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fishstyx · 3 years ago

Text

featuring. college au!gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru

wc. 9.2k

genre. dark/taboo, smut, angst

tw. 18+ nsfw, non/dubcon, toxic/abusive relationships, manipulation, victim blaming, dry humping, penetration, masturbation, irresponsible practice of bdsm, hair pulling, mild exhibitionism, size kink (both 6’3”, gojo can lift you), implied corruption kink, degradation, creampie, intoxication/alcohol, incel behavior, misogyny, dacryphilia

synopsis.

“Parading around as my personal fucktoy get you that excited?” he starts with a smirk, wide eyes drinking up your sharp inhale as if it were his own, inspiring pinpricks of heat to rise to your cheeks.

He hooks the hem of your skirt with his thumbs when he’s met with silence, pulls you from the doorframe just far away that he can release the elastic with a snap, silent snigger on his lips when it elicits a small sound of surprise from you. You nod in response, frantic bob of your head drawing a low growl from his chest and a “that’s right, I know what’s best for my pet,” as he lifts you off your feet and carries you to the bedroom.

notes. title inspo: love the way you lie (eminem, rihanna). you’re dating gojo, a charming, manipulative, self-entitled bastard. geto is, of course, his best friend, written as an aloof, self-righteous, bitter incel. please stay safe, read all the warnings, and enjoy. this is the most personal fic i have to offer. it draws from not-so-savory past relationships... i hope it remains the only testament to them. <3

links. broken toys. (sequel)

You were stunned into silence when he first suggested it.

And how couldn’t you be? Any sane person would, or at least should, have recoiled at the proposition. Isn’t that right?

But he makes it seem so harmless, so innocent, somehow. Like it’s no big deal, far from uncharacteristic for either of you—just a walk around campus, nothing new there. He tells you this like you’re overreacting, slow on the uptake, taking far too long to reach a final decision. The rational part of your mind says it’s out of the option. But the irrational part is louder, all-consuming, domineering.

The irrational part says, out of all your options, it’s the only viable one.

“Come on, babygirl. What’s the harm of trying it out once?”

It’s always this way, always has been. He takes your hands in his with a dramatic swell, the sparkle in his eyes big and bright and gleaming, and you bite back the urge to pull away. You would break your gaze if you could, if he didn’t look so determined, if that twinkling blue galaxy wasn’t sweltering with hope and adoration. But you can’t, and he does, and it just about swallows you whole.

The fact of the matter is, Gojo Satoru wants to take you out on a leash today.

Never mind today; he wanted this yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that, never one to shy away from his desires as you deliberated the entire time. By now he’s asked you to do this one, single thing for him far more times than you can count—initially playing it off as a joke, slowly feeling you out, gradually seeing how far he could push and pull until you explicitly told him no.

Except it’s never just one, single thing with him, and you—with the way you dance around the topic, hoping to give him the illusion that you might give in, or perhaps yourself the illusion of control—you never say no.

A simple line of defense, yes. Even you agree with that. But its execution? Around Gojo, it seems anything but.

Geto would beg to differ.

Geto.

The only other person privy to your latest concerns. The only other person you can bear knowing. And he’d be disappointed if only he could see you now.

Who are you kidding? He’s already disappointed.

A vague outline was all you gave him. A vague outline, you knew, not-so-deep down in your heart, was all you dare tell him—or anyone at all, really.

Because, sure, you’ve adopted a rather experimental lifestyle around Gojo, but that was supposed to be private. Reserved for behind closed doors, you thought, until now.

You were right in that the brooding brunette didn’t need every last grueling detail of Gojo’s newest request. He’s his best friend; he’s seen you at every single step of your whirlwind relationship together. The fervid beginnings, when the two of you couldn’t be physically separated, let alone in different rooms from each other. The ups and the downs, each one more intense than the last, each one blowing up in your faces before you ran back into each other’s arms and kissed and made up. You knew that much.

What you didn’t foresee, however, even as you recounted your latest grievance to him, was that nothing you were saying was new. To Geto it was regurgitated rhetoric, distorted and distressed, yesterday’s news—whereas you saw it as a unique conquest, a new hurdle to overcome.

“It almost amazes me how you can come up with so many new ways to say the same old thing,” he said, slanted eyes dull with apathy as they panned away from yours. “Almost.”

You could only choke on your words in response.

What Geto told you next is now a hushed murmur in the back of your head. It reverberates against your skull, pinballing against the walls of all that empty space and showing no signs of slowing down. It tells you to just say the magic word and it’ll be over, every last bit of Gojo’s borderline demands, washing away all of that white noise if only you’d breathe some life into it. That one word, the one that plagues your mind night and day, it begins to materialize upon your lips, poised and ready to spring into action, flexing on the tip of your tongue as if it were a wind-up toy.

Just say it already.

Just say no.

But you’re always holding your tongue around the both of them, together or alone, whether on the bony roof of your mouth or its flexible, fleshy floor, biting your words back for an eternity and more. Perhaps you were only faking yourself out, simply going through—no, barely feinting at the motions so you can come back to this chapter of your life and say that you tried. The moment passes, the pause your boyfriend gave at the sight of your mouth ajar long over, his words beginning to bleed into your reality once more.

And he’s saying, “I bought such a cute collar for you, too,” voice rising and falling with lovelorn disappointment. You can’t help but wince at his gentle timbre, all too painfully aware that such a small investment is far from the root of Gojo’s displeasure. You can hear it in his tone, too, how his carefree singsong runs steely as his thoughts begin to wander, settling on a resigned indifference.

So you wander, too. Tear your eyes from his in search of something, anything that might lend a reason to divert your gaze. Your fingers encircle white leather before you realize it, turning the thin strip over in absentminded idle, silver o-ring jingling in place. The metallic clank doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You should at least try it on before I return it, don’t you think?”

And you can’t find it in your heart to disagree, stiff choker tightening around your neck as he fumbles with the clasp. You trace the sanded edges before latching a finger—two fingers—beneath the leather material.

Perfect.

Perfectly irritating. Irritatingly perfect. It sits in the center of your neck without slipping, just snug enough that you can still breathe easy, comfortable and almost disturbingly so.

“Well?”

White lashes flutter idly as he considers your reflection as if studying it. And with the hint of a smile behind you, large hands on your waist in the mirror’s image, you start to think for the first time that the collar really is a pretty number, and a shame and a waste to throw away.

Because he looks so pleased now, creased cheeks and crinkled eyelids as he smooths his palms over your hips, like maybe you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever held. Because instead of the pouting you’ve come to expect, the declarations that you’re “no fun,” or that you’re “overreacting,” or that you need to “relax” you’ve come to accept, he simply brushes your hair to the side and rests his cheek against yours, warm breath just about tickling your chin.

It begs the question.

“Will you love me more if I do this for you?”

And it sends his eyes into a frenzied state, hungry void for pupils swallowing crystal irises with unabating greed, all frisky lashes and overeager ridges.

Ideally, he’d take your hands in his, tell you that that wasn’t his intention at all and beg for your forgiveness. Ideally, he’d hold you close, say that he loves you no matter what and promise to never push you this far again. You know all of these self-evident truths and more, yet you still can’t stop your heart from skipping a beat when he tells you, voice hushed in awe, triumph washing over you in spite of yourself:

“Of course I will.”

It’s different when you actually go through with it.

You try not to regret your decision immediately when you’re chained to Gojo’s hand in public, dog leash swinging in the wind as you round the campus loop. What a waste of a beautiful day for you to be hanging your head low, tips of your ears burning with shame. You don’t even believe that you’ve agreed to this yourself as you search the faces ahead of you for a trace of anyone you might know, pushing down the urge to cross your fingers behind your back.

But Gojo himself? He loves the lingering stares to tiny little pieces, practically basks in the attention as he pushes his sunglasses back so they rest above his hairline. Airy tufts of white spill over the tinted lenses, billowy strands coming to rest upon his forehead. When you think of it as your gorgeous boyfriend showing you off, it makes it all a little more bearable, has you standing up a little straighter. But your heart nearly stops every time you think you recognize the passerby, and eventually you dread the sight of absolutely anyone in the distance, for fear they will finally be a person who knows and calls you by name.

Gojo takes quick notice, realizes you hardly want to take another step in this undignified manner, and thinks to himself that there must be a better way to go about the arrangement.

His solution is to turn your walk of shame into a crawl of shame.

“On your fours,” he says, delighted when you actually crouch to the pavement, thankful for an excuse to hide your face. He ruffles your hair and slaps your hand away when you try to pull your skirt down, enamored by the way it rides up and reveals the lacy material below. You suppose it’s a trade-off you’ll just have to take, and in a confession that gets caught up your throat, you don’t wholly mind it: the pairs of eyes you can feel burning through you, though real or imagined you can’t be entirely sure. It makes you wonder if anyone wishes they were Gojo. It makes you wonder if anyone wishes they were you.

In the corner of your eye, you think you see someone sneaking a picture, but you don’t dare lift your head for a closer look. Instead you track the ground for rubble, hoping you’ll get away without scraping your knees, shaky line for a pair of lips as micro cuts come to crisscross your legs.

The rest of the walk is spent with you crawling the ground, light breeze tickling your backside, every part of you flaunted as if you’re Gojo’s most prized possession. You had better be, you think to yourself as you circle back to his building, and luckily enough, he’s about to make good on that expectation.

Maybe it’s the collar around your neck, or maybe it’s the surge of relief you get from returning, but by the time you meet the first glass door, you’re aching for whatever Gojo’s planned next.

He’s moving on predatory instinct the second you’ve set foot in his apartment, flushed lips curling around your own as soon as he pulls you up from all fours. A hollow knock sounds behind you as your heels strike the door, lower lip traced with a wet warmth until you’re gracious enough to grant him full access. He easily cages you with his entire frame, pressing that cute pink muscle in your mouth flat before writhing his own to the rhythm of his heartbeat, booming and ricocheting and alive.

It’s not nearly enough for either of you, of course, his hands beginning to roam all over your pliable form, all over his property, skirting along your outline and creeping closer still to the innermost curves of your contour cutout. Flitting fingers brush against your navel, dancing lower as you suck your tummy in by reflex, stopping right before the tingling bundle of nerves that just might explode as soon as he touches them.

But he takes pause instead, presses his forehead flush against yours, jewel colored eyes waiting on you with intent. You swear they can see right through you, even sheathed behind a cluster of wild white lashes, gauge everything there is to know about you faster than you can say “blue.” The moment freezes over, two bodies still and unmoving until you suddenly remember your need for air, gasping when you realize you’ve been holding your breath.

Your body bounces back from the force with which he tosses you into the mattress, giggles erupting from your throat when he climbs atop of you, tugging at your leash. A thin stripe of saliva trails up and down the column of your neck, laving intermittently over the leather that encases your flesh. A coppery taste, of earth and salt and smoke, dances on his tongue as his front teeth sink into the stretch of your collarbone, nipping and sucking at the delicate flesh. You sink into the bed as you ease into his touch, but he doesn’t give you much time to get comfortable.

“Touch yourself, then,” he says, “if you like to be watched that much.”

It almost sounds like a suggestion, especially with the way in which he uses the lightest touch to brush the stray hairs from your forehead, but you know better than that. Your fingers fly to the wet patch on your panties, thin material almost see-through with your slick, working the fiber flat against dampened skin. An echo of a chuckle reverberates throughout the room as he watches you, undoubtedly pleased by the way in which the fabric clings to your already dripping folds.

Large hands have your legs spread wide open by the time you’ve traced the outline of your clit, your little show put on full display for him. They stay pressed against your thighs as you venture loose, round motions around your sensitive nub. Too timid. You tighten the circles into a coiled spiral, mustering the courage to go harder, faster, the friction of cotton against delicate skin drawing small mewls and sputters out of your trembling form. The delayed relief is sweet, your arousal crying into the pads of your fingers as you pick up the speed. The image burns itself into his brain, watchful eye unfaltering as you play yourself to your heart’s content.

The very air itself seems to buzz as you hold the other end of his gaze, thick fingers running along your sides as you start to roll your hips into the palm of your hand. He’s bent over you with the twitch of his pants, too worked up to remain a bystander any longer as he blows and sucks up your neck. The open-mouthed kisses only hasten the buildup, sensation shotgunning down your body from the surface of your nape.

But the coil in your core knots itself far too early for your taste, and you reel your hand back right before you can realize your peak. You opt to drag a lone finger down your slit instead, afraid that with too much pressure, you’ll come undone before Gojo has the chance to get his fill.

Too late, too slow; he takes notice of your negligence immediately, eyes darkening at the pitiful way your hand skitters with abashment. He pulls away from the crook of your neck to get a good look at your dwindling handiwork, smirking to himself when you shrink in response.

“Having a little trouble there?”

His voice is deceptively singsong as he takes your sluggish hand in his, guiding your knuckles back to that aching button that has you arching your back and curling your toes. He repeats the motion, half a mind to force an orgasm out of you right then and there when suddenly, a whimper—yours—sends his eyes darting back towards your own.

“No, not like this,” you say with strained breath, and he quirks an eyebrow in response, working your fingers into the fabric despite the interruption. “I want more, I need…” your voice trails off, a sorry attempt at stalling.

“Need what?” he asks as he catches on, shit-eating grin somehow audible without you even looking. You don’t know how he does it, how he locks his desires up as you squirm underneath him, waiting ever so innocently for a proper response.

“Need, need you,” you say under your breath, and he cocks an eyebrow, a clear sign of an underwhelming response.

“Oh? I couldn’t quite catch that, princess.”

As if.

“I need you inside of me. Please, claim this filthy cunt,” you whine, determined to play, determined to win. Your hips buck into your interlaced fingers, searching desperately for the one word that’ll send him over the edge and finding it as the leather accessory rides up your neck—as if to remind you of its existence—“Master.”

And it does, it sends a jolt of heat to his groin, has him kicking his pants off and pinning your wrists into the sheets. It’s got him surging with primal need, tugging the pathetic mess of your soaked panties to the side with limitless hunger.

Because even though he’s drawn many names from your lips before, they’ve always been ones he’s insisted on, ones he’s downright pestered you about. Even the simplest “Satoru” was, admittedly, a struggle to pry out of you the very first time you got tangled in his sheets; you shielded your eyes then, cheeks burning and voice low as you whispered it in his ear. And look at you now, sprawled out beneath him as you edge yourself with a hand steeped in your own concoction, begging for his cock with that delicious nickname of your own admission, and it rings throughout his head like an addictive melody.

Master.

You can hardly recognize the noises he fucks out of you for the remainder of the night. He showers you with an unsavory slew of awful names, phrases you’ve never even heard aloud before, tells you that you’re his “freaky cocksleeve” and a “bitch in heat” as he jerks your leash without warning. And that’s exactly what you are, twitching for him like an animal as he screws you senseless, the most guttural of responses rising from your throat as he asks:

“Who do you belong to?”

And of course you respond, between labored pants, “You, master,” muscles taut as you fight for air, fingernails scrambling for purchase on his back but finding absolutely none.

It’s not until you’re entangled in a breathless mass that he pulls your head into his lap, strokes your cheeks and coos that you’ve been a good fucking girl, a thick mixture of his seed seeping from your gaping hole.

Morning always comes when you least expect it, sneaking up on you and peeking through the blinds before you’re ready to get going.

Gojo’s still passed out cold when you creep out of bed, only the most languid of movements used to pry yourself out of the mattress as your arms and legs ache for need of rest. The dull pain humbles you, delayed post-nut clarity finally hitting as you rub into your bleary eyes.

It feels like you’ve been struck by a train.

Your gait is but a tiptoe as you stalk towards his dresser, trembling hands slowly rummaging for something, anything that can provide you some cover. Your classes are starting soon, and whether his are, too, or whether he’s simply skipping out today, you know better than to rouse him from his toil-induced slumber.

It’s nearly inaudible, the sound of the door closing behind you, clank of metal but a whisper as the soles of your shoes kiss up carpeted floor. You’ve left it unlocked, just the way your boyfriend likes it, a small assembly of what you hope he’ll recognize as breakfast perched upon the kitchen table—the last traces of your visit left behind in a neat and tidy little package.

Your eyes find Geto’s once you turn down the hallway, small black beads peering into yours before taking a lap around the block to assess the damage. He must not like what he sees, this tousled morning-after apparition, faint patches of indigo and violet creeping out from under your—no, Gojo’s—oversized sweatshirt, because it’s a solemn sigh that hits your ears next and not a “good morning” or even a simple “hey” that acknowledges you.

Because he knows your average person wouldn’t notice the marks, too sheltered by all that thick cotton riding up your neck, purposefully pulled up just far enough that you wouldn’t see them unless you were looking. He knows your average person couldn’t have the slightest idea how you really scratched up your knees, pointillistic constellations of reddish purple threatening, however empty that threat is, to inch up your thighs. He scoffs.

“What do you even see in him?”

The words cloud the air before he’s completely aware of them, surprising the both of you as they surface.

You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water: for starters he’s charming, engaging, lively and free-spirited. He’s beautiful and he adores you, you want to say, but even though you have all the correct phrases picked out, all strung together in the same time and place, they don’t seem to roll off your tongue quite right.

You seem so tired, forced laugh falling short where it should flutter out of your mouth, the usual cotton candy you spout crystallizing before it can materialize.

“I could ask the same of you.”

It traipses out of your mouth before you can give it permission, easing itself into the atmosphere before sinking like a stone. Truthfully you don’t care to hear an answer, if only to avoid giving your own. You usher yourself out, pushing yourself past the towering wall of a human and stalking down the nearest stairwell.

Gojo knows just how to toy with your pride. But Geto? Geto knows how to slash it down to shreds.

The silence is deafening.

Geto sighs once you’re out of earshot, turning his heel to continue his trajectory. If anything, he didn’t want to run into you today, either. He cringes at the small collection you’ve no doubt assembled yourself, of iced matcha and a granola bar, staring him in the face as he stalks into the apartment. For some reason it only feeds into his mounting dread, the rising unease of what he might find waiting for him in the bedroom.

So he raps the bedroom door with his knuckles instead of barging in like he normally does, hoping in vain that he can get its sole inhabitant to lumber out himself. But of course Gojo doesn’t make it easy, letting out an obnoxiously loud yawn before stretching his lanky limbs with an equally obnoxious groan.

“You said to swing by this morning,” Geto half-yells, half says to himself, already prepared to turn tail and leave. He’s honestly surprised when he gets a legible response instead of the hungover mumbles he’s grown used to.

“Oh, that? Come in, it’s unlocked,” Gojo calls out, each syllable punctuated with tardiness. So Geto braces himself, puffing his chest out before giving the doorknob a firm handshake, stepping deeper into the belly of the beast.

Geto was prepared to see many things when he walked through that door. Something like lipstick stains and flavored condoms, S&M paddles and ribbed dildos. Instead he’s met with something completely other, the evidence already cleared away. Whatever late-night exploits you enjoyed are long gone, not a trace left behind by now, privy only to a grown man slumped over the edge of his mattress, grabbing around under the bedframe.

“Ahh, got it!”

With sleepy eyes Gojo lifts his head and presents to Geto the chrome colored box he’s fished out. It’s small and compact and ridiculously outdated, a conspicuous red button jutting out of its interface. He holds it up to his friend’s face, and the device finally registers.

A voice recorder.

“What, they still make those things?”

Geto schools his features easily, wiping the shock off his face before it can even materialize. It’s not exactly a lie; he knows he shouldn’t be surprised at all that Gojo has kept such an antiquated device for the occasion.

“You act as if you’ve never seen one before.”

It’s a smirk that’s plastered all over their faces now, one that nearly matches the one across from the other, and knowingly so. The two burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all, Gojo slapping his knee and Geto clutching onto his sides. They’re not sure who starts it, but one of them high fives the other.

Girls like you are oh so naïve.

Your wish is granted for about a week total.

Gojo keeps his promise, of loving you more and loving you better, throughout the remaining weekdays.

He takes you out for brunch, picks you up after class, and best of all, doesn’t ask anything more of you, doesn’t ask for anything better.

He opts to shower you with gifts instead, of stuffed animals and chocolates and bite-sized amenities, insisting that you take them all, no strings attached. Your nightstand overflows with his presents, mismatched tokens that remind you of his affection even when you’re not together. And although neither of you explicitly verbalize it, it seems like his way of apologizing. Silently.

