, Taehyung would've laughed. He couldn’t. He was too numb. “I liked her grandma when we were little. She used to make homemade blackberry jam and watch our stupid choreographies that we made up.”

Jungkook’s expression softened. He lowered the spoon. “I take that back about the grandma, but still fuck that bitch. Y/N, not the grandma.”

Now Taehyung mustered up a halfhearted chuckle that could’ve been a genuine laugh had the thought of you being in town—not in California—not robbed him of any sense of humor.

Jungkook hated seeing Taehyung like this because there was nothing he could do to help. “Don’t go to that funeral,” was all he said. It wasn’t a command. His voice was pleading. “Seeing her will only fuck you up. And what if she’s with—”

Taehyung closed his eyes as if expecting a blow. He hadn’t realized he was crying until warm teardrops slid down his face and into his mouth.

--

He went to the funeral. Your parents embraced him when they saw him. Individually, of course. Your dad remarried. He had stepchildren. Taehyung thought you probably hated it if you even still talked to him. The idea of someone else being frozen out of your life and not just him slightly comforted him. Slightly.

It was a beautiful day out—early summer, bright blue sky, cool breeze—but Taehyung was cold. And you hadn’t arrived yet.

“She slept in,” your mother said. “She hadn’t been feeling the best ever since she landed yesterday. She should arrive soon.”

An Uber arrived, and the back door opened. Taehyung held his breath.

You stepped out. You were so familiar yet you were a stranger. Your hair was longer, fuller. You were wearing a form-fitting black dress and red-bottomed heels. A designer bag dangled from the crook of your elbow. Large, expensive sunglasses obscured your eyes. Your lips were painted red.

The Uber departed before Taehyung realized you came alone.

You sauntered in his direction. He was breathless as he watched you move. Did you always walk like that? With such an elegant sway? Or was that new? A by-product of your reinvented life.

He realized that he was not your target. He was standing with your parents and your stepmother you probably hated. Except you didn’t hate her because she was the first you hugged. Then your dad. Then your mother. Then—

“Tae.”

He blinked. He could hear the blood rushing through his ears. Feel the bile rising in his throat. He cleared it behind a polite fist before croaking your name in return.

Then, very cautiously, you pulled him into a hug. He felt everyone’s eyes on the both of you. You were making him into a spectacle, and he hated it. In that moment, he realized he hated you. But his arms were stiff at his sides and when he became aware of that, he lifted them to pat you on the back.

“I know how much you loved her,” you said when you released him.

He blinked, not understanding. “I’m sorry, what?”

“My grandmother.”

His face felt hot. Jungkook was right. He shouldn’t have come. He had never once wanted to hurt a woman before, especially not you. But he wanted so badly to strangle you. To make you feel what it’s like to have your throat full of heartbreak. But he pushed a smile onto his red face. “Yes. My condolences.”

“Thank you for coming,” you said.

I hate you.

Taehyung nodded, and without meaning to, glimpsed at your left hand. The ring was still there. You were still engaged. But you returned home without a fiancé.

I hate you.

--

After the funeral, there was a gathering at your dad and stepmom’s house. Taehyung wasn’t going to go, but he couldn’t bring himself not to. He wanted to keep looking at you, breathing the same air as you, and wondering if you had listened to his EP.

But for the most part, he was just wandering around the beautiful countryside home as awkwardly as he had been at the party in middle school where he had first seen you kissing a boy on the porch. Except this time, you were getting married. You were getting fucking married.

At least at a funeral it wasn’t odd to cry. He went outside to do it.

He sat on the front porch steps and loosened his tie. No one came out to bother him. He was good at being invisible. Especially to you.

The front door behind him opened. The sound of heels approached him but stopped a few paces away.

Neither of you said anything. He quietly wiped away angry tears.

“I don’t expect forgiveness,” you said.

He wanted to scream. “Not here. Please.”

“I booked a hotel. Let’s talk at the bar there. You look like you could use a drink.”

Taehyung closed his eyes. “Was that a joke?”

“Yes. But I could use a drink, too.”

Taehyung dropped his head in his hands. “I shouldn’t have come.” He stood up and walked to his car. You didn’t follow. Didn’t beg. He grabbed the handle of the driver’s side door and looked at you from over the roof of the car. You were still standing on the porch, your hands delicately interlaced in front of you. You weren’t wearing your sunglasses, but he couldn’t see your eyes from where he stood.

Who were you?

He yanked the door open and got in the car. His phone vibrated when he started the ignition. You had sent him a text with an address and a time.

“Fuck you,” he whispered. “Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you.”

