#loona one third

[kpop-locks]

꒰ ˀˀ ↷ heejin; simple ”♡ᵎ ꒱

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[utopialocks]

⤷ ⋅˚₊‧ heejin; lockscreens ⋆˚. ᵎᵎ

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[ikosburneraccount]

do you guys think the eventual breakup and inevitable growth apart of the rampion crew would mirror LOONA yes or no

[tealvenetianmask]

The "old movies" of Blitz's traumatic memories went by really fast, so I slowed it down to .25 and watched it frame by frame to see what I could find. Here are the frames I found interesting.

The necklace. It's confirmed that this is the same one that his mother wore, and he found it in the fire. Maybe it fell off while she tried to escape the flames? We also see how it haunts him when her eyeball turns into it in his hallucination.

Cash throwing a hard fucking smack. Maybe after the fire? It kind of follows narratively, but I couldn't get much from the background. Or maybe it's earlier? Either way, our theories that Cash was physically abusive are confirmed. Fuck him.

Two cute M&M moments. I've felt for a while that when they got together it really messed with Blitz's world. The second one looks familiar. Is it from Exes and Oh's right before he hugs them and acts invasive about Chaz? Either way, his hands are reached out. He feels like a third wheel since they became a couple. So it seems like a lot of his creepy behavior comes down to feeling abandoned by his friends and trying to SOMEHOW be close to them in the only way he knows how to do so safely (being sexual and joking).

This moment with Loona at the end of Seeing Stars. The rage in her face. This was played for laughs mostly (Loona refusing the hug and kicking him in the balls) but maybe it was actually hurtful? Seems like it stuck with him. Seems like he fears that Loona actually resents him (so these two need a talk too eeek).

Barbie. Yepppppp. I can't decide whether this is in Unhappy Campers or from an earlier time.

ALL the Stolas moments. Is it reading into it too much to notice that in all of the moments before Blitz raged in The Full Moon, Stolas is looking at him, and in all of the moments after, he's looking away? Regardless, these are all really upsetting moments for Blitz. And the sheer number of them says something about how fresh and painful the breakup still is for him. HOPING they reunite and make some progress on this next episode. :(

I love the role that Blitz's HANDS play in these glimpses into his traumatic moments. He's never touching anyone, and often reaching or pulling back, or touching an object instead. He has so much love in him, and he's so lonely.

Updates, for anyone who's seeing this from the original post. Thanks to those who pointed these out.

Blitz's hands are burned when Cash smacks him, so it's from after the fire.

The M&M moments are from Murder Family and Truth Seekers.

[lost-romantique]

Ghostfuckers Massive Lore Dump & More...

I'm stuck at work doing the graveyard shift, so I decided to make a list of all the lore that we learned in Ghostfuckers. Plus some extra cuz my fave character is Blitz, and I love him...

It has been one month since the events of Apology Tour. Blitz and Stolas have been NO CONTACT for one whole month.

I.M.P is on the verge of bankruptcy due to Blitzø’s poor spending habits. Past Due Notices are pasted on the whiteboard. Millie confirms later on that Blitzø has not paid her in a month.

(Honestly same, I also cope by buying stupid shit, but sweetie you gotta pay your employees)

Confirmation that Blitzø (at least by the beginning of Ghostfuckers) has given up on pursuing a relationship with Stolas.

Millie confirmed that there is only Heaven or Hell, there is no such thing as Purgatory. And there is no such thing as Ghosts.

The fact that Millie had to stress it out several times, even to Blitz that ghosts don't exist... is insane.

Confirmation that Blitzø is still following M&M on their dates, and that once again... Blitz sees love and relationships as a transaction.

Blitzø’s illiteracy and possibly having dyslexia is the gift that keeps on giving.

(Fun fact: Brandon Rogers is confirmed dyslexic)

Confirmation that Blitzø has genuine fears of M&M getting hurt when they do go on missions.

Blitzø’s mom is confirmed to have died from the fire, just in case it wasn't obvious already.

Confirmation that Moxxie met Blitz before he met Millie, and by extension, Blitzø adopted Loona before he met Moxxie.

Further confirmation that Blitzø owning his own business as an imp makes him an outlier.

The fact that Blitzø has to stress to Millie that he does in fact own his own business, but she keeps denying the possibility that, that even exists is insane.

Confirmation that I.M.P began the moment Blitzø was in possession of the grimoire. Therefore, Blitzø had Millie, Moxxie, and Loona to provide for by the time he met Stolas

So much of Hell's Hierarchy and the suppression of imps in general, is ingrained into Millie that she genuinely believes that she isn't deserving to work in an old ass building located in the Pride Ring (where the sinners live)

Confirmation that imps (and by extension hellhounds) are expected to work for someone higher up, whether it be the Sins, the Ars Goetia, or even other sinners and hellborn

Confirmation once again that Blitzø is genuinely considered an outlier among imps. Him owning a business gives him a sense of prestige among others of his own kind.

Confirmation that Millie's entire life is all thanks to Blitzø: a husband, a career, a future, a best friend. ❤️

Further confirmation of the existance of Blitzø’s mask. (People were genuinely surprised when they realized that there was more to Blitzø than asshole)

Confirmation of the existance of infestor demons that are presumably from the Envy Ring.

Confirmation that Cash Fuckzo was an abusive piece of shit that not only manipulated his own child, but physically abused him when he had fresh burn marks on his wrist

Confirmation that Cash Fuckzo was the man that kept Blitzø and Fizz apart for so long, essentially the reason why these men hated each other for 15 years.

Confirmation that even seeing M&M happy and in love genuinely hurts him because (in his mind) he could never have what they have.

Confirmation that the events of Seeing Stars hurt Blitzø’s feelings and reignites that fear his daughter hates him.

The amount of remorse, guilt, and regret this man feels is so palpable that it can power an entire fucking city.

By the end of the episode Blitzø makes a promise to Millie to stop trying to become their "third". Millie is shocked by his answer and genuinely did not expect it.

Blitzø confirms to Millie that he does indeed have feelings for Stolas, but he's aware enough to know that he still fucked things up with him.

The character development that Blitzø showed this episode was actually insane, and I am so proud of him. He has a long way to go before he could forgive himself for the fire and hate himself less, but nonetheless I am so proud of him.

Also, in case you were wondering my favorite part of the episode was Millie's apology to Blitzø.

[faebled-stories]

Yours Forever

Kinkvember Day 13: Werewolf

LOONA/Loossemble Son Hyeju x Werewolf Male Reader

7.4k words

The week leading up to the full moon had been unbearable. You’d begun to pull away, slipping from Hyeju’s touch, retreating further with each passing day. Though your transformations were a rhythm she had come to understand, something was unmistakably different this time—something raw and electrifying that charged the air between you.

She sensed it immediately, an undercurrent of tension replacing the warmth she was used to. Your once-welcoming presence had become guarded, your eyes avoiding hers, and a strange energy bristled beneath your skin. You’d warned her of this side of yourself, the primal force that awakened with the waxing moon. She’d always honored the boundary, letting you slip into the woods each month for the transformation, a small price to pay for the security it brought to you both.

But this was different. This wasn’t just about the full moon or keeping her safe. You weren’t merely preparing for the change; you were holding something back, and the strain of it was unmistakable. Each touch was brief, your hand pulling away as if her warmth stung, your breaths turning sharp when she was near. She tried to reach for you, but each time felt like touching a live wire. A chill settled into her bones, and a deeper realization struck: this wasn’t just you preparing to leave. You were resisting something powerful, something only she seemed to provoke.

On the first night, she watched you by the window, staring into the dense shadows of the forest. You stood there, rigid, your shoulders pulled taut as though braced for release. Even from across the room, she could feel the tension rolling off you, saw the way your hands clenched, fingers twitching as if resisting the instinct to reach for her. When you finally slipped into bed, you lay at the edge, as though afraid even a brush of her skin might unravel whatever control you had left. Sleep was distant for her that night as she lay beside you, feeling each measured breath, each silent struggle that kept you tethered.

By the second day, the strain had seeped into every gesture, every look. At breakfast, you barely touched your food, gaze distant, lost somewhere she couldn’t reach. Hyeju attempted to bridge the growing gap with gentle conversation, offering smiles she knew would normally soften you. But all she received were nods, one-word responses, your fists clenched each time she leaned in, as if proximity to her had become an unbearable temptation. The quiet intimacy that usually marked your mornings was gone, replaced by a silence that felt like an ever-widening chasm.

On the third day, pretense vanished altogether. You weren’t just keeping your distance; you were withdrawing from her entirely, avoiding her gaze, jaw set so tight that the veins in your neck stood out. The scent she associated with you was sharper now, tinged with something wild and unrestrained. Whenever she entered the room, she felt your intense gaze upon her—a look that lingered, dark and unblinking, before you quickly turned away. Your eyes held a ferocity that unsettled her even as it stirred something deep within, a mixture of unease and instinctive thrill. The restraint you fought against became tangible, pressing in like a thunderstorm about to break.

The fourth night brought restlessness. Once again, you stood by the window, but this time you began to pace, muscles shifting under your skin with each jerky movement, as though barely contained by the human form you wore. The moon was still waxing, yet its influence radiated through every line of your body, in the rise and fall of your labored breaths. Hyeju watched from the bed, heart pounding, feeling a mix of concern and something nameless, like an ache that mirrored the primal energy in you. Each step you took held a rawness that threatened to unleash, your form barely holding back a force that loomed just beneath the surface.

Finally, in a voice rough and edged with strain, you muttered, “I need to leave soon.”

The words were clipped, barely a whisper, but they landed heavily.

“You usually wait until the day of,” she replied, her voice laced with concern.

“It’s… different this time,” you answered, eyes fixed on the floor, unable or unwilling to meet her gaze. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

The fifth day arrived like a storm, thick with tension that clung to the air. Every movement she made felt monitored, her presence tracked by your wary gaze. When you did speak, your voice was hoarse, each word scraping through clenched teeth. Your movements lost all their usual grace; you paced with a sharp, restless energy, each step more animalistic than human. When she came close, she felt you flinch. For the first time, there was no warmth in your gaze—only a restrained, urgent focus, as though holding yourself back from a force that could consume you both. The lines of your body, the clench of your fists, every taut muscle told of a fierce restraint that went against every primal instinct you harbored.

By the sixth day, it was undeniable: you weren’t just avoiding her, you were fighting the pull between you with every fiber of your being. The desire in you was palpable, like an electric charge, a force barely controlled, simmering under the surface. Your gaze had taken on a new intensity, a dark hunger that sent a shiver down her spine. When she neared, your breaths quickened, nostrils flaring as though scenting her, tracking her presence with instincts heightened by the looming transformation. Yet even as the tension between you grew unbearable, you held yourself back, jaw clenched, fingers digging into your palms as though this restraint was the only thing tethering you to reason.

Then came the seventh day, the full moon hovering on the horizon. Your skin was feverish, your eyes blazing with a golden light that felt more beast than human. Every muscle in your body seemed wound tight, thrumming with restless energy, and staying near her had become an ordeal. You took to the woods, vanishing into the night for long runs, returning each time drenched in sweat, breath labored, muscles quaking as though you had wrestled an invisible enemy. Yet each return left your gaze fiercer, that golden light burning brighter with each passing hour.

Hyeju watched, heart aching, understanding the battle raging within you yet feeling helpless. She could only hope that as the full moon rose and the transformation overtook you, the distance you’d forced between you would be enough to keep her safe from the powerful, forbidden pull that simmered just beneath your skin.

-----

That evening, you stood before the fireplace, fists clenched so tightly that your knuckles blanched, nails biting into your palms. The firelight flickered, casting shadows that danced across your face, illuminating the sharp lines of your jaw and the fierce tension in your eyes—a storm of unspoken fears and desires boiling just beneath the surface. The warmth of the flames did little to ease the chill coursing through you; if anything, it seemed to amplify the turmoil that had been building inside, the mounting pressure of days spent in silence. Every crackle of the fire felt like a countdown, pushing you closer to the inevitable moment when you would have to speak. The truth lay on your tongue, heavy and bitter, an admission that you could scarcely bear to voice.

At last, the silence fractured, your words tearing through the stillness. “I’m leaving tomorrow.” The sentence was low but thunderous, slicing through the quiet with a brutal finality. It hung in the air, irreversible, a single statement that felt like it would drive Hyeju further away than ever.

Her shock was instant. Hyeju’s eyes widened, her soft expression hardening into one of quiet horror as she took a step toward you, her gaze unwavering yet clouded with worry and confusion. “You don’t have to,” she whispered, her voice barely audible yet carrying an unmistakable plea. She edged closer, her look gentle but resolute. “You always come back to me—”

“No.” The word escaped you in a snarl, cutting through her words with a fierce finality. The harshness of your tone froze her mid-step, a flash of restrained power in your gaze halting her as her lips parted in unspoken confusion. “You don’t understand,” you continued, your voice tight, each word strained under the weight of what you’d been hiding. “This time, I won’t be able to control myself.”

A long, tense silence settled between you. Hyeju’s resolve faltered only slightly before her voice returned, low and unwavering, layered with quiet confidence. “But I trust you.” She moved closer, her gaze searching your face, reading every fracture in the guarded mask you’d constructed. Her scent, the soft, familiar fragrance that usually grounded you, now fueled the fire within, making each breath an exquisite torment. Every inhalation felt like stoking a flame that was already blazing out of control, testing the limits of restraint you’d desperately tried to uphold.

For a moment, your hardened resolve wavered, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through before you forced yourself back into control. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” you said, voice rough and barely steady under the strain. Admitting even that much felt like surrender, a risk too great to take. But here you were, standing at the edge, teetering between revelation and restraint.

Hyeju reached out then, her fingers grazing your forearm with a touch so light it was almost unbearable, a grounding presence that sent a wave of conflicting sensations through you—longing and fear, lust and caution. Her hand was gentle, a soft anchor amid the chaos roaring inside you, yet exactly what you knew you couldn’t bear. “I’m not afraid of you,” she murmured, her voice steady, cutting through the wild, tangled thoughts spiraling in your mind.

Her words were a balm and a curse, a calm certainty that felt like fire in your veins, heating the tension already simmering inside. Every nerve in your body screamed for release, and her unwavering belief in you only made it harder to resist. Piece by piece, you could feel yourself unraveling in her presence. “Hyeju…” you rasped, voice raw and pleading, barely holding yourself together. The confession clawed its way out of you, forced from the depths of your restraint. “I’m in heat,” you admitted, the words nearly breaking under their own weight. “Your scent… it’s driving me mad.”

At this, Hyeju’s gaze softened, her expression turning calm and understanding, as though every fleeting look, every tense gesture had clicked into place. She held your gaze, a mix of compassion and strength, her voice dropping to a soft, steady murmur. “Then let me come with you.” Her words were gentle yet unyielding, carrying a determination that left no room for argument. “You don’t have to face this alone. Don’t push me away.”

A surge of panic flashed through you, and you shook your head, sharp and decisive, knowing the risk was too great. “No,” you replied, voice rough and laden with unspoken fear. “I could hurt you. It’s not safe.”

But Hyeju’s response was quiet and certain, her trust in you unshakeable. “You won’t,” she insisted, her conviction a solid, unbreakable force. “I know you. I trust you.”

Her words shattered something within you, dissolving the last of the restraint you’d clung to, leaving you exposed, every breath dragging against the strain in your chest. She was close—too close—and every instinct in you waged a war to keep control. You opened your mouth, prepared to argue, to plead with her to understand the danger she tempted. But before you could, she placed her hand firmly against your chest, her touch a grounding warmth that silenced you. “I’m coming with you,” she declared, her gaze resolute. “I’m not letting you face this alone.”

For a long, breathless moment, you stared down at her, caught between the fierce need to protect her and the unbearable, searing desire that had been clawing at you all week. Her hand on your chest was steady, her eyes filled with an unbreakable belief in you that seemed to defy every fear and instinct within. The silence between you was thick, weighted with her conviction and your desperate restraint.

“No… Hyeju,” you managed, voice thick with desperation, as you struggled to maintain control. “You don’t get it… I can’t…” Each word was dragged from you, heavy with fear and frustration. Meeting her gaze one last time, you saw the strength in her eyes, a silent insistence that you stay. It was almost too much. “Don’t. Follow. Me.” Each word was deliberate, a plea and a command wrapped in a last-ditch attempt to shield her from the force that loomed just beneath the surface. With a final, tortured look, you turned and walked out, each step a battle against your own instincts, leaving her standing alone, the silence in your absence cutting deep, stretching like an open wound.

-----

But as the moon rose higher that night, its light spilling through her window, Hyeju found herself lying awake, your words reverberating through her mind, gnawing at her heart. She could feel the pull to follow you, a force she couldn’t quite resist, and as the night deepened, the thought solidified within her. Ignoring the warning that still echoed in her mind, she packed a small bag, slipping quietly into the forest, following the familiar path to your secluded cabin deep within the trees.

The forest was shrouded in darkness, yet the silver light of the moon cast an eerie glow over her path, illuminating the twisting roots and gnarled branches, their shadows stretching long and foreboding. Her heart raced as she neared the cabin, each step echoing with the unspoken fear and resolve that pushed her forward. When she arrived, the air around the cabin was thick, heavy with a tension she could feel humming in her very bones, a force that pulsed and throbbed like a heartbeat. She could feel you on the other side of the door, a presence more powerful than she had ever sensed.

The door was barricaded, as she had expected, but she raised her hand and knocked gently, the sound seeming almost insignificant against the thick silence of the night. She waited, heart pounding, straining to hear any response, but was met only with the quiet rustle of leaves and the occasional distant howl. Summoning her courage, she knocked again, louder this time, and after a long, charged silence, she heard it—the soft, hesitant sound of the lock being turned, of the door slowly opening.

You stood in the doorway, your golden eyes already glowing with an intensity that nearly took her breath away. Every inch of you was taut with tension, muscles flexed beneath the skin, your chest heaving with deep, ragged breaths as though you were barely containing the power thrumming inside. The air was thick, almost stifling with the electric charge of restrained ferocity. She could see the struggle etched into every line of your face, the battle raging beneath the surface as you fought to hold back the wildness that the full moon had awakened.

Hyeju took a slow step forward, eyes fixed on you, feeling the pull of something deeper than words—a call to stand by your side, come what may. She knew the danger, yet her resolve was unbreakable. In that charged silence, you both stood on the edge, caught between fear and desire, each heartbeat echoing like thunder, as if the forest itself was holding its breath.