You whole-heartedly accept.

This is the Satoru I fell in love with, you think to yourself as he pets your head one sunlit afternoon, grogginess setting in after a particularly big meal. You nuzzle into his lap and relish in the soft filtered light, sprawled out on your side on the living room sofa. He has you gazing upwards at a tap of the shoulder, all softened eyes and unkempt locks of hair, the smell of sandalwood and fresh dry cleaning enveloping you entirely as he leans in for a faint forehead kiss.

“What’s up?” you half ask, half mumble, eyelids heavy with sleep.

“Just wanted to see my princess’s face,” he says, a fleeting grin on his rosy lips. A hollow thud sounds as you play-punch him in the chest, but you roll over from your side to look up at him anyway.

“You happy now?”

“Overjoyed.”

The two of you lock eyes, slivers of white hair undoing themselves from behind his ear as your breath syncs up slowly, gradually. He stares at you with such longing that you would think you weren’t laying right atop of him, and you struggle to hold your ground.

“Are you—”

“Yup.”

You groan, eyes overcome with on demand prickling. “No thank you,” you proclaim as you squeeze them shut, uninterested in indulging him a staring contest. Moments pass and your eyes stay closed, a tide of tiredness washing over you. You loosen up, head rolling back as you allow yourself to relax.

Big mistake. He takes it as an invitation for his hands to descend upon you, attacking your sides in an attempt to tickle, and you jerk away instantly.

“What the—Sato, cut it out!” You bat his arms away, one eye open as uproarious laughter fills your ears.

“If you’re gonna fall asleep then at least let me lay down too,” he says, drawing out the last word as he props your upper half up. He takes your place on the sofa before pulling you on top, and you huff as you fall into a pile.

“Jerk.”

“Your favorite jerk, though.”

Oh, he definitely feels it when you smile into his chest.

The weekend arrives without issue.

Wednesday night you’re watching the sunset over melon sodas.

Thursday night you’re falling asleep on Facetime.

Friday night you’re in the midst of downtown Tokyo, multicolored lights casting your faces in ethereal glow as you work against the hustle and bustle of regulars and tourists. Karaoke songs eat up the most of your visit, Gojo’s voice slowly going scratchy until the crowd finally works the nerve to drag him offstage. You spend the remaining time hopping restaurants, ordering exactly one dish at each location, slowly working your way through a full course meal. The waitress who serves you nothing more than a plate of gyoza gets an especially generous tip.

Dessert is by far his favorite dish: a deluxe parfait, served in a tall, American-style glass and filled to the brim with sorbet. You can still taste the fruit toppings, fresh and fragrant and honeyed on your tongues as you swap saliva in the back of his car. He cups your face with one hand and holds the small of your back with the other, pressing dangerously close against your body. When you finally have the chance to breathe, a thread of spit trails between your lips, in memory of your union. It glistens in the color of the muted city lights, persevering through the window tint in all of their electric might. A mischievous glint reaches his eyes, and all of a sudden he’s pulling you on top of his lap.

“We can get away with this much, can’t we, princess?”

And you oblige, patch of wetness already creeping through your panties as he starts to move, clothed cockhead grinding against the curve of your ass. He’s louder than usual, quivering groans crumbling as they reach your ears, his hips rolling in stuttering motions. You feel as if you’re aflame, pulsating with need, decadent sweetness enveloping your senses every time he pulls in for a kiss, every time he grazes you with his pubic bone. Your clit sings with praises as he pushes you down by the hips, whispering how good you’re being for him, how gorgeous you look in the dress he bought you, and you make a silent wish in the faint moonlight that the moment will never end.

But it seems that good things always meet their end, and come Saturday night, the monster rears its ugly head again.

Because on Saturday night, Gojo’s got you hanging on his arm, the two of you ascending concrete steps to the usual place. Same group of people, different game every week. The two of you are greeted with sweet sighs and boozy smiles, clink of bottles surrounding you as they prepare this week’s drinking game. Gojo’s a lightweight and Geto sticks to designated-driver duty, so it usually works out just fine.

Just not this week.

If Gojo was the sun, then Geto was the moon.

It always seemed to Geto that his best friend had everything in the world he could possibly need: looks, charisma, and status, all readily available to him without much effort of his own. And honestly? He loathed him for that.

As soon as the clock strikes midnight, Geto knows there’s absolutely no way he’s making it to the party. Instead he opts to spend Saturday night alone in the comfort, or perhaps the prison, of his own room.

Because the sun is a star that births brilliance, instilling vitality and inspiring vigor wherever it goes. Whereas the moon only picks up in the after hours, left to guide the lost and the wandering in the nighttime. He feels like he’s always scraping the bottom of the barrel, the pool of women he can choose from limited to the gaggle of bumbling stragglers who lament, still, the absence of the blinding sun. And for the past twenty or so years of his life, those bumbling stragglers have not so much as glanced back at him, too enchanted by the liveliness of day.

Worst of all is that softheaded people, scatterbrains just like you, they think they can fix Gojo, super-fucking-nova Gojo who burns it all up, destroying everything in his course of direction. Part of Geto thinks it’s absolutely deplorable, the way in which pea-brained whores throw themselves at him, hankering for his attention and jumping through all the hoops necessary to get just that. But part of Geto also wants to have his own stake in the fun, and Gojo—pretty boy, genetic-lottery winner Gojo knows this all too well.

The glint of the moonlight taunts Geto as it reflects off the silver-toned box in his hand, bold “STOP,” “REC,” and “PLAY” lettering practically chanting his name in the dim illumination. He was told that the handheld device was safer with him, well out of your reach in the confines of his single dorm, and he supposes that’s the truth, what with the lack of foot traffic in this cramped room that lacks of fresh air and sunlight.

It’d be doubly safer if he’d just tuck the abomination away, stick it deep in the corner of his sock drawer or perhaps somewhere underneath the bed frame, but he’s kept it well in sight ever since he first laid hands on it. He clutches it tightly as if it just might disappear when he lets go; chances like these are rare for him, to be so close in proximity to the wanton whines of someone he knows and sees almost daily. And if it’s anyone’s fault that you’re still fucking an immature bastard, a privileged manchild who gets pretty much everything he wants, it most certainly isn’t his own.

It’s just so exhilarating, to be able to cradle the cool metal in one hand, throbbing cock in the other, drawstring sweats already halfway down as he thumbs at his flushed, pink head. He’s kicking his pants off as he leans into bed, flat of his slicked-up fingers laving over the sopping tip that cries and weep for release. He’s already imagining it, the kinds of o-shaped faces you make with a leash dangling from your neck, bubbling with excitement and intoxication and jealousy at the mere thought. But he doesn’t start the audio yet, fumbling for his stash of lotion before moving to fist his cock in its entirety, twitching creature red with excitement as he jerks it up and down.

It feels so intimate to him, the fact that you’re so close yet so far away, musical mewls available on demand whenever he so pleases. He quickens the pace, palm of his hand practically flattening the vein on the underside of his cock as he starts to buck his hips into his tightening fingers. He’d just love to ram his dick down your throat one day, but for now he’ll have to make do with his hands.

He hits “PLAY” with bitter determination.

The very first sound of crumpling bedsheets has him curling into a full-body tingle. He’s close, so close he can almost taste it, but he keeps his concentration on the audio speaker, waiting for something, anything to heighten his arousal. He sucks in the cold air between his teeth, curses threatening to pour from his lips at how right, how wrong it all feels. The anticipation is short-lived, however, broken by the sound of Gojo’s voice, just barely recognizable in the speaker’s tinny, superficial quality.

“My, my,” the silver-haired deviant says, corners of his mouth undoubtedly upturned as he leans into the microphone.

“Just what do you think you’re doing, Geto?”

The voice recorder hits the floor at the sound of his own name, blood pressure rising as his arms and legs tense up in disbelief. His own orgasm slips away and out of reach in an instant, petering out in wretchedly slow motion as his stiff cock throbs with pitiful languor. He wants to laugh, he wants to cry, wants to curse the world for ever thinking you were actually within his reach, wants to chuck the accursed gadget across the room and watch it scatter across the floor in glittering smithereens. Or maybe he just wants to cradle his head and sink into the ground, face his back to the despicable device for the rest of the night as the cold seeps into his sides, but he’s not even sure where the damn thing skittered off to and his head is spinning and his eyelids clench shut and the world just grinds to a halt.

Gojo doesn’t take the news well.

Gojo doesn’t want to take it at all.

You’re chatting up the party’s host, a premed student in the same year as him, when you first notice him glancing at his phone.

“So how are things? Between you two, I mean,” Shoko asks as she follows your gaze.

“Couldn’t be better” is your absentminded answer, and she stifles a laugh—a perfect relationship with the Gojo Satoru? But you’re only half listening as she expresses her disbelief, eyes never quite leaving Gojo’s back as he shifts away from the mass of people and shuffles towards the windows, cell phone in balled-up hand.

The first call is inconspicuous enough—Geto has a habit of running late, after all. But when you excuse yourself to the bathroom and come back find to Gojo still holding the phone to his ear, half crouched with his lips screwed up in a pout, you know something’s off. Part of you doesn’t want to take your place beside him, but he pulls you down by the wrist, grip strong enough to leave dime-sized bruises.

They’re explaining the game of the night before you can ask him what’s up: a pitcher of beer will round the group of players, all sat in a circle on the carpeted floor, each and every one taking turns trying to steal the last drop. It’s a familiar setting, the music but a hum in the background as the participants buzz with idle chatter, but the person beside you feels alien somehow. The woolen material pills underneath your toes as you curl them into little balls, eyeing him with a sideways glance. You know better than to raise the issue when his foot’s tapping the floor with such force, rapid rhythm almost matching the incessant pace with which he thumbs at his phone. He’s calling Geto three, four, five times before changing tack, demanding an explanation through text.

Shallow breaths are all that fill your lungs as you keep as still as possible, trying your best to get a good read on the screen. If the slump in his shoulders is any indicator, you’re sure he’s seething at the words that light it up. But before you can make out a single phrase, he’s slamming the phone down with one hand, clenching the pitcher of freshly poured beer with the other.

His turn to take the first swig.

He ends up gulping until you’re sure he’s out of breath.

“Whoa there, Satoru,” the person next to him says when he sets the pitcher down, nearly emptied. “What the fuck was that?”

His wrist rises to wipe the corner of his mouth and he exhales sharply, as if his simple reply requires strenuous effort.

“DD bailed on us,” he announces, “fucking flake.”

“Maybe we should have you sober up, then,” someone else, likely Shoko, calls out from across the room.

The change in his demeanor is instant.

“Ah, we’ll make it back in one piece, won’t we?” Gojo’s glance darts sideways, playful lilt betraying the ice he has for eyes.

The room hushes, waiting for an answer, and you sit up straight when you realize who he’s asking. You quirk an eyebrow, amused. With his cheeks already flushed, what seems to be a pointed gaze unfocused and glassy, you can’t help but beg to differ. You know the answer he wants to hear with every bone in your body. But every fiber in your being knows the truth.

“Bullshit.”

The entire room erupts and it’s decided, against his will, that you’ll be spending the night.

Everything falls apart from there.

Shoko shows you to a guest room once the others begin to clear out, dark circles carved out by cool white fluorescents that cast shadows behind her puffy eye bags.

“Sorry it’s so small,” she says, gesturing at the lone mattress, creeping moonlight like a spotlight on its linen-lined surface.

“It’s everything we could ask for,” you say as Gojo falls into bed, sprawling out against the twin sized sheets. “Thanks for letting us crash.” She shoots him a tight lipped smile before placing a deft hand on your shoulder, brown locks cascading as she leans into your ear.

“Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

The night is long and never-ending.

Teeny tiny bits of skylight taunt you from above as Gojo proceeds to keep you awake well past twilight. He’s tossing and turning in the guest bed, kicking the blanket off the both of you with spiteful purpose, inviting in the cool night breeze. It nips you from your face to your toes, colder still even as he tightens his hold on you, and you decide to finally break the silence.

“You still mad about that one thing I said?”

He scoffs, huff of breath like a shot to your neck.

“You seriously have to ask?”

You tense up immediately, spine straightening flat against his chest as he continues, edge to his voice swelling as it looms behind you. “Honestly, who do you think you think you are? Always acting like you’re better than me.” Razor thin needles lodge themselves into your scalp as he pulls your hair back, your chin meeting chilled air as you offer up a whimper.

“It’s not like that.”

He only tightens his grip on your hair, pulling it back harder still.

“Think I need to remind you of your fucking place,” he mumbles as he presses into you, something stiff rocking against the fat of your thighs.

“Not here,” you breathe, eyes widening as you realize his intent, the alcohol in your system seeming to swirl in your head. He staggers his hips in response.

“Wasn’t a problem in the car.”

“Satoru, they might hear us,” you say, the steel in your voice cracking as his free arm snakes around your side, searching for the hem of your pants. “Mercy,” you try again, the familiar, agreed upon safe word sounding foreign and unfamiliar when it comes out but a croak. It hurtles from the shelter of your lips, forever lost as the strain in his pants only grows, breath going ragged as he ruts into your hips.

“Just let me have this.”

And he revels in the way in which he easily overpowers you, enamored in how his towering frame nearly swallows you whole. When a particularly loud groan—one you’re sure anyone in a neighboring room can overhear—escapes his lips, you blister with shame, burying your face in the pillow, limbs aching for need of sleep.

And then his breath hitches as he chases after fireworks and explosions, captivated by the way that you squirm in vain. His palms claim your hips as his own, cockhead grinding behind you, servicing himself with feverish concentration. He presses your side into the mattress, ass cheeks squeezing together like a homemade fleshlight, and you arch your back in a sorry attempt at evasion.

He groans in response, knees buckling together as he brushes up against the makeshift curve, and you stop struggling altogether. Your body buzzes from the touch, head swelling like a balloon, skin crawling from the jerky movements as you go limp as a ragdoll.

“God, you’re so good to me,” he says, praise anything but endearing when it hits your ears. It’s the same kind of acclaim he gave up just the night before, but it cheapens as he repeats it, banal phrase playing over and over in your head. He’s still humping your butt when he cums, shaky and delirious as he rides out the high, profanities rolling off his tongue until he’s shuddering himself to sleep. All is still once he’s blacked out from the stimulation, pitter patter of salted frustration the only movement left over as it soaks the pillowcase through and through.

You lay awake, caged by his toned muscle, trapped by his carbon curses, praying for sleep until the birds begin to chirp. They sing a song that they borrowed from the night, a harrowing lullaby that has you in a panic, slipping out of his grasp as you crawl out of bed.

By the crack of dawn you’ve tiptoed into a cab, belongings clutched tight to your chest, apartment complex shrinking in the distance, but it never seems to get further away.

Geto hasn’t breathed a word about the voice recorder.

Geto doesn’t want to think about it all.

He’s paying for it now with a barrage of daily phone calls from none other than Gojo himself, who dials him day and night and morning, no regard for moderation. Geto regards the fallout as both of their instant karma, still miffed by the prank he’d just fallen for, but unwilling to reveal his folly. He fills the role of trusty confidant nonetheless, his betrayal as M.I.A driver long forgotten. It’s a spectacle, the frenzy Gojo is bound in, and he might as well watch from a front row seat.

But he hasn’t made a full recovery yet, forever irked at the pretty privilege Gojo takes for granted, the privilege he downright hoards for himself, barking into the speaker when he feels his blood begin to boil.

“Seriously, what did you do this time?” He wants to tear his hair out at Gojo’s stupidity, his utter lack of tact, wants to pull out his front teeth and pulverize the dental tissue into a fine powder when he’s met with momentary silence.

It’s been a few days since you left the guest bedroom alone in the wee hours of morning, and Gojo hasn’t been able to get ahold of you since. You haven’t been answering his texts, his calls, Christ, he even tried your personal email, and now Geto finds himself shouldering the brunt of his correspondence, trying everything in his power to get him to calm the fuck down, albeit fruitlessly.

“Nothing we haven’t done before,” Gojo insists once he’s found his choice of words, spitting them out one by one, raking stiff fingers through colorless locks. “I got a little handsy, but it was seriously nothing.” Geto shakes his head and rubs his temples; nothing isn’t enough to make you walk out on him.

“If you’re telling the truth, then stop worrying already.” A stray section of his bangs fall forward, sweeping over his eye as he slumps over in his chair. “But if you’re lying—” he starts, cut off by the sound of chaste knocks, an unassuming 1-2-3 kissing up at his door before he can finish.

Saved by the mystery visitor.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d sigh relief, eager to break away from the droning and moaning of the spoiled brat on the other line. Instead he gives pause, as if weighing the cost of answering the door against the merit of staying put on the phone, moment’s hesitation only giving way to a guaranteed getaway.

“Hold on, I need to get this,” is all Geto says as he hangs up the phone, equal parts appreciative and skeptical of the person at his door. He isn’t exactly friendly with anyone on his floor, and few would show up here without asking first, so he peers through the peephole, curiosity getting the better of him.

And lo and behold, speak of the devil, it’s Gojo’s missing girlfriend, standing alone with her hands twisted together.

Amazing. You’re quite literally the very last person he wanted to see right now.

“Do you have any idea how worried he is?” Geto snaps when he answers the door. You have no idea what kind of mess he has on his hands. “Go and make up with your boyfriend already.” He moves to close the door but you react quickly, wedging yourself before the doorframe, eyes wide and pleading.

“I’m in trouble, so please...” You scramble for something half believable. “I can’t turn to anyone else.” He laughs in your face, eyebrows quirked with mirth at how genuine it almost sounds.

Almost.

“Don’t give me that.”

“No, I mean it,” you press on, unwilling to admit that anyone else who’d listen to your cries for help, from trusted family to doe-eyed friends, would undoubtedly have you in a beeline for the authorities. “You—you’re the only other person who can put up with Gojo.”

That gets him stopping in his tracks.

“Barely,” he scoffs, but the pressure on the door lets up. He hates that you have a point there. Hates that he can’t look away from Gojo and his silly antics and his daring ploys and especially hates that he has that in common with you. He wants to turn you away but you look so hopeful, ignoring the dulling pain of the door trying to crush your foot flat.

He bites the bullet.

“You know he’ll be pissed if he finds out you came to me first, right?” You screw your lips together when he cracks the door slightly.

“Well, he doesn’t really have the right at the moment,” you sniff, barging in when he lets go of the door completely.

The room is impossibly smaller than you ever imagined, in direct contrast to all the empty space in Gojo’s rental. It’s a wonder how all his necessities fit in the cramped shelves and tiny drawers, and you almost marvel at the scale of it until the sound of wood on vinyl tiling snaps you back to focus. A few stray articles of clothing are plucked from the ground and chucked to the corner before he’s pulling two chairs up, one for you and one for him. Once he’s sitting, you have his full, unadulterated attention.

Not that you know what to do with it.

It takes a while to find your voice, fiddling with your fingers as you try, unsuccessfully, to hold his gaze. There’s no clock but you swear you can hear the second hand ticking. The curtain’s closed but you’re sure you can feel the heat of the sun disappearing. You’re certain that it ebbs below the curve of the horizon as you watch, timidly, the tap of Geto’s wooden sandal. It remind you of the clack of Gojo’s dress boots, impatience slowly exceeding its carefully drawn bounds.

You time out a moment of silence.

And then another.

And then another, until Geto is staring you down expectantly, pinpricks for eyes. You take the hint.

“I said it.” You look down, fidgeting with your shirt. “I said no.”

His eyes soften immediately, struck by the raw edge of your voice, your inability to look him in the eye.

“And he didn’t respect that?”

“He touched me. When I asked him to stop.” The words have to force themselves out your throat, the little bit of courage you have all that keeps the walls from collapsing in completely. You take as deep of a breath as you can manage when the memory flickers through your mind, clear as yesterday. “He—he fucked me through his clothes.” Your head’s buried in your hands as you fold into yourself completely, rocking in place, and something rages inside of Geto.

“Wait, what?” Geto looks at you incredulously, disbelief scrawled all over his face, eyes narrowing when you keep your head down. “Through his clothes?”