--

He arrived thirty minutes late. You were sipping a purple-colored cocktail at a secluded table. God, you looked so good. He hated it.

“I would’ve understood if you hadn’t showed,” you said, expressionless.

He hesitated before sitting down, considering leaving. When he did sit, you said, “I really like your hair. It complements your skin tone.”

“Fuck you,” he said.

“I deserve that.”

“Fuck you.”

“What are you drinking nowadays? It’s on me.”

The bile was threatening to choke him. He swallowed thickly. His voice trembled as he said, “What do you want from me? You don’t fucking care about me. All you care about it—I don’t know what you care about. You’re such a—”

A drink appeared before him. “I already ordered for you. I hope you don’t mind whiskey. It’s top shelf so you most likely won’t have a hangover.”

“I don’t want—”

“I listened to it.”

Taehyung stopped.

“It was beautiful. It was so fucking beautiful. When do you sing? And like that? Oh, my God.”

Now Taehyung was crying again. He downed his drink. You gestured something to the waitress and another whiskey appeared before him. Taehyung said, “Why are you doing this to me? What have I done to deserve this?”

You touched his hand. He flinched away as if burned. “I dropped out of college a couple of years ago. I was homeless. And then I met a guy who fixed all of that.”

“Such bullshit.” But Taehyung knew you were genuine. You were never a liar.

“Not bullshit,” you said gently. “I was embarrassed. Who flunks art school? But I was intimidated being surrounded by all of those freakishly talented people. I didn’t fit in. But you would’ve sure as hell did. Your photos, Tae—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry.” You took a sip of your drink and looked away before continuing, “You are so talented. And then that fucking album—”

“EP.”

You glared at him. “Now it is my turn to say fuck you.”

“Get to the point.”

“I wasn’t measuring up. I dropped out before I got expelled. Mom wanted me to come home, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. I love California. I slept on some friends’ couches for a few months, working odd jobs—bartending, dogwalking, commission stuff. I had no idea what I was doing or where I was going.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” “I was embarrassed, Tae. And then you kept pestering me about wanting to see me and—”

“Pestering? You think so lowly of me?” “That’s what it felt like at the time. I had so much going on in my head—”

“But not so much that you still had room to go and fuck someone else before even breaking up with me.”

You finished your drink. “I didn’t fuck anyone.”

Taehyung had no response.

“I met a guy while bartending. He was rich. And kind. And I was very poor and lonely.”

“And he swept you off your feet," he said with betrayal in his voice.

“No. But his tips were nice. They were big enough to feed me for a couple of weeks. And then he would take me out to dinners. Next thing I know he’s buying me an apartment and a car and a dog and a life.”

Taehyung’s eyes were wet with fresh tears. He couldn’t look at you. “I wanted a life with you. I could’ve helped you.”

“With what money, Taehyung? All you would’ve done was spend way too much money on a one-way ticket and be stuck there with me.”

He had nothing to say to that. He downed his drink. “That doesn’t explain not telling me a fucking thing. Not even a goodbye.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you love him?”

You sighed.

Taehyung clenched his hands into fists under the table. He repeated, “Do you love him?”

Another purple drink appeared in front of you. The waitress flitted away, sensing the tension.

Finally, you said, “I think I could learn to. Someday.”

He blew out the breath he’d been holding and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked out the window at the pool. So still, so blue. So beautiful. He thought of California. He thought of the song on his EP, “For Us.” He wanted to fucking drown you.

In a soft, broken voice, he said, “I have loved you for my entire life. My entire life. Just wasted.”

You didn’t say anything. You just simply stared out the window with him. And then for the first time that entire day, you began to sob.

He didn’t dare look at you. He didn’t want to empathize with you. What for? But hearing you cry silently, seeing your shoulders shake with each sob in his peripheral vision…

Before he could say anything, you were already cleaning yourself up, dabbing under your eyes with a neatly folded napkin. “Should we go up to my suite for some privacy? I fucking hate crying in public.”

--

The suite was gorgeous. He didn’t know something so extravagant existed in his hometown.

“I need to get out of this dress. It’s not really my style,” you said, delicately removing your heels.

Taehyung looked away. For some reason, seeing you do that simple action made his heart ache.

You disappeared into the bathroom after telling him to make himself comfortable. He instead opted to stand around, unsure of what to do with his hands. Then you called his name from the other room, needing help with the dress.

“The zipper,” you said. “It was hell putting this thing on by myself. Can you unzip it for me?”