“Hyeju,” you rasped, your voice raw and tangled with confusion. “What are you doing here? It’s not safe. You shouldn’t be—”

“I came to be with you,” she interrupted, stepping into the cabin, her gaze meeting yours with unwavering determination. “I know what’s happening. I’m not scared.”

You took a step back, running a hand through your hair in frustration, muscles twitching as though each movement was a battle to stay in control. “You really don’t understand,” you growled, voice thick with barely restrained fury. “I won’t be able to stop myself. The full moon, the heat... your scent is driving me insane. I can’t—”

But she cut you off with a steady look, her fingers reaching up to caress your bare chest. The gentle circles she traced sent shivers through you, her soft touch both comforting and excruciating. Her hands were confident, each touch pushing you further toward the edge. “Hyeju,” you growled, voice now heavy with desperation, “I can’t... You don’t know what you’re doing.”

But she did. She knew exactly what she was doing. She was choosing to trust you, to be with you in this wild, vulnerable moment, and she wouldn’t let fear keep her away.

You stared at her, chest rising and falling with each labored breath, muscles trembling with the strain of resisting the instincts clawing at you. “I don't want to hurt you” you whispered, voice hoarse, filled with the weight of the battle raging inside.

“It’s okay, baby” she whispered, stepping closer until her bare skin brushed against yours. “I want this. I want you to be yourself—no more holding back. Let your desires come through.”

The words hit you like a spark to dry wood, and your body trembled, the force of her gaze enough to break your last shreds of restraint. The transformation you had been fighting surged to the surface, muscles tensing and shifting, claws extending, your skin stretched tight as you struggled to hold back even a fraction of the wildness she was calling forth. Your eyes, now fully golden, locked onto hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Hyeju… please,” you pleaded one last time, voice low, desperate. “You don’t want to see what happens.”

“I do,” she insisted, her voice steady despite the fierce energy radiating off you. “I trust you.”

Without breaking eye contact, Hyeju moved toward the bed, her movements slow, deliberate, each step filled with certainty. She began to undress, her eyes never leaving yours, her gaze filled with a quiet strength, inviting you to follow her, to trust her as she trusted you. You could see her body fully bared in front of you, vulnerable yet fearless, and the sight ignited something within you, a force you could no longer hold back.

Her clothes pooled on the floor, and in that moment, you surrendered completely to the instincts you had fought to keep buried.

On all fours, she slowly made her way onto the bed, crawling toward the headboard with a teasing, playful sway, each movement inviting and deliberate. Her bare cheeks moved with each shift, her skin glistening softly under the dim light. You watched, transfixed, your glowing yellow eyes taking in every detail, every inch of her body revealed to you, a sight that was almost too much to bear. Her arousal, prominent, was an irresistible draw, an open invitation that held you captive, stirring the wildness inside you as your last vestiges of control wavered.

Finally, reaching her destination at the headboard, she flipped onto her back, baring herself entirely to your gaze. Her eyes met yours, a steady, powerful look that contradicted her petite frame, and for a moment, despite the beast inside you, it was she who held the power. Her gaze, dark and full of lust, seemed to pierce through you, striking at the very core of your deepest, most carnal desires. Slowly, she spread her legs, releasing a sweet, intoxicating scent that fogged your mind, each breath pulling you deeper into a haze where human restraint faded and only the primal urges remained.

With slow, deliberate movements, she brought a hand down between her legs, her fingers brushing over her skin, and then, as if to taunt you further, she spread her folds open, her wetness shining under your gaze. Her eyes met yours again, confident and unwavering, drawing you in until it was as if nothing else existed in the world. You felt your humanity slipping, her scent clouding your mind, drowning every rational thought as your focus narrowed down to her alone. She was yours, yet every second of her teasing was pushing you closer to the edge, closer to the part of you you had tried so hard to keep at bay.

And then, something inside you snapped.

The transformation surged through you with a force that could no longer be resisted. You felt your body begin to change, your muscles tensing and expanding, bones shifting with an audible crack. A primal energy flooded your veins, erasing the last shreds of restraint. Hyeju’s confident gaze flickered as she watched, her breath catching as the reality of your transformation became undeniable. Your form grew, stretching until you towered over her, limbs thickening with muscle, hands morphing into powerful claws that extended toward the bed, grazing the sheets.

Her confidence wavered, her eyes widening as you loomed over her, now fully transformed. The human features she had come to love and trust were now overlaid with the raw, undeniable presence of the beast. Your face was wild, feral, golden eyes glowing with an intensity that pierced the dim room. Hyeju’s back pressed against the headboard as she took in the full expanse of your towering frame, a flicker of nervousness crossed her expression. Her heart pounded as she realized just how massive every part of you had become, how easily your form could overpower her.

As the last tendrils of the transformation wisped away from your body, the atmosphere in the small, dimly lit cabin thickened with an intense energy. Hyeju, who had stood witness to this spectacle, found her initial awe morphing into a gripping fear as she took in the full extent of your metamorphosis. Her eyes, previously alight with curiosity and anticipation, now widened with shock, tracing the daunting new size and form you had assumed.

Her reaction was palpable; her once firm stance of confidence, bolstered by the warmth of her affection and a dash of adventurous spirit, crumbled under the weight of your overwhelming presence. "W-wait... wait..." she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, trembling like a leaf in a storm. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, a frantic drumbeat that seemed to echo through the room, as she felt an icy chill spread through her, urging her to retreat.

Pressed against the ornate headboard of the bed, Hyeju made herself as small as possible, the plushness of the bed offering little comfort against the backdrop of her spiraling fear. Her breaths came in short, shallow gulps, each one a struggle as her mind grappled with the surreal reality before her. The sheets beneath her fingers turned into a lifeline, gripped so tightly that her knuckles drained of color, reflecting the starkness of her terror.

“I-I’m not sure… maybe… maybe I was wrong…” she murmured, her voice a tapestry of hesitation and self-doubt. The courage that had felt like a shield now seemed like a child's armor against a giant. Her body trembled, muscles tensing with the primal urge to flee, to escape this unforeseen turn of events.

The air was thick with tension until a low, guttural growl erupted from you, slicing through the silence like a blade. It was a sound that belonged to the beastly, the wild, and it jolted Hyeju from her paralyzing fear into a sharp, sudden alertness. Before she could process her next move, you moved with a fluid, predatory grace, your large hands seizing her thighs with a grip that was nearly crushing. The suddenness of your action elicited a gasp from her, her eyes stretching even wider, now not just with fear but with an intense mix of vulnerability and surprise.

Looming over her, your presence was an undeniable force, a raw power that left no room for resistance or escape. The heat from your body seemed to envelop her, the intensity of your gaze pinning her in place as effectively as your hands did her legs. Without another moment's delay, you thrust forward, the movement powerful and unyielding. A cry tore from Hyeju’s lips, sharp and echoing, a sound that was both a release and a plea, reverberating off the wooden walls of the cabin.

Hyeju's fingers clung to the fur of your shoulders, her nails digging in as she tried to steady herself against the overwhelming onslaught of sensations.

"No... no, wait!" she cried out, her voice wavering and thick with the strain of accommodating the sheer intensity of their lovemaking. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, each one a desperate attempt to manage the overwhelming sensations that coursed through her.

Her body trembled, stretched beyond her limits as she struggled to accept the fullness that threatened to push her past her breaking point. Her muscles tensed, quivering with a mixture of anticipation and fear of the ecstasy that might consume her entirely. She felt every inch of him inside her, an overwhelming presence that seemed to redefine the boundaries of her own body.

Every thrust was a powerful, rhythmic surge that filled her so completely, so deeply, that she could barely process the onslaught of pleasure that threatened to shatter her mind. Each movement sent waves of sensation radiating from her core, making her toes curl and her back arch involuntarily. The room echoed with the sounds of their union — skin against fur, the muffled cries escaping her lips, and the low, guttural sounds from her partner, lost in their shared intensity.

Her fingers gripped your fur tightly, as if to anchor herself against the storm of feelings that threatened to sweep her away. Her mind, awash with endorphins, could only focus on the here and now, the relentless, intoxicating sensation of being filled and overwhelmed, pushing her closer to an edge where ecstasy and madness blurred into one.

Tears of intense pleasure and pain mingled at the corners of her eyes, her emotions as stretched as her physical form. In this moment, she was not just participating in an act of love, but was being redefined by it, her very essence quivering under the weight of such profound connection.

With each movement, Hyeju felt herself being pushed past her boundaries, past what she had thought herself capable of enduring. Yet, even as she felt herself nearing the edge, she could not deny the raw, visceral pleasure that coursed through her veins. It was as if every nerve ending in her body had been set alight.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving as you continued to drive deeper into her, pushing her beyond what she had thought possible. Her muscles clenched around you, her body's natural response to the overwhelming fullness, yet her resistance only seemed to fuel your intensity.

"I... I don't think I can..." she cried out, her voice a mixture of desperation and ecstasy, her words broken by another sharp gasp as you increased your pace. Each thrust was forceful, driving into her with an intensity that stole her breath away. Her fingers clutched at the sheets, knuckles whitening with the effort to maintain some semblance of control.

Your rhythm was relentless, pushing her towards an edge she wasn't sure she was ready to leap from. Her body quaked, not just from the physical exertion but from the overwhelming sensory overload. The room felt too small, the air too thick with the mixture of her perfume, your musk, and the heat of your bodies. Each movement sent a shockwave through her, her legs quivering, barely able to support the weight of your mutual desire.

Her mind teetered on the brink of sanity, the world narrowing down to the points where you were connected, where pleasure met pain in a dance as old as time. She felt every ridge, every pulse of you inside her, each sensation magnified by her heightened state. Her breath came in ragged sobs, tears of both release and overwhelming emotion flooding from her eyes.

But there was no stopping now. The primal force within you had taken complete control, each powerful motion fed by a desire so deep it felt inescapable. The beast within was in command, every muscle tense with the sheer force driving each thrust, each movement a testament to the ancient instinct that surged through your veins. Growls rumbled low and unrestrained from your throat, mingling with Hyeju’s gasps and whimpers, creating a discordant symphony of need and desperation. Your claws pressed against her skin, grazing lightly but enough to leave a faint mark, holding her steady as she writhed beneath you.

Her breath came in shallow, rapid bursts, each exhalation laced with soft pleas, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Please… I-I was wrong… it’s too much…” Her voice broke again, the words trailing off as the line between pleasure and pain blurred, each new wave of sensation pushing her further to the edge. 

Her scent, mingling with the fear and vulnerability, drove you further, igniting every primal instinct within as you gave in completely, the beast’s hunger fully unleashed. Hyeju’s whimpers filled the air, her body yielding even as her mind fought against the intensity, the boundary between her own resistance and surrender melting away as the night stretched on, her cries a helpless melody that fed the fire raging within you both.

Desperately, she tried to steady herself, palms pressing against your waist—not to stop you, but to brace herself, to somehow absorb the force of each powerful thrust that surged through her body. She knew, even as her body trembled beneath yours, that resisting you fully was impossible; you were in a state beyond reason, each motion primal, instinctual, and unstoppable.

Her hands found no purchase against your hips, her touch only seeming to stoke the fire in you, compelling you to drive even harder. Her voice, pleading and broken, filled the room, her cries reaching your ears but slipping past, your mind consumed by her presence, by the intoxicating scent of her that fueled the storm of instincts raging within you.

And then, just as the rhythm peaked, your head tipped back, and a howl tore from your throat, resonating through the cabin with a raw, wild force that sent a shiver down her spine. The sound was pure and primal, yet familiar, carrying within it an echo of something deeper—moments from before, the memories of who you were, of the tenderness that lived beneath your wild exterior.

In a flash, Hyeju saw you as you had been, in the quiet of so many nights spent wrapped in each other’s warmth. She remembered your laughter, the softness of your touch, the whispered secrets shared in the night. Even as she felt her body stretched and trembling beneath you, she realized that the man she loved was still there, deep within the beast, bound by love even in this fierce, unrestrained form.

As her body adjusted to the rhythm, her eyes rose to meet yours, locking onto the wild hunger there, golden and unbridled, yet somehow… familiar. In that gaze, she saw more than the beast—she saw the intensity of your need for her, a need so fierce it overwhelmed everything else. She could feel it, the love that transcended the primal instinct driving you; it was a force just as powerful, just as consuming. Her breath steadied as she held your gaze, feeling her own heartbeat slow and sync with yours as an undeniable truth dawned within her. She’d promised to love all of you, and now, in this moment, you were offering her every part of yourself, even the parts you had fought so hard to shield from her. This was you—all of you—and as she looked into the depths of your gaze, she felt her resolve deepen.

“This is him… this is all of him,” she whispered to herself, the words anchoring her in this reality, a reality where she wanted, needed, all of you. Her fear softened, melting away as her body began to accept you, her breath growing steady as she adapted to the fullness pressing into her.

The sharp discomfort ebbed into a new sensation, an electric pulse that coursed through her veins, intertwining pain with pleasure in a way that ignited something deep within her. Her hips lifted to meet yours, a tentative acceptance transforming into a fierce desire, her body yielding as she began to move with you, each thrust building a rhythm that brought her closer to you, closer to the unbridled passion she saw in your eyes.

“I’m yours, my love,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion and resolve, the words carrying a weight she knew you could feel. “I’m your mate.”

The words, quiet and simple, struck something within you. Her voice seemed to echo through the wild storm of your mind, her words bypassing the primal urge and reaching a place deeper, more vulnerable. Your body trembled, the hunger in your eyes intensifying, your movements becoming frantic, almost desperate. Growls tore from your throat, rough and uncontrolled, as the beast within you struggled against the sheer force of need pulling you toward her. Yet in that need was a softness, a desire to give her everything, to leave no part of yourself hidden.

And Hyeju, finally, was ready. She wanted all of it, wanted to be taken without reservation, her own need flaring up to meet yours. The initial pain dulled, replaced by a throbbing pleasure that grew with each powerful thrust, filling her completely in a way that left her gasping. She clung to you, her nails raking through your fur, holding you close as if to anchor herself in this wild storm. You were rough, your hands wrapping around her waist like a belt, lifting her small frame with each deep drive. Every thrust was strong, unrestrained, but she understood that this was your way of showing her how much you needed her, how much you had held back until now.

“I can take it… I can take you,” she moaned, her voice breathless and full of need, her body surrendering entirely as your rhythm took her to the edge, each thrust carrying her deeper into the whirlwind of ecstasy. And as her voice filled the space between you, you could feel her acceptance, her desire, her trust—trust in all of you, the man and the beast entwined. Her words fueled your movements, drawing out a depth of passion that you hadn’t known you were capable of, and together, in the rhythm that bound you, you found a unity, a shared surrender that transcended the boundaries of what you had been before.

Your growls deepened, your grip on her tightening as you pulled her closer, deeper. Your pace quickened, your breathing ragged as you neared the edge. Hyeju could feel it too—the tension in your body, the desperation in your movements. You were close.

As your thrusts became more frantic, Hyeju’s own pleasure surged. She arched her back, gasping your name as her body tightened around you, the overwhelming sensation pushing her closer and closer to the brink. She wasn’t just taking you anymore—she was lost in you.

“FUCK YES BABY, claim me, mark me, do everything to make me yours forever”

The air between you crackles with the intensity of the moment, charged with an almost visible energy that binds you both in its electrifying grip. Every breath, every inch of space, is alive with a current that flows from you to her and back again, an endless loop of energy and desire that leaves no room for doubt or hesitation. As your movements grow more intense, more purposeful, a primal need overtakes you—a raw, consuming force that drives you forward, until that last, powerful thrust carries both of you across an invisible threshold. It’s more than a joining; it’s an act that resonates on a level deeper than flesh, a physical and spiritual fusion that feels as though your very souls are entwined.

Hyeju’s body responds instinctively, her breath catching in her throat as she feels herself filled completely, claimed in a way that goes beyond the physical. She can feel you within her not only in her body but in her very core, touching a place so deep it feels like you’re etching yourself into her spirit. The sensation is overwhelming, washing over her like wave after wave, resonating in the hidden spaces of her heart and mind, reaching into the depths of who she is. The intensity of it leaves her breathless, suspended in a realm of sensation and connection where nothing else exists.

And then, in a moment of fierce, possessive tenderness, you lower your mouth to her neck, a primal growl rumbling from deep within your chest. As your teeth pierce the delicate skin, a sharp gasp escaped her lips, the sudden bite a bold, possessive claim that sends a fresh surge of feeling through her. The bite is both a brand and a promise, an ancient ritual of dominion and devotion. The sting of it is sharp, grounding her even as it electrifies her senses, drawing a fine line between pain and pleasure, agony and ecstasy. She arches into you, her body a willing canvas as you mark her, the bite an indelible declaration that says without words: she is yours.

The pain of your teeth sinking into her skin serves as a fierce counterpoint to the pleasure that swells within her, a raw edge that makes every sensation more vivid. It anchors her even as it pushes her toward the brink, a grounding force in the swirling maelstrom of ecstasy that consumes her. The juxtaposition of agony and rapture only heightens her response, a perfect balance that holds her suspended on the razor’s edge of surrender.

As the bite reaches its peak, her cry breaks free, piercing through the night—a sound raw and unrestrained, the pure, unfiltered release of everything she has held back. “AAGH, FUCK YES!” The words spill from her, half a scream, half a prayer, as her body shakes with the force of her climax, her form bending under the weight of pleasure that borders on transcendence. She feels as though every nerve, every fiber of her being, is caught in a storm, shuddering with the aftershocks of an earthquake that has left nothing in its wake but pure, blissful devastation.

Your own release follows, a deep, animalistic rumble vibrating from your chest as the tension within you finally snaps. You let go completely, your body shaking as you fill her with warmth, the final, powerful surge of your passion consuming you both. And then, as the climax reaches its height, instinct takes over—a last, intense push as your knot swells, anchoring her to you with a bond as primal as it is undeniable. The sensation is overwhelming, binding her to you in a way that feels like destiny, like an unbreakable tether. Her body instinctively tightens around you, holding you close as her own pulse echoes yours, each beat surrendering to the feeling of being utterly claimed.

The growls fade to a low, satisfied hum as the last waves of release leave you both trembling, bodies still locked together, bound by the knot that signifies not just satisfaction but a profound connection. You pull her closer, breath ragged in her ear as you hold her, feeling the beast’s hunger finally satiated, fulfilled in a way that only she could offer.

Hyeju lies beneath you, her body still quivering from the aftermath, limbs slack with the kind of deep contentment that transcends words. She feels completely and utterly yours, marked not only by the bite on her neck but by the knot still connecting you both—a reminder of the bond you share, a connection that feels eternal and unbreakable. There’s a sense of peace that settles over both of you, a quiet understanding that whatever trials may come, this moment is yours, shared and sacred.