You nod slowly, knowingly, and he feels as though the world is spinning all over again. The ground seems to shift beneath him as your face contorts in pain, saltwater already beading up along your lower lashes. That’s it? That’s what this entire circus is on about? He cards his hands through his hair as he tries to process it, shaking his head when you fail to respond. That’s all it takes for your whole body to quake, hard lumps bubbling up your throat at the bite of his words, breath stuttering irregularly as your windpipe starts to clench up.

And then you’re crying, body wracked with hiccups as you try to quell the chills crawling up your skin. Your chest heaves in a sorry attempt to keep up with the lurch of your lungs, sputtering as you try to suppress your voice.

“God, you’re all so fucking annoying.”

He watches you bubble over, feeling his own emotions swell as they hit a critical mass, stomach churning at the sight. You couldn’t manage a comeback if you wanted to, a blubbering mess as you try to wipe your eyes dry. The small bit of composure that’s kept him whole these past few days finally snaps when the tears trail down your hands, no end in sight in the onslaught of waterworks.

“I bet you wanted it,” he continues, unfazed by the fattening tears, fingertips digging into his thighs as he spots the yellowed bruises he jacks off to at night. He leers at the fading brown and imagines them overlaid with fresh, new marks, gleaming blush and fiery crimson. “I bet sluts like you don’t care what happens as long as they get dicked down in the end.” A quiet sob tumbles out of you and your cheeks tingle with hurt, like you’ve been backhanded once, then twice.

“It’s n-not like that,” you finally manage to say, gasping through choked noises as he creeps closer, cloaking you in shadow. He stares vacantly from his vantage point, as if looking at an ant on the tiles.

“Then why don’t you walk away for real?”

And that’s exactly what you should be doing right now, cornered by a large man in his dark, dingy room, but by the time you think to stand up he’s grabbing you by the wrists. He sends you barreling into the desk, spinning you around so your hands clutch the edge, chest pressing up against the surface. He pins an arm behind you with ease, kicking your legs wide open, and you flail the other in no particular direction.

“You secretly enjoy all of it, don’t you? You secretly get off on the idea of being raped by your boyfriend.” He sneers as you buckle underneath him, grazing his growing erection. “All worked up over a little dry humping? Get over yourself already. You females want to be hurt so bad.”

“Fuck you,” you manage between muffled sobs, chest feeling as if it’s about to break in half. “You’re j-just like Gojo.”

“Just like Gojo?” Geto echoes, free hand coming to snake between your thighs, voice catching as he speaks. “You’re sorely mistaken.”

You fall limp as he draws a single finger under your panties, tracing your hipbone as he muses. He imagines their contents, imagines how easy it would be to take you by force, sighing aloud at the prospect of doing it without.

“I can never be him.”

#gojo smut #geto smut #geto x reader #gojo x reader #jjk smut #tw. dark.#tw. noncon.#tw. dubcon.#tw. influence.#tw. toxic.#tw. penetration.#tw. showoff.#tw. size.#tw. degradation.#tw. corruption.#🍣.food #fishstyx.jjk

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alluringjae · 4 years ago

Text

until dawn - ljn

part I | part II

⤑ summary: basic number one rule of the museum is not to touch the art. but no one told jeno that falling for one of them isn’t allowed either.

⤑ pairing: jeno x female reader

⤑ word count: 14k

⤑ genre: fluff, humor, angst | broke architecture major!jeno, historical figure!reader, college!au

⤑ warnings: jaemin mentions onlyfans as a joke, references to actual historical figures (some try to flirt with jeno lol) and literature, explicit language

⤑ author’s note: wow, i’ve had this idea for almost two years! this one was inspired by one of my favorite childhood movies, night at the museum. it definitely required a lot of research and brainstorming, and finally i brought it to life! it was so fun to play around with the characters, and even if majority of them are real people, this is all still fiction.

i also wanna mention one of my moots, marge for enlightening me about her life as an architecture major.

⤑ taglist: @renjunniehome (dm me if you want to be added)

⤑ leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

Dormitory rent was another thing to worry about aside from the inflated university tuition per semester. Although he’s lucky to have his parents backing him up already on it, paying the monthly rent for his dorm was the remaining objective on Jeno’s list.

Plus, money for food. The man was a heavy eater, following the whole “gym is life” mantra.

Splitting it already with two of his dorm mates turned best friends, Renjun and Jaemin, his plate felt lighter. But the question still lies: where on earth was he going to get the money?

He’s practically checked out every available part-timing job in university and anywhere near campus. Barista at the same café Jaemin works at, teaching assistant for an art school for kids, convenience store cashier, library assistant, all taken in a heartbeat. The burden of his friends paying his debt these past months took a toll on him, almost to the point he almost considered making an Onlyfans.

“Yah, just find something else! Part-timers are in demand right now!” Renjun intensely closed his laptop before his older friend gets any suggestive thoughts.

“I mean, you didn’t work out your body to look the way it is for nothing.” Jaemin pitched otherwise, lifting the front back up. “When do you want to start filming? Loads of chicks would dig a piece of you!”

The contradicting opinions of his friends were like the devil and angel debating on his shoulders. Useless, he gave this worry a rest and returned to drawing new plates. A common thing when you’re an architecture major. Those deadlines were nearing. Looks like he’ll pull another all-nighter again.

Good thing most of his classes were late in the morning until 6 pm.

As if someone from above heard his petition, Jeno saw a help wanted sign posted on the bulletin board outside of the university museum. He initially went there to document some artwork and architecture models from Greek and Roman times, further analyzing how they’re still apparent in modern buildings.

The sign explained the need for one part-timer from any college to cover the night shift of the museum due to the current night guard’s full semester absence. He only had to come in 3x a week, choosing his days since he was still a student. Even the pay was above average, considering that most part-timers never go beyond midnight. Jeno would, on the other hand, always staying for his projects or gaming with the boys. Drinking sometimes during late-night Fridays with his entire college crew.

The pay would leave him a load of extra cash for himself, thus he sent an application to the museum office right before he left. A week later, while he was out with the boys, he got a text from the office that they wanted to meet him again for a final interview first thing on Monday.

Perhaps it was having architecture as his course and a healthy physique that landed him the part-timer position. Mainly, the latter because guards required strong endurance and fighting skills when worse comes to worst. It would start at 9 pm until 6 am the following day, and there was a designated uniform of it too. Blue blazer with matching trousers, white dress top, and loafers.

Aside from the typical museum etiquette the head director instructed him about, there was an unofficial list of tips written on paper given from the night guard on leave when the director handed you over his box of office-related things.

Only read at the night guard office once you’re the remaining staff left.

He did as he was told like an obedient son, flipping the succeeding page.

To my temporary replacement,

This part-timing job is nothing regular than the other jobs. You’ll witness things as you’ve never imagined them to be, almost like witchcraft. You’ll be lost and maybe frightened, or that’s how I felt the first time because no one led me through it all those years ago. Lucky for you, I made this small guide on how to properly take care of the place that the other staff doesn’t know about.

Before you proceed, I request you take a 5-minute stroll around the lobby first to understand what I’m talking about. After such, go back to the office or somewhere quiet then browse through the guide as quickly as you could.

Art is timeless here, so they need to be taken care of.

Good luck!

Park Sanghoon

Night Guard on Leave

Nothing could’ve prepared Jeno for what’s to come once he unlocked the office door. They say that art brings so much color to our life, allowing us to feel all sorts of emotions in a glimpse. But no one ever interpreted art to be literally alive and walking in the halls.

Behold, random wax figures and marble sculptures that he’s seen in the past roamed the hallways, as well as the paintings were interacting with each other side by side. Even the standee of a puppy from the entrance played fetch with one of those sculptures. He swore he looked like Hermes the messenger god from his arrow headpiece and sandals.

It made more sense why the guard on leave explained his feelings during the first day because it resembled Jeno’s. But unlike that guard, Jeno sucked it up. No one ever does well on the first day, even if others say otherwise. The first day was a learning experience, so he collected his thoughts even though the goosebumps triggered his body during that one rotation.

There was an indoor garden, already locked by the day guard earlier. The only room without any art piece, where students lounge to study the plants or relax in nature.

The sculptures section ahead, showcasing various fictional figures specifically from Greek mythology, chattered away about family drama and beliefs. The sculptures of Hades and Zeus, according to their title plate, argued relentlessly about power while Athena always intervened by shouting or even throwing arrows or daggers to any of the lightbulbs there.

That was one rule in the guide, but Jeno didn’t know yet until he came inside the room and swerved the attention of the arguing duo.

“Well, what do we have here?” Zeus, in the center, straightened his posture on his throne to present himself in a more regal way. “Are you perhaps the temporary replacement of Sir Sanghoon?”

“Sir Sanghoon’s stand-in is rather good looking, don’t you think?” Hera mused, stepping down from her throne beside Zeus to take a closer look at the taller male. Her cold fingers trailed his jaw until his chest, where his heart was beating intensely. She even pinched his toned bicep, mouthing wow.

“Truly handsome you are, my dear. So full of life, please introduce yourself to us.”

While Jeno introduced himself to everyone in that room, he answered any sorts of questions they had for him too. From his age, educational background, hobbies, Aphrodite just had to ask him if he had a girlfriend because he was that handsome.

“Nope, I’m single. With my degree in architecture, the requirements are so heavy I can’t even try dating.”

Mentioning his degree excited the gods, telling him how their people created and designed all these temples to house them and perform rituals. They loved it so much. This was a copy-paste of what Jeno learned from his history classes, and for a first, he’s hearing the perspective of the Greek gods.

Mind-boggling that he hasn’t fully freaked out yet. That’s what Athena anticipated when Sanghoon told her about his short leave, putting her in charge of everyone for the meantime while the replacement settled down.

The college museum was built during the late 70s as a gift from one of the alumni. It was for the purpose to preserve history and educate college students outside the classroom. The Greek mythology exhibit was the oldest one, making Athena have more seniority. Over her stay, she’s seen every new guard lose their senses during the first night. Some not even returning for a second night. She got used to every outcome, and so far, only 8 people lasted after the first night. A couple of students in the 70s and 80s, Sanghoon in the 90s, and now Jeno was one of them.

“Jeno, aren’t you terrified by us? You just got a job in a museum that comes to life every night, and it’s not a normal thing.”

“Well, I’m still shaken up about it. But it’s my first night, and it’s when I learn everything about the place from head to toe. Plus, I really need the money.”

“Money for what? But you’re young, a student even!”

“Yes, I am. However, I do pay for the rent in my dorm. So, this job is like my first big responsibility, and I want to perform well.”

Athena commended his sense of authority, capable of leading himself. She noticed how well-spoken and poised he is, respecting and listening to everything the gods and goddesses said even if they were nonsense. She never liked to compromise with her power, taking a while to like Sanghoon back in the day. Though Jeno looked like a natural leader on his first night. If he could take care of himself well, he’s skilled to take care of the rest in the museum as well.

Plus she had full control on the nights he won’t be there, especially the weekend.

With his potential, Athena mentored him the entire night about the gist of the entire museum. Every upcoming leader needs an intelligent mentor, right? She was naturally gifted with worthy leadership skills, managing Jeno like her own child.

Athena explained how the museum came to life, which was through a royal golden plate from the Oriental room. It was a gift from a popular sorceress in China to an affluent family from the Han dynasty, who wished them a long life after she was saved from invaders due to them. The plate preserved over time, becoming an artifact. Its power remained immortal, mutating to bring life wherever it goes. In this case, the museum since its arrival in the late 70s as well.

“That’s why the Oriental room must be locked always so no one could touch or break the plate.”

After she ordered Jeno to lock the mentioned room, alongside the Foreign Art Exhibit Room which he checked out for his class, she led him to the best view of the entire museum. Center of the second floor, where stairs were on both sides. Jeno marveled at the vivacious atmosphere, witnessing actual art living, breathing, and enjoying themselves.

“Unreal, right?” She leaned in the railing, scanning through the chatty paintings.

Jeno also leaned down, deep in thought and wonder. “Absolutely, Athena. How come no one knows about this? Art coming to life? It’ll invite more students to the museum.”

“That goes against a golden rule as a night guard in this museum.” She replied bluntly. “The life that goes on inside this museum at night must remain a secret to the public.”

Jeno predicted this kind of response, having watched too many films where anything supernatural mustn’t be revealed. Although he liked the advantage of knowing something this powerful, he’d never abuse it.

Athena’s intellect was beyond the world, seamlessly reading Jeno’s expression and what he was thinking. He had good intentions even if he’s a bit mischievous. She needed to keep a keen eye on him, but for now, he needed to explore on his own.

“Anyways, Sanghoon still left out some other details. So if you have any questions, I’ll be at my exhibit trying to shut my father and my uncle up again.”

“Can you not use any weapons to do so?”

“Can’t make any promises, Jeno.” She slyly cracked her knuckles and neck as if she was fighting another battle.

Jeno was silently left with himself, finally browsing through Sanghoon’s guide while seated in one of the museum benches.

It consisted of 25 rules, wherein the first two rules consisted of locking up. One, for the doors and gates of the museum, so no art piece could escape. If they do, they will turn into dust when the sun is out according to Athena. Two, locking the Oriental and Foreign Art Rooms, which was already done.

Rule #5: Let Mochi the puppy from the lobby tag along with you; feed him treats if you have any.

On cue, the little guy barked from the corridor and raced to his side. Jeno carried him, babying him for a little and letting him lick his face a few times before putting him back down. He’s surely going to the pet store first thing in the morning with the museum allowance the director gave him.

Since he was on the second floor, he read and followed the rules that fit in before returning downstairs. On the other side of the floor were the wax figures exhibitions: one for prominent men in history while the other for prominent women. Well, more people to get acquainted with.

It’s the exchange of gasps and profanities he received when he chose the latter room. Seeing their faces, these were women he’s learned in school and online. Now in the (fake) flesh. Except for one girl he’s never heard of, unbothered in her corner sketching her life away in a sketchpad. But before he could check who she was, a suggestive touch on his arm distracted him.

“My, oh my, Hera wasn’t lying when she said that the new night guard was a fine specimen.” By her dark blue eyeshadow and eyeliner with the snake-like crown, Cleopatra studied him like he was one of the most renowned art pieces. Even patting his chest, abdomen, and arms with both her hand, Jeno caught a suggestive glint in her eyes and a smirk across her red lips.

Rule #13: Reject Cleopatra’s seductive advances at all costs.

“Goodness, Cleopatra. It’s only his first night, and you’re scaring him.” With her accent, round eyes, and a chic formal outfit, she carried a posh aura while unhesitatingly scolding the Queen of the Nile.

“Come on now, Diana. He’s stunning, who wouldn’t go after him?” If no one knew her, you’re not reading up on your world history. She’s said to have been a lovely and intelligent woman, gone so soon. Jeno definitely understood why after she detached Cleopatra’s raging hands off him.

Rule #14: Treat Princess Diana and Hera like your own parent.

“Your highness.” Jeno nodded at her out of respect, only making her chuckle uncontrollably.

“No need to address me like that, love. Now, come here.” She widened her arms for Jeno, hugging him amiably. He sensed her motherly warmth, accepting such a gesture. “You remind me so much of my youngest son, Harry. Welcome to the night shift of the museum, love.”

Similar to the Greek mythology exhibit, he introduced himself and responded to any questions that the women wax figures may have. Good for him, they weren’t crossing any borders and kept him at ease.

“A student like you working at night to pay rent?” Katherine Johnson, an African-American NASA mathematician whose calculations led to the success of a lot of famous spaceflights, cannot believe her ears. Students must only focus on school, nothing else. “What about your studies, boy?”

Rule #15: Engage in academic discussions with Katherine Johnson whenever you can.

“Most of my classes are in the afternoon, Miss Katherine. So I’ll sleep in the entire morning later and study during my breaks.”

“Mr. Jeno, what do you like to do outside of work?” Anne Frank, a German-Dutch teenager whose revolutionary diary that documented her life in hiding from the Nazis gained popularity worldwide after publication dreamily asked from her section of the exhibit. Her life was robbed of greatness merely because of her religion and war.

Rule #16: Bring delicious food or gifts to Anne Frank.

“Well, I like to bike with my friends, exercise, and draw whatever comes into mind!”

Everyone he’s met so far acquired pleasure in knowing about who he was and his passion for architecture, ridding the “freaking out” phase Athena assumed he had. Yet not everyone in this exhibit bothered to give him a shot.

Jeno’s attention from Anne talking about her crush towards Peter van Daan, a teenage boy who lived with her, switched to the section beside her, where an unacquainted figure was zealously sketching as if something was due to the following day. It reflected how he’d look when he’s cramming one of his plates due to first thing in the morning. While he properly excused himself, he quietly gazed at the way this woman scrunched her eyebrows when she erased something then drew it again. She was someone he’s never seen or heard before, reading the information plate in front of him about her.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N), Explorer and Author. (1854-1900)

Wealthy women in the Victorian Era only served one purpose in society: marry a man from a prestigious family, have his children and join whatever interests they have. However, for (Y/N), she wasn’t going to conform to those standards.

Born into the affluent house of (Y/L/N), she was the youngest of 8 children. She was said to be the kindest and sweetest sibling out of everyone, not capable of hurting anyone or anything. She said it herself that she can’t throw away a dying flower because it’s too painful. While 5 of her older brothers were sent to school, she stayed at home with her 2 older sisters Cecilia and Amelia where she learned how to play the piano and take voice lessons from impressive teachers. Due to the huge age gaps between them (12 and 8 respectively), she never felt close with them. She was only closest to the 6th and 7th siblings, her twin brothers Benjamin and Liam whom she only had a 2-year gap. She was also best friends with one of the scullery maids her age, Lily, because she found her amusing that than the boring rich girls her mother forced to interact with.

The moment it bothered her that she wanted to live a more meaningful life was when Amelia got married. She was 12 years old at the time, and it left her as the last unwed daughter in the family. Badly did she want to revolt, which she gradually did. Instead of practicing piano, she’d sneak in to read every book in her father’s office. She secretly studied the notes of her older brothers from school and even dressed as a boy numerously thanks to Benjamin and Liam to join their classes or field trips.

This was her routine up until the age of 18 when she stomped her foot down and expressed to her parents that she wasn’t going to let Victorian society dictate her. The night before her parents were bound to send her to her great aunt’s home down South to sort her out, she successfully snuck out her house thanks to Lily, Benjamin, and Liam. It’s another good thing that she saved a lot of money for that moment.

Off she went across Europe first, then sailed to America and even parts of Asia. Initially under the name Lilibe, coined from picking the first two letters of her brothers and best friend, she documented her days and nights through her journals and sketches. Over time, she sent them to her brothers for publication. It started the franchise, “The Adventures of the Young and Free Lilibe”. There are 10 books under it.

She learned French, Spanish, Mandarin, Japanese, and Korean by herself as she made friends from those places. It was rare of someone like her to be fluent in Oriental languages, surprising locals every time she spoke to them. She was the only explorer to vividly describe life in different Asian lands in English, talking about their history and culture. With her accurate drawings of diverse citizens and their daily lives, it educated a lot of those living back home in Europe about them rather than speaking lowly of them.

In Seoul did she stayed the longest until her death from pneumonia at the young age of 46.

In her posthumous work, Finding Me, did she reveal her real identity, dedicating it to her parents whom she apologized and expressed her love for them despite everything that occurred between them. She talked about the last years of her life in Seoul, how locals were so nice and inviting to her, and how she adopted kids instead of having her own through the years.

“It’s not because I never found love in men. It’s more like I found love in doing things I’m passionate about. Traveling, learning new cultures, it outweighed the human need of romance.”

Due to her thrill in taking risks and embarking on wondrous adventures, it brought inspiration to a lot of young girls pressured to marry at that time to pursue what they really want.

A remarkable background you had, Jeno contemplated. How come no one discussed her in his classes?

You kept brushing the bangs of your hair back as it fell repeatedly. But you got irritated instantly because it sabotaged your drive, you brought out a hairpin from her desk and attached it on both sides. But when you shifted your angle of focus, the corner of your eye locked with Jeno’s attentive gaze.

He didn’t flinch, even he should’ve. He wasn’t one to linger his look on anyone’s physical appearances, but your story and the passion on your face as you sketched mesmerized him. He was charmed, to say the least.