The bathroom was all marble and glass. Taehyung felt like there were a dozen versions of the both of you reflected around him. You were trying to catch his eyes in the mirror, but he purposefully avoided you. He focused on keeping his hands still as he stood behind you and reached up to grasp the tiny zipper at the nape of your neck.

The sound of the dress unzipping made his dick throb as longingly as his heart. You were fucking with him. You had to be.

But he wasn’t the same Taehyung that you left behind at the airport. Not at all. He was going to show you.

The zipper ended right at the top of your tailbone. You let the dress fall to the floor.

“You said you didn’t fuck anyone?” Taehyung said, voice gruff with want. He could feel himself hardening.

You were breathing slightly faster. You wanted him, too. This time, he allowed your gaze to meet each other’s in the mirror. You said, “Just myself. I never let him touch me, Tae. I don’t love him.”

He ran his hand up your leg, up your ass, traced the line of your back with a steady finger. He was no longer nervous. Fucking was what he was good at. And he wanted to fuck you until you regretted ever leaving him. Until you rued the day you said yes to that stupid fucking engagement.

He stopped his hand at the base of your neck. You stood still, breath shallow. Waiting. Wanting. You were probably so wet for him already, but you would have to wait.

He pressed himself against you so that you could feel how hard he was for you. A moan stuttered out of your throat. He clenched your neck from behind and shoved you forward, bending you over the sink. With swift fingers, he undid his belt, lowered his pants, pushed down his briefs. His cock sprang free, swollen with a two year long need for you, beaded with precum.

You shimmied out your underwear. With two fingers, he felt the velvety skin of your pussy lips. He was right, you were so fucking wet for him. You arched your back and shivered at his touch.

Your eyes met in the mirror again. Yours were heavy-lidded with desire, lips red like Marilyn Monroe. He wanted that lipstick smeared all over your face and all over his cock when he was done with you. His own eyes were low lidded as well. He grinned at you before he entered you. He didn’t want to take it slow, and he didn’t.

He fucked you like you were water, and he hadn’t drunk anything in days. You were a mess, clawing at the marble countertop like it would give you stability. Your moans were so fucking hot. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back so that his lips were at your ear.

“You’re mine, do you hear me? This pussy is mine.”

You tried to say “Yes, daddy,” but your eyes were fluttering and rolling and Taehyung was fucking you so good you couldn’t get a word out. He slapped your ass and you gasped.

“Fuck you,” he said but he didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean it at all.

He felt himself getting carried away and pulled out. You squirmed at the lack of him, begging for more. He didn’t want to admit he almost came. Sex hadn’t felt this good in years. Both of you were breathless, filling the room with your panting. But he wasn’t done with you yet. And you knew. You smiled at him, big and beautiful, and Taehyung almost came right then and there.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.

Your pupils were dilated, your face was glimmering with sweat, your hair was a mess. You were so beautiful Taehyung wanted to fucking cry.

And then he was. “Fuck you,” he said, but he meant it this time.

You unclasped your bra and dropped it to the floor. Then you were on your knees before him, using that expensive dress as a cushion against the marble. You took all of him in your mouth, slowly, never losing eye contact. Your mouth was warm and wet and your breasts looked amazing, the nipples hard. You noticed him looking and pinched the nipple of your left breast as you sucked him off, using your right hand to jerk him in and out of your mouth. You were an expert with your tongue, paying close attention to the head of his cock. And then when he felt the back of your throat, he squeezed his eyes shut and grasped a handful of your hair again, this time to keep himself steady.

“Ah, fuck,” he whimpered. “Where? Where do you want me to cum?” He made the mistake of looking at you again, your mouth smeared crime-scene red.

You smiled at him like a good girl, like you didn’t have a spit stretching from your lips to his cock like party streamers. “On my face,” you said.

He didn’t hesitate.

When he finished convulsing the final streams of cum onto your pretty face, he stood there, face flushed and veins straining from his neck as reality crept back into his bones like a winter’s chill. He was disgusted with himself. He was angry with you.

“You’re fucking engaged,” he said, cleaning himself up. “Oh fuck. I’m such a fucking idiot.” He hastily threw on his clothes. Ran his hands through his hair to look somewhat presentable and not like he just face fucked someone’s fiancé.

You were extremely calm and still extremely naked. Taehyung realized belatedly that you hadn’t come yet. Good, he thought. You don’t deserve that release.

He finished dressing as you started washing your face. He went to leave but then stopped at the door. He didn’t turn to look at you, but he said, “You’re an awful person, Y/N. I hope you know that.”

Taehyung left the bathroom and was halfway to the suite’s door when he heard you say meekly as if to yourself, “I do.”