As the tremors begin to fade, you relax against her, the heat of your body melting into hers, your claws retracting as the last remnants of your hunger dissolve into a gentle calm. The weight of you grounds her, and she feels rooted, steady, even as her heart slows and her breathing deepens. For a few long moments, there’s no sound but the soft rhythm of your shared breaths, the quiet thrum of your heartbeats in sync. The warmth that wraps around both of you is more than physical; it’s a cocoon of shared passion, of trust and fulfillment, a sanctuary that nothing else can touch.

In that moment, Hyeju knows she belongs here, held by you, her world safe and still in your arms. The bite on her neck still stings, intensifying the sense of connection between you. She has been marked—claimed in the most primal, intimate way possible. And even though the night has been rough, more intense than she ever imagined, she can’t deny the rush of emotions flooding her: love, fulfillment, an almost surreal sense of completeness.

As you calm, the wild edge within you begins to fade, the beast giving way to something softer, gentler. Leaning close, you nuzzle her neck, pressing your warm nose against the tender bite mark and letting out a low, contented rumble. With each careful lick over the small wound, you soothe the sting, the earlier aggression melting away into affectionate tenderness. Your breaths slow as you relax against her, your knot still holding you both together, anchoring her in a way that feels as intimate as it does comforting. Hyeju can feel the lingering fullness, a reminder of the bond that ties you to her as you both come down from the intense high of the night.

Hyeju, still catching her breath and feeling the sweet ache left in her body, smiles softly, her gaze filled with warmth. Every part of her feels claimed, loved, and deeply cherished. The fullness you’ve left within her is more than just a physical sensation; it’s an unspoken promise, a silent reminder of your commitment and desire for her. Her arms wrap around your broad shoulders, fingers tracing lightly down your back, lingering over the places where her nails had scratched you in the heat of the moment. She can see faint marks in your fur where her touch had dug in, and the sight makes her heart skip. Each scratch, each mark is a reminder of the intense, passionate exchange you’ve shared, of how neither of you held anything back.

Now that control has returned to you, you let out a long, contented sigh and press your forehead gently to hers, a quiet moment of reconnection. A soft whimper escapes you, thick with regret, a noise so unlike the powerful growls from before. But Hyeju simply shakes her head, pressing a gentle hand to the back of your neck, her thumb tracing soothing circles. “It’s okay, baby,” she murmurs, her voice a gentle reassurance. Her fingers thread through your hair, grounding you. “It was intense, yes, but… I wanted all of you. This—us—it’s everything to me.”

Your golden eyes soften at her words, your heart filled with gratitude and love. For a moment, it’s just you—the person she’d always loved, her protector, her partner. You lean in, your tongue flicking softly over her cheek in a loving lick, a tender gesture that makes her laugh softly as she pulls you closer. You inhale her scent, now mingled with a hint of your own, a quiet acknowledgment of the bond you have solidified together. “I’m yours,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper as her fingers curl around your fur. “Always.”

Wrapped together beneath the soft glow of the full moon, the storm of primal intensity fades into a peaceful silence. For a long while, you remain tangled in each other’s warmth, still joined, breathing in sync, hearts beating close. Her fingers gently run through the thick fur of your back, scratching you lightly as she strokes the soft patches on your neck and chest, making your eyelids droop as you melt into her touch. You nuzzle her affectionately, licking her cheek again, her chin, her hand—anywhere you can reach as she coos softly, her voice lulling you further into contentment.

With a final, contented sigh, Hyeju snuggles into your chest, her arms wrapped around you as her fingers stroke your fur, calming you both with each gentle pass. And there, in the quiet embrace of morning, you both drift into a peaceful sleep, still bound by the knot that holds you together, entwined in each other’s warmth and presence, bound by love stronger than any force or instinct.

[skyeblue8]

Ɗᥙҽ 𝜏σ ᙏყ Ɲҽɯ⨍σᥙɳԃ Ƒιχα𝜏ισɳ... ♚

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Specifically with the Gluttonous Sin of Beelzebub being my favorite Sin of the group (not necessarily in Helluva Boss, but just in general), I wanted to make a ranking list of my favorite Queen Bee redesigns and their creators for really no other reason than I just feel like it. Now, this is all personal opinions and should not be taken to heart by any means, it's just for fun:

#1. "Beelzebub & Bibi" by @gravcore

♡ In terms of an actual redesign of the original, I love how this artist made "Bibi" because, for one thing, they made sense of the originals hair by giving her a ponytail since way too many characters have a mohawk style (Loona included); two, I cannot explain just how much I adore the clothes they gave her. The top is actually insect based and gorgeous, and not some recolor version of Loona's outfit; and third, they made canon Bee her own character rather than a royal because nothing about the OG read "Ancient Sin" to anybody.

♡ Now, in terms of the actual Beelzebub, here, she's legitimately stunning. Rather than a redesign, I can tell this was the original long before the Queen Bee episode came out, and I love how it reads both "70's party girl" and "regal ruler" all in one. That, and the actual bug design aspect and the color scheme. Above all else, I love how they incorporated the lava stomach in her design, too.

#2. "Beelzebub" by @s3tok41b4

♡ This design can best be described as a literal re-imagine of the canon Beelzebub as it shares almost all her similarities with the actual bug aspect to it that it desperately needed. It's legitimately simplistic but still appealing to the eye, futher showing us that Viv was perfectly capable of making something so simple, but actively chose to make it more confusing than it had to be.

#3. "Beelzebub" by @ruinxl0ve

♡ Similar to the first two, this shares both a regal and party girl bug aesthetic with the added bonus of actually being beautifully emotive despite not even having a mouth. I feel this beautifully differentiates the design from the original while also making it recognizable and I feel that it kinda feeds into the original concept that Queen Bee could literally "feel the vibe", hinting to her being an empath in some manner.

#4. "The Three Bees" by @onehelluvatime

♡ Long story short, these are three individual versions of the Queen Bee and her new placing within the Hellaverse outside of the canon one. For more in-depth explanation of these interpretations, it's best to check the blog yourself. Truly, I love these designs not only because of the visual redesigns themselves, but also the well-crafted and creative explanations and backgrounds regarding these characters. I especially like the idea that the hellhounds within society are half-undead with skull-like appendages and facial aspects.

#5. "Spontaneous Beelzebub" by @redd-byrd

♡ I know it's essentially the same as the canon design, but with the small tweaks that were made to this one (the giant "Bee Butt", the added black lines, the actual bug-like wings, the blue-thin eyes), all of them give a more clear indication (at least to me) that this Bee is more higher up than her fellow hellhounds, meaning she looks a lot more like a hybrid thus making her more grand. It's nice how they added these small details for improvement while still essentially leaving the design like its original.

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Anyway, thanks for listening to my Ted Talk. Have a nice day!

[warblogs17282]

Just, every single time I watch an episode with hard hitting emotional moments from Blitz, Loona's line from Truth Seekers just keeps holding true. "Blitzo was using a total of zero euphemisms, innuendos, or swears. That means it was serious, which means I don't open it until--"

Like there's three moments in Ghostfuckers that I want to point out, while thinking about it through the lens of that statement.

"IT WAS NOT A BREAKUP! You need a relationship for one of those and we never had that. And we never will."

No euphemisms, innuendos, or swears to be found whatsoever, making this line just hit a little harder tbh.

Just gonna skip over the whole IMP flashback segment, but

Blitzo: No, no, don't touch me! I destroy everything, everyo- I-I make everyone's lives worse.

Millie: He gave me so much...A career, a husband, a future. And now...He's my best friend.

Blitzo: You… you don't hate me?

Millie: Naw, never.

Same deal, none of the two lines Blitz says here have any euphemisms, innuendos, or swears, making this scene yet again, just hit that little bit harder.

Finally, we have this conversation at the end of the episode,

Blitzo: So I'm your best friend, huh?

Millie: What do you think?

Blitzo: I think…I- I've never had a real friend that I didn't wanna fuck.

Millie: That mean you're not gonna try to be our third anymore?

Blitzo: No.

Blitzo: Not anymore.

Millie: The bird got to you that bad, huh?

Blitzo: I guess.

Millie: Sooo, you gonna keep stalking us all the time?

Blitzo: Well you know, your husband is still a little fuckable.

Millie: Yeah, he is. I hope he's doing okay.

Fuck is used twice here, but with the first time, it's used as another way of saying 'didn't wanna have sex with' so it shows that this conversation with Millie is a pretty serious one, especially when 'the bird' gets mentioned, and the second usage of the word fuck is when the conversation starts to get a little more upbeat and lighthearted again.

Just man, that line from Loona keeps consistently being true every time I think about it

[dvrk-moon]

LEE HEESEUNG ; 이희승

— requested: yes!

— synopsis: running into your rival house’s quidditch captain with your friends at hogsmeade wasn’t exactly the way you planned to hard launch your relationship. 

— word count: 2k

— genre: harry potter au, fluff, a bit of angst sorry i love angst

— pairing: gryffindor!heeseung x fem!slytherin!reader

— featuring: jake, sunghoon, jay, aespa yizhuo (ningning) and minjeong (winter), loona/loossemble yeojin and hyeju, txt huening kai

— warnings: cursing

— taglist: @llvrhee @lovelycassy

i. BUTTERBEER AND EXPOSURE

It was cold, to put things lightly.

It was the second week of December, about a week before the fall term at Hogwarts ended, and the winter season decided to make its presence known well this year with the chilly winds and white snow covering every surface imaginable. You were donned in a sweater, jeans, boots, a puffy coat, and a green scarf to accentuate your Slytherin pride. You weren’t wearing gloves, and the frostbite that would soon be eating away at your hands was making you regret not deciding to wear a better outfit to Hogsmeade.

You were currently stood outside of Three Broomsticks with one of your best friends who’s also the captain of the Slytherin quidditch team: Park Sunghoon. The two of you were waiting for some other close friends to join you at the tavern for some Butterbeer and unloading stress after the packed term.

Sunghoon watched you shove your hands into your pockets after trying to warm them up for the third time in the past minute; he laughed at your once-again failed attempt, rubbing his own (gloved) hands together, “You really should’ve brought gloves, Y/N.”

“You really should mind your business.” You retorted, giving him a sour look. You looked at your watch, “What’s taking them so long, anyway?”

“I dunno, you know how Hyeju and Yizhuo get when Jay is running late,” he sighed, “because what I bet is that they left without him, like usual, and then they felt bad and went back for him, like usual.”

“You’re definitely right,” you paused, “but that doesn’t mean we need to suffer in the cold for them. Can’t we go inside?”

“No,” Sunghoon laughed, “they’ll be pissed and you know that.”

Your friend group, comprised solely of Slytherins, seemed to always have situations like these happen to it. Especially those consisting of Hyeju and Jay.

As if on cue, the echoes of the voices of the aforementioned Yizhuo, Hyeju, and Jay were heard in the distance. You playfully rolled your eyes at the three as they made their ways into your field of vision.

Hyeju ran ahead of the other two, clad in a puffy coat and fuzzy hat that made her look like a second year rather than a seventh year. Even running late, she was dressed more appropriately than you were.

“There you guys are,” you huffed when they got closer, “we’ve been waiting for like ten minutes. It’s freezing.”

“Maybe you should’ve dressed warmer,” Jay said, shrugging, “just an idea. Wanna go inside?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

The five of you entered the tavern, immediately met with a wave of warmth and the chatter and laughter of the fellow tavern-goers. The scent of Butterbeer and Rum enveloped your nose and made you smile without realizing. The warm lighting welcomed you into a table around the middle of the room.  

A waiter soon found his way to your table, “Good evening, everyone. Do you all know what you want or should I give you a few minutes and then come back?”

“I think it’ll just be a round full of Butterbeer, so long as that’s okay with you.” Sunghoon motioned to the whole table, smiling at the waiter.

“On it. I’ll be right back with those for you.”

Talk about school and classmates flowered easily into the conversation, mostly about Quidditch and your recent loss to Gryffindor’s team a weekend prior. Sunghoon wasn’t pleased about the situation, and he especially made his disdain towards the Gryffindor Quidditch team captain, Jake Sim, known.

“It’s bloody stupid,” he nagged, “Sim caught the Snitch at the worst time. We were up 20, and then of course the ‘Golden Boy’ had to sweep in and get the victory. God, I hate Gryffindor.”

Your friends all agreed with Sunghoon, but you kept quiet. 

You were secretly dating Lee Heeseung, one of the Chasers on the Gryffindor team, and none of your friends knew. You had shown up to the match with them, clad in your Slytherin attire, cheering on Sunghoon. In the middle of the match, however, you feigned sickness, and told your friends you were going back to your room to rest. You roomed with Yizhuo, so you had to make sure that whenever you were done with fibbing to them, you had to beat her back to the housing.

What you were really doing was going back to the Slytherin common rooms to change into Gryffindor attire so you could cheer on your boyfriend. Luckily, the entire house was attending the match, so you had no worries about being caught in the Gryffindor wear. You snuck back to the match and found yourself with a few of Heeseung’s friends, Kai, Minjeong, and Yeojin.

Your friends still had no idea (you hoped) about what happened that day, and you intended to keep it that way. So, instead of speaking against their badmouthing, you just sat there in silence.

The waiter returned with your drinks and you wasted no time getting started on yours.

As if on cue, a voice cut through the noise that you would be able to recognize anywhere; it was Heeseung, accompanied by Jake, Yeojin, and Minjeong, who had just also walked into Three Broomsticks.

“Speak of the Devil.” Sunghoon snarled at the presence of the four.

“Ironic,” Hyeju laughed, “that’s bloody ironic.”

The four Gryffindors sat themselves at a table not far from where you and your friends were sat, close enough to be in earshot despite the chatter of the tavern.

You knew Sunghoon was a lightweight, but you didn’t think he’d be drunk (or ballsy) enough to already start conflict with the Gryffindors.

“Aye, Sim,” he called, to which Jake whipped his head around to spot the voice. At the sight of Sunghoon, he rolled his eyes.

Heeseung had also turned his head, quickly scanning the group to look for you. His gaze softened when you locked eyes, but he quickly sent a glare to Sunghoon.

“What do you want, Park?” Jake asked, turning his body around to face your table. He laughed, “Not still caught on that Quidditch match, are you?”

“Oh, yes, I am, actually. Some bloody sense of luck you’ve got, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d cheated to win.” 

Jake rolled his eyes again, “Maybe we’re just better, Park. Ever think of that?”

“No,” Sunghoon glared, “it has never been a thought in my mind, and it never will be. Because it’s just not true.”

“You really think so? Because, if I recall correctly, one of your friends even came to cheer on Gryffindor. Some loyal housemates you have,” Jake said, “won’t even cheer on their own team because they know we’re better.”

Jake’s eyes flashed towards your own for a split second, making you widen your eyes in an attempt to get him to stop talking. 

“As if,” Sunghoon commented. He looked at all of you, “because I saw them all there cheering for Slytherin.”

“Clearly you weren’t looking close enough.”

You saw Sunghoon furrow his eyebrows, to which he glanced back around the table. You swallowed briefly, hoping that he wouldn’t notice your nervous look. You again widened your eyes at Jake, urging him to stop.

“What’s going on…?” Sunghoon looked confused, and a bit hurt.

Yeojin grabbed Jake’s shoulder, letting him know that he should probably let up and not let his pride get the best of him.

“Can someone please just explain what’s going on?” 

The desperation in Sunghoon’s voice caused you to look over at Heeseung, who gave you a reassuring smile, almost telling you, ‘It’s okay, let them know if you want to’.

You sighed and grabbed Sunghoon’s arm, forcing his attention towards you. His look melted from one of hurt and confusion to another of something indescribable.

“I’m sorry for keeping this a secret,” you started, “but now that you know, I can’t lie anymore.”

“Did you really go cheer on our rivals, Y/N?” Hyeju asked, looking at you with a hint of betrayal.

“I did. But I had a reason to,” you clarified, “because otherwise I would have never cheered on Gryffindor. No offense, Jake.”

Yizhuo stifled a laugh at the look that Jake gave you which was one of shock. It seemed like out of all your friends, she cared the least about the situation at hand. Jay and Sunghoon stayed quiet.

You stood up from your spot and walked over to behind Heeseung and placed a hand on his shoulder. You sent your best friends a slightly apologetic look, but started, “I cheered on Gryffindor because I…”

You trailed off. This was a lot harder than you’d anticipated. You started again, “I’m dating Lee Heeseung. He’s a Chaser, and I’d gone to every other match to cheer him on. Sunghoon, I’m really sorry about lying. It wasn’t fair to you guys.”

“You have a boyfriend?” Jay questioned, finally breaking his silence. He laughed, “God, I thought you were going to die alone. This is great news, actually.”

Yizhuo and Hyeju laughed, and the tension seemed to ease at the joke. Even Jake cracked a smile. 

But Sunghoon still didn’t say anything.

You returned to your seat which was next to him. He barely acknowledged your presence.

“Do you wanna talk?” You asked. You looked at him, “We can go outside.”

Sunghoon vaguely nodded and stood up to lead you outside into the cold. Once outside, he sighed.

“I’m really sorry, Sunghoon. I should’ve been there to cheer you on,” you said, “I wasn’t being a very good friend.”

“It’s not even about that, Y/N.” He spoke, frustrated, yet seemingly more calm than earlier, “Why did it have to be a Gryffindor of all houses? Our rival house? Really?”

“I know, I’m sorry…” you apologized, “but it just kind of happened. Honestly, I am sorry for lying to you all for so long. But I’m the happiest I’ve been.”

“When did you start seeing him?”

Heeseung stepped out of the door right before Sunghoon started his sentence, and answered the question for you:

“We’ve been together since April.”

“April? Y/N, that’s a long time.” Sunghoon said exasperated.

“I know,” you said, watching Heeseung make his way to stand behind you. You brought your attention back to Sunghoon, “but you always talk so lowly of Gryffindors. I didn’t want you to feel betrayed.”

“I’m more upset that you felt the need to lie to us for so long, Y/N,” he huffed, “I’m really happy that you’re happy. But we’re your best friends, why didn’t you feel like you could trust us with knowing this?”

Heeseung wrapped his arms around your shoulders to preserve heat. Sunghoon’s gaze softened at your smile towards Heeseung.

“I’m happy for you,” Sunghoon said, “I really am. I’m sorry we had to find out like this, my pride got the better of me during the argument.”