“Uhm, hello there?” You broke the silence due to your uneasiness about it. What’s his deal?

Jeno bowed, reintroducing himself to you. As soon as his presence settled in the room when Cleopatra attempted to hit on him, you could’ve cared less. Though this man was a first for you, a first in a long time as all guards would feel intimidated by you during the first night. Even your sharp tongue didn’t faze him. “Staring is rude, sir. Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

“She did,” He wandered through the exterior of your section, by the fence that separated you and him. Not breaking eye contact, his eyes turned into moon crescents as he smirked with trouble. “Though she also told me to appreciate the art too.”

Snorts noisily exhaled from Cleopatra, who took the center section of the exhibit, succeeded by Princess Diana’s whispered gasps and Katherine’s side-eyeing Anne beside her while she taught her math. That was an odd way a guard conversed with you, but Jeno was merely doing what the rules stated. Partly, he was impressed with his cheesy pick-up line, partly embarrassed because he’s never spoken like this to anyone.

Rule #17: Act playfully around (Y/N) (Y/L/N) to break the tension; she’s a harsh one.

There was irony between the information he read about your life versus the wax model. Even when you faced sexism and ran away according to your history, never were you impolite to anyone in your life. You couldn’t even kill a lurking fly when it roams around your food! It showed Jeno a possibility that as much as you’re just a wax version of someone famous in the past, maybe the external environment around you had a heavy influence too.

“You fool!” His confidence exasperated you, urging you to persistently throw balls of paper with your failed sketches at him. No one dared to talk to you like that, most especially a night guard. “Take that for your comment!”

If you thought he’d scram away and act repentant, you were proven wrong. His reflexes were parallel to a spider, capturing every single paper ball without fail. Up and down his body went, one arm held on to them and no more were left on your part. Never a single defeat during the first meeting in years, but that seemed to alter now.

“Give up already, Ms. (Y/L/N)?” Jeno remarked vibrantly as he discarded your mess in the trash bin behind him. If he managed to get everyone to like him tonight, he wanted to make sure to have you onboard too.

Whatever agenda he had, you weren’t up for it. You’d treat him the same way you usually treated Sanghoon for the past 20 something years: cold and ignorant. From your stool, you left your comfortable position to come face to face with this man. He better be grateful for that barrier in between you, or else you would’ve caused mayhem.

“Never in your wildest dreams, Mr. Lee.” Your mouth gave a half-smile, clenching on the bars to liberate your annoyance. Before you could fend back, that’s when Princess Diana intervened between your heated dialogue.

“Oh heavens, children!” She stood by the barrier, mostly to protect the newbie Jeno with her body. “(Y/N), he just wanted to know you. Must you be so cross?”

This Princess Diana embodied all the traits the real one had: soft-spoken, intelligent, and protective. She’s gotten so used to your gradual temper, staying on standby whenever anyone tried to mess with you. Even if it was harmless, you could get so mean!

“Diana, he was mocking me! Saying such a sleazy phrase as if to amuse me, ha! Not a chance, I hate people like that.”

“Not us women though; you just despise men in general.”

“And you’re absolutely right!” With a smug smile, you greedily rejoiced. “Anyways, escort this disgrace out. I’m not in the mood to get angry when I have a lot of inspiration on mind right now.”

While you resumed your sketching to let go of that extra steam, Jeno was left with Diana who apologized on your behalf. Your pride was too high to do that, and as the motherly figure among them, she always took care of things in your exhibit.

“I’m so sorry for that, Jeno. She’s not really like this, but I know how much you tried your best. It was quite a fresh spectacle honestly.”

Whatever was responsible for your abrasiveness, Jeno yearned to know. He couldn’t understand who you were yet even knowing your life story. All he wanted was to get along with everyone. It was the key to successfully maintain his job for the next 6 months.

“How can I make her come around then?”

A demanding question that no one had a solid answer to. Diana recalled how much Sanghoon didn’t let your dislike for him get to him, maintaining a respectful boundary in between each other after his past attempts. Though with Jeno, observing how he riled you up and your focus entirely on him, she hasn’t seen anything like it since the 80s.

There was something in Jeno that may just get you to warm up and return to your kind nature.

“Aside from acting playful, as Sanghoon recommended, I can think of two ways, love.” By the doors of her exhibit, where Jeno was already waltzing the corridor to visit other rooms, she suggested smartly. “One, argue back to her opinions. She hates whenever anyone tries to get her way, but boy, you’re just as wise as her. No one was brave enough to peeve on her until you came.”

“How about the second way?”

“Do your research, love. Aside from libraries, you have those small technology devices that allow you to search up anything.” She tousled Jeno’s brown locks as if it were her actual son’s. Some habits just don’t die when you do.

“Brush up on your history, Jeno. Not only will it help you with (Y/N), but it’ll serve purposefully with the other art pieces here.”

Boy, he was ready to crash in his bed for a few hours after all those interactions. His introverted nature required to be revitalized.

Towards the last hours of his shift, the art pieces who’ve strolled in the first floor lessened his plate by not leaving any major clutter behind. As if she listened to him, Athena didn’t break any lightbulbs too.

His main highlight would be meeting the men of the historical male section, who flaunted a more humorous ambiance. Freddie Mercury from Queen insisted he drink a glass of his wine and to bring more wine next time, which he denied since it would against Sanghoon’s rules. King Sejong the Great and Martin Luther King Jr. argued back and forth over the most random things (pineapple on pizza specifically), while Steve Jobs mediated whenever one crossed the line. Meanwhile, William Shakespeare was too preoccupied in his writing and speaking to himself about his books, wondering how to improve them.

During one of his breaks today, he multitasked drawing a new plate with his research on every art piece to know them better. He started with the exhibit of sculptures of the Greek gods and goddesses, which were Zeus, Hera, Hades, Athena, Hermes, Aphrodite, Poseidon, Artemis, Dionysus, and Circe. They weren’t the complete roster because the rest were in other museums across the globe, as said by Athena before sunrise. The majority of them he knew what they were in charge of, but the rest were foggy to his knowledge. Typing away and jotting notes down, he started downloading his favorite jazz songs too.

Rule # 4: Play jazz music to the paintings on the first floor so they can relax and dance within their frames.

Circe is a minor goddess, the daughter of the sun god Helios. She’s recognized for her versatility in incantations and herbs, capable of transforming people into animals. From Jeno’s perspective, she’s mostly within her space with her journals and magic wand, trying new spells or combinations of herbs. For the latter, he had to keep a closer eye on.

Rule #9: Don’t let Circe, god of potions, into the Oriental Room to get plants and herbs.

He discovered that Dionysus is the god of wine, happiness, and theatre. That’s why every god in the exhibit had full wine glasses during their gathering. It also added up why Freddie Mercury always comes to him when his bottles run empty, though he mustn’t go overboard.

Rule #18: Make sure Freddie Mercury doesn’t get too drunk from the wine of Dionysus; he might make numerous scenes if he does.

After his lone studying session, he took a short trip to the pet and convenience stores to buy food. He got a dumbfounded look from Jaemin back in the dorm room, who was studying for one of his quizzes in Biology in a couple of hours.

“Woah what’s with this stash? Is it for yourself or something?”

“The museum surprisingly has a lot of tasks needed to be done at night. And no, not from my wallet but the allowance they gave me before you get a heart attack.” Jeno plopped on his solo bed, covering his face with a pillow.

“Thank God.” A relaxed sigh escaped Jaemin’s lips, taking back his balled-up fists meant for his roommate. “I think I would’ve stormed that boring museum if they made your broke ass spend a cent.”

“Boring?” Jeno removed the cushion hastily, eyeing his busy and coffee-high roommate. The scent of black coffee from his mug spread in the room, assuming that this upcoming test was testing his roommate’s patience again.

Not even trying to look at Jeno while reviewing his handwritten notes, Jaemin continued giving his opinion. “Museum culture is dead, Jeno. Not everyone has the time to roam around one, plus people can always look up the artifacts online these days.”

People were entitled to their own opinions on numerous things, though Jeno begged to differ with his roommate’s. Especially after witnessing the magic of the night shift, you shouldn’t merely judge a book by its cover. In this case, you shouldn’t judge an artwork or art piece merely on its history and legacy.

Maybe because his roommate was in the science department, he thought this way. A lot of art students regularly visit the museum both for fun and for their classes, and Jeno was one of them. Though he was too sleepy to explain his side, he let it slide for now and snoozed throughout the late afternoon.

An hour before the start of his shift, Jeno promenaded the emptying museum to inspect anything else he might’ve missed out on from last night. There were two areas according to his rotation, both in the first floor.

One was the Diorama Room. Divided into 4 sections, highlighting some of the well-known ancient civilizations in world history. Ancient Egypt and Ancient China to your left, Ancient Rome and Ancient Maya to your right. They acted as if they were the actual people during those times, giving Jeno a laugh when they cracked jokes in between. Such tiny figures, yet the rule for them said otherwise.

Rule # 7: The small figurines in the Diorama Room are feisty, so make sure they don’t fight with one another again.

The remaining room left was the Theater Room. He’s never been here, though his art friends have for film festivals held by the university.

The interior of it was set to look like an actual cinema place you’d see in a mall. There was a mini lobby with a few posters of iconic films over the years. Singin’ in the Rain, Back to the Future, Titanic, those were some framed and hung on the wall. There were two other doors there: one leading to the chairs and the other where the movie projector was. The latter room was pretty riveting, wherein you can choose to watch old short films through an 88mm film projector or switch to a cd player for the newer releases.

Back to those posters, they weren’t an exception to the magic and a simple rule was left for Jeno to do.

Rule # 10: Chatter with the movie posters in the lobby of the Theater Room; they love meeting new faces.

Since there wasn’t anyone checking out the Art Rooms on the second floor, he closed them. Though as he was about to lock the Oriental Room, the ravishing plants around the royal plant appealed his interest. Said to hold magical properties from his research, Jeno was reminded of another rule to keep in mind for later.

Rule # 3: The fake flowers in the Oriental Room come to life too at night, so when no one is lurking, water it diligently.

Instead of lounging at Sanghoon’s office first, he brought his important items to the front desk of the lobby and continued sketching his plate. He wanted to watch the art come back alive with his two eyes. Usually, he’d have coffee when he does his work, but due to another crucial rule in the guide, he’d rather not take the risk.

Rule # 6: The lobby room can get rowdy, so keep any drinks away from important items.

On the dot, the cries and yawns from the art pieces around him reverberated. Closing his sketchpad, his night guard mode was on. Connecting his laptop on the aux cord of the museum speakers, he tapped play on his playlist of jazz music that’ll last for the entire shift duration. As the first notes flooded the entire vicinity, sounds of joy left the lips of each painting. Some were humming, dancing, and even singing along.

“You can never go wrong with Frank Sinatra!”

“This Jeno lad really did the heavens’ work quick!”

Having the sense of accomplishment on his sleeve, the small barks of his fluffy pal reached closer to him. As he kneeled to find him, he was only taken by surprise as Mochi excitedly jumped on him. Tumbling over, Jeno chuckled innocently as Mochi licked his face numerously. This puppy was friendly, easily liking everyone at first sight. He wasn’t as choosy like Daegal, the puppy of his friend Chenle studying Business Management.

Once he composed himself and cradling the dog like his own, he fed him a dog treat from the desk.

“Good boy, Mochi!” He rubbed his fur while the puppy happily munched on it, ready to fulfill more of his duties.

He skipped the Greek mythology exhibit since Athena was doing a good job not letting anyone go overboard with their powers, though he’ll check in again in a few hours. He met the posters of the theater room, who were celebrities he grew up watching on tv. Sanghoon was right; they were the kinder group in the entire museum because they were more laidback.

On to the second floor, all the female wax figures lounged by the male section due to another lecture from Shakespeare. Although the guide informed him that most of the time it could get boring, this lecture was more stimulating. On his platform, he elaborated with conviction the lines of one of his famous books, Romeo and Juliet. A must-read book back in his high school days, there’s no way Jeno could’ve missed that out.

From the looks of it, Jeno perceived that Shakespeare was performing spoken word poetry due to him reading only Romeo’s lines while Cleopatra read Juliet’s beside him. This kind of show was one of the sources of entertainment to these figures, so Jeno leaned by the side of the door to listen. After all, the famous author of it was a few feet away. Cleopatra channeled such a naïve character to her ability, absentmindedly saying as she clutched her chest.

“O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet.”

“Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?”

“'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose-”

The flow of an engaged Cleopatra was abrupted by the loud yell from Shakespeare in front, specifically to an amused Jeno. “Jeno, my boy! Welcome back!”

Such an announcement diverted everyone’s attention to the back, some running to Jeno to give their respective greetings. It’s rare for everyone to feel at ease with a new guard, taking them weeks to approach them due to the intimidation. Though Jeno’s bright presence felt welcoming, so they accepted it. Perhaps it’s because of his youth, it reminded them of theirs too.

Shakespeare highly requested (or forced) Jeno to take his part as Romeo, intrigued to watch someone younger read his lines. Since most of the male wax figures were aged, it never satisfied Shakespeare so he jumped on this opportunity as quickly as he could. With the roaring cheers from the other figures, Jeno might as well give it a try. It wasn’t like his friends were here to clown him like they usually would if he did something humiliating.

Jeno shockingly liked this activity as he wasn’t much of a performer on stage, but someone who does the behind-the-scenes of it. He realized as he read the lines from the book Shakespeare asked him to follow along with why people held university-wide spoken word shows a few times per semester. He was no actor, but it’s delightful to have tried it at least once in his life.

“O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” As if the edge of the platform was the balcony of Juliet (or Cleopatra rather), he knelt as he ardently spoke his lines. He’s emphasizing this rush of uncontrollable desire for her, rambling whatever he would do to get the girl.

“What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?” Cleopatra questioned from her chair, inching closer to the young boy. Even outside character will she attempt to charm Jeno, but Jeno was quick to catch it and kept his distance.

“The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.”

“I gave thee mine before thou didst request it, and yet I would it were to give again.”

“Wouldst thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?”

“But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have. My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep. The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.”

Everyone was condensed by their top-notch acting, as if this was the actual play unfolding before them. Jeno wasn’t so sure how he got himself in character without preparation, yet he felt what his character felt. He comprehended the material a lot better now than when he was still in high school.

However, there was always that one killjoy to ruin the heartfelt mood.

“How dumb is it to say that you’re in love after the first glance?” You opposed, putting the spotlight on you. This book was said to be a classic in literature, but as you matured physically and mentally, you could no longer agree with it. “Isn’t love the same thing that killed Romeo and Juliet in the end?”

Remembering what Princess Diana told him, he wasn’t going to let this pass. He wanted to give a piece of his mind too, caring less if the show must be paused. “Love is an emotion we don’t ask to feel. It’ll come to us when we least expect it, even when the timing of it can be crucial.”

“Of all the people Juliet could’ve gone for, it just had to be the enemy.” In all the years you’ve been brought to life, no one dared to test your opinions because they were aware of your intelligence, from the streets to the books. When someone bark, you’d bite back. Hard. “With all due respect, I love your works, Shakespeare. Yet the fate you’ve given these two at a young age was grave, could’ve you given them a better outcome or another character to love instead?”

“Giving them extra characters to love won’t address the horrific life fact that love can be dangerous. Regardless of what status you’re in, you can’t stop the attraction towards someone. The heart wants what it wants.” Jeno pressed his hand to his chest, pumping it a bit. Unknown to you and him, the audience found more entertainment in your argument. Anne, who was munching on the popcorn Jeno gave her earlier, passed the snack to Katherine who just couldn’t stop watching.

If this man wanted a challenge, you’re all ears. Who was he to compete with you? Was he not intelligent to know who you are?

“So are you insinuating that we just go with the flow? Be a slave to our emotions too and let them dictate our next motives?”

“Slave is such a strong word to use, (Y/N). But it’s not like we can’t choose who want to love because we actually can. In this case, Romeo chose Juliet and vice versa.”

“But what happens if the person you choose doesn’t choose you in return?”

“At least you tried your best, right? It’ll hurt like hell though, but it won’t last forever.” From his kneeling position, Jeno strutted his way with confidence. Trying not to let it mess with you, your extreme stare at him as if they’ll shoot lasers. Inches away from you, Jeno declared. “Love always has risks, that’s a given. Romeo and Juliet still tried and followed their hearts despite the downfall. But it was a needed downfall to get the message across.”

“No one would be that foolish to risk their lives for love though, right? Life is so precious, why would they do such a thing?”

“Even if they knew what their lives were without each other, they still preferred living a life where they were both in the picture. Therefore, they tried all they could that time because the regret of not doing anything at all carries a heavier burden.”

Whenever anyone argued with you, their debating points they spat back would further piss you off because most of the time, it never made sense. Back when this rude man told you to go home and be a wife in your earlier years of exploring, you civilly told him to fuck off, kicking his balls because he cornered you in an alley. For the first time, a man who tried to challenge you actually made sense. Was it because he lived in a modern time, where minds were more open? Because of the amount of sexism you faced in the past, you’ve turned a blind eye to the current period.

But your high pride maintained, not submitting into anything he said. “I still think it’s stupid to risk your life for love. There’s no such thing as having only one true love anyways, and you have to be alive to see it.”

“Fair point, but again, the feeling of regret and carrying it your entire life doesn’t fade easily. It’ll make you reflect on the what-ifs, and it’s heart-wrenching.” Jeno digressed, walking around you in circles. He’s intentionally trying to drive you mad, but he could care less. He wanted someone to put you in your place and open your mindset. “The question stands: would you rather try and go for it even knowing its risks or regret not even trying for the rest of your existence? Quite ironic for me to ask you that, don’t you think?”

Past the information board, Jeno researched more of your life history online. Your whole life was grounded on risks, from breaking the standards of your society, leaving your family and home country, to fending yourself from disrespectful men. Rather than living the original life expected from you, you chose not to because it didn’t make you happy. Such a risktaker he knew you are, but with the topic of love, he wondered why you were on a fence with it. Though some records stated you’ve had rendezvouses with a few men in your journeys, love was never in the equation. The single life was what you chose and you were more than satisfied, plus your adopted kids filled that supposed void anyways.

This man may have studied your history, but so much he still doesn’t know. Information that never made the books because you chose not to write or tell anyone about it. Aside from the discomfort growing in your chest, everyone else felt the awkward tension when you were lost for words.

Never been defeated in an argument, until tonight. Your mind lost its drive and willpower.

“Touché, Lee Jeno.” Indeed, his name you’re acquainted with. Numerously passed around in your exhibit, mostly from the lips of Cleopatra, who’d fantasize all the graphic things she would do to him. Too much information, least of your interest. “Please excuse me. I’d like to work on my sketches to ease my mind.”

As you quietly exited the room, an all too familiar sculpture leaned against the railings overseeing one side of the museum. Just like you, she hated accepting defeat or compromises. She always rooted for you to win. With a faint chuckle, “Facing a loss for the first time, I see.”

“Don’t even lecture me about it, Athena. I’m still fired up, and I need to relax.”

“Jeno is a different breed, isn’t he?” She stuck to your side, strolling wherever your feet led you.

“Different as in he’s a man? Yes. What else is there to it?”

“Men these days aren’t as trashy as those back in the day though. Shouldn’t you give him a chance?”

“Last time I did, it destroyed my heart. I’m not allowing myself to let men in even as a friend, Athena.”

She knew exactly what you were referring to, not touching on it further. No way will you let heartbreak or disappointment from men bother you. Even Sanghoon’s sweet company took a while to tolerate. You really needed to sketch this out on your pad right now, excusing yourself from Athena’s presence. Isolation wasn’t new to you; it’s what’s protecting your entire being. Immortal as you are, you had to recover from the past pain so the next decades won’t feel as brash.

You hoped to return to your old self when you were a fresh new figure in the 70s. So naïve, only proud of your accomplishments, and purely happy.

While Jeno continued to finish his scene in respect to Shakespeare, he received a standing ovation for his mini-show. Cleopatra didn’t expect such talent from him, growing fonder of the younger male. Whether she seduces him or not, he was never afraid to try new things and she liked that about him.

“Bravo, love!” Princess Diana praised, clapping at him.