--

[oharapussy]

“lyla, what does miguel want for his birthday?”

another spiderdads x reader fic, this time miguel’s birthday 🙏🏼🙏🏼

as always minors dni!

“lyla, what does miguel want for his birthday?” you asked, her tiny frame facing her back to you.

peter had sent you on this mission weeks before, knowing you wouldn’t crack miguel so easily. he was a private person: he wouldn’t like a party, or any big show of it. each time you asked him, he shrugged you off, as if there wasn’t time to entertain such a question. lyla was perhaps the only one who would know, and as she was constantly, silently, conspiring against him, she took great pleasure in what you had asked.

“miguel was very intentional in how i was programmed,” she pouted. “i’m not supposed to entertain those kinds of questions.”

“come on,” you pressed, curious. she rolled her eyes, screens instantly materializing around her.

“i’ll cross-reference his search history on his downtime with his online shopping carts,” she said, tapping away. “he doesn’t keep these private from m-“

oh.

you both instantly froze at what appeared on the screens, both video and text.

“guy pegged with strap-on”

“girl and guy tagteam friend”

“brunette top fucks bear stupid”

“best vibrators for beginner anal play”

oh my fucking god.

“well… there you go,” lyla said, flickering away in an instant, leaving you in the darkness of your office.

you weren’t sure what to tell peter.

—

miguel came back from the gym late at night, beads of sweat still trickling at his hairline. discarding his things at the kitchen counter, he made his way to his bedroom. a mix of curiosity and lust bubbled in his stomach: you both had been dropping hints at him all day. it had started with a pair of panties lazily hanging against his desk, building up to the new, state-of-the-art vibrator now lying on his bed, still in its packaging.

taking him by surprise, you wrapped your arms around his waist, kissing his neck. peter followed, holding his jaw and pulling him into a kiss, full and long. he whined softly against the attack, almost melting against the touch.

“happy birthday, migi,” peter said, smiling into the kiss. in a swift move, he pushed miguel against the bed, his cock already hard and twitching in his sweats. “now take your fucking pants off.”

with your help, his dick burst from his pants within a few seconds, his tip wet, desperate to fuck something.

“god, you’re pathetic, already so fucking hard for us, baby,” you teased. he twitched at the insult, hips grinding against nothing. “well, what do you say? want us to fuck you dumb, honey?”

“please,” he whined. the poor thing had been in charge for so long, he hardly knew how to be so submissive.

peter sat with his back against the bed’s headboard, legs wide to accommodate miguel’s broad shoulders. he let out soft moans as miguel reached ever-closer to the base of his cock, gasping against the new pressure in his throat. peter’s hands were in the tangle of his hair, calling him pretty names all the while. from behind, you had finally worked the strap around your hips.

“how bad do you want this dick?” you bullied, grinding it into his thigh. reaching in front, you circled the tip of his dick with his fingers, really getting him going.

“just fuck me already, mamí, please,” he cried out, pulling his mouth from peter. he bucked his hips backward, almost trying to catch your tip.

steadying his hips with your hands, you pushed into his hole, causing him to cry out with such an intensity, you feared you would wake his neighbors. kissing his wide back, you rubbed his stomach, helping him accommodate the size, before beginning to pump it inside him.

the rutting motion caused him to sink deeper onto peter, making both the men gasp and whine in a way that you had never seen before. why hadn’t you done this sooner?

“good boy, honey,” peter managed, looking at how close he was, highly-evident in his face.

blissed out of his mind, he came some moments later, cock weeping and grinding into the sheets for relief. pushing him past it, you began to hit that sweet spot inside him even harder. you didn’t think it was possible for someone to cum so much. by the end, he was a complete whimpering mess, only capable of begging to be fucked.

[daintysampaguita]

ART BLOCK

'ello I am having a really bad case of art block. Everything I do is so bad, in my eyes.

When I do post i cant help but delete them later on cause I feel like its not the best drawing I've made...

The best one I feel was my first post and I dont think I can get back to that level

I see that my skills are just temporary for me and I feel like Ive used up all my "talent?" I dont know

I hope i can get out of this rut but I'm not sure

I'm just writing stories now a days so I'll post those soon

I apologize in advance - its been hard feeling like this so sorry

( • ᴖ • ｡)

[generation-of-vipers]

okay a small update on that vent post I made about my friend considering how much you guys seem to be commenting on it LOL uhhh nothing good nothing bad realistically. I think writing that post was really cathartic for me— I really struggle with self expression and sometimes I struggle with the processing of my emotions. I’ve never been very good at it, in spite of all of my typically verbose and sometimes pretentious writings. I can see a pretension in my own writing that I would like to eliminate; but that’s a different tangent.