“I forgive you, and I’m sorry for lying to you.”

“It’s okay, we know now, and that’s what matters,” Sunghoon replied, “at least you’re not dating Sim. That’s what really matters.”

You laughed at him.

“I’m gonna go back inside,” he told you, “and maybe try to make friends so that things aren’t weird,” he stopped, looking at Heeseung, “but you better treat her well. I have no problem being anti-Gryffindor again.”

Heeseung laughed nervously as Sunghoon entered the tavern again. You turned around in his embrace, craning your neck to look at him. 

“So,” you started.

“So?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow at you and breaking into a smile.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry, angel? You did nothing wrong. It’s better that they found out eventually, but I should be sorry for not keeping Jake in check.”

“You’re okay,” you reassured, wrapping your arms around him. You pressed your cheek against his chest, “I’m happy they know. Sunghoon will get over the loss.”

“Hopefully.”

You looked up to notice the snowfall that had started falling on Heeseung’s brown locks. You pressed yourself closer to him for warmth.

“Maybe they could even become friends.” You suggested.

“I hope they can become friends: Jake and Sunghoon. I feel like they’d click.”

Peeking into the window of the tavern, you noticed how your friends and Heeseung’s had conjoined into one table. 

You let your face break out into a relaxed smile, “Maybe.”

a/n : this was so fun to write i can’t wait to get to other reqs

[theodorequartz]

[ His Companion ] Hazbin Hotel Various x Male Reader

Chapter 1: Naturally

Third person POV:

" RISE AND SHINE, MY BABY'S! ITS ANOTHER FUCKING DAY! ~" Blitzø yelled, kicking the door down.

Loona groaned and hid her face in her pillow. Meanwhile, a beautifully handsome male sat up, his hair still slightly messy, making him look more on the cute side.

" Morning, Blitzø..." The male yawned.

" Good Morning! Love of my life~" Blitzø said winking and finger gunning the male. Which was replied with a chuckle.

The male sat up and got to the bathroom to get ready. He walked out to see Blitzø in the floor with his face smashed to the concrete, it created dents from the force. He also saw Luna walk away grumbling.

He chuckled slightly and walked to Blitzø to help him up.

" Thanks for letting me stay for the night, Blitzø. I really appreciate it. " The male said softy with a gentle smile.

" Heh. No problem, babe. In fact, you can stay forever if you want~ ACK-!!! " Blitzø got hit by an empty alcohol bottle in the head. The male blinking in surprise.

" M/n's not your damn boyfriend, Blitzø! Stop fucking clinging to him everytime! " Loona screamed from behind the door, it's glass shattered because of the object thrown in it.

M/n chuckled and picked up the broken glass, cleaning the floor after helping Blitzø up again.

" No worries, little pup. Blitzø's behavior is totally okay for me. Everyone needs some affection now and then, do they? Especially since your work is full of violence. " M/n said also picking up pieces of little shard glass in his head, giving it a soft pat after.

Blitzø purred and his tail curled to a heart.

" Aww, n/n~ you're soo good to me~ " Blitzø said, hugging the male's legs and rubbing his head in M/n's waist.

M/n laughed in response and pat Blitzø's head once again.

Loona gagged at her dad- ahem. Adopted dad's words.

" Well, I'll be off then. I still have work to do. I'll see you both next week?" M/n said as he took his belongings and put his coat. Blitzø sighned.

" You know you can just work for me, right? Just ditch whoever your boss is. I'm better!" Blitzø loudly expressed his discontent.

M/n just sighned and shook his head gently. Taking Blitzø's hands off his hips and straighten his coat. " I'll see you soon, Blitzø, Loona. Stay safe, both of you, alright?" M/n said smiling.

Blitzø grumbled but nodded his head and turned around to pout. M/n chuckled and patted his head once more, nodding to Loona as she waved him goodbye.

M/n walked out the door and walked to the loud, chaotic street. Stabbing, shooting, drugs, drunks, killing, destroying, more killing, fucki- he turned away his head from that one.

He bumped on someone making him stagger. The other, however, fell down to their ass, and they didn't seem happy about it.

" Oh. I apologize, sir. Are you alright?" M/n asked the fallen demon, reaching out his hand to help him. The demon slapped his hand away, however, in rage.

" WATCH WHERE YOUR LOOKING AT, DUMBASS!!" The demon screamed at his face as he got up, holding his tie.

" Now, now, dear sir. No need to sort this out on violence." M/n said calmly, not affected by the situation at all.

Some demons watched the commotion. Others just glanced and walked passed by them, as if it's an everyday occurrence. Which probably is since this is hell and all.

The demon was about to shout at him again but stopped and looked at him up and down and smirked.

" Well, I guess we can take this matter on a not-so-violent activity~" the demon proceeded to grip M/n's arm and pulled him to an empty, dark alley. M/n didn't resist, he didn't have to waste his strength on a soon-to-be corpse.

The demon turned around and pushed him to the wall. The demon smirked and licked his lips, walking towards M/n with a lustful look in his eyes. M/n simply stood there, hands on his back, like a butler.

Not even three steps from the demon he broke out screaming.

Blood rushed out of his eye sockets. He gurgled as his tongue was cut out of his mouth.

As the demons body fell down in pain, a demon, dressed in all red. Red hair fading to black, two antlers and ears resembling that of a deer. A cheshire smile on his face. His eyes glitching. He filled the alley with sounds of static, that of a radio.

The Radio Demon. One of the most powerful sinners of all hell. He's mere presence can make anyone piss their pants, run off, hide, and be on their full guard.

But M/n is not anyone. He merely smiled and put his hand in his heart, bowing slightly.

" My lord." M/n said in a soft voice, a greeting for his master.

The radio demon. Alastor. Soften his cheshire grin to a relaxed smile. He twirled his staff in his hand and walked towards his companion.

" M/n, my dear! I'm sorry for the late arrival, just some business with the big boss! " Alastor said in a voice much like a radio host in a broadcasting radio. It's oddly charming. For M/n, at least.

The statics had gone down after M/n's voice was heard. It was as if the noice had gone to stop abruptly just to hear M/n's voice. To hear it clearly. The demons cries had gone out to, probably passed out due to the pain or Alastor made him pass out due to how loud he was being.

" His highness, Lucifer? " M/n asked as he walked forward, closing the distance between him and the deer demon.

" Precisely, my dear. Well, we didn't really have time to finish because" Alastor glanced at the passed out demon. His eyes dimming.

M/n blinked.

" My lord, you did not have to cut your time from such an important task to a simple cause as this." M/n said. " I could have just handled it."

Alastor turned his eyes to stare at his once more. He closed the distance, he lowered his head and caressed his companion's face. Just as the day they first met, his cheek was soft and felt pleasantly cold, chilly in his hands. His thumb glazed to his cheek as M/n leaned to his hand.

" I'll always choose you above everything else, my dear." Alastors words warmed M/n's heart. It itched and filled up his soul.

M/n sighed, content. He raised both of his hands towards the other's face as well, cupping it. He leaned his forehead onto his and closed his eyes.

" You're too good to me, my lord."

Alastor chucked and closed his eyes as well.

" Naturally. "

[kandy-sticks-zaza-blogs]

Loona Redesign

I renamed her Luna,the name is moon Goddess in roman pantheon.

Voice claim is Asami from Legend of Korra

I made her a Borzoi because Husky are overrated also Borzoi are a great hunter back in Russia.

Changed her age to 16 because it’s weird seeing her being a furry corn bait and having a crush on Vortex who have a girlfriend.

She have autism since she never talked that often but loves gothic kid shows and she’s very awkward since she never talked to people.

Her clothes look raggedy or torn and I decided to make her fashion based off 2010s mix with Emo fashion.

She’s a desk worker since sinner talked to her while she write on her computer for the files.

Luna is a different from the others since she grew up in the orphanage and escaped the place she’s from.

That’s the reason why she is in the orphanage because how imperfect she looks due to the hell shitty society,She covered her eyes because of her birth defect she got the third eye on her left eye.

She got into the fight with other hellhounds who mock her third eye as she was put in the time out room with no windows.

Despite Luna manage to beat the other hellhounds who make fun of her. She still self conscious and self loathing for her different feature @evander2511

After she escaped at age 6 she meets Blitzo and Fizzaroli finding a place to stay as they take care of Luna since they do all the side jobs while Luna helped them,she see Blitzo as a parental and she’s misses her Auntcle Fizzaroli a lot.

She doesn’t hate her dad,Blitzo but doesn’t know how to show affection since she’s to shy about her feelings since her dad shows to much affection towards his daughter.

When Luna meet Moxxie and Millie she feel uncomfortable around strangers than they got along when Luna opens up.

She loves Verosika music wished that Verosika is her new mom than Blitzo dated Verosika and than Striker as a poly couple that shocked Luna seeing them dating eachother.

Her inspiration looks is Kris from Deltarune and her backstory based off Pudding from One piece.

[kpop-locks]

꒰ ˀˀ ↷ haseul; simple ”♡ᵎ ꒱

like/reblog | @chinzhilla-edits

don’t repost our work or claim it as yours

[carto0ncritter]

PLEASE DO NOT HARASS THIS PERSON.

I'm genuinely tired of HB/HH/Vivziepop stans putting words into my mouth.

"You literally hate everything about the show"

Fyi, I didn't hate the premise. I also don't hate: 1) The animation; 2) The voice acting; 3) The potential the show had, and hopefully still has, since it will apparently have at least four seasons.

But ever since HB went from being about the misadventures of assassins in Hell, into a romance drama between two characters who are clearly toxic for each other, that's when I started hating the plot. The third point you made is true, I do hate the plot, and I will continue to do so, unless all this focus on an abusive gay ship (Stolitz) shifts back to what got me and a lot of other people into the show in the first place. And no, I'm not going to stop being vocal about it just because someone else told me to. You're on the internet buddy, learn to accept the fact that not everyone will have the same opinions as you.

And that's really NOT something to get worked up about.

"Just stop watching it if you are this upset about all of this"

Maybe you should stop going into the critical tag if you know that what you're gonna find there will upset you. Just a thought.

And if you've come across my post by searching "blitzo" "moxxie" "millie" or "loona," all you had to do was read the very first sentence I wrote (having to do about my issues with the latest episode) and click off my post because clearly criticism of your beloved show triggers you. And no, I won't stop tagging the characters like this even if I have something negative to say about them. This perfectly explains as to why:

"You hate the main character"

Which one? If you mean Blitzø, then no. I don't hate him. I literally said it in the tags.

But if you mean Stolas, then yeah, I hate him. So what?

"You hate most of the characters in general"

If by most characters you mean Stolas, then yes, I do.

But uh... I don't hate any other character aside from maybe Loona? She's written so inconsistently. There's no real development when it comes to Loona. She acts like a huge bitch and a spoiled brat despite receiving love from her dad for five years straight. She is a grown ass woman who kicked Blitzø in the balls after telling Octavia that Stolas is "trying his best" when he clearly wasn't. She physically abused Blitzø just because he called her out RIGHTFULLY, remind me why she didn't beat the shit out of him again in the latest episode after Blitzø wanted her to overwork herself AND didn't pay her for a month?

Oh and there's also the time Loona cheered for Blitzø, tucked him in and called him dad. Why is she abusive towards him in the very next episode?

That's the inconsistency I'm talking about.

As for the other main characters:

I genuinely relate to Octavia. And I feel sorry for her. Enough said.

I don't care about Millie. It's too little too late for that.

I'm not sure how to feel about Moxxie. Where is his character arc even going? What is his character arc? Learning to stand up for himself for the millionth fucking time?

Stella is a wasted character whose only purpose is making Stolas seem "innocent." I hate what the writers did to her.

Also yes, I dislike Viv for reasons that are 100% valid and available to the public, so I'm not making stuff up.

[capslocked]

WINTER WEATHER ADVISORY

male reader x jeon heejin

part 1 of journalistic integrity

16k words

It’s not even twelve hours apart - the first time you exchange pleasantries, all careless and untroubled, to the moment you’ve got Heejin in the back of a taxi and your hand so far up her skirt that it has you emptying your wallet at the end of the ride and slapping the biggest tip you’ve ever left into the cabbie’s open palm, silence full of disapproval. 

It isn’t planned or anything.

Heejin doesn’t simply wake up one morning with a craving for your cock. It just sorta happens. 

And then It happens again a week later. The third time just a few days after that. 

The fourth time, the two of you barely spend a night apart before Heejin’s back in your apartment, thighs shaking violently as you fuck her into the springs of your mattress.

“I’m trying to figure it out,” you puzzle, holding a coffee mug to your cheek while taking note of how Heejin slips her arms back beneath the black straps of her bra at the foot of your bed. “Why a rabbit?”

She laughs first. Looking back over her shoulder when she responds, “why not? It’s cute.”

“Yeah. Sure. And incredibly provocative.”

“You’re really hung up on it, aren’t you?”

“Um. I just think it’s interesting.”

“Does that mean it’s going to end up in one of your articles?” She asks, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. “Something about it on the front page?”

“Why would you think I’m going to write about rabbits?”

Heejin smiles, bright and cheery and increasingly full of mischief. “About this breeding kink of ours.”

“Ah.”

Her hands reach to her hips like she’s ruminating through all these possibilities, the things she could do to you, the things she has done to you. And as she crawls back onto the bed, your eyes follow hers - all brilliant and huge, self-aware of just how pretty they are.

She lets out this pinchy little laugh, and leans in to kiss your jawline. Bites it for good measure. “Ah, he says, pensively.”

“We went over this,” you start, leaning back into the headboard. “It’s just not a kink. Wanting to cum inside a pretty girl is, literally, basic biology. Like, it’s so foundational, it’s in my DNA.”

“And I get sooo turned on thinking about your DNA,” Heejin snaps back, and she’s got that edge in her voice again: playful, mildly threatening. “Besides, there’s more to it than that.”

“Isn’t there always.”

“It’s the ownership,” she breathes into your neck, “the intimacy, the risk–”

“Risk?” you say, laughing as you jump into the middle of Heejin’s explanation. “What risk? There’s literally no risk when you’re on the pill.”

“Ugh. You’re the worst, you know that? Who’d thought I’d have to explain what fantasy means to a writer.”

Before you can do anything about it, she kisses you three times. Twice on the cheek, once on the lips. And it’s as close as you’ll get to anything like retaliation - you flip her underneath you, drag her panties down her thighs, and fuck her again.

That’s how it goes. Like it's some sort of cosmic law. It’s been this whole thing.

-

So again, you write - when it all starts, you’re writing.

There’s this story.

Your editor’s the one demanding it from you. Find it, embellish it, fucking outright fabricate it - whatever it takes so long as the article arrives on her desk before she finishes her coffee on Monday morning. 

Between you, there’s always this dynamic: work comes in, you’ll point your finger to the ceiling, saying, "trust in the creative process," and then she threatens to kill you. Hence it’s her drumbeat; you’re marching to it.

"You know, I think I might know a guy," you shout over the top of your glass and down the bar, when the topic of LOONA comes up over drinks. You end up phoning a friend of a friend, pulling a string, making a promise you never intend to make good on, and it has you sitting in an unremarkable conference room on the fourth floor of your office a little after lunch the following day.

So, as it starts, there’s this girl sitting across the table from you - Heejin, she says, and it rolls so nicely off her tongue as she does, like the name was simply hers. You notice it immediately, and if you were any younger, the kind of age where you could fall in love with a girl just off the end of a smile, your heart would be rocketing out of your chest.

Now, honest to god– 

(Not that you’re god-fearing or honest or virtuous, it’s just a turn of phrase, and that’s how you earn your keep.)

 –it kicks off innocently enough between you, as most things do. 

Just to put it in perspective, there’s never before been a celebrity profile you’ve written that hasn’t fallen neatly into one of three categories: (1) astonishingly talented, (2) breathtakingly gorgeous, or (3) certifiably insane. So, as you puzzle about that track record now, there should be absolutely no reason at all for you, a professional, to let this girl, another twenty-something-year-old idol who’s too pretty for her own good - with a voice that runs just a little deeper, raspier, perhaps more sultry than you’re used to hearing - ever get the better of you.

"I don’t know, I guess I was expecting someone… different," Heejin says, somewhere in the middle of things, folding her fingers neatly beneath her chin.

Your eyes flick up from the notepad in your hands and find this look in the deep browns of her eyes, like she’s studying you from across the conference room table, gazing into the contents of a test tube. You lift an eyebrow, and she does the same; there’s a bit more suggestion to it than there probably should be, but you’ve been stoking it, fanning it, from the moment you’d both sat down.

"Expecting?" you ask, if only to point out what had thrown you off-kilter, and you can feel your weight shift in your seat. 

After all, it had been just that morning when you met Heejin for the first time. She was standing perhaps a little out of place beside the door to her dressing room, kicking snow off the bottoms of her boots. You told her you liked the color of her dress, a welcome departure from the grays and browns that usually filled your office. Her hair was curtaining her face and after pulling it back, tucking it neatly behind her ears, she smiled brightly back at you - thanks, it’s vermillion.

You weren't aware of it then, and it won’t become clear to you until much later, but you do fall for her there, if at least just a little.

"Well, see, it’s my publicist," Heejin starts to explain. From that alone you’re certain you’ve got the rest puzzled out. She steeples her fingertips together, continuing, "the way she talked you up, she made you out to be, like, totally despicable. Said you were no better than those creeps that sit in the bushes outside my apartment."

Okay, so unfortunately, part of that’s not entirely unwarranted. To a girl like her - to the scrupulous companies that stand to gain, to lose - all that concerning secrets to hide and hell to pay, you could be absolutely despicable. Afterall, if there’s a labor that goes into making someone like Heejin come across as the kind of perfect that everyone believes her to be, you’d be the first person looking to undo it. 

It’s nothing personal, you reason, and you’re smiling back across the table. "Hey. Low blow. I haven’t sat in a bush in years."

A quiet smile shadows in the corner of her lip and she fires back at you, "so you’re saying you’re just a little despicable."

"Oh, ya know," you reassure her, gesturing your hands to the side, one palm up and the pages on your notepad splaying out in the other. "More or less comes with the mileage."

"All joking aside, I’ve seen guys…" 

Heejin dips her eyes a moment to laugh out loud. And you’re becoming familiar with the sound, sweet and throaty and genuine. Harmonic. 

"You know, I’ve seen guys climb trees. Really, I’m serious. This was just last summer, around the time Haseul broke up with her boyfriend and moved into our apartment. Don’t write that down. I’m standing at the sink, washing dishes, and I see this guy. He’s just balancing there with his feet hooked around some of the branches, a camera against his face with this massive lens. I bet you he could probably see the bacteria on the window."