Although Jeno appreciated all this positive attention, his thoughts bounced back to your and your stance on love. The debate earlier was just out of being playful, interested to hear your opinions. Though, he’s worried that he might’ve offended you. It may have been time to finally witness something like that, but then again, he was sure he touched something personal to you. No matter how you tried to fight it off, your eyes can’t lie. Staring down at him, there was pain beneath it. Your eyebrows scrunched to the center, thinking deeply yet remained utterly speechless.

A win he didn’t feel good about.

“It’s time she encountered something new in the years she’s been here. Give her some space tonight, then try again to reach out to her. Kindly this time; I’m not in the mood for another brawl that could end up like the Greek gods’ past fights downstairs.”

These clever words shared by Katherine loitered his mind for the rest of the night, eventually going back to finishing his current plate since everyone was behaving well. As great it is to get the approval of the majority, he tried brainstorming ways to make you like him too.

He understood the whole “men are trash” concept in today’s modern society, but if he could prove it wrong to at least one person, it would be you. Whatever is holding you back, he only hoped that you’d let it go. Questionably unsure as to why he was so persevering, he concluded that it was so he could perform his job better as the night guard. Set higher standards than Sanghoon even.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Weeks passed, and his attempts continued to be unsuccessful.

The capability for you to ignore his efforts remained strong, whether he was pestering you over small things or debating with you again about anything. Life, books, morals, the two of you always head butt each other. Anything good he did, you searched for a flaw in it. Whatever acts he’s tried and continued trying, not one flinch from you ever.

Even if that’s his state with you, his job no longer felt stressful nor strenuous. He’d try to sleep more on days he was off-duty. Although the fatigue of staying beyond his usual sleeping time was inevitable, he compromised to take a nap lasting an hour or two when the art pieces weren’t acting frisky.

Plus, there have been multiple times they adapted to any alterations so his physical well-being wouldn’t fall sick. Per order of Princess Diana and Hera, who by instinct became his motherly figures here, only wanting what’s best for the kids.

He became accustomed to everything that went on at night, discovering things on his own without Sanghoon’s guide. Anne talked about how much she missed biking in her neighborhood, so one night, Jeno snuck his bike inside and let her use it around the first floor. With proper monitoring so none of the paintings would be unbothered or pieces wouldn’t tumble.

Hermes the messenger god was fluent in every language possible, so every so often, Jeno would freely speak to him in Korean because sometimes he felt he could explode by the amount of English he used every night. Bilingual things, you know. He knew you were multilingual too, but for obvious reasons, he couldn’t converse with you.

Because Jeno was heavily favored, that should’ve been enough to push through his night shifts before the end of the semester. In addition to that, the hourly rate was above the average of whatever Jaemin or Renjun was earning. For the past 2 months, Jeno paid upfront first, even paying back all his debts. It almost made Renjun want to switch jobs with him.

“Trust me, Renjun. You don’t want it, being the lowkey scaredy cat you are.”

Work no longer felt like work, and that’s what everyone aspired to feel. Nevertheless, he tended to worry over you mid-shift, glancing at you from his side view. Sketching, reading, and writing were your default actions. No matter how many times he said to himself not to let your dislike for him affect him, it’d always backfire.

Why were you so cold?

What made you lose your fire from all the research he did about your lively personality?

When morning arrived and he gathered his stuff, you’d be the last thing he’ll check on. Frozen in your standing pose, smiling as you held a book and a pencil, he detected how fake it was. Bystanders would only assume your happiness was from your achievements, though Jeno’s gut firmly pried that something grand overpowered that happiness. And definitely, not in a good way.

Out of all the art pieces, he investigated on you the most. Skimming through every material in the library, endless searching on the net, even asking professors from the History department thanks to Renjun, he did whatever he could. People may already think he was obsessed with who you are, but only little did they know.

Another plate was done and submitted, and he promised himself to look you up one last time before surrendering. For someone who’s rarely given up on a challenge, this one was really out of his control. Maybe he should follow Sanghoon’s footsteps now.

You lived centuries before him, and there’s limited material of you left. Rather than learning of your adventures again, he dug through what things you liked over your life. Maybe by giving one of them, it’ll lessen the tension from a 100 to 99. Maybe you preferred gifts over words, he’ll never know until he tried.

Boom.

According to one of your journal entries, there’s a fond liking you’ve acquired for lavender roses from Benjamin and Liam when they visited you in Paris in secret because of how much you missed them. It went both ways, praying your family ties could be recovered.

It’s a good thing he needed to refill his stock of items for the art pieces so he could pass by the flower store a few blocks away from his dorm. That night, without further words, he graciously offered you a fresh lavender rose in between your new sketching session.

“I may not know exactly why you’re spiritless around me, but with this rose, I hope we could work something out.”

Your frigid face of disdain, keeping your chin high and squinting your eyes with judgment, began to crumble down. Of all things as a peace offering, he gave you that? Then again, it’s not like he knew that an item you liked so much became something you’ve grown to hate and why so. No history books could teach him that.

Vulnerability was a normal thing, yet feared by many. Once one uncovered your weak spot, they could harm you. You still couldn’t trust Jeno fully, not willing to show your helplessness nor were you ever going to tell him. Hidden from his knowledge, everyone else including Sanghoon were familiarized as to why this kind of flower tormented you.

You sprinted like thunder out the exhibit room to wherever it’s private to control your senses. You may not have a physical heart, but your emotions were just as actual as a human’s. You needed to regulate your panting breath. In the past decades, you’ve not shed a singular tear but the cycle broke when they streamed out your miserable eyes like a flowing river. Quiet sobs, an empty corner near the fire exit was where your wobbly legs faltered, the painful memories of the past replayed in your head. Once beautiful, but now an agonizing reminder of what could’ve been.

Katherine, Cleopatra, and Anne were swift on their feet to hunt you down, anxious of what you may do next. Seeing or the mention of these flowers still affected you despairingly. Sanghoon must’ve forgotten to write them down, or perhaps he didn’t know either about this fact during all the years he’s worked there.

It’s one of the biggest secrets of his museum. By the clueless face Jeno had with his eyebrows raised, mouth, and small eyes slightly open, he repeatedly asked what he did wrong and adding that he never meant to harm you. Indeed, they knew that yet what occurred involved a secret in the list of museum secrets. Confidential only between art pieces according to Athena, none of the male wax figures spoke a word, only pitying the boy.

“I wasn’t here yet that time, but they said that it was once beautiful, but now it’s a rough period.” With hesitation, Princess Diana chose to reveal it to rid Jeno’s misery. She didn’t mind having to argue about it with Athena later on, as this may further affect the two of you later on.

“A long time ago in the early ‘80s, there was a night guard around your age named Junmyeon. Also, a college student, trying to make ends meet. He did it for 3 years until he graduated. Though within his stay, not only was he such a delight to everyone, he broke a golden rule in the guide. I believe you do know the guide much more now, Jeno?”

“Yes, I do, Princess Diana. Memorized it even, but which one specifically?” Jeno’s desperate eyes pleaded, only hoping for the best and to fix what he messed up.

“You can form friendships with the art pieces, but nothing more.” Princess Diana replied bitterly. “Junmyeon was an aspiring painter, a different path from his business-oriented family. He was seen as the black sheep. She resonated with him, sharing the burden and lifting it by doing whatever fun they could in the museum. In time, they both fell in love with each other; they were each other’s first loves.”

“Why must something beautiful like love be broken? It’s not like you can control it. That golden rule makes no sense.”

“It does, unfortunately. Wax figures like me cannot age, while humans like you can. None of them could accept the reality, always pushing it away. Until Junmyeon’s last week in university, he broke it off with her unexpectedly. From there, (Y/N) was heartbroken for decades. With heartbreak, giving the cold shoulder and bitterness followed. Then with the lavender rose you gave that she used to love became a flower that she associated with Junmyeon too because he gave her one almost every night for those past 3 years.”

Things finally added up, and the guilt in Jeno’s gut expanded. His major lightbulb moment was a major failure.

“Has Junmyeon ever returned to try and win her back?”

“Well, there was one time he did come back for an art exhibition for his paintings in the 2000s. I was already here, then he had a woman around his shoulder with an adolescent boy holding his hand. He roamed around our exhibit and kept gawking at (Y/N). We may be asleep, but we remember the conversations exchanged in the room. So, his son then asked him if he knew who she was.”

“What did he respond?” Jeno attentively listened, on the edge of such a hurtful tale.

“He knew her name, praising her for historical achievements. However, nothing as a former friend or lover. From what I predict, he ingested one of Circe’s potions.”

“But I thought Circe isn’t allowed to make potions for actual consumption. She’s not even allowed to enter the Oriental Art Room.” Jeno pointed out, overwhelmed at the puzzling past. Princess Diana was mindful that she had to stop spreading too much information, so she had to end her discussion with the lost boy.

“There are a lot of secrets about this museum, Jeno. Unfortunately, I cannot reveal to you to protect our peace.”

With due respect, Jeno quit his follow-up questions and concerns. The only thing he wished to do was mend his relationship with you. As vague as to where you even stood in the first place, he unintentionally crossed a line due to his selfish intention to befriend you.

“What can I do now, Princess Diana? You know I’d never push her buttons like that, even if I’m a whimsical person.”

“Oh, my boy.” Princess Diana soothed, holding both her hand on his sweaty palm and cupping his cheek. “For the meantime, give her space. No taunting for a while, and just observe her from a distance. Though do not fret the slightest; I’m sure she’ll be okay again.”

During that interval, you were hunched on the wall, bawling and weeping like the wound was brand new again. While Katherine and Anne stood by your side, on the lookout for anyone who’d be spying on you, Cleopatra knelt in front of you as your infinite tears gushed down.

“My dear,” She tried to wipe some of them while holding your hand. “It’s been years, and Jeno didn’t know a single thing. He didn’t mean to do it.”

“I don’t care, Cleopatra! He should’ve stopped trying to socialize with me because I won’t ever live down my experience with Junmyeon.”

“As if crying like this will bring Junmyeon back to your life,” Cleopatra exclaimed, holding in her temper. Acquainted with heartbreak, it’s awful that it changed you entirely, but you should’ve found a way to heal. Throughout your attitude change, it’s mostly you in pain, not those you inflict it to. “My dear, I love you a lot. But this Jeno boy is different, and you know it.”

“He’s still a nightguard, for Christ’s sake, Cleopatra.”

“You shouldn’t generalize that all night guards are bad just because of one encounter that occurred at the wrong time.” Brushing some strands stuck by your wet visage, she professed to you bluntly. “You’re never going to know how good Jeno is unless you slowly open up again, (Y/N). Not forcing you the slightest, but healing started once you’ve acknowledged the past and move on from it.”

“But I’m scared, Cleopatra.” You restlessly admitted, hunching even more against the wall. Your poor, metaphorical heart could only take so much. You barely expressed sorrow towards others as you always held a strong exterior, only letting it out alone. Not holding back anymore, Cleopatra brought you in for a hug. The last time she did that was the first night after Junmyeon left, calming your intensified emotions so you wouldn’t do anything dumb that night. No violence, just pure sorrow.

“My dear, it’s alright.” She whispered while stroking your back upwards. “But you’re a risktaker; that’s how people remember you. Now, you must challenge yourself to move on from things that didn’t work out. Because once you do, it’ll put your heart and mind at ease.”

“Do you think I’ll be okay again?”

“Yes, you will be, my dear. You are not alone, and never will be.”

Acting like the dutiful son he always was, Jeno distanced from you.

He still cracked jokes, chatted with the art pieces, and followed the rules, yet never did he utter anything to you. You’ve proudly anticipated it since day one, not wanting him up in your business or teasing you ever. But this time, it felt odd.

On nights he didn’t report, you’ve unconsciously wondered what he may have been up to. A job like this at his age was just as Sanghoon once said: nothing in the regular.

Was he with his friends?

Was he resting well?

From the moment you chose to let go of your limitations and old thoughts, it included your grudge against past guards. Asking for forgiveness to Sanghoon when he returns was on the top of your list, however, that’ll take a while to happen. In the start, you’re baffled as to why he no longer picked on you like every night he’s been present. Somehow, it became a habit you’ve gotten used to, having so many comebacks planned to fend yourself. But you didn’t want to concede to it, maintaining what was left of your pride since that breakdown.

While on the subject, you suspected if anyone told him anything that night because that also indicated the last time he reached out to you. By anything, it would be your unwritten past with Junmyeon. A part of yourself in the museum that you didn’t want to disperse like rapid-fire again. It would be the last thing you wanted Jeno to know.

To your misfortune, Princess Diana came clean due to your growing concern over it. Although your attitude changed and people got used to it, you could only blame yourself that you were responsible for Jeno’s change.

“All he wanted was to understand and enlighten us with his likable presence. Then with you, you were his challenge because of your high walls. Out of everyone, he tried to learn everything about you. From my observation, whenever he has a goal, he’s determined to achieve it.”

“But I’m trying to be better now, Diana. Why did he stop?”

“He may have determination, but he knows where the boundaries lie.” Princess Diana patted the side of your arm, giving you a half-grin. “It hurt him when he hurt you, even if it was accidental. So he opted to give you space; that way, you could catch a breather and he wouldn’t harm you anymore. It was what you wanted from the start anyways, right?”

A hard pill to swallow, though it was a fact. It’s just that now, you’re slowly willing to release yourself from the dark. It’s been decades, and more to come. Nothing can move on unless you do.

“Where is he, Princess Diana?”

Just as she predicted right on the edge, Diana completed the grin on her face and led you to the entrance of your exhibit. She may be younger than you, but you’re reverted in your twenties while she remained in her mid-thirties. Gaping the wide museum from the railing, starting from the painting exhibit in the lobby to across the other side of the museum, Diana spotted the black hair of the boy in the Foreign Art Room.

“Over there.”

Observing where her eyes focused, you caught a glimpse of a recognizable side profile. The owner’s eyes were completely taken by whatever he was drawing on the fold-up desk he brought out from the storage room. By the tedious action of his right hand going up and down, you’ve gotten so used to his part-time identity as the night guard to entirely dismiss his current status as a university student.

Architecture specifically as he first introduced himself to you. The same path your oldest brother, Christopher, worked in. The look of tenacity Jeno presented as his eyebrows continuously scrunched, his crescent orbs hastily spied his work for any unnecessary details and his veiny hands brushed his already messy hair, you were profoundly reminded of Christopher when he was designing his possible future house. You were 8 years old, and he was 22, who just got married. He explained how many floors it’ll have, what rooms to put and what extra furniture he’ll place to make it feel more at home.

Seeing how exceptional his art skills were, you started to sketch like him. With flowers first, it turned into bedrooms and sceneries of your neighborhood. You felt your shoulders rise in accomplishment when you were able to accurately draw people. As much as you credited Benjamin and Liam the most in your works, it’ll only be within yourself to know that you also held a soft spot for Christopher.

Excusing yourself to Princess Diana, you bravely yet quietly ventured into the Foreign Art Room. Hiding first from one of the cement columns, you resumed watching him sketch. Instead of a pencil, he used a black pen with a tip as thin as a pencil. Your assumptions would be it was for a class, basing it on him informing everybody earlier that he’ll be inactive for the remaining hours of his shift to focus on his midterm requirements. That must be difficult to balance, yet he still does everything expected from him. Maybe the second cup of iced coffee beside him stimulated his bones and mind, letting his imagination free.

Through the limited space, you tiptoed whilst holding the side of the column to make up his work. There were 2 and a half rectangular shapes stacked on top of each other, the third one he was still tracing. A sign encrypted with tiny written words you couldn’t decipher, the beauty and modernity of Jeno’s plate cannot go unappreciated.

“That’s absolutely beautiful.”

Sweet words you didn’t think would bounce back in the room, Jeno’s pace ceased whilst you hid again. Art pieces capable of walking weren’t allowed here, he locked the door even beforehand! Or he thought as he was rushing to get his work done because one of his terror professors moved up the deadline to tomorrow morning. Not even 25% finished, he petitioned for everyone’s cooperation just for tonight.

He used up his 2 days of not having the night shift for other projects, and not wanting to ruin his perfect attendance, he proceeded to show up.

The voices from the foreign paintings around him hushed for him out of respect. So possibly someone snuck in, his head looking around for intruders. But only did he quit it when he saw your blurry reflection leaning against the column. The glass windows slightly mirror back what it sees, without you knowing that.

Not to mention, the small bit of your lilac dress was left out. Of all people, it was you?

“Do my eyes deceive me or is Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) inside when she’s not allowed so?”

To break the killing tension, he tested the waves with an innocent taunt. Never did you reach out to him, so least to say he was entertained whilst keeping his distance.

Fixing your proud stance, you responded in a low baritone voice you used to persuade numerous men in her adventures. “Uhm no, I don’t know who she is.”

As intelligent as you were, Jeno was a few steps farther than you this time. Educated about the risky ways you’d get around and one of them was changing the pitch of your voice, he heartily laughed at your unsuccessful attempt.

“Okay don’t lie, (Y/N). I can see a trail of your dress and your cloak. Oh, your reflection too.”

Damn, you peeked a little to realize that he was correct. Hauling your dress back in to readjust your outfit, you pushed your hair back before appearing to him. Though when you did such, you didn’t suppose that he was practically beside you the entire time. Bumping into his towering stance of 5’10 while the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, your proud posture loosened up. He even discarded his blazer. A few more inches, he could’ve cornered you on the column if you didn’t take another step back.

Has he always been this tall or were you so used to your boots having high heels under? Oh wait, maybe because you wore flats this time because it’s making your toes sore. Your head bowed from struggling to maintain eye contact with him, your palms caressing your cheeks that suddenly heated up. Clearing your throat, you straightened your back again like nothing happened.

Jeno thought otherwise, shrugging his shoulders as he chuckled. He’s never seen you get shy, not that it was a bad thing either. The temptation to play around it more was there, but he was running out of time for his assignment.

“Come in. I’ll let you off the hook this time.” His arms opened up, allowing you access to such a wonderful exhibit. Paintings from different European periods, miniature versions of famous infrastructures inside glass containers, and replicas of Greek columns in the front entrance, no wonder it’s important to protect them all.

“Are you sure?” Watching him return to his spot, which was a bench in the center of the exhibit with a table in front, it didn’t process that you were gawking at his toned back. His broad shoulders and the evident muscles in his arms while he stretched, your eyes were speedy to look away when he tried to take a glance at you.

“I don’t think the paintings here and I mind.” Sitting down again, he tapped the vacant space beside him. “Feel free to watch me draw if you want to.”

Settling by his side, he recommenced where he left off. Now with a closer view of his piece, it did look like a building as you thought. He was sketching the remaining outline of the 3rd floor of this hypothetical place, continuously checking his ruler to monitor if the lines were consistent. Able to pick up on the words of the sign beside the building, you wowed with one hand on your lips.

“You’re redrawing Seoul National University Museum of Art?”

“One of my plate assignments was to visualize a renovation of a certain place, so I chose the museum.”

“Why so?”

“Well,” Jeno shook his pen so the ink could come out. “This entire place comes to life with the royal plate, so I think we should expand the space and bring in more art pieces to life if we add another extra floor. A rooftop area for visitors and events would be fun. And definitely, we should modernize the exterior and interior a bit because it looks outdated personally. That’s also what my friends think too.”

Noticing the minor details of his plate whilst removing any unnecessary pens so it wouldn’t smudge, “Huh, I quite agree with you.”

For the first time since his night shift, you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), came into an agreement with him. He became so accustomed to clashing opinions that now, you had no contrasting points to make at all. A good change perhaps was what he’s witnessing.

“Woah, who are you agreeing with me and where’s (Y/N)?” He creased his brows whilst locking eye contact with you. This time, you didn’t wince away and just nudged him on his shoulder to get back to work.

“Hush, Jeno. Isn’t that due later? Get to work, I’ll roam around here for the meantime.”

After decades in this museum, you’re enlightened with the foreign paintings in which some you’ve heard of in your younger years and some that were created beyond your time. The Birth of Venus, Liberty Leading the People, Girl with a Pearl Earring, there’s an advantage of learning about their stories that humans couldn’t interpret. Logical that this section must be off-limits because these pieces were extra special, yet there’s so much more than what meets the eye.