Back to the topic at hand— after a few days of processing and thinking about the situation and taking into consideration some of y’all’s lovely words— I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve been beating a dead horse. Which, realistically, is a really hard conclusion to come to— I’m not gonna sit here and say that that shit is easy by any means like my ass went through the 5 stages of grief LMFAOO. Jokes aside, it was probably one of the more difficult things I’ve had to process. But from that I also had another realisation— I’m growing up. I’m breaking the cycle and acknowledging the reality of things and I’m getting away from someone who has psychologically hurt me. It might feel dramatic, me saying that, considering how vague I was in my last post. But there’s simply stuff I won’t share here because as much as she’s hurt me— it’s between her and I, and I’ve never been one for pettiness. I have already disclosed enough about my poor friendship with her, I don’t need to continue disclosing more sensitive information. Regardless of all of that, I think that breaking the cycle is so worth it— worth the mental gymnastics. My frustration has all oozed out and onto the floor beneath me— and now all I ooze is a sense of small loss. But amongst the loss is relief— relief that I wasn’t wrong in how I was feeling, relief that my entire mindset toward this woman wasn’t self pitying— it made me realise how valid I am in my thinking. I don’t say that very often, but it feels real good to say. :)

This post is messy and not very well thought out because I’ve just woken up #fire but I thought I’d update my moots since some of your words really helped me process things so thank you :). Maybe nothing in terms of her changing has come out of this— but I now no longer feel stuck in my rut with her. I now feel like I can touch the top of the hole and pull myself out of it. Also I’m gonna be posting some art later today guysh stay excited 🤤

[marshemillow]

https://www.tumblr.com/marshemillow/770804581927174144/httpswwwtumblrcommarshemillow768614601602514

Yeah. I've wanted to turn my characters into a long-form comic for a long time now, but once it's online, it's not mine anymore. I can say "please don't ship these characters together, they're all related and I don't want that done with my work, please and thank you," but the people I'd be saying that to are also the exact people to not only ignore me, but to do it more out of spite. The only way for me to guarantee that doesn't happen is to not post any of it, so I don't post any of it. But not posting any of it is also sucking the fun out of creating anything at all.

I guess I'm just venting. I know I will have no control over it once I share it, and there is no way to completely un-share it once it's up. But keeping it to myself is also making me want to stop altogether. I don't feel excited or proud once I finish a new piece, I just feel disappointed. I don't get enjoyment out of creating things like this, but I know I'm too scared of the alternative.

I feel this way too, but I stopped making art altogether because I was so sick of being harassed and realizing everyone I liked in my favorite fandoms were pro-harassment, it just ended up sucking all the joy out of it.

Here's the thing; I get that the thought of people making art of your characters the way people make art of other things bothers you, but it is actually within your full rights to tell fans not to show you things like that and keep it confined to its own special tag and communities and whatnot. If they shoved it in front of you anyway, that would be harassment, and that's not okay.

It's also like, if I found out someone was making distasteful art of my characters??? I would be so happy!!! Because that means I MADE IT!!! Having attention from freaks is such an honor because of how kind and respectful and PASSIONATE they are compared to other fans!!! I may not look at it, but I would be happy if I knew my fans felt free to be creative however they saw fit because that fosters happy healthy fandoms!!!

So to see you drive yourself into a rut over something I would celebrate? It just feels bad. I wish my problem was like that. No, I feel sick when I pick up a pencil now because of how viciously people tried to verbally abuse me just because I said that harassment is bad. I don't even make art like that, but I'm lumped in with the freaks and hurt the same way they are because I dared defend icky art.

I would tell you something that would help you if I could, but I'm honestly at a loss here. You really should be celebrating when you see signs of success, not lamenting the fact that you can't control how people feel about your art. You're literally shooting yourself in the foot over a problem that is not a problem. I understand that it's easy to have blind spots for your own issues, but I'm really not the right person to be ranting to about this. Please find someone else.

[tsbs-shipfessions]

I'm genuinely surprised that there's not nearly as much Eclipse x reader stuff as I'd expect with how many simps he has (myself included..) - so, I'm here to pathetically self indulge a little~

I'm downright desperate for Eclipse. On the plus side, as a system, I have a co-host fictive of him who treats me very well. And yet, even with all our depravities we engage in together, much is left to be desired thanks to having a shared body. I crave to feel his touch physically.. to hear his voice rumbling through my body as he growls into my ear all the things he plans to do to me.