“You wash dishes?” A handbag that costs more than a month’s salary, these dainty fingers that look like they’ve never seen so much as a scratch, and you’re picturing her, or struggling anyway - washing dishes.

“Ugh, it’s been this whole thing,” Heejin says, floating her fingertips to her collarbone. “There was a rumor that the housekeeper had been talking to the press. So our management fired them - and then the dishwasher broke. Company was supposed to buy us a new one, but they haven’t yet - because they’re cheap as shit. Don’t write that down either.”

“Never rains but then it pours, huh?”

“Right. You get it,” she says before letting this simple tight-lipped smile fill out on her face. "To be honest though, I’m curious about something." 

Heejin’s raking her fingers through her hair, and you watch the silver band of her watch fall just a few inches from the sharp edge of her wrist as she holds a messy handful of blonde locks just above her face - the way they bounce against her cheek and spill back onto her shoulder when she lets go.

"How did you - and I’m not saying you’re the same as one of those people - but how does someone even get into entertainment journalism in the first place?"

"Slowly at first," you answer, eyes returning to your lap to pen out the rest of some scribbled note, "and then all at once."

When you look back up, Heejin is frowning, brows furrowed, as though she were trying to remember something.

"Slowly at first," she repeats, "and then all at once." She blinks a few times as your attempt to avoid the question registers. Thoroughly unimpressed when it does. "No, I’m serious, there had to be something that drew you to all this."

You finish out the end of a note, lined into the pad, while you land on a chuckle, dry and humorless. "What is all this now?"

"It’s a question."

Nevermind that it’s in the wrong direction, is your first thought. Careful now, your second. Because maybe you knew that beneath the surface were those stray thoughts that kept you up at night, lurking: 

What kind of journalism career is this? 

You graduated from a good program. With classmates who were now reporting on national legislature, getting shot at to cover a war in Ukraine for The Associated Press - and then here you are, sifting through the transient thoughts of yet another pop star, grasping at straws, struggling to spin them into gold.

"Is this one of those things?" you ask, heeding first to the click of your pen, once in, once out. "What was the word for it… postmodern? Where you turn the tables and you’re the one interviewing me?"

"I don’t think I’d go that far," she says, lips slanted slightly, "you’re still the one holding the notepad after all."

“What, the appeal of meeting fascinating people isn’t enough of a sell for you?” Oh, you’ve had your fair share of boring, mundane, or even offensive too, but you’ve not gotten to where you are without learning a little flattery goes a long way.

Heejin scoffs. “Oh, don’t lie. I’ve read your magazine. The profiles? I’ve met those guys and gals—fascinating is being rather generous, wouldn't you think?”

“Careful,” you say, punctuated by the end of your pen again. Click.

See, it’s the way her eyebrows twist over that coquettish smile. That's how she gets you - one out of twelve, you’re realizing why the cameras are stuck on her. And everything that comes out of her mouth just brushes effortlessly on the innocent side of frustration, of challenge. It’s hard not to indulge, even if just a little–

“I mean if I’m wrong, go ahead, feel free to correct me.”

“I was real sick of freelance work,” you answer, feeling the conversation start to de-rail. “Was tired of worrying about making rent. And it was just less of a total pain in the ass.”

There was a method. It was delicate, and usually you were quite good at it: you were supposed to be just funny enough to make her laugh, captivating enough to coax out something more than a monosyllable answer where you needed it, get her to like you, and then have her forget about you the moment she walked out the door. Hell might freeze before you could get her publicist to schedule a follow up, all because Heejin had chewed up the clock - had gotten herself interested. 

It’s probably wishful thinking to hope the sigh rolling through your chest doesn’t give too much of all that up. “And just why might you ask?”

Heejin reaches across the table and turns off your tape recorder. It’s here probably: where you should’ve been clued into the pieces, the board, the game in front of you. “Because you don’t seem like most of the others.”

“The others?” you answer, making careful sure not to sneer. “Are you suggesting that I’m–”

“Charming?” Heejin rises from her seat, and her hair swings behind her shoulders as she meanders about the room. “Oh, I’m declaring it. It’s not a subject for debate.”

When she finds a spot to lean against the table beside you, her skirt hikes itself just a few noticeable inches. You’re not trying to stare, but she is right there.

Okay, so you’re fucking staring. When it’s clear that you are, you drop your eyes immediately, starting over at the floor - you’re unsure what to make of it. Her boots jump out immediately, these black knee-high things with just enough of a heel to let her stand a little taller than your shoulders. Beyond them is the dress that’s tinier than she is: vermillion - not red - and hung tight around her frame, gaping perfectly to present her thighs and chest like they ever needed introduction. Follow her collarbones, the delicate skin on her neck, the bold red lipstick she decided would compliment the bow in hair like she’s some present waiting to be unwrapped, and yeah, okay, she’s cute.

You’d have perhaps made a mental note of how unconventional it was for her now to be looking down at you, arms crossed and smile slanting, but, she also just manages to plainly ask if you’re seeing anyone, so there’s little time to dwell on that transgression - and all with the casualness someone might ask how much snow that approaching storm was supposed to bring tonight. In nearly the same breath, she asks if you were holding onto any of those numbers girls handed you when you went out drinking. It’s confounding and it’s your head space and it’s rapidly becoming preoccupied and littered and busy.

"That surprises me," Heejin tells you upon hearing that it’s complicated. "I figured it’d be rather straightforward. What all with a smile like yours. And an ass like that—"

"You’re flirting with me."

Doesn’t matter that it’s so obvious you could’ve seen it from space - everything comes to a screeching halt after the words fall out of your mouth. 

You tilt your head, quizzical. 

Heejin’s chin cocks, ready to fire. "And what? Is that some sort of crime?"

It’s honestly hard to believe. She tosses you the question, recklessly unaware that doing that thing she does where she simply exists is almost criminal. Thoroughly disinterested in the fact you were having plenty enough trouble keeping your focus from sinking into the neckline of her dress. You watch her blink slowly while you struggle to get out ahead of this, and it has her discovering that smile again. “Oh. And I wouldn’t write any of this down either. You know, if I were you.”

Your hand must know how deceitful it sounds because it’s covering your mouth, trying to mask the words curling off your tongue:

“Look, I - Here’s the thing… you know it’s completely unprofessional.”

Heejin smirks, pointedly, like she’s recognizing something on your face that confirms each and every one of her suspicions. 

Okay, you were trying to act nonchalant, but all the mistakes keep adding up - have added up - gazing at her gentle, focused features long enough that you might inscribe them in your mind as something to hold onto when you walk out of this meeting.

“Hand me your notepad.” Heejin pushes her hand in front of you, expectantly. “The pen.”

You watch her lashes nearly fall onto her cheeks as her eyes dip into the lined paper, and then it’s just the sound of the pen. Scribbling.

-

If you're going to consider that the bare minimum requirements of your job probably forbids undressing in a random meeting room in the middle of a workday, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the rest of the interview unfolds without incident. 

(Albeit woefully precarious.) 

Here’s what you learn:

Heejin’s life isn’t terribly interesting, at least the parts you can write about without fear of starting fires in the streets. The backstory has all these parallels you’ve come to expect. She’s the youngest of three girls, and you figure that’s where all the confidence comes from, if it isn’t the fact that she’s the kind of beautiful that inspires all this admiration and reverence and adoration to the point where it has people tripping over her. 

Her flatmates are apparently storied in their own sort of fucked up ways, and as she described them, you quickly realized that none of it would be able to fit into a publication like yours. Not that you’d stop the train of thought: Yeojin - a hopeless romantic - and Haseul - a total fucking golddigger - who were well on their way to fuck half the city at their current pace (you’re paraphrasing here).

So with that, you’re writing. The doc is completely blank, and you’ve deleted the first sentence god knows how many times, but you’re writing.

Heejin had mentioned she was taking piano lessons and music theory classes, but had piqued more of your interest when she opened up about a novel she was working on: “It’s fiction, and it’s about two lovers slowly growing apart.” She shrugged her shoulders when you asked if it had a happy ending and refused to go any further into it when you brought it up again (twice), but that’s more or less how these things usually go.

You double back to your notes where Heejin’s phone number is written neatly at the top with little hearts trailing off the last digit. Only it does little if any to help inspire the kind of creativity you need to do your job - inspire any thoughts beyond the way her dress tapered in at her tiny waist, how you’re pretty sure you could reach both hands around it and how light she’d be in your arms.

You should call her, springs immediately to the front of your thoughts.

And that’s how you know it’s bad. Something worth some sort of concern.

Oh sure, you’ve had a crush before - when you were the age where hormones were reeling through your body and had you, like a good portion of the world, needing someone to hump like a dog in heat. Fast forward to when you lost your V-card to the girl you’d been pining over for years and it failed to give you superpowers, you figured it was best to put your time and effort into anything else. You can relax, take it slow, get your work done, stop thinking about it.

Monday, you decide. 

She probably has plans this weekend anyway, and that is the rule isn’t it? Three days ought to give you enough suspense and pretense to illustrate that you’re not hopelessly fixed on the idea of pulling Heejin’s dress up around that fucking waist and hoisting her onto your kitchen counter where you could really just give it to her.

You tap your pen against your desk. 

Monday.

-

5:00 p.m. rolls around. 

You call.

The phone rings one too many times, and you’re within inches from just simply hanging up before you hear her speak. You actually jump a little in your seat and your knees smack into the bottom of your desk when you do.

“I thought it was completely unprofessional. You said that.”

“Yeah, well the clock hits 5:00 and maybe I’m having second thoughts.”

There's some idle chit-chat, nothing special while you both circle around the obvious.

“Know any good Thai places? I’ve been pretty in the mood lately,” Heejin’s voice comes through as the pieces begin falling way too easily into place. 

“I mean there’s plenty to choose from downtown,” you say as you pinch the neck of the lamp on your desk, still bobbing in place after you’d knocked it out of balance, “or one of those pretentious places that keep popping up in the old public market.”

“No, I mean, the editorial shoot ran a little late so I’m still here.”

“At the office?”

“Yeah. Hey - you know the photographer that goes around calling everyone boss? He’s, like, a total flirt by the way.”

“Trust me.” You laugh out loud. “That’s not the first I've heard of that. Pretty sure he’s even tried to hit on me a couple times.”

“Ugh,” she says, feigning all this disappointment, and it has you picturing how you’d seen her earlier pull in her shoulders so tightly as if to shrug with maximum effort, “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Your phone is cradled between your neck and shoulder as you scour the internet for something in walking distance - someplace that you don’t expect to see half your coworkers drinking away their Friday evenings - when you ask, “You give him your number too?”

There’s a brief silence on Heejin’s end of the line, only slightly unceasing. “I thought about it.”

“Sounds like you’re done thinking about it.”

“Guess I figured you might benefit from the head start.”

“Generous.” It earns something like a chuckle out of both of you, and you're shaking your head, answering, “I’ll be sure to pay it forward.”

-

Oh, it’s a terrible date.

Neither of you are anywhere so brash to explicitly say that, but look, it just so happens to be your job - splitting out truth from reality. You’ll call it how you see it.

Honestly, it’s a comedy of errors, but the real kicker is that the kitchen forgot to put in your order.

So, you’re trying, failing, to flag down your waiter, and you begin to notice the wine doubling its punches on an empty stomach when Heejin leans in across the table - one finger beside her temple and her other hand drawing circles around the rim of her empty glass.

“You know we could just… get out of here.”

It’s suggestive, but it’s hardly anything like a suggestion, because you’re right there with her.

-

Outside on the sidewalk you find the kind of snow that lands wet and heavy and threatens to soak through your clothes. And aside from a recent tire track or two, there’s a fresh blanket of it now on the asphalt. Every now and then, Heejin will flash her eyes over her shoulder as if to check and see if you’re still there, a footstep behind her. Like the sound of snow squeaking under your boots isn’t proof enough. 

“Okay,” says Heejin, in her unfailingly charming way, and trounces around in the snow in front of you, “so that was, like, the worst thing ever, right?”

“Nonsense. I’ve seen plenty worse. Trust me.”

She spins on her heel and you come close to knocking her over. “Sounds like you’ve got war stories.” “A few,” you start, laughing to yourself, “Here's one. This girl goes on and on telling me about the guy she just got out of a relationship with - and i’m sitting there thinking wow, this guy sounds a lot like a good buddy of mine.”

“And it was?”

You gesture slowly with your arms, something defeated and existential.

“Oof. That’s gold.” Heejin’s eyes flick to your lips, lingering however long it takes you to notice. She smiles, beaming. “But you know, with a little luck, I think someday you might just get it right.”

-

Heejin finds you somewhere in the harsh light of a streetlamp, fisting a hand into your collar. 

You’re watching snowflakes melt, like they were tears streaming down her cheeks, colliding against the warmth in her pale face - the vibrantly rosy hue now glowing across it.

Her lips aren’t dry or cracked or wind-bitten like you might expect in the middle of December. Your eyes trace them closely, these soft, featherlight things, and you don’t even realize how long you’ve been staring until she passes her tongue through them with an experimental lick.

“Oh,” she says, shockingly casual, “you’re into me.”

You’re laughing as your eyes return to hers. “You sound pretty confident about that.”

“Yeah. Guess I am.”

Heejin’s breath lands warm against your face. You’re simply suspended there for however many moments, the wool of your coats pressed together, watching lights glimmer and fade in her eyes. From this close you can count the odd freckle on her nose, her cheek. It’s probably the most intimate thing you’ve done in months, just standing there, breathing the same air.

Maybe ever.

Heejin doesn’t even say anything else, just looks, her eyes searching for something they might only find in yours.

“Hey,” finally says Heejin, in this choked, rasping voice, “you should kiss me.”

And you do.

-

Where are you two headed? The driver’s voice strains as if he’s been smoking religiously for twenty years. And from the way the cab smells - the stains in the upholstery on the ceiling - it’s as good a guess as any.

Once the door closes behind you and it shuts out all that wintery air, you lean in to where Heejiin is delicately removing the scarf around her shoulders. It’s yours and she’d wrapped it around herself twice, three times, and it made her look tiny. “Where do you want to go? Back to Hapjeong?” Her flat is in Hapjeong.

Heejin shakes her head. “How about we go find somewhere to grab a drink?” you ask.

She looks down, tracing her finger along her lower lip, and then lets her cheek collapse into her shoulder, eyes drifting back to you where you can see that myriad palette of golds and browns in her irises. “We can just keep drinking at your place, no?”

While you square away the details with the driver, Heejin folds her arms and closes her eyes, sinking into the back corner of the seat. Her silver earrings catch the light as the cabbie hits the meter and the taxi pulls away from the curb. Then it’s her dress, all that barely-there vermillion fabric, as if it had been tailor made to match the warmth in the back of the cab. Watching her, you come to a realization: there’s the story you’re writing, then there’s this story you’re living - all in want of a little inspiration. 

And you think maybe you’ve found it.

The taxi sways. Heejin talks. She talks about her life growing up. She talks about one of her sisters who is now in medical school and vomits at the sight of blood, how she was jealous that her siblings had turned out to be such brainy academic types - the kind of thing she imagined her parents were really secretly far prouder of - how she’d grown up fighting her dad tooth and nail to get where she is now - all these intimate details you doubt she’d shared often with anyone. Let alone someone she just met.

You listen - an occasional question every now and again woven into the soothe of Heejin’s lowered voice. And for the first time, you’re not scribbling out notes, building sentences as you do. Simply listen.

“You know,” Heejin starts, lidding her eyes and smirking in your direction. She could send a tremor through your heart, but she’s far less forceful than that. “I think it would be really rude.”

“What would?” you ask, confused. “If you spent the whole ride,” she pauses, and the elegant lines of her face scrunch ever so slightly while she fiddles with one of the featureless rings that rests on her middle finger. “–sitting over there.”

There’s a list of excuses, something to make it logical, but it’s never been quite this simple either.

You drift across the backseat, until you feel yourself press up against Heejin’s lithe frame, and the rest of the world might as well melt away to nothing beyond than the blur of passing street lights, the hum of ‘Winter Wonderland’ coming out of the radio in crackling bits and pieces, the pink blush still staining Heejin’s cheeks.

Holding her, you kiss her again. 

Near effortless as before. Your lips stuck on hers when you pull yourself away.

"So, remind me to set the record straight with my publicist," Heejin murmurs in the same hushed voice she'd been speaking for the entire ride, thumb rubbing the back of your knuckles in a manner that could lead you to believe she wasn’t aware she was doing it. Her lips curl at the corners of your mouth where these short, hot breaths fill your proximity. "Just a little despicable."

With a hand finding purchase in her hair - bundling between your fingers as smooth and satiny as it looked - you pull Heejin into you, seize her lips. Hard. If there had been any restraint, to this point, about the shy touches on your arm when you made her laugh, to the light hand you’d place on the small of her back guiding her through a door - since the moment she sat down across you in that interview - this kiss now threatens to become near tidal in intensity.

Together, those soft lips sliding against yours, it’s irreverent, it’s reckless, it’s cashing in on that chasteness a thousand times over.

Still, you notice this departure from everything about Heejin. Because there’s nothing elegant about the way you have her, your bodies rucking desperately in the backseat - unable to give two fucks about smashed knees or hunched backs. It builds up. It falls apart. A mass of wool struggles to fall to the side, hung and stuck around your shoulders, and effortlessly sliding down hers. As your tongues slip and rub, this tantalizing push-pull that makes even the heat-dry air of the cab feel heavy like you’re wading through the humidity of summer, you doubt the efficacy of it all. But it’s the hand that arrives at the nape of your neck, kneading as though to say good enough so that you might start pressing more of your weight into her; simply sink into her embrace.

Heejin’s voice sneaks out between long, shivery, bone-deep kisses - the sound of your name lilting off her tongue, she whispers, “Hey. I want you to–”

“Yeah,” you pant, knowing exactly what she means. Your fingers twitch at your sides, all this anticipation currenting through your body that makes you feel like an exposed live wire, the electricity forcing your heart beat into something erratic. “Yes. Fuck. Of course.”

It has Heejin guiding you by the wrist. Down her side. The absolute concave flatness of her stomach. To the hem of her dress. And when she finally relinquishes your hand - your fingers - she kisses you harder, claiming the swell of your lip firmly in her possession.

It takes hardly any effort to find her - up that skirt and between her legs, growing hot and wet and needy. When your fingers collide with fabric, fingerprints teasing across her entrance, she lets everything start to slip - a hiccup into your mouth, and shifting her weight gently in your hands.