There’s peace in silence while you wandered around, though it doesn’t hinder only at the art. Jeno hasn’t uttered a word since he got back to drawing, and once you asked him what’s doing now, still no answer back. Odd, he’s constantly awa-

Oh, my. You must’ve jinxed it.

Your eyes laid on Jeno leaning forward on his desk with his arms serving as his pillow, resting his head sideways. Soft snores and minimal movement in his upper body to shake the growing cold temperature of the room, he was sleeping like a log.

Putting into perspective, he hasn’t acquired enough rest specifically this past 2 weeks. The endless number of plates due making him work extra during his shift rather than sleeping in the slightest, exhaustion must be an understatement. Coffee no longer pushed him to his maximum for this week even.

But this was the path he chose, and it’ll have its challenges. Still, if you could relieve the stress in any way, you would. This would be one of the ways to repay for all the rudeness you’ve passed on him. Scurrying to his side, placing the plate on the side with his other things. You returned the caps of his open pens so they don’t spill. They must be expensive, recalling how Jeno shared the cons of being an architecture major to Princess Diana. One was the pens needed for sketching, and any tiny damages to them meant buying them again.

With his watch on clear display, he only had 2 hours left until his shift was done. Then, 4 hours until his plate assignment was done, and his current plate was far from done.

The blunt impulse to wake him up slithered your mind, though his calm state deflected your duty. As if you were on board a ship again for your explorations, you paid attention to the view with a relaxed mindset.

Lee Jeno specifically was the view.

His coffee-stained lips were parted and his sharp nose breathing in and out at a relaxing pace, he must be dreaming a happy moment the way half his lips curved into a smile. If he’s resting well, then you too would be calm.

Because of your past disinterest in him, only at this moment did you observe how sharp his jawline was and the cuts on his arms he sought refuge in. No matter how many times you tried to deny Hera’s compliments of him on the side, you couldn’t.

Lee Jeno embodied attractive features; both physical and emotional.

Back to his plate, it’ll put him at a disadvantage if he submitted the way it looked before he passed out. But you remembered all those extra details he mentioned and wanted to add to this project. Being an explorer, you documented all your ventures through words or drawings. You’re fast to adjust to anything new too.

For all the good he’s done for everyone, he only deserved some help in return.

Your version of help was sketching the remaining details of this plate, using other pens for more emphasis. It’s a risk also, but no way could you turn a blind eye on Jeno this time.

Around 5:30 am, Jeno’s eyes blinked open due to a brightening light from the outside. Stretching his limbs, he finds a velvet cloak wrapped around him like a blanket. But before he could question it, he pulled his arm in to see the time on his watch.

“Fuck!” He cursed, realizing that his so-called 10-minute snooze break aborted.

“Oh my, you’re awake!” From his frazzled state, there you were. So put together yet active, some strands of your hair falling down your face even with your hair up in a ponytail. “How was your sleep?”

This whole time he could’ve been woken up, yet you chose not to. You’re aware of his deadline, yet you let him rest entirely. He could’ve burst out in stress, yet he didn’t. You and he may have started on the wrong foot, yet it’s impossible of you to do such an evil thing. He’ll just have to tolerate the outcome later today.

“Refreshing. I really needed it.” Packing his things in his bag and closing the table, you trailed along as he exited with you. Locking up, he has 30 minutes left to accomplish the cleaning. A long good morning indeed.

But his worry of that vanished when you admitted that you had it all covered.

“Everyone helped out in cleaning, plus there are no damages made either.” From your hand, you returned one of his keys that was on his guard blazer. “I double-checked the Oriental Room and locked the doors again.”

“Why are you suddenly so nice to me, (Y/N)?” He questioned with confusion, wearing his blazer again and patting away any creases. He placed your cloak over you again like a true gentleman.

Without a word, you simply invited him to walk you back to your exhibit as parts of the sun began to rise. As you returned to your section, your fellow figures readying themselves to pose again,

“It’s my way to apologize for my very rude first impression and the succeeding moments after. I was too cooped up in my past that I was too afraid to let humans in again, night guards in particular.” You admitted, removing your cloak and placing behind your chair like always. “I’m so sorry, Jeno. Everyone was right about you and your kind heart.”

“About time.” Cleopatra’s sultry voice cut in, laying on her day bed.

Before you had the chance to flip off, Jeno mediated swiftly. With a gentle smile, “No worries about it. I’m just happy you’re okay, after all you’ve been through.”

“Can we start over then?”

“Absolutely.” With his free hand, he brought it out. No matter what kind of introductions, shaking one’s hand was the best way to start a friendship. “Good evening. I’m Lee Jeno, the new museum night guard.”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), explorer and author.” Sighing at his humor, you still replied by shaking his hand. “And I believe you’re mistaken, Lee Jeno. It’s a good morning.”

Seconds after, you imitated your typical pose and smile. Only now, the latter was more genuine. Finally, a fresh start to end your agony.

Once the sun fully revealed itself, every figure including yourself froze back to sleep. Something Jeno wished to catch up on if it weren’t for his damn plate. He was so screwed, already contemplating his next steps if he does fail this class. The possibility of getting delayed in all aspects, he dreaded it already.

Heading back to his dorm, where both his roommates completely passed out from soju on the couch, he sat by his work desk and turned on his night lamp for more light since the sun wasn’t strong enough yet.

With another cup of coffee, he cracked the joints of his knuckles and laid out his pens. He had 2 hours left to submit this plate, and at most he should accomplish 50% of his initial plan. However, he didn’t anticipate such a gorgeous outcome when he brought out his plate.

Picture perfect of every detail he desired, even adding a rooftop area with that he’d love to have if ever the museum does go under renovation one day. Rather than setting the plate during the day, it was at night as the skies were dark and bright specks of yellow inside the building symbolized light.

So much for wasting coffee, he’ll just give it to Jaemin when he wakes up later. Below the final product, a note written in cursive was stuck on it.

I knew you wanted to get this specific plate done, but you mustn’t compromise your sleep for it. It’s your inhumane professor’s fault!

To make up for my faults, I wanted to help you out. I paid extra attention to the details you spoke highly about, so I only hoped that I interpreted it correctly. It’s risky, but as someone who researched so much about me, would you be surprised that I did such a thing?

PS: Get back to sleep. I’m quite sure your desk is laid out the same way in the Foreign Art Room.

Respectfully,

(Y/N)

Turning off his lamp, Jeno jumped the covers of his bed to continue his lost sleep. Without an ounce of care that he hasn’t changed into cleaner clothes, he’s relieved that he won’t flunk his class.

Most of all, he’s relieved that you’ve melted the ice in you and allowed kindness to come in. Jeno may never understand how hard that must’ve been for you, yet he raved you for it.

“Oh, (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Surprise is an understatement when it comes to you.”

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atinymonster · 3 years ago

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drunk baby monster

ateez 9th member.

when jiyu turns twenty and chaos ensues during her first time trying alcohol.

inspired by a lovely anon’s ask hehe ✨✨ and this all happened on jiyu’s birthday this year (march 15th)!! i had midterms around the time so i totally lost track of jiyu’s birthday 🤧🤧

⚠️: mentions of alcohol

➴ taglist: @banhmi07, @jiyeons-closet, @jaeminpeachy, @mochibabycakes, @euphoriamingi, @marsophilia, @studioreader, @goddessofdestructionbeast, @dkdlwhs12

➴ masterlist

Jiyu warily eyed the soju bottle in front of her before her eyes flicked to the men sitting around her on the couch.

“I know I asked this at least ten times already within the last half an hour, but are you sure this is a good idea?”

Wooyoung whined, shimmying closer to her before giving her his best puppy eyes. “You have us in case something goes wrong!”

“What do you mean if something goes wrong?!” she asked, not feeling at all reassured for this first experience.

She trusted them, she really did, but did she trust herself or her unknown alcohol tolerance level? No, she really didn’t.

“If you don’t want to try, don’t feel pressured, Ji,” Seonghwa reassured, patting her head.

“No!” she denied, slightly startling herself with how loud she was, “It’s not that I don’t want to try it, as embarrassing as it sounds, I’ve always wanted to try drinking soju the day I’m of legal age,” she sheepishly explained what used to be a childish wish of her’s.

“But I’m just embarrassed about what could happen when and if I get drunk...”

There were endless possibilities of what drunk her could potentially do—she could accidentally fire off embarrassing Universe private messages to ATINY, or just drunkenly interact with ATINY in general, or she could babble about the most random things in the world while crying or laughing, and the list goes on.

And she just knew Wooyoung, San, and Yeosang were ready with their phones to record the momentous occasion and not let her live it down for the next few years.

“I’m pretty sure we’ve all done some embarrassing things when we were drunk at least once in our lives,” Hongjoong reassured with a chuckle. Despite turning twenty, Jiyu was still such a little baby to them.

“It can’t be like Yeosang hyung where he started texting the group chat about how much he loves us before texting out the ponytail song,” Jongho reminded, snickering at the horrified and betrayed look said man gave him.

“I thought we all mutually agreed to forget that ever happened!” he hissed.

“That actually did make me feel better though,” Jiyu admitted, ignoring Yeosang’s pleas about wiping that memory from her head.

Sighing, she reached towards the bottle before slowly filling the shot glass. “All right, if I do anything embarrassing, please do me a huge favor and just forget it happened. Otherwise it’s moving out of the country for me.”

San snorted at how dramatic she was. Surely she wouldn’t do anything too embarrassing; it was Jiyu they were talking about—the one member that sometimes acted like the oldest despite being the youngest, and the one that often times held the few braincells they all shared.

But he had never been so wrong.

They found out she had a decent tolerance level, but that was where she went wrong. At some point along the way, she overestimated herself and had gotten just a tad bit too tipsy.

“Okay, we’re taking these away,” Hongjoong stepped in when she started giggling and hiccuping in the middle of her sentences. Taking the two soju bottles and shot glass, he and the other six were shocked when she started to whine.

They’ve never heard that sound come out of her mouth in all of the time they’ve known her. It was like a child whining when their mother took away their favorite toy.

“Someone please tell me they got that on recording,” Wooyoung stifled his laughter as he watched their maknae be reduced to a giggly mess at the hands of too much alcohol.

“I got it!” San proudly chirped, having been recording since her fourth shot. “She’s so going to kill us for this, though...”

“Did I ever...mention that...Seonghwa gives the best hugs?” she slurred, falling onto said man and hugging onto him.

Seonghwa had no idea how to handle a drunk Jiyu—he just returned her embrace while the others hooted, laughed, or just awed at how different she had become.

“So she’s a cute drunk,” Yunho concluded, chuckling when she started playing with and petting his hair. “You never see her like this on a daily basis.”

“It’s endearing, yet freaking hilarious,” Yeosang snorted, swatting her hand away when she started to reach for her phone. He had been in charge of keeping her away from the device since she didn’t want to accidentally drunk call or text anyone, especially ATINY.

Suddenly, Hongjoong gasped before shooting up from his spot on the couch. “We still have schedules and practice for Kingdom tomorrow! Why did we let her drink tonight of all nights?!” he whisper–shouted.

And that’s where they all knew they had royally screwed up. Schedules for the next day had completely left their minds when celebrating their maknae’s birthday.

“It’s okay! Maybe if she drinks enough water, she’ll just...flush it out of her system,” Yunho offered before standing up and running into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water.

Meanwhile, Jiyu started to develop little hiccups, something the boys found extremely adorable despite their earlier panicking. The red flush across her cheeks also added to the cuteness.

“And have I ever told you guys,” she started, slightly tripping over her words due to her hazy mind, “I love you this much!” Dragging out the word ‘this’ she proceeded to draw out a huge circle with her arms before falling back onto the couch in a fit of giggles.

“I shouldn’t be thinking this otherwise Jiyu will actually slap me into next week, but we should get her to drink on our days off a little more,” Wooyoung snorted as he tried to help her sit upright before steadying her.

“I got water!” Yunho announced, coming back out and carefully handing her the glass. “Alright, please hold with both hands so you don’t spill, baby monster.”

The two older ones couldn’t help but grow soft at how adorable she was, holding the glass cup with both hands like a little kid before bringing it up to her lips and drinking up the water.

“It’s hard to believe she turned twenty,” Seonghwa commented, adoring eyes watching the way she placed the cup back onto the table before looking around for someone to hug.

“Yunyun!” she called out to the group’s giant teddy bear, holding her arms out and looking up at him expectantly. Yunho had no complaints—he enjoyed hugs from her, as well as giving her hugs.

“We need to get her to bed soon. Hopefully she can sleep off the hangover, too,” Jongho noted, seeing as it was way past the time they should be sleeping during promotion weeks. They had to wake up again in a few hours, and yet here they were, one tipsy while the others were watching over her.

“One of us should sleep in the spare bed in her room tonight in case she needs something,” San suggested. Yunho volunteered considering how tight she was holding onto him.

“Yay! Sleepover with Yun!” she cheered before letting out a small hiccup. Yunho giggled and patted the girl’s head.

“Alright, take these water bottles with you and let’s tuck this baby into bed,” Hongjoong handed Yunho three water bottles, and they all brought her to her room to coax her to sleep.

“Please don’t have a hangover tomorrow, baby monster,” Wooyoung teased, poking her forehead before bringing the comforter up to her chin. “Otherwise you’ll really be a baby monster tomorrow...”

Snuggling into the cool comforter, Jiyu pulled it up farther so it covered her mouth. “Who’s...baby monster?” she wobbly asked.

“You are,” Yeosang answered, discreetly plugging the charger into her phone and leaving it on the nightstand. “A twenty-year-old baby monster.”

Leaving her phone on the nightstand would prove to be the worst mistake Yeosang could’ve made that night when Wooyoung’s horrified shriek woke everyone up a few hours later.

“Guys we’re so screwed! She called Sunwoo, she’s actually going to kill us for not stopping her!”

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 3 years ago

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Fic: Frankie's Favorite Part

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Reader/you

Warnings: A little bit of body issues, cunnilingus, self-voyeurism, light spanking, PiV sex, use of butt plug, attempted anal, anal pain, also please never go ass to pussy or you're going to get an infection, wash that dick or use a rubber, unprotected sex.

Summary: Frankie loves your butt and you want to take that love to the next level but Frankie is a big boy. That's all. Smut but also soft!Frankie.

A/N: Inspired by my day of thinking about Frankie's butt. I *will* write that fic, too, this just came (heh) to me easier.

Getting undressed for a shower, you’re inspecting your body in the full-size mirror in the bedroom. It’s become a habit, a way for you to practice looking at yourself neutrally, without judgment: this is the flesh I walk around in, it looks a certain way and it doesn’t matter if that way is conventionally beautiful and sexy or not, it is a functioning body that so far has carried me through life without fail.

When you’re in your panties only, you see Frankie enter the room behind you. He comes to an immediate stop in the doorway to take you in.

“Hi,” you smile before you return your attention to the mirror and pull down your panties, bending over a little as you do so. Frankie knows about your ritual and supports you in your effort to appreciate yourself for what you are, and you have been together long enough for you not to be shy in the nude before him. It’s comfortable and familiar, and when you lift your gaze from your own reflection and see him in the mirror behind you, there’s something in his eyes that starts off a flutter deep within your belly.

“Hi yourself,” he replies in a low voice. “I know I’m not supposed to objectify you when you’re doing your self-care thing – “ he gestures towards you and the mirror “ – but fuck, baby… you have such a sweet ass.”

You have to laugh at his simple male pleasures and Frankie misinterprets it as you brushing it off.

“I’m serious!” he protests and you shake his head at him in the mirror.

“I know,” you smirk, pleased with the attention. “It’s just such a guy thing to say.”

“Obviously your personality is my favorite part of you,” he quickly compensates. You roll your eyes to show him that you don’t believe him for a second. He smiles a little, his gaze dropping down from yours.

“Okay. Your butt. You have such an amazing butt.”

You wiggle your ass a little and Frankie’s eyes literally widen as he sees your buttocks move. In a few strides he’s with you, tall frame crowding you from behind, big hands covering your butt cheeks.

“I would’ve thought boobs,” you remark and he immediately releases your ass, hands coming around you to cup your breasts. “Guys always go crazy for boobs.”

He tweaks your nipples and you enjoy the slight tightening in them when they pucker against his fingers. Your heart skips a beat.

“They’re amazing, too,” he confesses. “It’s hard to choose, really, but there’s just something about your butt that gets me every time I see it. It’s so big and juicy compared to mine.”

His hands slide back to your ass, pinching it in appreciation.

“Mine’s so pathetic,” he adds ruefully.

“Nuh-uh, your butt is so cute!” you protest, turning around and slapping your hands to his sweatpant-covered little behind. “Small but powerful buns of steel.”

“I’d prefer a big, bouncy butt. Like Santi’s,” Frankie complains, then frowns, looking down at you. “You seen Santi’s butt?”

“Um, hell yes I’ve seen it,” you scoff, “I’m not blind! It’s practically all over the place. Not my thing. I like cute little butts that can be used as a goddamn dinner table.”

He chuckles and dips down to kiss you.

“This relationship isn’t big enough for two bouncy asses and I’m glad you’re the one who has it.” He’s grabbing you by said bouncy ass, jamming you into him, and you wrap your arms around his neck and go for one of those deep, long kisses that you know get him riled up. And he is immediately ready to drown into you.

“Gorgeous girl,” he gasps when you both need to resurface for air. “You’re not gonna take that shower just yet.”

“I thought so,” you murmur as you start trailing kisses down his jaw and neck. He stops you by taking a light but firm hold of your neck and pulling your lips away from his skin.

“To bed,” he tells you, a sharpness to his otherwise deep, velvety voice. As you turn around to climb into bed, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you to him, caressing and claiming as he peppers your neck with sucking kisses and small bites. You’re heavy with want by now, the fire of your lust always quick to light when it comes to Frankie and his touch. The bulge pressing against your ass tells you that he’s just as turned on.

“On your hands and knees, baby.”

You obey and as soon as you’ve assumed the position, Frankie dips down to kiss one of your ass cheeks, hand fondling the other.

“Just love your ass,” he murmurs and gives you a little bite as he pinches the fat. You hum low in your throat as your pussy clenches around nothing in anticipation. You yelp when Frankie gives you a small smack.

“Love to see that ass bounce,” he goes on. “Can I?”

“Yes, baby, make it bounce,” you tell him breathlessly as you wait for the next slap. It comes right away but it’s not as sharp as you know it could be. It’s not like when he spanks you, when every impact makes you cry out, he just smacks you enough to make the fat of your buttocks move. He takes breaks only to squeeze and knead your flesh with strong hands, and distribute kisses and bites down your butt cheeks.

You’re enjoying his service like a cat basking in the sun, knowing he’s navigating slowly but steadily towards your exposed and by now drenched pussy, and when he places a first, teasing lick on your wet folds, you let out a low hum.

“Look so good, smell so good,” he murmurs before another tentative, light swirl of his tongue.

“Frankie…” you beg in a low moan, then hiss when he bites your thigh. Your leg twitches, not quite a kick but not far from it, and he smacks you again, a little harder this time, a strangled moan escaping you. He soothes the sting with his callused palm softly stroking you.

“Behave, you wild little filly.” You hear the smile in his voice.

“I’m not the one who put you near my legs and told you to tease me,” you point out, a little dazed from your arousal and dying for him to release you from the shackles of anticipation. “Please, Frankie…”

“All right, but only because you’re asking so nicely.”

You feel the mattress shift as he makes himself comfortable before taking a firm hold of the back of your thighs, just below your buttocks. You feel his breath against your folds for a split second, then his tongue and lips.

“Fuck, baby…” you keen as he begins to employ his skills, tricks and all. Once upon a time you may have been self-conscious about having him eat you out in this position, with your asshole so close to his face, but not anymore. It’s hot, it’s filthy, and he’s so good at what he does. Squeezing your ass, he works his tongue into you, licking and suckling and nibbling with his lips, attacking your clit mercilessly, drawing moan after loud moan from you. When you start to quicken and your legs want to press close, he applies some force to keep your thighs apart. You find yourself on your forearms, chest down and hands grabbing onto the duvet as the pleasure intensifies along with the wet smacks of his lips, making you run your mouth.

“Yes, baby, please, s’good, I’m so close…!”