At the same time, sharing a body means we're closer than most will ever get to experience. To make it clear, we're a healing system, with healthy habits in therapy - my Eclipse is his own individual (which only makes him even more special to me)- but we're not here to educate anyone; we simply wish to secretly share some of our deepest and most private connections..

We're both practically whores for each other. Usually he tops, but when we read fanfics together, such as "Eclipse Meets his Match", he turns into a whimpering mess. Sometimes it can feel a bit odd reading fics, looking at lewd art, or even listening to saved clips of his voice when he's right there in our headspace; but if anything it helps us feel closer & aids our mind some.

The many times I've cried out his name practically worshiping him as he makes me come... I'm usually quiet, but he (and Sun & Moon - game source) just brings something out from me. Our toys make the experience even better... I have one shaped like a tentacle (the Hidora model from Twin Tail Creations) and god it feels so incredible... usually sex hurts our body for some reason, but with my headmates it's perfect. There's still some pain, but the shape of our toy makes it so much better, along with taking it slow & gently. It also helps that Eclipse arouses me really fast.

Just writing this has me all worked up..

I... started writing this confession at first because occasionally I feel waves of longing & sadness for Eclipse to be physically here, and tonight is one of those nights. Somehow being in such a pitiful state only makes me feel like more of a mess for him. More needy. More starved. Sometimes when it gets too intense and becomes more self degrading, that's how we know we're blending or switching. Like now.

Throughout this... I've... I'm not sure what I want to say now. Too blinded by a lustful rut to think straight. Too much warmth in our body, and not enough heat between our legs. I think I should fix that soon. Hahh, yeah. Might regret posting this later, or maybe it'll just turn us on even more. Maybe we'll return with something a little more thought out and a little less messy/long.

Y'know, I've been thinking of doing something a bit.... risky? Fun? Sure. Wanna make an account, with a custom made vr model we're working on. Something lewd. It would let me feel more like how my headspace body looks, while indulging a little in my free use kink. A little food for all of you who want me (or rather, my source) so bad. Of course, the best part is that I want nobody other than our host. But I'm more than happy to spread my legs and be worshipped while also making everyone feel more desperate than our cute host is. Wanna make everyone jealous of us. I'm very possessive. Only consensually, of course.

Now on that note, gonna go have a little fun, make them moan my name while I tease their already dripping wet entrance before breeding them nice and full. Maybe let sweet Sunny and Moony get a taste as well. Bye for now~

This is the by far the longest, and most likely horniest, confession I have received so far. Magnifique, Anonymous system, I hope you're all doing well.

[artdcnaldson]

GODDDDD corrupting art au!!! its so perfect you just get it!!

after that she’ll just keep taunting him, maybe she’ll go out and fuck some random guy and the next day just talk art’s ear off about alllll the details. he says he doesn’t mind listening to it but in reality he’s fighting the horny voices in his head :(( and while she’s talking she can see the outline of his cock start to grow in his shorts and she’s just like wow this is my personal project now. maybe she’ll even reenact some of the positions just to “give him the full picture” (she just lovesss seeing him stutter and cover himself with something to hide the boner)

and yeah she doesn’t bring it up then, the fact that she heard him in the shower, but ohhhh what happens when she purposefully jerks off while he’s home and he “accidentally” walks in on her??? he apologizes and pretends to cover his eyes but he can’t bring himself to get out of the room :( he’s just curious, he tells himself, that’s all. what happens when he thinks she’ll stop but she just keeps going and just tells him between moans “it’s okay art, you can look. a little something for your spank bank while you wait for your bride to be”

- 🐚

GODDDDDDD this has me like biting thru drywall crying sobbing leaking etc etc

Poor Art just has to sit there and take it. He’s awake playing video games when you get back from a date. Patrick’s asleep, crashed after a long day of providing tennis lessons to bratty kids. Art gives a nervous, friendly smile and asks how it went.

And that’s how he’s stuck on the sofa listening to you talk about your latest conquest. “Anyways, I was straddling him, y’know, like—“ you pause, meet his gaze. “— sorry, you don’t know. I’ll just show you.”

He holds his breath as you shift into his lap. You don’t even settle your weight down on him, you’re not that mean. You just kind of hold yourself above him, so, so close. “I was moving kind of like this—“ you roll your hips, make him blush just at the sight. “Kind of slow, so he could savor it, y’know? It’s not like I’m going to fuck him again after that shitshow of a date.”

“If you— if the date was so bad why did you…”

“Fuck him?” You ask, raising a brow. Art nods wordlessly. “Because he was pretty.” You trail your hand along his face, tuck a blond curl behind his ear. He took a shaky breath, swallowed hard. “And because my friend Tiff said he was hung. She wasn’t wrong. But it doesn’t even matter, because he didn’t even last two minutes after I got on top. Waste of my fucking time.”