This intense shudder travels through her entire body when your fingers dip down beneath the elastic hugging her waist. The kiss breaks. From those needy, watery eyes, there is little to lament - the way Heejin strains for air, holding her lip between her teeth as she lets a wet breath billow from her chest. Her lashes flutter, close tight, open again, and she looks at you, concealing the mirth in her smile. “Do you have any idea what I want to do with you?”

“I haven't the slightest clue,” you answer, flat and unamused, and you’re swirling your fingers against the wet heat between her legs as you continue to play a fool. “Tell me.”

“First I–” Heejin takes a deep breath and steadies herself when you fit the first knuckle of a finger inside her. “I want - fuck - I want you to sweep me off my feet. Literally, pick me up and carry me.”

“Okay, sure,” you say, like you haven’t been entertaining the thought all afternoon - like grabbing her and bending her over the first piece of furniture closest to your front door isn’t now the foremost thought racing through your head, “I’m sure we can make that happen.”

“Then you can take me and put me so tenderly into this big, cozy bed, all comfy and a little tipsy and there’s none of this - fuck. That, that feels really good–”

“Mhmm.” You’re half listening to the curses out of her mouth, how her voice hitches and sputters the moment you tent her underwear with your knuckles - the air she sucks in when you tease the sensitive nub between her lips. Between kisses that drag your lips all along her delicate jaw, the bruisable skin on her neck, you whisper, “I’m listening.”

The look of need and want in Heejin’s irises is a mirror of your own. And, just once, it’s a gentle touch that makes her keen. It’s debauched, it’s something glorious, the sound sneaking past her lips. You hear it. The driver definitely hears it; he’s turning up the radio.

“Fucking–” She laughs into the dark, voice strained and breaking at the pressure against her clit. Her mouth slants at the rhythm now in your fingers - motions that make her optimistic, and her lips part again, continuing:

“I’m not knee deep in snow and it’s warm and you’re there, just cuddled next me–” 

Heejin squirms again, interrupted; you’ve got her pussy creaming and tensing all over your finger.

Windows fogged, bodies digging deeper into the dark corner of the taxi, you study Heejin closely. Think about getting her off right there, about getting your fingers deep inside her and thumbing her clit until she’s shaking against you, about her cumming like that, back arching off the seat and ankles hooking around you.

It’s nearly tangible, the thought; her eyes flare and her chest heaves the more you fuck her slicked cunt with your fingers.

Heejin swallows. “And then - you start to undress me.”

It's been something akin to a virtue, and oft to your benefit, you’ve always been a good listener, so your fingers make course to slow, consider remorse, and continue on with only those gentle motions that keep Heejin’s eyes half-lidded and breath short. Nothing more.

“I do?”

“Yeah.” Heejin nods - even your vanishing touches driving her crazy, putting all this stress into the simple and composed features on her face. “Little by little. So delicate, like you - fuck.” You drag your finger back, grown wet and sticky. Let her finish the thought. “Like you’re unwrapping a present.”

Chin shooting up, you quip, “What if I’m the kind of person that tears wrapping paper to shreds?” 

“Yeah,” Heejin chokes out, “that’ll work too. But either way, then I’m laying there, kinda spacing out, practically naked and feeling really hot and soft and then I realize what you’re doing, dragging my panties down my thighs. I yell out ‘Wait don’t! I just met you and I’m very sincere about these things, so please stop!’”

“Oh.” 

“But here’s the thing: you don’t stop.”

“I would stop though.”

“I mean sure. Never mind that. It’s just how I’m imagining it.” 

“I see.”

“So then you don’t even hesitate. Just slide your pants down, pull out your cock” - the cabbie clears his throat from the front seat like he’s trying to start a lawnmower, but Heejin powers right through the thought - “and it’s just hanging there, bouncing. And it’s huge. So then I start telling you ‘No, you can’t, I’ve never done anything like this before.’”

“But you have.”

“Look, I just… this is just my fantasy. So then you end up–”

Okay, so it’s not virtue that got you here; your fingers are toying in her cunt. You can’t help it.

“Mnph, yeah - Jesus, okay, that feels good,” she whines, sneaking her hips toward you when you start to slide your slicked thumb all over her clit.

There’s a moment where her lips part, where she doesn’t speak anything at all, before she can steel herself and labor on with her point.

“Y-you end up wearing this really put out face, and I start to feel sorry for you and I’m - stroking your hair - while your head… while your head is in my lap, saying, ‘it’s okay, it’s okay.’”

“And that’s what you want to do with me.”

Heejin shudders as your fingers seek refuge deeper in her cunt. “Right.”

“This is what you want to do right now?”

“Yeah. Well, sorta.” She twists her lip before letting this wide, giggling grin fill out her pretty face. “Right now, what I really want” - you watch her gulp down another heavy swallow - “I really just want to cum on your fingers.”

It’s simple. You’re not far from your apartment, though the car gets stopped at every light, and even when it isn’t, it’s slow going on the fresh layer of sleet now troubling the roads - but it’s not like it at all has you taking your time. Heejin mewls slightly, and then she simply comes undone, gasping. Your whole hand is buried in her underwear, your fingers fucking fast and slick into her cunt, thumb mercilessly brushing around her clit.

“Oh my god,” Heejin whines into the palm of your hand, shutting her eyes tight as she sinks against you, sinks into the corner of the seat.

You’re hitting her basest desires with fingers that are all but destined to make her fall apart; straightforward, effortless, a perfect balance of touches light and heavy and destructive, you bottle lightning. 

“Mmmph,” Heejin whimpers.

Her back arches when she cums. With all these ragged whimpers leaking out from the spaces between your fingers. They’re inaudible, sort of. The radio is blasting. The same damn song even. Stars align, and while Heejin gazes into them - into the blackness that can only be found behind clenched eyelids - it’s simple: you kiss her hard again.

-

The two of you don’t fall into bed immediately. Not in the literal sense.

Heejin first gets her hands on you when you’re both standing in the elevator, quietly and mostly still, boots leaving gray puddling footprints on the floor. She looks like she’d been through a windstorm, and to some extent she had, but it’s mostly a direct result of your hands in her hair, your tongue in her mouth, the fact that you had her panting and sweating in the back of that taxi.

You’d had the quiet pleasure of watching Heejin’s legs wobble from the moment you spilled out onto the curb. Where she rested her face on your shoulder, pulled tight at the lapels of her coat like it might ever keep these gusts of snow-laden wind from freezing the skin around her eyes, and without saying anything at all, managed to demand your arm around her waist.

So, once the elevator doors close, and you’re feeling that temporary frost in your bones begin to thaw the further Heejin melts her weight into your side, it’s only natural: pull her into you, bury her nose into your collar.

You kiss her forehead.

In something close to reciprocity, she reaches a hand over your pants and grabs your cock.

“You’re, like, super hard,” her voice hushes into your chest, really leaning on that low, smoky tone. “You know that?”

“And what? I suppose that’s such a crime?”

“Maybe.” Heejin turns up to meet you, eyes glinting atop this expression - innocence feigned doesn’t even begin to do it justice - and balling up the collar of your shirt in her fingers. Bright eyed, knowing, she nudges into your side. “Just tell me what it is you’re thinking about.”

“Take a guess,” you say, running your hand through your hair. Like the nonchalance might make it less obvious you have this mental image, photographically vivid, of fucking Heejin’s tight body right into the wall of your foyer.

“Oooh.” Her eyebrows arched high, she looks you up and down, nodding while mischief skitters across her angelic features. “How many guesses do I get?”

“Three,” you answer. Then start grinning. “No. Two.”

“Two?” Heejin slides closer, her eyes hot. “That’s hardly anything charitable.”

“I have faith in you,” you say, and you’re reaching into her coat, finding the divot that runs down her back, where you can trace a finger up this zipper that you’re not entirely sure you can refrain from unfastening the moment you feel it’s metal shape between your fingertips.

Against your face, Heejin gives this small puff of amused laughter. “Okay, you’re thinking about…”

While her voice lilts and trails, she taps a finger to her chin like she’s trying to solve some intricate physics problem or ponder the secrets of the universe. Though by this time, the elevator’s doors have stuttered open in the haphazard way they always manage and you’re both surging towards the deserted hallway, laughing quietly and brushing elbows.

“I don’t mean to pressure you or anything, but you’re going to run out of time to guess,” you say, a hand dug into the inside of your coat pocket and searching for your keys. Heejin’s leaning her shoulder into the doorframe when you catch her looking, staring - you only manage to slip out from under that gaze when you come up with your key at last. “Found it.”

Heejin tilts her head, hair falling halfway over her face, and then pulls it back again. “You’re thinking about kissing me.”

“Surprisingly tame,” you say, scoffing as you turn the key in the lock and shoulder into your front door. “But no. Not quite. Oh, and leave your boots in the hall.”

It’s that second guess, neither incorrect nor entirely the truth. When it does arrive off her tongue, you have Heejin pressed against the inside of your door, now shut and finally private, and her tiny body in your hands where it feels soft and slender and unfathomably hot - oh, do you have ideas. Her breath mixes with yours, concocting something that tastes entirely sinful before she leans forward and traces kisses up your throat.

“Still. You are thinking about my lips,” she whispers into your ear, and it’s dripping with confidence, with suggestion, with another humid breath that hits you square on your cheek, “how good they’re going to feel wrapped around your cock.”

She studies the knot that forms in your throat as you swallow, eyes flicking back up to yours, and burning hot when you tell her she’s right. Lying, all on account of you not having the heart to let her know that you’d been harboring this errant thought, that for a greater part of the day, you’d been thinking of how she might fold over the kitchen sink, the living room couch - wherever - and fucking her six ways to sunday. She runs her tongue across her lips, like it might keep back these small bits of breathless laughter. And it has her unzipping your pants, coaxing them clear off your waist.

Right, proper intentions, and she’s smiling like she knows it: you’re both paving a road straight to hell.

“Jesus. You’re so hard,” she says finally, and it’s so blatantly sexual that a foundational shiver in your bones takes hold of you. What are you to do? Her fingers are deep in your underwear, fighting elastic, pulling at the skin of your cock when she gives you a final kiss that sticks to your lips, smacking. And then without any words to accompany her, she pulls the fabric around your thighs and sinks to her knees.

If this were a different kind of story, maybe you would sweep her into your arms, and ride off into the sunset and find a cottage in the hills that overlooks the ocean and live happily ever after and raise a half dozen kids. Because surely, a girl like her - perfect and flawless and near regal in the way she carries herself, like something out of the pages of a fairytale - belongs anywhere but planted into the floor of your foyer, dragging your underwear down to your ankles. 

If Heejin was anywhere but her knees, perhaps you two would fall into bed, where you’d leave her with all these sweet kisses that make her skin swelter and her voice choke at the way you’d press your lips to the hollow of her neck, her shoulders, her collarbones, and you wouldn’t even think of leaving marks or bruises. No, instead she’d whimper softly for you and the two of you could roll over to meet that simple conclusion.

Sure, you can always pretend like you don’t know what’s happening.

But that would make it a different kind of story, one painfully absent of Heejin’s tongue, placing a slow, measured lick right up the slit of your cock. Or fingers claiming your shaft, your balls, and pumping delicately toward your waist. Rising action unlike this pair of soft lips that purse and leave kisses down your length. A climax beyond releasing a load right into the back of that throat - which is only speculative in your thoughts for a second, because Heejin’s tightening her fingers around the base of your cock and dragging a smirk across her pretty face, “you should, like, totally cum in my mouth.”

“Right,” you answer, mouth drying; it’s a labor to even swallow. 

Heejin runs a semicircle over her lower lip with her tongue, flattens it, presses it up against the belly of your cock, and looks up at you - eyes round like the angel she is, pupils dark as three am and every bit as impious. Oh, you’ll struggle enough with this story as it is.

“Fuck,” she says, one time, nearly breathless, and it almost sounds reverent, “I want it.”

Before you can get even a half decent reply forming on your lips, you watch Heejin’s jaw go slack, and sucking in a chestful of air, she seizes you deep in the warmth of her mouth.

There’s then a moment - excruciatingly drawn out - where Heejin sits near motionless, sinking further into the floorboards. Her lips are pressed tight into this seal around you as she takes it slow, a silent effort to become familiar with your taste, your shape.

A flutter of muscle between her cheeks, and the moment passes. Her lips relax, tighten, relax again before you feel her tongue. Sliding. Curling.

“I–” You sink forward against the door, abandoning whatever thought and allowing it to curdle into laughter, into this seedy moan that Heejin rips right out of your chest. Somewhere along the way, you’d figured that since you were more senior, more seasoned, more veteran in an industry full of girls whose looks might leave you for dead - girls who, with a little praise, and just the right amount of attention, would look up at you like you’d hung the stars, the moon and the sky - you figured Heejin would be in your hands, melting.

And then there it is, eager to point out your mistake: Heejin’s tongue, again. It slides delicately over your head, and when she sinks her lips further down your shaft, you can feel it narrow and tease at the base of your cock. Her eyes are closed, but you can see how they crescent, smiling undoubtedly in something like victory as she hums against you, delighted.

“Heejin,” you start, wanton, and you’ve got a fist in her hair, gentle in how you bundle it all between your fingers, experimental the way you push her mouth further into your hips. There are two delicate hands coiled around your slobber-covered cock in response - and then she starts to twist. You nearly fold and collapse and crumple under your own weight, gasping, “you’re killing me.”

Heejin raises her head from where she’s been hollowing her cheeks and covering you in her spit, vicious stick of precum staining her lips. Grins, because she knows.

“I am?”

You’re tipping your head back, sucking in your next breath. Bucking your hips into her fingers - all ten of them lathering spit and gingerly pumping your cock. Impossible to ignore, they brush and tease all the spots that send you reeling as though they were returning to something familiar, had done it a thousand times. You swallow, and Heejin’s eyes trace that quiver through your throat. 

When it becomes clear that you’re not really in a state conducive to banter or ribbing any longer - the clever words out of your mouth now amounting to nothing more than a few four letter ones - Heejin just smiles, sloppy sounds of her fingers twisting around your cock, and she falls back into that deep tone, “you look so hot like that, by the way.”

You sigh, defeated, bunch more of her hair into your fist. And after Heejin pushes a fingertip to your slit, pulling the skin of your cock tight around it, your breath hitches, shuddering at the sight of Heejin playing with your precum between her fingers.

“Can you imagine?” she asks, pressing you to her cheek, “how good this is going to feel inside me?”

“Heejin,” you groan, worrying a lip between your teeth at how her light hands pump up and down your length, the precum weeping from your tip providing her fingers with that much more hazard in their touch. Your voice is stuck to your throat for a moment, grasping, “I want your mouth - on me.”

“Mmm.” She again has her tongue on the underside of your cock, velvety and slippery around your head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You can feel it. Just the hot breath tumbled from her lips onto you alone reduces you to a bundle of nerves and coiled muscle. “I want more.”

“More what?” she asks, mulish, and a smile sneaks into the shadowy corner of her mouth.

“More - you.” It’s hardly even half a whisper.

Heejin has this quirk in her lips that stretches slowly against the tip of your cock, and her hands trace up your thighs, grabbing tight to the back of your ass. She nuzzles against you, and looks up, “then go ahead. Take me.”

Oh, you’ve had a crush before. The kind of thing that had your heart and mind racing; the kind of thing that would swallow up your time for weeks if you let it. So when you’re looking, gazing, watching this masterclass in showmanship: Heejin’s lips parting around you, her eyes smoldering into yours - that’s when the realization hits. 

This is so much worse. You’re truly fucked.

Fingers thread tight into her hair, and you’re guiding Heejin’s mouth - hot and wet and perfect - onto your cock. Slow, measured, her lips slurp and seal. Near five-foot-nothing of pure sinful delight, and tossed locks of hair resting across her face where they shimmer in the darkness of your foyer, you slip your cock inside her. Press between those soft lips. It’s a voyage, enroute to heaven; then with your hips selfish and stealing more of that tight heat, it’ll be straight to hell. Inches, sliding and sinking, Heejin shuts her eyes and relaxes her muscles, jaw gone slack - grabs onto your thighs like you had any intention of being anywhere but the bottom of her throat.

“Fuck,” you hiss, and the next sound that comes out of you is practically a living thing, wild and animal and nothing close to voluntary. 

Heejin’s mouth hangs wide and laxed for you to use, lips paradoxically tight, as you fuck your length over her tongue and deep into her mouth.The very prospect of asking for more is gluttonous, wicked and immoral, but here you are: thrusting your hips into her pretty face, pulling firm on her hair to keep the heat of her throat wrapped up around you.

“Mngh,” Heejin’s throat chokes the further you feed your cock into her - drag it back and bury into her again - strangled and straining, you can see the flush that floods her cheeks, the teardrops on the end of her long dark lashes, the unbelievable smile still in her lips.

All bets are off.

The pretense, the coy teasing, all that skirting about this clear predisposition toward fucking eachother senseless is further pummeled and ground to dust every time the tip of your cockhead punches the back of Heejin’s throat. And even beyond all that, Heejin holds firm to this composure, almost this plussed look of gratitude as you bruise soft muscle and steal the air from her lungs.

“Oh my god, Heejin,” you say, back arching into the space over the top of Heejin’s face, holding her head tight and fucking yourself on her lips. “Your fucking mouth.”

Triumphant, gloating, smugly humming into the spit-drenched skin of your cock, Heejin must realize she has you exactly where she wants you, trapped, fated: that under no circumstance are you going to unsheathe yourself from her throat until you’ve exploded and glazed it proper. She traces her fingertips down your thighs and hovers them about the hem of her dress, this bunched and furled mess of fabric at her thighs, pulls her panties to the side, and you can hear it - her fingers finding purchase in the mess between her legs. 

You slide deep into her throat; she pushes two digits deep into her cunt; you’re both reduced to the basics, chests heaving out these small noises of frustration. It’s a behemoth struggle to even think, let alone coordinate said thoughts into anything resembling coherence - but the first thing that falls out of your mouth is born of sincerity.

“Fuck, Heejin, I… I’m going to cum.”

She nods, as best as she can, the length of your cock slotted deep into her throat. Any kind of concerns you may have harbored - all from fucking her face, and drawing small tears at the corners of her eyes - they evaporate the instant Heejin’s tongue reaches forward past her lips.

Just one lick, between your balls while she has your cock entirely inhaled, and it sends you careening off course, destination hardly unknown.

“I–” your voice fades. Because the tip of her nose is against your waist, her tongue is doing fucking everything - she’s killing you. It’s all coming down, you’re falling apart, breathing in fits and starts, fucking Heejin’s mouth hard enough that if you weren’t holding tight to her hair, you’d have thrown her off you.

“Heejin,” you growl, voice sliced to ribbons.

When you finish between her lips, every burst of cum that spills from your cock sends a tremor, twitching and quivering through Heejin’s lithe body, and then you can feel it in her throat, tightening around you. 

“Mmph.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, uncontrollable.

“Mmmmph.”

Heejin makes this impressive, maybe futile effort to swallow it all down. Laudable, admirable, you’ve got it correct about her: anything less than perfection is tantamount to abject failure. With that, she struggles, her eyelashes flutter, and a strangled sound escapes her throat - choking and sputtering as you keep cumming, more than she can ever hope to take. It floods her mouth and spills from her lips to unveil this shiny streak that rolls down onto her chin.

Even though you’re still gasping and shaking and reeling from your orgasm, you recognize those taps against your hips immediately, how they beg for breath.

“Heejin, oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” you say, horrified as it all starts to return to you, and when it does, you jump backward, unsheathing your cock from Heejin’s mouth. Gaze drawn to that profane mixture of spit and cum that follows lazily in its wake.

She waves her hand at you wildly, realizes the gesture is probably not the most reassuring thing she could’ve done, and instead holds up a finger as if to say give me a second as she catches her breath.

Coughing a handful times and wiping her mouth with the edge of her wrist, she slumps backward. Hits the door, face flush and eyes sharpened like daggers, pointed, ready to kill. And the moment she’s certain you’re lucid, present in the image in front of you - that you belong to her again - it becomes performative: the way she presents you her tongue, the space beneath it filled and drowned with your cum - how she swallows it, that dry knot traveling dramatically down her throat.

“Jesus, fuck,” she stammers out, the loss of composure only transient and fleeting, “not bad for two guesses.”

-

The first time you fuck your cum into Heejin’s cunt, you don’t anticipate it. If you’d been perhaps a kernel less distracted, a trifle less overwhelmed by the scorching slick between Heeijin’s legs, you might have had the pleasure of calling the shots.

But this is where you’re at, melting beneath it: all her porcelain skin spilling onto you and her hands firmly on your chest, nails like claws, claiming you as her own. 

She’d dragged you toward the sofa in your living room, made a one-off comment about how bad she needed you inside her and then kissed you hard. Of course, when you tumbled down into the cushions - still muddled in a half daze and caught off guard by the sheer pluckiness of it - Heejin had controlled the fall, making sure she was the one who landed on top.

“Look at you,” her voice is low, rasping, pitching when she crashes herself down onto you. Feels her pussy all full and creamed as she fucks herself with your cock. “Just relax, let me fuck you. You don’t have to do a thing.”

She has her ankles locked over your thighs, knees sinking into the cushions, and ardently rolls her hips, fucking your shaft - exceptionally sheened from her slick and every bit as hard - deep into her pussy. Hot, wet, unbelievably tight, it’s near immaculate. And it only grows unrighteous at the end of every frantic bounce from Heejin’s thighs. Because she’s tiny, legs muscled, abs chiseled to perfection - vivacious to the point of peril - and she’s riding you hard and fast and bringing you so near the proverbial edge that your fingerprints threaten to sear into her waist if not for the fabric of her dress twisted and stressing, surrogate in its place.

“Oh my fucking–slow down,” you breathe, fully enveloped by her heat. It has your nerves on fire, something wicked ablaze, begging for release, and with your teeth gnawing your lip, you throw your head back.

“Are you sure?” she says, and runs her hands through her hair. Hoists it off her shoulders, bundling it over head - the visual not particularly favorable to your condition. Her eyes dip across her cheeks and into yours when she decides to salt the wound. “This is slow.” 

“Heejin, I’m serious. You're going to make me..." you start, a final warning, and at the sight of you disappearing between her legs, you’re struggling, pleading, “I swear… fucking cum inside you.” 

Ruinous, pushing a callous boundary, she lifts herself up and seals your fate. 

“Fuck.”

This is how she gets you. Seats herself on you again, pussy slicked all over your cock and the tip of her tongue flirting in the shell of your ear, “I know.”

-

To what extent god will believe your account of these events - how much you believe, in relating the story, hot with lust and adrenaline and the hapless self-doubting confusion of a psychotic who knows what they saw and is still able to dismiss it - is not clear.

Because look, it’s not as though you were unaware that the power had gone out.

There was a noticeably loud crack of electrical disaster, and in an instant, the lights of your apartment, the delicate details of Heejin’s naked body in front of you, and even the incessant buzzing of the refrigerator motor - the very thing on which you could always rely to ruin the sanctity of silence - it all vanished.

It’d be pretty difficult to miss. 

Only, as it happened - mid stroke, thrusting deep into Heejin’s cunt and her tight body fucked flat into the cushions of the couch - finding the effort to care was simply a bridge too far.

It’s selfish, metastasizing into something wayward, playing the cards you’re dealt. Hands pushing Heejin’s tiny waist deeper into your furniture, and railing her reckless and abandoning all that teasing, the dirty talk - having finally managed to steal back control. It would take more than a force of nature to wrestle it away from you.

“Harder, please, harder,” Heejin rasps, seconds before you fuck her through her first orgasm. Her face sinks, voice flooded by the reality of your cock owning her tight cunt and vibrating through the cushion. “Yours, tell me - I’m yours.”

Without even thinking you do. Twice, punctuated each time by a sharp thrust of your hips into the perfect round of her ass. 

Mine, you say. And it has her absolutely keening.

Pressing yourself into her, your voice in her ear makes her quiver and whimper, like it was the one thing she needed most to help her cum. Heejin just nods, mouth stuck agape, when you call her a total cumslut - near imperceptible when she does, bathed only in the pale moonlight reflecting off all the snow and into your apartment. It’s not necessarily the limits of what you’ve done, what you’ve seen, what you’ve said, but you can see it from here.

“Is this what you want?” you ask, and you can taste all this pleasure coating each word off your tongue as you rail Heejin harder into the sofa, your cock sweltering in the fucked wet mess between her legs. Each time you bore into her, push her higher and higher, it fills her with ecstasy fit to burst. She moans, this foreign sound of depravity, and raises her hips slightly, shifts the angle - has you stabbing deeper, teasing, “do you want me to fuck you like the little cumslut you are?”

She nods again.

“Do you want me to fucking fill you up over and over again? Do you want to feel my cum in your tummy? You’re crying, practically sobbing, darling. All because you’re finally getting fucked and it’s all for me. Can you cum like this? Is my cock pounding your cunt enough for you? Or do you need me to use my fingers too?”

Heejin whines. Knocked down a peg, the realization hits, and it’s clear as day, leaking out of her mouth all filthy and depraved:

“Daddy, please.”

It’s almost unbelievable that this is how it will come together; you deep in her cunt and the soft, milky skin of her ass stained red from the sheer delight Heejin finds only at the end of an open palm. 

Biting ruthlessly into your cheek, you grip tighter to her waist, your other hand thread through her hair keeping her partially upright and ripping your name, curses, incoherence all from her mouth.  

“Then just be good for me, princess.” Your words are pointed, serrated, seeking to maim, to kill -  near as dangerous as the fingers you reach around her hips on onto her soaked cunt. “I’m going to fuck this cunt, you can cum whenever you like - I don’t care - I’m going to keep using it until I’m finished. Until you beg me to fill it again.”

(Okay, so maybe you’re not abandoning the dirty talk. But here’s how you see it: tables always have a way of turning. You’re not seeking revenge or anything like that, it’s just that when it comes to karma, she always arrives right on time and ever more the unexpected.)

-

It takes a substantial amount of shuffling around in the dark to clean yourselves up. Heejin’s dress is irreparably stained, totally fucked; sweat, saliva, your cum, hers - the kind of shit you’d be afraid to ever see under a blacklight - and you’re standing there, exerting just as considerable restraint to refrain from simply pinning Heejin against your closet door and having another go at her as she’s changing out of it.

So together, you’re settling into the darkness, finding a reprieve from fucking each other within an inch of your lives.

From a pitcher in the refrigerator, you filled two glasses with water, handed one to Heejin.

She gulps it down almost immediately, and when you trade yours for hers, she sips it slowly, watching the boisterous storm outside the window. The silence that follows is warm, comfortable, welcome, sits over you like a heavy blanket. 

Every ten minutes or so, an emergency vehicle making slow progress through accumulated layers of ice and snow will illuminate the inside of your apartment with its bright hazard lights. And it’s only in that brief spill of yellow and orange through the window pane where you can see Heejin clearly. 

Around her shoulders is a flannel shirt pulled off one of your hangers, buttons uneven and misaligned. When she had gotten her fingers to the final button and realized she was two short, she just shrugged and let the clothing drape skewed and diagonal over her tiny frame, sleeves hanging far off the end of her wrists. She managed to tie back this loose ponytail with a binder clip she found in your kitchen and it lets you study all the details of her face - without having to run your hand through her hair and hold it back: features elegant and simple, regal and composed, eyes brilliant and gorgeous. The kind of beauty that righteously demands a team of photographers poised for a perfect shot; she tilts her chin, puts a hint of suggestion in her lips, and they scramble to find the next one, all with the desperate intensity of a starving man gnawing at a bone. 

“God. You’re really pretty,” you say, and only when it hits your ears do you realize it came out of your mouth.  

Heejin just smiles, all genuine and natural. Points at the flashlight in your hand. “I think you’d get more light from a cigarette lighter.”

“Fuck, I know, I don’t have any more batteries.” You slap your flashlight against your palm, optimistic. 

Not much more than a dull, pathetic glow escapes its lens.

“Maybe you can steal them from something else?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” you answer, “but everything just plugs into the wall these days, what all even still uses batteries?”

“If we were at my apartment, I’d just go take them out of Yeojin’s–”

She pauses, raises an eyebrow and twists her mouth cautiously, sinking into the sofa next to you. Finds your arm around her and folds her legs beneath her into something considerably more compact. 

“Flashlight?” you ask, trying not to grin and sneer, “one of those flashlights with three speed settings?”

A single strand of hair falls in front of Heejin’s face. She blows it away and it stubbornly falls back into the exact same spot on her cheek.

“Promise me you won't write about this. It’s just… I have to tell someone.” 

“My lips are sealed,” you tell her, with the unwavering confidence of someone she could trust - which pragmatically you aren’t, but you’re both looking past all that.

“So this box arrives in the mail one day, right,” Heejin starts, pulling a blanket over herself, “And Yeojin sprints from her room, to the door, back to her room again, so fast that Haseul’s barely finished flipping the page of her book when it all happens. She’s already so small that you blink and you miss her, and in a lot of ways that’s what happened.”

“So she’s back in her room, with the vibrator.”

“Hold on,” Heejin says, tucking her feet into the blanket. “So we’re sitting there in the living room; I’m texting someone, Haseul’s reading something - I can’t remember what, but probably some cheap parlor romance - and that’s when we start to hear it.”

“The vibrator.”

“No,” Heejin says, flicking her eyes back to yours again, “the moaning.”

“Of course.”

“Now, I’m not saying… Look, there’s nothing wrong with masturbation. What’s greater than having sex with the person you love most, right? That’s what I always say.”

“You always say that?”

“It’s a figure of speech, you smartass. Anyway, we’re both sitting there, trying our best to ignore it, but it’s hard because this city’s built on a fault line, and they build these places so cheap so that they can tear them down and start over again without thinking about it, so the walls are, like, paper thin, and then after a while, Yeojin just starts wailing. I’m not kidding, it sounded like someone was trying to kill her.”

“I mean, in a way.”

“Right.” Heejin nods, brows furrowed and letting the memory come back to her, “I look up at Haseul, and she just goes about her business reading on about the adventures of some lovable-probably-clumsy-pretty-but-not-too-pretty-girl meeting the billionaire of her dreams and having all this weird, freaky, earth-shattering sex or something - she doesn’t even say a word.”

“And what exactly is she supposed to say?” you ask, “hey, what’s that noise?”

“That would’ve been better than just sitting in there in silence! Ugh, honestly, the woman’s always got a chip on her shoulder about this kind of stuff. Like, she’ll show up on a Sunday morning, and her knees are bowed and still fucking wobbling (so you know she’s been getting it good. All that irreverent, mind-blowing sex), and she’ll still have the audacity to look at us all judgmental for not going to church or maybe because we’re coming home still wearing last night’s dresses and heels.”

By this point, you notice Heejin has committed fully - with neither shame nor remorse - to stealing your blanket.

“So, I swear to god, I’m going crazy. Haseul’s just sitting there, and I can’t stop listening to Yeojin sobbing and gasping like she’s getting the best fuck of her life, and it’s this thought that grows and grows and grows in my head. I’m getting dizzy just thinking about it. And then, every bit as sudden as it started, it just stops.”

“Good for Yeojin, I suppose.”

“Right,” Heejin says, gesturing with her hand, defeated. “When she finally comes out of her room, her face is so so so red. Like, it looks like the end of a girl’s night out - after we’ve cut her off for the night, and after she’s cried and cried about some cute boy at the bar missing all her patented mixed signals.” Heejin takes a brief look at you, then back out the window, and puffs a small breath out of her chest. “The only thing I can even think at that point is, Jesus, I need to get my hands on that thing.”

“Do you?”

Heejin holds her finger up like she’s scolding your impatience. “So fast forward a few days, I’m digging through Yeojin’s closet when nobody’s home - and let me tell you, it’s like deep space in there, things go in and disappear forever; the other day I heard Sandra Bullock hollering from inside - but eventually, by the grace of god, I find it.”

“The vibrator.”

“The vibrator,” Heejin finally repeats, “This toy is silver, and looks about what you’d expect: like Steve Jobs was tasked with designing a banana. Beyond that, it was so complicated I almost didn’t even use it. Oh, and it wasn’t anything discreet either; there was this light that flashed when you turned it on and it practically lit up the whole room, these O-shaped strobing signals you could use to direct incoming flights at an airport.”

“Maybe we wouldn’t need to steal the batteries,” you suggest, and it makes a smile grow into the corners of Heejin’s mouth. “How’d it go?”

“With the vibrator?” Heejin puts her finger to lip, tracing it in thought. “I mean incredible, game-changing.”

“Better than just now?”

“Different.”

“It’s okay, it’s the twenty-first century, I’m not going to try and compete with a machine here–”

“Different,” Heejin repeats sternly, and you’re willing to drop it. “Come on by sometime when no one’s home and I’ll show you.”

-

“It’s really coming down,” you say once as you gaze into the storm, somewhere in the hours of the night that belong to no one.

Heejin slips further into your shoulder, eyes off the darkness out the window, the snow whipping across its face, looking up at you like you were the most interesting thing in the world. “Wonder how long it’ll take for them to remove all this mess from the rails.”

“I’m no expert,” you answer, “could be days though.”

“Bummer,” Heejin says, lips forming a kiss onto your collarbone.

-

“Are you sure you’ve used this thing before?” Heejin asks, resting on her elbows at the kitchen counter and blinking pensively at the French press in your hands. She looked on skeptically while you’d dug it out from a cupboard beneath the sink.

“Yeah, of course I have,” you tell her, exuding your finest false confidence as you run it back; the thing has been sitting in that cabinet collecting dust since you took it home as a white elephant gift almost a year ago. Shameful too, when you start to consider how much money you’ve spent at the coffee shops near your office and your apartment.

Heejin stares into her mug, her face lit by broken sunlight and still wearing that same perfected look. Only now it’s slightly different: hair tousled - rogue locks falling across her face and into the corner of her mouth where she could chew on it if she wanted - skin pale, the beauty mark on her cheekbone dotting her expressions like punctuation, a lack of sleep just beginning to shyly reveal itself beneath her eyes.

“I can see the coffee grounds in this.”

“You asked if I’ve used it, not that I knew what I was doing.”

Her lips curl back, smile huge, holding down either a laugh or a smirk - there’s no way to know - and finally rest atop the rim of the mug. “It’ll have to do.”

Only it doesn’t. Neither of you manage to make it through an entire cup, burnt, acrid, running on undrinkable.

That taste of bitterness lingers long after you’ve swallowed, and fills your mouth again when you press your lips to Heejin’s. She should be taking a cab to the station, should be boarding a train, should be trying to hide how fucked the bottom of her dress had become, should be looking at her roommates smug and gloating when she walks through the door. 

And you should be writing an article - about the girl you’ve seen wail and moan and sob on the end of your cock - who could just as easily turn it around, fuck you senseless like she has a knife at your throat. But this is borrowed time, an oddity, something like a glitch you figure, and you’re reaching under her thighs, pulling her into you like you’d simply hit an off switch on the responsibilities shadowed in your mind.

(You’re abandoning logic here because it’s the most natural thing in the world.)

There’s this reflexive quality to it, the way Heejin wraps her arms over your shoulders and legs around your waist as you lift her onto the counter. Sneaking into the space between long, soft kisses, she asks, grinning because she knows the answer, “If I'm stuck here, what are we going to do to pass the time?”

“I’m going to kiss you, probably.” Your answer comes before you find the shape of her impossibly narrow waist beneath an ocean of baggy fabric.

“Perfect,” Heejin says, voice carefree and charming and perfectly lilting, “and then what?”

“Then I’m going to get you all hot and wet and needy and you’re going to be begging for my cock.”

“You sound pretty confident about that.”

“Yeah. Guess I am,” you breathe into her neck, and it lands squarely on all this soft skin desperately in need of your lips.

She’s got a hand in your hair firm and grasping at you like she owns you - far less shy than the other at your waist, teasing the elastic of your shorts. “And then what?”

The wrong answer is anything that fails to mention ramming your cock in Heejin’s cunt or your face buried between her thighs and making her cum over and over. You laugh first, and then fail knowingly at the cross examination, “then I gotta get to work on that article, you know.”

Heejin lets out a sigh that could only ever be construed as disapproval. Palms the shape of your cock over your underwear. “Or.”

“Or,” you repeat. It’s her challenge. She can fill the space, continue the thought; you can’t get enough of hearing filth fall from her pretty lips while she looks at you all wide-eyed and perfect and like the princess you want to believe she is.

“You can take this cock of yours; the one I'm begging for right?” she says, fingers running down your underwear, rousing your length and finally cupping your balls. “You’re going to fuck me with it and fill me up with cum.”

“Cumslut.” It’s perplexingly endearing, and you brush your nose against hers, trace your thumb along her jaw, catch the swell of her lower lip on the tip of your finger.

Heejin smiles.