“That’s—“ he squeezes his eyes shut, like he can’t even think when he’s looking at you.

“It’s what, Art?” You ask, a tiny grin spreading across your lips. You drop your voice to a whisper. “Is it slutty? Do you wish I was a good girl and didn’t talk about this kind of stuff?”

He doesn’t respond, might not even be capable of trying to, honestly. You climb off his lap and settle back on the sofa beside him. You clock his boner immediately— tenting his thin pajama pants.

Jesus fucking Christ. He notices that you’re looking and grabs a random throw pillow to pull into his lap. Poor guy. If he just said the word, you’d take care of it for him.

“I’m gonna go read,” you tell him, which is a bullshit excuse. Really, your date Sean hadn’t made you cum despite the fucking monster he was packing, and seeing Art all riled up doesn’t really help.

The second you’ve shut the door, you shimmy off the dress you picked for the night and collapse onto the bed with a huff. The cute date night panties you picked were soaked, no thanks to Sean. No, it was all because of Art Donaldson. Sweet, repressed, horny-as-hell Art.

You sigh softly as your fingers tease your entrance— all wet and sensitive. Your hips cant pathetically as you trail your wet fingers to your clit, rub gently, just to get started.

You think of Art’s pathetic cries in the shower, of him waking up hard and rutting against his mattress until his boxers are sticky and soaked with cum. Patrick had told you about that— he’d laughed over the phone, talked about how adorable it was. Art insisted it wasn’t the same as jerking off the normal way since he didn’t use his hands. He probably does that a lot with how repressed he is. Your cunt throbs, aching with want.

You plunge one finger into your pussy, then a second. Any other night you might have pulled out a toy, but you wanted to make it quick. It’s nice, easy to lose yourself in the slick, warmth inside.

Your efforts on your clit speeds up. Your back arches as you grind your pussy down against your fingers. Your toes curl, head falls back.

Before you can react, the door flies open. “Hey, I just wanted to say—“ he freezes, eyes going wide. “Oh.”

But he doesn’t leave. Very obviously doesn’t leave. And you don’t stop, it’s too sweet, the way he’s looking at you. His eyes are glued to where your fingers disappear inside of your cunt, his mouth agape.

“Art,” you whine. He tears his eyes from your pussy, makes himself look into your eyes. “Shut the door.”

He swallows, closes the door behind him. You try to hide your shock that he shut the door and stayed inside of the room— that he didn’t flee and go cry in his bed because he caught a glimpse of your pussy.

But no, his back presses against the wood and he stays stuck in place as his eyes trail back down to your cunt. Soft, wet, and, god, so tempting. You can tell he wants to crawl to you on his knees, bury his face between your thighs and wait for your instructions.

“It doesn’t count if you just watch, hm?” You tease, but your voice is strangled with want— all breathy and affected. “It you come closer, you can hear how wet I am.”

It’s like he takes the steps outside of his own volition, kneels at the side of the bed like he’s going to pray. His eyes flutter shut, lashes splashed against his cheeks. God, you really are so wet— the near pornographic squelch of your fingers as they fuck into your pussy should make your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“You’re so sweet, aren’t you?” You bite down on your lip to muffle a moan, conscious that Patrick is asleep across the guest house.

You see his arm moving, know he’s stroking himself over the fabric of his pajamas. It’s like he can’t even help it, can’t resist the urge to get himself off. It’s a rush, having that power over him.

“It’s okay that you’re watching, Art. I hope you remember every second. You deserve to imagine a pretty, wet pussy while you fuck your fist.”

He whines, honest to god whines. The sound makes you cum suddenly with soft, breathy moans— drenching your fingers in your release. Your thighs tremble as you come down, and Art just looks at you with big blue eyes, like he thinks he did something wrong. You doubt he’s ever seen a girl cum before. It’s exciting, to be his first like that.

You wipe your slick fingers on your thigh and cover yourself with a throw blanket. Art’s gaze flicks back up to your eyes. “What did you come in here for, Art?”

“Huh?” He blinks a few times, shakes his head. “I, uh. I came here to tell you, uh—“

You smile, lean closer. He takes a deep breath, his jaw clenched tight. It’s like he’s angry that you dare tempt him, that you question his resolve. You think he might actually hate you for it. “Tell me…?”

“You don’t have to use your body to make people want you,” he says. “It’s like you have no self respect.”