“Daddy,” she says almost cautiously, but immediately starts slipping these quiet little bits of laughter in the silence it creates. She’s yours, your hers, it’s all doomed and fated at this point, especially at this point - scribbled into cosmic law and her eyes holding you like they were made for the very purpose - you’re sure of it. “I’m not letting go of you until you fuck me.”

The heater has been off for hours, so the air in your apartment is frigid; simply getting out of bed was the kind of thing tibetan monks might do - walking across coals, self immolation, venturing out from beneath the warm covers in the morning, that kind of thing. And It has you perfectly content to take that bait in front of you, burying yourself deep in the scorching heat between her legs; turning her around, and doing it again. Making her cum like that and then letting your own orgasm drip out between her thighs.

“I’m not playing around,” Heejin says, having watched you laugh quietly to yourself about the absolute vice she has you in - and beyond the legs pulling you closer.

“One time,” you concede.

“Yeah.” Her hands pump your cock gingerly against your underwear, and Heejin agrees, “One time.”

It doesn't take long. You turn Heejin into this whimpering mess - her legs and hips suspended above the counter and ankles thrown over your shoulder. She falls apart, moaning still like it isn't slicing her voice to bits, all rasped and ruined, and you fuck her through her first orgasm. Her thighs shake and quiver while you fuck her through the second, railing into her cunt like it had insulted you.

“Fuck, that’s amazing,” Heejin pants, head rolling onto her shoulder, and her cheeks are so red you have to believe her. “Oh my god.”

She’d gotten only through half the buttons on her shirt before she became too cock-addled to figure out the rest, and it hangs ever so slightly off each of her dainty shoulders - agape enough for you to watch her small breasts jump every time you thrust into her.

Each long thrust into her heat has both your voices flooding, desperate. The way your thighs slap together all wet and raw only adds to the scene - this fucking filthy score of moans, curses, sex. It’s probably always been your instinct to pound like this: reckless, careless, selfish - and here Heejin is, begging for it.

“Go ahead,” she says, eyes lidded, still catching her breath, and it’s the most seductive thing you’ve ever heard, “I need you - fucking use me, fucking take me - need you to breed me.”

(It’s hot, you think. Maybe you’ll ask about it later. Maybe you won’t.)

So yeah, you cum. 

It’s one of those eye-clenching, blood-boiling, ear-ringing, teeth-gnashing orgasms that has you making a groan so inhuman, so broken and unbecoming, that it has Heejin laughing in response. She’s patting your sides, lips planted on your neck, cooing while your cock continues to ache and pump cum into her wet, fucked hole.

“What was that?” you ask, breath hitching and your body sinking into those light arms wrapped around you.

“What was what?” She’s got it so casual, so carefree, still so utterly charming - it makes you feel as though you were the one who’d said something out of place.

“Um. Don’t worry about it.”

-

Oh, it’s probably written in the stars, this mess between you, orbiting, circling, bound and tied: not even a half hour later, she leans over the sofa where you’ve set up with your laptop, kisses you once, and you’re reduced to nearly nothing but the kind of desire that will curdle into lust and threaten to eat you from the inside out should you refuse to yield to it.

“Really. I can’t. Not now.” It’s bravery or something. You’re lionhearted and incredible and you deserve a pat on the back.

Eyebrows knitted, she pouts at you when you explain once again that you have work to do, those pretty pink lips downturned into obvious disappointment, and you almost, very nearly give in.

-

Heejin pulls a book from your bookshelf four times, flips through it and rejects it, before finally settling on an architectural survey of Frank Lloyd Wright’s greatest hits (you’d also received that in a white elephant exchange).

There’s a photograph of Fallingwater on the front, and Heejin licks her fingers each time she turns the page.

She lands on the sofa next to you, lying long ways with her head resting on the padding of its arm, the same one you’d buried her face into less than twelve hours ago, and the two of you do technically manage to fit, only her feet cram into you and stab sharply into your thigh.

“You, uh, a big architecture person?” you ask, sparing a glance from your laptop to the girl nesting into the cushions beside you.

“Not in the slightest,” she answers, “I’m just bored to tears because someone would rather play with their computer than play with me.”

You give her a more pointed look, probably more akin to the attention those beautiful eyes of hers deserve. “I’m telling you: my editor will hang me from the rooftop if I don’t get this thing in her hands by Monday.” “That seems extreme.”

“Hey, that’s why she gets her salary and I get mine. I’m not paid willing to commit a murder money.”

She holds back a laugh, and leans forward, pulling her knees to her chest. “So what you’re saying is you’re a procrastinator, and I’m the one who gets to suffer for it.”

“Yeah, and you’re blameless after all.” You rake your fingers through your hair, running the past twenty-four hours through your head. “It doesn’t help that we’ve been at it like rabbits.”

“Like what?”

“Like rabbits.”

“Like what?” she asks again, this huge toothy grin stretching across her soft lips.

“Keep it up, go ahead,” you answer, shaking your head, “and who knows, you might just get what you’re asking for.”

-

When the power flicks back to life in your apartment, Heejin stands in the doorway to your living room and flips the wall switch off and on a few times. She has her hand on her chin, as though she’s musing and considering what all the value of electricity might bring - near a hundred of years of civilization now at her fingertips - and you have no idea that she’s about to rip you away from your work with four simple words:

“Wanna take a shower?”

You tilt your chin over the screen of your laptop, and logically, you reek of sex and sweat. Every now and again, you’ll scratch your nose or hold your hand over your mouth and you can still smell Heejin’s slick on you, stuck to you, its indomitable linger.

Heejin simply stares at you like she knows you're hers.

And if you’re thinking logically, you’re making progress faster than you expected on this article, words hitting the page and flowing freely. Logically, it would be near criminal for Heejin to be in your shower, her petite body all soapy, slippery and glistening, and you not there to see it, touch it, fuck it until she’s cumming and moaning your name and the sound of it echoing off all that tile–

“Yeah,” you say, clam-shelling your laptop and tossing it aside, “sure.”

-

There’s a certain quality about the renewed coyness, this sense of competitive playfulness, perhaps something diffident brewing between you, Heejin, and the four walls of your shower.

Leisurely, you both wash as though you’re not dying to jump one another's bones, like you’re both not reliving each and every orgasm on some sort of highlight reel played back through your thoughts.

Water falls to the ground in heavy spurts, loudly splashing after it pools and rolls off your bodies. And inside that cloud of steam, wrapped around you both like a blanket, Heejin catches you staring at her perfect figure just one too many times.

“I’m just cleaning,” Heejin says, voice grasping at its highest register, and she wraps her fingers around your cock. “So, you know, don’t get too excited.”

You’ll spin it around, turn on it’s head, get your fingers gliding along her slippery pussy all the same, and you’re right there with her, saying, “Right, just cleaning.”

“Imagine that.” Heejin’s pumping your shaft, perfecting it with this twist at the end that has you roused and ready and aching for more. “You spend all day, playing hard to get, and I just had to touch you?”

“Who says I’m going to fuck you?” you ask, a little too breathless, a little too obvious of a lie. Heejin presses forward and presses her lips to your chest, little kisses trailing across it.

“Fuck it, me, I’ll say it.” She wraps tight around the head of your cock, squeezing tight and making the water between her fingers squelch. “You’re going to fuck me. You’re going to press me up against this glass, and you’re going to fuck me.”

Heejin’s eyes light up when you smile, laugh because it’s true, and pull her up into your lips.

It’s not particularly a great kiss. It’s maybe a little too wet, far too much tongue, a little mean, but it sets the stage: when you’re cock is finally lined up between Heejin’s lips, teasing - relentless you might add - and her tiny body is pressed so hard into the glass that your only lament is that you can’t see how it looks from the other side.

You slowly enter her cunt, so slow it makes Heejin whine and groan, and you flirt your lips against her ear, “ask for it.”

“Fuck. Give it to me,” she spits, and you can feel her open wider for you when she does. “I need you to fuck me, please, please, fuck me. Or I swear–”

You never hear what’s on the end of that threat, because she doesn’t get the chance to tell you that you fucking better, that she’ll kill you if you don’t fill her up and make her cum, that it’s the literal end of the world if your hard cock isn’t buried so deep in her cunt that she sees stars.

She doesn't get the chance because you’re pushing into her, fast and hard and all at once.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” her voice shakes, curses starting to flow like you’d ruptured a vein. She turns her head, cheek flush with the shower door so that you can see how her eyelashes flutter every time a stroke hits hard against her ass.

It’s intense. It’s calculated. Passionate and uncontrollable. You’ve become so full of contradictions that it has you ready to burst, explosion imminent. You don’t even need to hold onto her hips, because she’s fucking you, jerking her hips back and forth and fucking herself full of your cock - liberating your hands to reach up her sides, gather soap and water and sweat beneath your fingerprints, hold tight to her firm breasts while you bury your face in the soft skin of her neck.

When she collapses to her knees, legs wobbling and pussy quivering off your cock, she doesn’t even say anything. Simply turns and takes you into her mouth, stroking and sucking you until you can’t take it, that fucking tongue reaching all over and spelling out your end–

“Yeah,” you croak, the word some sort of lifeline, a warning, “Heejin, I–”

She pulls you out, lips smacking, and with three words does more damage than you thought she was ever capable: 

“On my face.”

It only takes a few pumps from her hand, her tongue still harassing the belly of your cock, and when she flattens it, opens her mouth wide and ready for a mouthful of cum, she has you simply acting on instinct.

It’s certainly novel, what you’ve just done. It’s in her eyes, it’s on her cheeks, you fucking cum so hard there’s strands of it stuck in her hair and stained to the glass behind her.

“Jesus,” you say, rolling back into the stream of hot water, cleansing your soul of sweat, of cum, of sin, “I just came on your face.”

Heejin smiles, eyes shut like her life depends on it, and puts a hand out expectantly, “yeah, so give me a fucking washcloth.”

-

“I don’t know, I guess I don’t really have any,” you tell Heejin in the breath after she’d asked you what your kinks are.

She leans forward, wipes at the steam covered mirror until you can see her reflection raising an eyebrow at you. “Really,” skeptical.

“I mean, seriously, is that really so hard to believe? I get off to pretty girls. You got me. What a villain I am.”

“Anal,” she says, turning to you and leaning against the vanity counter. Her face is still flushed and you can see the faint outlines of your palms and fingers on her chest, but she seems sincere about it - whatever it is.

“Yeah?”

“What do you think about it?”

“About anal?” You set down your razor, towel off your face. “Sure, why not, but I’m not going to sit here and say it’s my kink.”

Heejin threads her fingers under your chin, along your jaw - admires the fleetingly smooth skin that she might only ever find at the end of a shave, and cocks her head. “Threesomes?”

You laugh at the question, the sheer absurdity of it. “Are you asking or inviting?”

She toys with her fingernail between her teeth before she answers, “asking.”

“Well it depends. Who’s in it?”

“Me,” Heejins says, and she’s got her brows quirked; settles this huge predatory grin into her expression. 

She holds her lips next to yours - never quite kisses them - wraps her arms around your neck, shuffles a little and moves so that she’s straddled between the counter and your waist. She shimmies her hips and you almost groan, because now you recognize it: that’s Heejin’s shimmy. The silly little thing she does whenever she’s asking for sex without having to ever actually say the words.

“It’s a promising start. Who else?”

“You,” she says, flatly a matter of fact.

“Mhmm, okay, maybe I'm in.”

“Honestly, more than anything...” Heejin’s voice trails, and her lips pucker. “I just want to see you buried in Haseul’s ass.”

“Okay then, maybe I’m back out.”

“Sleep on it maybe. Do you wanna know mine?

You recognize the caution filling your throat, and then promptly being neglected when you ask, “Is it breeding?” 

Heejin just smiles, laughs like it isn’t incriminating. Her lips come close to your earlobe, you think she’s going to lick it or bite it or god knows what, but somehow it’s worse:

“I just fucking love your cum.”

-

“Don’t you have somewhere to be–”

You’re not annoyed with her; it’s just that yesterday night was when the trains started moving again, and now it’s almost five o’clock on a Sunday and you’re wondering when this particular journey comes to an end, if it comes to an end. There should be a credit scroll, a fade to black, some sort of keystone to socket in place, you figure, and you’re asking what should be an obvious question.

“–or at least some place you can get yourself a proper pair of pants.”

Leaning over the back of the sofa, eyes scanning your laptop, Heejin ignores the question entirely.

Year of the Rabbit: Heejin, the girl next door, only farther away than next door.

Sometimes she’s blonde but dark at the roots, sometimes she’s tall but only with the help of certain shoes. She’s everything, anything she ever wants to be.

When she first sat down, she wandered into the interview like a second semester-senior, not only at ease with the system, but a little beyond it.

“Hold up, what the hell is this title?” she asks, pointing to the top of your document. “You’re so far up your own ass there’s even a colon right in the middle of it.”

“It’s a work in progress,” you say as you slouch into the sofa, “and besides, the beauty comes out in the edits.”

“I certainly hope so,” she says, worrying the corner of her lip between her teeth, and fixing her eyes back on you. “I was planning on staying for dinner.”

“Of course you were.”

-

You decide, possibly against your better judgment, to walk Heejin back to the train station.

Although the city had resurrected itself, like Lazarus after a party where the guests had run out of wine (you’re not totally sure about this one), and started to put all its miserable pieces back together, the sidewalks are still a total fucking mess. You’re both there trodding along, navigating through the absolute, dreadful shitslop of snow and dirt when Heejin asks, “You’ll call, yeah?”

“Sure,” you answer, like it was in your power to resist the very idea of it.

“Hey. After all, if you don’t, I know where you live.”

You point in the direction of the turnstiles. “Mildly threatening.”

“I could always wait in the bushes.”

You agree, tugging gently on a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. “You absolutely could.”

[chaifootsteps]

I think I put my finger on why apology tour is so stressful to watch.

So there’s this manipulation technique called “triangulation”, where an abusive person will pull in a third person to ‘verdict’ who is right and wrong. More often than not the person is either biased against the person or biased in favour of the abuser. This person has none of the intimate understanding of the relationship or details, they don’t even care to know. They just come in to tell the victim they’re hysterical and to stop being the problem. It’s framed as maturely keeping the peace and resolving conflict, but all it does is empower the abuser to continue. One of the worst ways is when an abusers constant behaviour finally makes the victim snap, then in that brief moment the abuser points and says look how crazy they are! They’re the real abuser! And this was precisely the intention of Full Moon.

That’s exactly how vivzie and stolitz shippers keep writing this, bring in a third party to scold Blitzø that he “fucked it up” and tell stolas he’s so brave. It was done with Loona who in post full moon fan works, is now stolas’ number one warrior. Vivzie brought in all these non characters to cry in the background to make stolas look like he’s a victim, one of them, when he’s not. To say “it’s a pattern!” Even though blitz didn’t bail on stolas and crush his feelings, stolas crushed him. And we’ll never see these props again. None of them engage with what actually happened or even care to know, they just project about other characters.

It’s actually a sign of insecurity in writing that nothing stolas says on his own, elaborates on why he’s a victim, Viv just had to co-opt Verosikas backstory and pretend it’s stolas’ as well.

"Triangulation." That's a new one for me, but it's unfathomably creepy how well it fits. This entire show's turning into a procession of abusive, manipulative techniques, none of which are portrayed as negative.

[lucifers-rubber-duck]

𖤓 Being part of I.M.P

would include 𖤓

Warnings: Blitzø's stalking tendencies.

Having to deal with Loona

• Loona by herself is already a piece of work, she's rude to everyone for no reason, doesn't do her job well and is lazy as fuck.

• You would be no exception and she would make comments about your clothes, your hair, the way you talk, anything that can put you down.

• She constantly steals your lunch, and doesn't matter where you hide it, she will just sniff it and eat it all, she even throws tantruns if you get angry with her about it.

• You constantly have to do her job for her. She will just take a break no matter the time and leave the clients hanging on the phone. Not only you have to work as a assassin but also as a secretary when she just decides to not be around.

• It doesn't help that 60% of the time the calls aren't from raging clients but from that horny owl prince Blitzø slept with and you have to listen to his deranged commentary on your boss.

Blitzø's shenanigans

• Your boss is far from being responsible and you learned that way too late. He's loud, unprofessional, has a weird thing for horses and doesn't care on respecting your personal life.

• He constantly spies on you the same way he does with Millie and Moxxie. You already changed the locker five times and always makes sure the windows are closed but he always gets in and eats your goddam food.

• His weird thing for horses also makes your life worse, most of the times the cleaning duty is up to you and his drawers are full of pictures, art and horses figurines, you want to clean your eyes with bleach after seeing some of those images. He also info dumps to you about his OCs.

• There's also multiple occasions were you have to pick him up from places, either because he got way too drunk or because he got in trouble with another demon and got kicked out of the place he was.

• You don't even bother asking about your paycheck anymore, you just wait until Blitzø feels like paying you for the month and try not to waste it all at once 'cause you never know when he will remember to pay you again.

Moxxie and Millie being clingy

• At first you thought the two were very cute together, who wouldn't? A loving couple that like showing to the world they were in love, what's so wrong about it?

• But then you actually started working with them and oh Satan were they a handful to deal with. They just can't keep their tongues away from each other and in the worst timing too.

• You'll enter a room and the two of them will be all over each other, being all flirty and gross that you can't help but make fake vomiting noises and leave. Or you all will be in the middle of killing and they will get turned on by nothing and will start making out while shooting the target, you just don't get why.

• Working with them is basically just being a third wheel for hours and is a mental test because they will make sure you know they love each other and will start singing togheter like they're in some type of musical.

Villain of the week kinda bullshit

• Your paycheck doesn't make justice for the amount of trouble you are pulled to by default just by existing close to them. You lost count of how many close to death experiences you had with these Imps.

• When you thought it would be a easy job, boom, your target was actually a crazy woman with a shotgun. You wanted a nice time at a theme park while working as security for the owl guy, nuh-uh, can't have that, the park is now on fire. Going to the Warth ring to have some fun and happened to meet a hot cowboy guy? Too bad, he's also evil.

• You all somehow always get out of it unharmed, sometimes with major brusies like the time you came back with a big cut on your arm because one of the Cherub's arrows actually hit you, but it's still a miracle to you that you're all alive. But your coworkers always move past it like it's nothing.

• And to be honest? You do the same, after so much time having to deal with this crazy scenarios, you just grow used to it. Your free time at the office is just waiting for a new costumer to come or to a new wacky adventure to start.

• Also, I hope you know how to sing because said Villains of the week like singing a lot and will do at any given opportunity.