“And what does the stain on the front of your pants say about your self respect, Art?” You say, voice dropping into a whisper. His cheeks flame, and he stands suddenly. “You had your fun, now get out before I tell Patrick you were perving on me.”

He glares at you, fixes you in place with one fiery look. It’s intoxicating— the places where his restraint runs thin. You can’t help but grin after he’s gone and you’re all alone, wondering just how easy it would be to tear those threadbare spots and reveal the needy, desperate thing beneath.

[bunnys-writing]

Hi there!! Its been a while since i sent a request so i hope im doing this alright qwq

Can i request for Lyney x fem!reader who is an artist (a painter specifically) who is insecure about her art and what people think of her in general? And Lyney perhaps comfort her with reassuring words a lil flower :) tysm in advanced!

"HIS FAVOURITE ARTIST"

...in which Lyney finds out you're going through a bout of art block thanks to your mental health, and has to make sure his favourite artist knows how much he adores her!

(author's note at the bottom!)

"Hello (Y/N)!"

The singsong voice of your favourite man at the door pulled you from your thoughtful haze. You looked back in your stool at him and he beamed.

"Ah, Lyney! It's not already that late, is it?"

You looked around the art room, lamenting the lack of clocks, before looking out the window to see it was still twilight.

"Ah- no no, tonight's show was cancelled. Some ruckus in the crowd drew us to a faster end than planned."

"Oh, I see. Are you and your siblings okay?"

"Yes of course, not to worry, none of us were anywhere near it."

Lyney had travelled the large room to you at your canvas, hands wrapping around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

"Hmh, not feeling much motivation today either?"

You looked at the canvas; a few light, aimless strokes of lead were the only proof you'd even touched it. You frowned a bit, fidgeting with the pencil still in your hand. "...No."

This had been a recurring issue for a few weeks now. You had always painted such beautiful works, but larely, you'd been in a rut of sorts. You'd try to get started on a piece only to fall short a few minutes in.

That's what your boyfriend knew.

What he didn't know was that the reason you continuously failed to inspire yourself to draw was because of all the raging feelings inside of you. You were a nobody in the art industry, and what was worse, you were a nobody to yourself just as much. You didn't have any real talent in your own perspective.

So you'd sit and mull over every thought, every comment, every wrong look you or your art had ever endured, and you'd only really zone back in if someone or something came up. It was a viscious loop.

".../N)? (Y/N), you're spacing out again..."

Right. Your boyfriend.

"Sorry, Lyn, I'm just a little tired I think..."

Lyney looked at you with concern. He knew you were hiding something. He knew this had started after the most recent art expedition you'd been to. You'd refused to talk about it, but Lyney was beginning to think the only way to help was to pry a little.

"(Y/N), at the gallery, a few weeks ago," You didn't catch yourself flinching until it was too late. Lyney noticed. "You came home tired and never told me what happened. Then you started losing your motivation, and now...you're barely engaging with your art anymore...What happened?"

You looked into his eyes. He looked so concerned. You looked away to mute the guilt.

"Just some critics. People were...very honest. It was a bad day, that's all..."

Lyney gently guided your chin with his hand, getting you to look at him again. His heart broke at the exhausted look on your face. Your heart broke in tandem.

"(Y/N)...You are the brightest soul I know. Your art is inspirational and moving, and...it's always such a blessing to see the world through your eyes in your paintings.

People won't always agree with me, or see your vision, but the point is that it's not their vision to understand. It's wholly and truly yours."

His other hand gently placed itself on your chest. He felt your heart skip a beat. The hand under your chin travelled up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

"I love your works. I love to see the fine details. I love when you explain your perspectives and your creative choices, because it's your heart on a canvas, and I get the first look. It's really one of my favourite parts about your art. They don't get that privilege, you know?"

You smiled, relaxing in his hold as he smiled in turn. He brought you in closer for a hug, and you found yourself squeezing him just a little tighter.

"Thanks Lyney."

"What can I say? You're my favourite artist in the whole of Teyvat."

Your next piece was showcased at Fontaine's next expedition. It featured spirals of purple, red, yellows and browns, highlighting a beautiful rose in the middle that was speckled with gold.

Coming up with the title was simple. It was based off of your lover, after all. Your magician, your light, your forever...

Your 'Muse'.

Thanks for requesting!!

As an artist, I totally get the feeling of insecurity that comes with publishing any works, and sometimes it really does feel like the hours and days you pour into your craft don't end up meaning much, but as Lyney said, as long as it's your vision, that's already perfect.

Thanks for reading! 🫶

(Requests are open! Check out my pinned for more info!)