He grunts and his fingers dig into the pliable flesh of your thighs, his effort to make you cum renewed. And you cum, strongly, blindingly, a gasped cry stifled against the mattress as your legs shake and Frankie bruises your thighs with his fingers. You ride it out against his mouth before he finally lets go of you. He kisses your buttocks, wiping himself off of them, before sitting up straight and pulling you up, crashing you against his chest.

“You make me so fucking hard, pretty girl,” he groans into your ear before biting it, hands on your hips as he grinds his pelvis against you. You throw your arms above and back, catching his head and raking your fingers through his thick locks.

“I need you in me, Frankie,” you whimper, shuddering at the feel of the hard outline of his cock in his pants and his rough kisses on your neck and shoulder.

“You’ll have me,” he promises before pushing you down onto your hands and getting off the bed to strip. “I want you from behind so I can see your sweet ass all the time, baby.”

“Let’s use the mirror,” you suggest immediately, having expected doggy. You want him to see your face when he fucks you. You turn onto your side and look back at him, smiling wickedly.

“Fuck, baby, I love you so much.” He hurries with his pants and almost loses his balance in his eagerness to get rid of them. You giggle at him and he leans over you to give you another smack on your ass before going to the full length mirror and moving the it so it’s facing the bed.

“And the plug,” you add, and you swear you can see him twitch.

“You sure?”

“Wouldn’t fucking ask you if I wasn’t, would I?”

“Atta girl,” he grins at you and when he returns to bed, he’s bringing with him the diamond butt plug and the lube. You’re back on all fours by the time he’s behind you again.

“You let me know how you’re doing, okay, sweetheart?” he asks you, his face serious in the mirror. You smile reassuringly.

“Of course.”

He works you open with his thumb at first and when he’s certain you can take that without problems, he lubes up the plug and starts to work it against your tight ring of muscles. Relaxing and breathing calmly, you open up for the stainless steel toy and once the head is in, the rest just glides after.

“Talk to me,” Frankie asks you, his voice tight. You release the breath you didn’t realize you had been holding in.

“It’s good. I’m good. I… fuck, Frankie, I need you to fuck me.”

Palming your ass with one hand, he uses the other to align himself with your slick opening. When he pushes inside it’s like a spear shooting through your body, splitting you in two. He always feel so much bigger, sharper, harder from behind, especially when you’re not warmed up. It’s intoxicatingly sensual, the pleasure bordering on pain, and the heightened sensation of being filled up that the plug brings.

“Fuck,” is all you can manage between clenched teeth and a moan.

“So good,” Frankie praises you, staying still in you, allowing you to adjust for a moment. “You’re so good to me, baby, so tight.” He caresses your ass cheeks gently. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

You realize you’ve been hanging your head down in your focus to take him, and lift your gaze, meeting his eyes in the mirror by the bed. He’s watching you intently, a concentration-induced frown on his handsome face, his plump lower lip caught between his teeth.

“Hey, beautiful,” he murmurs. “Your ass looks so fucking sexy with that little diamond in your hole.” You moan at his praise just as he raises his hand and brings it down on your ass. You flinch and gasp, then moan when he forces his hips against you, reaching impossibly deep before retreating slowly, almost dragging himself out before sliding in again. Your eyes fall shut and you stick your ass out and drop the belly to accentuate your hips and bottom for him.

Frankie curses low and grabs you by the soft flesh of your hips, picking up the pace. Every crash against you gives the plug a knock into you and it short circuits your brain. You throw your head up and push your chest forward as much as you can to display the swing of your breasts. Staring at Frankie in the mirror, you can tell he’s loving it: his dark gaze is alternating between your face and your tits as he moves in you with slow deliberation. You shift a little and he hits your spot, making your breath stutter.

“Baby,” you ask in a whine, “go shallow. And harder.”

He complies immediately and you let go of the bedspread with one hand, reaching between your legs instead to rub your clit. Frankie’s hitting your spot over and over and it takes you no time to build up that delectable pressure again, the one you know will tear you apart. You moans your encouragements to Frankie, eyes falling shut as you climb, pussy squeezing his cock in anticipation, fingers working your clit, breath coming in short puffs.

“Fuck, Frankie…” you wail, your toes curling. Frankie grunts, and slips out of you. You both curse in frustration simultaneously and you almost sob at the loss of stimulation against your g-spot. He finds you again and thrusts in – and that one thrust is your undoing. You release your juices over his cock and your pussy pulsates together with your throbbing clit as the climax ravages you. Frankie continues to fuck you, the obscene, squishy sound louder than your moans, and then he lets himself fall over you, pressing you down onto your stomach. He takes a short break to reposition himself, his knees on either side of your legs pushing your thighs together and locking them in, his hands coming to your lower back. Without letting you come down from your orgasm he sets a furious pace, fucking deep into your quivering pussy. The changed position and angle makes the plug feel bigger, your ass tighter.

“Look at me, baby,” he huffs, squeezing your flesh harshly, “look at me when I fuck you.”

You force your eyes open and prop your chin up so that you can see him in the mirror. His face is the definition of determination and adoration alike as he worships your post-orgasm features in the mirror, beads of sweat forming on his forehead from the effort of proning you.

“So tight,” he groans breathlessly, “fuck, baby, you’re feel so good…”

You whimper something encouraging when a thought forms in your sex-crazed brain.

“Frankie…” you gasp, “stop, stop!”

He stills immediately although you can feel the restless energy radiate from every one of his taut muscles.

“You okay?” he inquires and you get up on your forearms.

“Wanna to fuck my ass?”

You can literally see him gulp.

“Baby… we tried that, but I was just hurting you.”

You remember the experience. Frankie is well-endowed and despite lubrication and warm-up, you just couldn’t take him, no matter how much you wanted to.

But you want to try again, and you tell him that.

“Just get the lube, and we’ll go slow.”

His forehead drops to your shoulder and he draws a deep, shaking breath.

“Fuck. You’re… you’re incredible. Okay.” He kisses your skin softly before pulling out and carefully prying out the plug. You grab a pillow and place it underneath your pelvis for elevation as Frankie works some lube onto your hole with his thumb, then onto himself.

“You ready?” He keeps your face under observation in the mirror and you nod.

“Ready.”

He’s big. So big. Despite the plug and the lube it feels like trying to get the cap of a baseball bat into your ass. You relax, will yourself into being spacious, accessible, breathe calmly and fight the urge to panic as he inches into you.

“Okay?” He checks in with you and you manage to smile.

“Yeah.”

It’s painful, red hot and searing, this intrusion into your rectum. No matter how much you want to give this to him, to be completely filled up by him, it does seem like you’re not going to be able to. But you frown in concentration and don’t stop him. You want it so bad, you just have to give it one more minute.

“I’m hurting you.” Frankie’s voice is alarmed. You realize that you’re grimacing and that he sees everything in the mirror.

“I’m good, don’t stop.”

“No, I – “

“Just stay still!” you bark, your voice not as steely as you wanted it to be. You take a couple of breaths, try to relax your face to show Frankie that you’re fine. Relax, relax. All is good. You can take him.

“A little more,�� you ask him tightly and he caresses your buttock with one hand as the other guides him. Pain shoots through you and you whimper.

“Baby – “

“I’m fine!”

“The head is in.”

You stifle a sob at the announcement. That’s further than last time, you couldn’t even take the head that time. And you’re so full, so filled, there is no fucking way you’re going to be able to take the rest. But the head is in.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” Frankie’s voice is equal amounts worry and arousal. A look at his face tells you he’s as high-strung as he can be.

“I… it’s so big. I’m trying to breathe through it.”

“We can stop. We should stop.”

“No, just give me one more minute.” You’re loath to give up but no matter how much you try, it doesn’t get easier. It just hurts. You keep thinking one more breath but eventually, you have to cut your losses.

“Out,” you moan, tears of failure burning in your eyes. Just as gently as he inches in, Frankie eases out of you. Pulling the pillow from under you before collapsing down, you hide your face in your hands, unexpectedly emotional about the experience.

Frankie kisses his way up from your lower back to your shoulder before settling against you, one arm around your waist.

“You okay?” he murmurs, nuzzling your hair. You swallow hard and force yourself to meet his concerned eyes, hoping you don’t look too broken.

“I wanted you to have that,” you tell him quietly. “But I just can’t, it’s too much.”

“My beautiful girl,” he sighs, pressing his lips to yours before kissing the tip of your nose and then your cheeks and eyebrows. “You don’t have to do anything for me. Just you being with me makes me the luckiest, happiest man in the world.”

“But – “

“No buts,” he interrupts you softly, his hand sliding down to your ass. “Except your butt, of course, which I’ll always love, whether I get to fuck it or not.”

You have to giggle. “You’re so romantic, Francisco.”

“You know it.”

“What I know is that you haven’t finished yet…” You meet his lips with yours and kiss him deeply as your hand seeks him out between the two of you. Stroking him, you swallow his moans as he grips your ass harder.

“How do you want to finish?” you ask in a hoarse whisper against his scruffy cheek.

“In your tight little pussy, with you on top,” he replies quickly. “Reverse.”

“Your wish is my command.”

You rearrange yourselves, Frankie lying down with a pillow underneath his head so he can still see you in the mirror and you straddling him in reverse cowgirl. Slowly, you inch onto him, sheathing him in your quivering pussy, relishing his helpless moan.

“I’m not gonna last long, baby,” he warns you, “you take me so well, I’m not gonna be able to hold onto it.”

“That’s okay, baby,” you coo breathless as you lean forward a little, offering him a juicy view of your ass and both your holes as you move up and down his shaft. “Just enjoy the ride, I’ve got you.”

He grabs your ass when you start to bounce on his cock and you meet his stare in the mirror, his mouth agape, helpless surrender shining in his eyes that dart from your face to your ass and back again. You rely on your legs and core to keep up the work and cup your breasts and pull your nipples. The strangled sound Frankie makes plucks at the right strings deep within you and you lower one hand to tease your clit, maybe you’ll be able to cum one more time.

“So tight when you do that,” he growls, “baby, fuck!” You start to grind down on him, finding your spot and staying on it, frantically riding him towards your release and his, egged on by his shouting your name when he spurts hot cum deep inside you, his throat bared and his hands holding onto your hips like it’s the only thing that’s keeping him anchored to this world. You ride on through his climax towards your own, hitting your spot again and again until you’re thrown up into the sky with the fireworks, your eyes falling shut but the light show still going on the inside of your eyelids.

Frankie pulls you down next to him and gathers you in his arms, picks up all the loose parts of you and puts you back together with a simple, breathless kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“I love you so much,” he mumbles and you respond in kind, an exhausted smile on your lips as your eyes flutter open and his soft features come into focus.

“You’re so amazing,” he adds before kissing your lips sweetly.

“Mmm… you are.”

“No, you.”

You giggle at the adorable bullshit and kiss him again, enjoying the taste of yourself on him.

“Every part of you is amazing,” Frankie murmurs into your mouth. “Not just your butt. All of you.”

“Okay, message received.” You blush a little at his gushing.

“I’m serious. You’re just… the best. All of you, not just your body.”

“Thank you. I think you are the best. All of you.”

He smiles softly and pulls you into a hug. And you know you’ll stay there forever because his embrace might just be your favorite part of him.

#my fic #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #francisco catfish morales #francisco frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader

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dinthehottotty · 4 years ago

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Drunk on You - Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels

Warnings: Just some smutty drabble inspired by a new toy....

A/N: I wrote this on mobile so sorry I don't have the drop down bit. Also go gentle on me, this is my first Whiskey piece....

No. No, no. No, no, no, no. Nonononononono! This... could not be happening. Mortification was creeping in. Shame was shuffling from the corner of the hotel room.

It had taken ten minutes for you to begin to realize the weight of the situation. Still you couldn't bare looking to your right. If your legs could just stop shaking, that would be great.

You were a grown woman. An adult. Always prided yourself on your own efficiency. You got the job done, and done right no matter the energy and time. You did it independently for the most part, that's why you'd been hired by Statesmen to begin with. You were an amazing spy with a nerve of steel.

There was only one thing that ever got to you. Agent Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels. What an asshole. You'd never met such a surecocked, womanizing, smug bastard man. He pissed you off so much. You never used to let his advances bother you, but somehow over the years he wiggled his way under your skin. Now a single look from him made you seeth and bristle like a wild animal.

Your pride was now wiped away like a dry erase board. Your mind slowly is beginning to gain its bearings while you tremble in a puddle of your own fluids on your hotel bed. The light of the lamp next to you is a reminder of your vulnerability.

Sparing a glance to your right, everything about you is slow and hesitant. Jack is lounging beside you comfortably, a satisfied smirk coating his face. He's got his eyes closed, his fingertips tapping the air with a song you've got no idea about. He looks almost peaceful in the warm light of the dimmed lamp. And it would be if his stupid porn 'stache wasn't tilted up in a cocky smirk.

Your stomach chooses this inopertune moment to gurgle loudly. Weird, you swore the nausea was due to the naked rodeo clown beside you. Weirder yet, he almost looked good without his yellow sunglasses and cowboy hat. Less like a want to be country music star and more like a Latin lover.

His head lolls your way and his eyes bulldoze you with his thrilled smirk. Even in the low, unflattering light his brown eyes are warm and remind you of the warm gooeyness that is sliding from between your legs. You want it to not feel good, but your so boneless from the last... fuck, you don't even know how long it's been.

"Worked yerself up an appetite, did ya, darlin'?" Your only response is to gulp and you have to look away from him. A shiver rolls through you and he chuckles.

That's the worst part of this. Not the fact that you actually caved and slept with the sleeze of man, not the fact that he was the only person you genuinely hated in regards to company. No, the worst part of this, was how wrecked he had you. Jack Daniels is singlehandedly the best lay you've had in your life and it wasn't even hate sex.

Granted you should be screaming at him to get the fuck out of your hotel room and raging that he barged in on you in the first place.

Ginger had been so polite in regards to leaving you in the room by yourself for a bit. Laughing as you called after her 'if there is an emergency, don't call me, get the boys!' And then you forgot to turn on airplane mode.

It wasn't that Statesmen couldn't afford two rooms for you both. Instead, she was your near and dear friend and missions served as your sleepovers. You'd both spend free moments giggling and gossiping about the other agents. And also your sex lives and preferences. Also, your newest toy that you hadn't gotten to try.

A tiny egg with a little tongue and suction on it. The catalyst. You'd been prepared when your eyes and ears left to give a good review only to very quickly discover just how delightful and overwhelming the little tool was.

Too aware of how Whiskey was leaning over you with a grin, you suddenly feel nervous. "Don't tell me I fucked the sass out of you, sweetheart. I do love that wicked tongue you've got." He thumbs your lower lip and you find your self holding in panting. For fucks sake it took you nearly ten minutes to stop after he'd finally rolled off you.

It's pitiful that you just let out a tiny whine, pushing weakly at his chest. It makes his grin deepen, his dimples practically shining. "Don't go soft on me now, girl."

"Need minute," you finally rasp, voice hoarse. He leans down, shocking you with a hungry pass of his mouth over yours.

You should want to fight him, but your mind feels as boneless as your body.

There is a noise. A beep of the door unlocking with the card swiped.

Ginger is back.

She still knocks, bless her heart. It's like Whiskey doesn't even notice, instead just drawing his mouth over your jaw and tasting your neck lazily. He must know. Either he thinks it's housekeeping or he just doesn't give a fuck.

"Rosé?" She calls out from the hallway by the door. "I hope I gave you enough lead time to try-" she gasps as she rounds the corner and finds you wrapped up with a man you despise. "Oh, lord! What even happened?" She averts her wide eyes and Whiskey chuckles warmly over you.

"Decommissioned," you rasp out, complete mush under the mouthing at your neck. "Sorry." Teeth appear and your vaguely aware that Whiskey is laughing with delight against you.

He lifts enough to flash a grin at Ginger.

"You hate him! What do you mean 'decommissioned'?" She throws her hands up.

"What's the racket?" Eggsy calls, strutting in with Gallahad. Both of them freeze at the sight of you practically preening under the warm body over you. "No fuckin' way," the kid demands when Whiskey jerks the blankets up around your naked form.

"Now, I don't mind the company, but if you boys want a show, I suggest you go find the HBO channel back in your respective rooms. The lady is going to need a hot meal and a nice nap before she goes anywhere." You don't even register that you're nodding along with his statement.

"No way you bagged Rosé," Eggsy demands. "She looks drugged!" The heat of a big calloused hand rolls up over your side under the sheet and you let your eyes fall shut. Ginger just shakes her head like a disappointed mother.

"Not drugged," you manage to offer. It earns you a happy purr from the smug agent above you and he rolls a hand between your legs unabashedly. Your still too sensitive and jerkily shove his hand, gasping. "Out, please," you murmur, no bite to your words as a warm mouth finds the hollow behind your ear.

Ginger quickly agrees, shuffling quickly out of the room. Eggsy, even with Gallahad's prompting tries to stick around, giving you shit until the mouth leaves your neck.

"The lady politely requested you leave. Find the door, boy." He snarls like a caged animal and it sends warmth down belly. You find yourself uncaring and unfurling beneath him as Eggsy is lead out of the room.

"Hungry," you moan, trying to glower when he goes to reposition and settle between your thighs. It earns you a cocky grin.

"Atta girl!" You don't know what you expect, but it's hardly him pulling your legs up and proping them over his shoulders while he reaches for the phone.

You both moan when he sinks into you, wettly and just as easily as before. "Fuck, feel so good, baby." And he leans over, picking up the phone and dialing. There is ringing as he cradles the phone between his shoulder and ear, rolling his hips forward. He's rewarded with the obnoxiously loud squelch that accompanies his thrusts. "What sounds good to eat?" Whiskey asks as you pant and writhe beneath him like his cock isn't stretching you beyond capacity.

"Everything," you gasp out.

"Could you send us the works? Whatever you've got on special." You can't pay attention to anything else he says, in the back of your mind your mind you know your a mess.

It's when you hear the tiny motor start that your hand is jerking down and your snatching his wrist. "Jack, no, I can't-" you rasp as you stop his hand from bringing the little egg down on your clit.

"Why not?" But it doesn't actually sound like a question and his eyes are glinting down on you.

"Is too much, hurts."

"You weren't complaining earlier."

"Overstimulated." He gives a growl, shutting the vibrator off before hauling your knees into the crook of his arms. It has you moaning unabashedly as he changes angles, stirring the pace up.

"Feels so good, oh fuck, feels good. Don't stop, please don't stop, always wanna be full, fill me up please." What kind of effect was this? You never babbled.

"What a good girl," he rumbles, "finally giving into how desperate she's been for me. Do you want to cum around me again?" He watches you falling apart beneath him, a complete wreck.

"Can't, can't cum. Felt like I was cumming the whole time that toy was on my clit. Hurts." A hand rubs down your belly, a direct path to the heaven between your legs that he's still fucking. You scramble for his wrist again but he's stronger and you let out a cry as he brushes a knuckle over your swollen and abused clit. It just makes him chuckle when you arch off the pillow below your hips.

Your so wet that it's coating your thighs and making him glide against you like your coated in oil. Everything was wet and warm.

"C'mon girl, don't tell me yet that I've won?" He rasps. There is a need that builds up at those words. An anger as you manage some kind of weak glare up at him. You fumble for him.

You intend fully on crushing his mouth against yours and devouring him in response to his quip. It seems to surprise you both when your lips move more tenderly than either of you anticipate.

Whiskey goes stiff in your arms, fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. There's a moment you think you've killed the mood but then he's sink down against you and tenderly kissing you back.

It's not unexpectedly fun and wild like the rest of this desperate affair has been. Instead, his hips roll slow and smooth, no rush or reason beyond just feeling you. The heat of him consumes you as you breathe into each other's mouths, drinking the other in and soaking in hot hands.

"Shoulda done this sooner," you manage against his mouth and feel his chuckle rumble you both.

"Offers been there," he groans. "Spend the night in my room," he pleads gently. It has you shivering.

"Okay," you sigh, mush beneath the fulfilling stretch he was giving. He could ask you to kill Eggsy here and now and you'd probably say yes. Just as long as this never ended. You were drunk on Whiskey.

#jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels #agent whiskey #kingsman #statesmen #kingsman the golden circle #smut #unedited #jack daniels x reader #whiskey #whiskey x you #whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x reader

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clairecrive · 4 years ago

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“Mirror, mirror” - Remus Lupin

A/n: And here’s another Remus one. I’m sorry but I’m so into him you can’t even imagine. I have to let out these feelings some way. For my Hardy’s mutuals don’t worry I’m working on an Alfie piece too *wink wink*. Well then, hope you like this <3

Warnings: none

Summary: Secret Santa situation

Words: over 1.3k

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST

inspired by this tik tok video

The Marauders usually spent Christmas time at the Potter's. It had become a tradition of sorts but only after Sirius had left his house, before that they would only meet for the annual New Year's party hosted by Euphemia and Fleamont.

However, since their group kinda merged with that of the girls after James finally succeeded in wooing Lily, they moved the opening of presents to the week before they had to go home. They would still see each other for the party but by then it would be too late to exchange gifts.

So here they were, in the common room of the Griffindor Tower, sitting in a circle in front of the fire trying to guess who their gift was from.

None remember whose idea it was but whoever it was suggested they tried doing Secret Santa this year. It was difficult to get the right gift for every one of them so this way it was easier for them and each of them still got a gift.

It was Remus' turn to open his present and guess but by the way he was looking at it, he hadn't a clue. To be fair, the shape of the wrapped object wasn't conventional. It didn't look like a book, something that everyone would have thought he was getting. Apparently, whoever his secret Santa was, they had decided to get creative.

It wouldn't have been all that difficult to guess who it was though. All it took was to glance and everyone's faces and then one would unmistakably notice the look of apprehension and anticipation on someone's face. That would have been a dead giveaway Fortunately for y/n though, no one seemed to have noticed, least of all the directly concerned one.

On top of the package, there was a small piece of paper. The writing was in black ink and elegant cursive and while the first sentence was at the top centre, the drawing of a small mirror was the one to whom the second sentence belonged to. As if he was answering to whatever had made the question.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?

But of course, the one the flowers move for."

Remus only stared at it in confusion, he was sure he had heard the rhyme before but he couldn't pinpoint when and where. Maybe it was a muggle thing y/n or Lily had said, he would always have trouble remembering that kind of things for some reason. What he didn't know though, was that the rhyme itself was a spoiler for the present laying on his lap.

Without thinking too much about its meaning though, he carefully removed the wrapping paper only to be met with... his face?

His scarred face was reflected in an orned mirror that looked old but was clearly hand made and of good quality. It wasn't just a mirror though, just like Remus wasn't just a werewolf. Not that he'd ever say it, mind you, but it was the reasoning behind y/n's gift.

On the bottom of the mirror, there were five small sunflowers. Each of them different from the other but all of them facing whoever was standing in front of the mirror. Remus could see a faint trace of the same paint used for the flowers on the frame of the mirror so he deduced that they were hand-painted recently and did not come originally with the mirror.

"Are you sure there was your name on it? Because this looks like the perfect gift for Sirius," chimed James over his shoulders.

"Oh, please. I'm not the one who spends at least ten minutes every morning fixing his hair," Sirius snickered clearly pointing at his best friend

"Well, I need to look girl for my girl don't I," he smirked wrapping his arm around Lily who was still getting used to him calling that

"You're right Prongs, not everyone can be effortlessly dashing,"

"Well, now we know why this would have been a useless present for Sirius." Rolling her eyes, y/n stated from her place beside the long-haired boy and in front of Remus who still trying to wrap his head around the identity of his secret Santa.

*** *** ***

It was later in the evening, everyone had opened their presents and full from the delicious food offered by the school, they had all retreated to their rooms. Well, everyone but one of them.

Holding his present in his hands, Remus was still trying to figure out who had bought this for him. And most importantly, why. It wasn't a secret that he wasn't the most confident in his looks. The scars covering his body had never failed to remind him that there was something wrong with him. But then again, seeing as this person had taken the time to actually paint flowers on it, it meant that there was some explanation behind it. Remus couldn't see it to save his life though.

Soft footsteps broke him out of his thoughts and he turned around to see y/n standing at the end of the stairs that led to the girls' dormitories with a glass of water in her hands.

"What are you doing here?" Y/n wondered yawning

"Couldn't sleep."

"Same," she said making her way to sit next to Remus who went back at staring at the mirror.

"Do you know that sunflowers move in whatever direction the sun is?" She asked lowering the now empty glass on the floor beside the sofa.

"They do?" Remus asked in surprise making y/n hum in confirmation.

"And they all point towards you." She pointed out after a while, aiding him in the right direction seeing as he was still looking at the gift puzzled.

"So, you're saying that whoever made this for me thinks of me as the sun?" This time he turned to face her and she just shrugged her shoulders. To be fair, she was the one who had made that for him but she wasn't confident enough to just tell him. It didn't look like he liked his present much.

"Maybe this was really meant for Sirius," he muttered under his breath turning again towards the mirror. Y/n couldn't help but scoff at this, at his non-existent self-esteem.

"Is it so absurd for you to think that someone might find you beautiful?" She asked him, maybe more snappy than she ought to be, but it did manage to catch Remus' attention and the wheels in his mind to spin.

"You're my secret Santa, arent' you?" He asked and even though there wasn't really the need for her to confirm she still nodded, hiding her blushing cheeks by turning her head.

"I'm sorry though, I knew it was a bit risky of a present but I thought it was cute."

"It is, it really is," he insisted when she shot him a doubtful look, "it's very thoughtful. I just- I just didn't know you thought that way about me."

"Honestly Remus, you're the only one who's clueless about your worth."

"Do you really think so?"

"I've just compared you to the sun, do you really need to ask that?"

"Sorry, it's just that it feels like a dream." Not knowing what to say, Y/n chose not to speak but that only fueled Remus more.

"My crush comparing me to the biggest star honestly feels like a dream," he added making y/n's head snap to him

"What?"

"If I'm the sun, does that mean that you're the moon?" he asked leaning closer to her

"But the sun and the moon never meet." She complained, her eyes on his lips.

"I'll just have to catch, won't I?" he murmured now practically on her lips

"I reckon that won't be a problem." And that was the last words they exchanged before their lips met.

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin imagines #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin deserves the world #harry potter #harry potter imagines #james potter x lily evens #sirius black #maruaders #marauders era #marauders imagines #marauders x reader #marauders imagine

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mitthsyndic · 3 years ago

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Here is my second attempt at writing Thrawn, much longer this time! Again if you have any criticisms or feedback then please feel free to share!

Read on AO3.

Summary: Lieutenant Thrawn meets the reader (gender neutral) at the Ascension Week celebrations on Coruscant, and she offers to show him around her art gallery. (Based roughly on the 2017 Thrawn book).

Pairing: Thrawn x Reader (gender neutral, Thrawn is still a Lieutenant at this point).

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1,715.

A Keen Eye

If you'd learned at least one thing from your meeting with Lieutenant Thrawn, it was that he was passionate about art.

He wasn't simply an admirer or even a collector; he'd told you in detail about how he used an enemy's artwork in order to anticipate their tactics in battle, and ultimately defeat them. From what you could gather from his companions, this proved to be effective far more often than not. Your own companions scoffed dismissively at these claims, and not so politely ushered your group away from Thrawn towards more powerful, influential partygoers.

However, you believed you could understand where Thrawn was coming from, and you felt compelled to see his analysis in action. After all, it wouldn’t exactly be an inconvenience to you, as he could simply meet you at your own art gallery here on Coruscant. Furthermore, it didn’t take a keen eye for art to notice Thrawn’s strikingly good looks; his dark blue skin and illuminating red eyes caused him to stand out among the other guests, and he was what drew you over here in the first place. If he didn’t appear to be interested in any romantic prospects, you figured you could at least have some fascinating discussions about the pieces in your gallery.

"I had best follow my companions. However, Lieutenant Thrawn, I'd like to observe your analysis of artwork and the military conclusions you draw in person. Please, take my comm details and contact me to arrange a meeting at my gallery - that is, if you have any spare time." You smiled at him as you offered him your comlink.

His eyes flicked briefly between your face and the comlink, as though he was unsure how to proceed. You tried to read his face; it was unwavering and unreadable. Well, almost. You could have sworn you saw the corner of his mouth slightly upturn into a smile.

Taking your comlink and quickly inputting his details, he responded coolly, "That would be most pleasant. Allow me to check my schedule for my remaining days on Coruscant, and I shall respond with my availability."

As he handed you back your comlink, your fingers brushed for a brief second. The fleeting contact was intoxicating, yet his expression remained unvarying. It was almost impossible to tell how he felt about the momentary brush of your hands, or if he could tell that your proposition was identical to that of a date.

"Of course. It was delightful meeting the three of you, and I hope to see you again soon." Politely smiling at Ensign Vanto and Colonel Yularen, you reluctantly trailed after your friends, leaving you with the rest of the evening to reflect on your meeting with Lieutenant Thrawn.

It was late; with your thoughts consumed by your encounter with Thrawn, you had left the celebrations and gone to bed at your apartment on Coruscant. Awoken by the faint alert of your comlink, you drowsily sat up and picked it up, allowing the incoming transmission through.

“Apologies if I woke you. This is Lieutenant Thrawn.” His smooth voice echoed out of the comlink.

“No, not at all. And, please, there’s no need for titles when we’re alone.” You boldly suggested. From what you could gather, Thrawn was exceptionally good at reading body language and tone, so you tried to convey your desire for a more informal relationship, in case he hadn’t gathered the implications behind your invitation.

“Of course.” You were certain you could hear a smile behind his voice. “This may be of short notice, but I will only remain on Coruscant for another day. There is a lapse in my schedule tomorrow evening, and I leave the following morning. I would like to see the works in your gallery, and hopefully demonstrate my... abilities to you then.”

He was incredibly difficult to read -even more so when you couldn’t see him in person, but you were sure that you could detect a hint of flirtation in his tone.

“Tomorrow evening works for me. Allow me to send you its location. If you need any directions or your schedule suddenly changes, then feel free to contact me. I’ve got my comlink on me at all times.”

“Thank you. I look forward to meeting you again soon.” Your comlink clicked off, and Thrawn was gone once again.

You laid back down and allowed your mind to drift off to sleep, thoughts consumed by the mysterious Lieutenant Thrawn and your ‘date’ tomorrow.

You’d spent all day debating on whether or not to close the gallery and give Thrawn a private tour, and, eventually, you decided against it. It was never busy at this time of night anyway, and you didn’t want to appear too forward if you had in fact misinterpreted his intentions, and he really was here to only demonstrate his analytical abilities. Then came the matter of your outfit; he’d provided a rough estimation of his time of arrival, so you couldn’t exactly run off and change into something more ‘date-worthy’ before he arrived, but if you dressed in your regular work clothes then Thrawn may believe that this meeting was strictly business. After much deliberation, you’d settled on an in between that appeared professional, yet a little flirtatious.

Once that was sorted, all you had to do was wait. Many admirers came and went, as did the occasional interested buyer, yet the minutes passed by slowly as you anxiously anticipated his arrival. Normally, you would consider yourself a fairly confident, collected individual, if somewhat an overthinker, but in comparison to Thrawn? You felt almost neurotic.

Although he’d spent almost a full day now preoccupying your mind, all coherent thoughts dissipated out of your head once he finally stepped into your gallery. He was precisely on time, and wearing simple black garments that had presumably been issued to him by the Empire upon his admission into the academy. From what Colonel Yularen had said, Thrawn had been practically discovered by the Empire, as his home planet was not in a region familiar to you. He also hadn’t mentioned what species he was; at first guess he appeared to be Pantoran, yet his glowing red eyes suggested otherwise. You made a mental note to ask him at some point this evening. Furthermore, you realised he actually hadn’t told you his last name -or maybe he hadn’t told you his first name? As your lack of true knowledge about the man who stood in front of you became more and more apparent, it began to feel like an incredibly stupid idea to invite him here.

Though, it was too late to do anything about that now. I guess I’ll have to make sure I learn everything I didn’t think to ask, you thought as you approached him. His expression was indecipherable, as, you began to suspect, it always was.

“Welcome, Thrawn. May I call you that, or is that your surname? I didn’t think to ask yesterday.” You bit the bullet and chewed your way through the awkward question.

“It is Mitth'raw'nuruodo. My native language is Cheunh, and Chiss is the name of my species.” He broke eye contact and looked around at the gallery, and you did the same. Currently, it was just the two of you in there. “May I ask how you came to acquire the gallery and its pieces?”

Though, Thrawn didn’t appear to find it awkward at all. Your eyes locked, and that same small smile you identified the night before appeared on his face. “Yes, you may call me Thrawn. That is my core name, as Chiss names can be difficult for many species to pronounce.”

“Ah, I understand. May I hear it anyway? And, is Chiss the name of your language then?” You asked delicately, although Thrawn appeared unbothered by your questions.

“Well, I’ve had a passion for art since I was very little, both painting and admiring it. I practiced as much as I could with every bit of free time I had, and I took any even remotely artistic jobs. If a neighbour wanted their walls painted, I’d do it for free and they’d let me keep any leftover paint afterwards. All of my money went towards buying canvases, sketchbooks, paint, brushes, even spray cans. Sometimes I’d even spray paint murals, though I think everyone else saw that as graffiti and vandalism rather than art.” You paused, and the two of you locked eyes again. He was listening intently, so you decided to continue on. “Anyway, as I got older I’d sell my paintings, but it didn’t provide enough money for me to live on, so I begged Zena, the old owner of the gallery, to give me a job here. I did small things at first, like sweeping floors and cleaning picture frames, but eventually I got to lead tours and meet with other artists. When she retired, she left the place to me, and here we are now.”

Thrawn paused for a few moments, as though he was fully taking in and understanding your words. “How fascinating. Do you still paint now?” Thrawn began to walk slowly towards the closest painting on display.

“Yes, whenever I have any inspiration or time.” You followed close behind, intently watching his focused stare on the painting in front of him.

He then turned back to you, and stopped just before the painting. “Is any on display? May I see it?” He questioned.

“No, it’s all in the back in our studio. Plus, I’ve never fought any kind of battle in my life, so I doubt you’re going to be able to observe any military tactics from my paintings.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Many do not realise exactly what their artwork can reveal about themselves or their culture as a whole. So, although you may have never fought before, I could look at your work and anticipate your possible movements and strategies if we were to engage in battle, whether that be in a ship or in hand to hand combat. I have demonstrated it in this particular way once previously with a friend.”

He noticed the slightly apprehensive look on your face, and smiled. “Of course, we do not have to fight. That would not be very typical behaviour on a date, would it?”

#thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #mitth'raw'nuruodo #star wars #fanfic

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strawberry-jammers · 3 years ago

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choir and kisses

a niki x reader school au, where there in choir together and have a project to work on. maybe they kiss? maybe

this baisically inspired my school au tbh

masterlist

Niki sat in her choir class, exhausted from her previous class. The kids were just too much to be around and didn't have the mental strength to deal with them sometimes. She opened her choir folder, putting it on her stand.

“Yo niki, you good?'' Wilbur says, sitting down next to her. “I'm fine, but Wilbur, you're not in this class. I thought you were in orchestra.” she answers, looking at the tall man. “I am, I just don't have a class right now so I decided to visit you.” niki nodded. “Oh right, seniors have free hours sometimes.” he nodded at niki’s statement, opening his phone. “Texting sally?” niki asks, making Wilbur blush. “No no I'm not.” niki laughs, turning to the front of the room when the bell rings.

“Alright everyone, we will be doing a group project today! Your gonna do a presentation of a musical and then sing a duet together! Your partners are posted on google classroom.” niki opened her phone, seeing who she was partnered with. Wilbur just sighed, staring at niki. “Mind if i hang with you and your partner?” wilbur asks. Niki nodded. “Yeah its fine. Seems like I'm partnered with your sibling!” wilbur just started laughing. “What are you laughing at?” he calmed down slightly. “It's just that you have the biggest crush on them, it's gonna be so funny.” niki blushed. “I don't have a crush on them! We’re friends, I don't like them like that wilbur.” he just laughed at this. “Niki, your blushing!” niki huffed.

“Wilbur leave Nikki alone, besides we need to do work!” niki turned to see (y/n) yelling at their brother. “I'm still pissed at you for leaving me to deal with techno and tommy.” Wilbur laughs nervously. “I'll do your chores if you don't tell dad.” “deal!” (y/n) sits in the empty seat next to nikki.

“So, what musical do you want to do for the project? Note that we do have to do a duet.” (y/n) says, setting their folder down. “Maybe we could maybe do into the woods? It takes two isn't that hard of a song to do.” niki suggests. “Yeah, we can do that!” niki and (y/n) started to work on their presentation, getting what they needed before they had to leave for class. Wilbur occasionally budded in, bored out of his mind.

“Maybe you should have chosen a different class wilbs. Maybe bother tommy.” (y/n) says, listening to the song they were gonna do. “I dont wanna hang out with Tommy, he's always bothering me about my music.” he crosses his arms and sinks into his chair. “Oh calm down, he's just excited.” niki says, gathering information on her phone. “Niki, you don't have any siblings, shoosh.” niki just laughs.

Things went on like this, right until the class was nearly over. “Oh, niki, you should come over tonight to finish the project. We could practice the song as well!” (y/n) says, moving their chair for the orchestra class that was next. “Yeah, that would be great! I could come over after school?” niki asks. “Yeah, we can walk home together! Gotta make sure to leave Wilbur behind though, he would constantly complain if he were to come along.`` We laugh together. The bell soon rings. “Alright, see you after class ends!” (y/n) says, picking up their stuff. “See you then!” niki puts away her stuff and leaves soon after.

Class went on, (y/n) very excited that niki would be coming over, yet also very nervous. They knew Wilbur would just say something. (y/n) turned to techno, who was in their english class. “Techno, did you read the book we were supposed to read?” technoblade turned to them. “(y/n), this is the second time you're taking this class and you didn't read the book? Again?” (y/n) just glares at him. “I don't like the book, okay! Anyway, did you read it?” techno just sighs, nodding. (y/n) smiled. “Oh thank god! Okay, help me with the essay then.” techno agrees, knowing if they didn't pass, he would get in trouble for not helping.

After a half hour, the bell rings, signalling that school has ended. (y/n) picks up their things, heading to their locker. They see niki waiting for them there. “Did you get out of class early?” (y/n) asked, unlocking the locker. “Yeah, I asked the teacher and she said it was fine!” (y/n) shoves their things into their bag. “Well that's nice of her! Anyways, we better get moving or one of my brothers would force us to ride home with them.” niki nodded, closing (y/n)’s locker for them. They walked down the stairs, heading out of one of the school's many doors.

They walked home, talking about random things as they went along. “You ever think about getting run over when your crossing the road?” niki stared at (y/n), concerned at their comment. “No? Are you okay?” (y/n) nodded. “Yeah im fine.”

After ten minutes, they reach the minecrafts home, noticing that they weren't home yet. “Oh thank god, i forgot they had to pick up tubbo as well.” (y/n) says, opening the door. They both walked inside the dark home. “Im gonna get us some food, just head up to my room!” (y/n) says, taking off their shows and heading to the kitchen. “Alright!” niki says, taking of her own shoes and heading upstairs. Niki spotted a door that had the progressive flag on it. “Oh thats new!” niki says, entering (y/n)’s room. “Wow, their rooms changed since I was last here.

(y/n)’s room was painted (f/c), and had drawings and posters all over the room. They had a desk, with their pc and art stuff atop it. Their bed was unmade, having stuffed animals all over the place. Niki spotted a whale plushie seated on their pillow. “Aww they kept it!” niki had given it to them years ago, so she found it sweet that it was still there.

(y/n) soon came up, holding a bunch of snakes and some cokes. “Sorry this is all we had, tommy wont let us buy anything else.” (y/n) says, handing niki the coke. “Oh, that's alright!” they sit down on (y/n)’s bed. (y/n) sat their snakes on their desk, so as not to spill them all over.

“Okay, we need to actually put the presentation together. You have the notes right?” niki nodded, grabbing her phone while (y/n) sat at their pc, not too far from the pink haired girl. “Okay, so we have-” they did this for a while, niki reading the notes while (y/n) wrote them into the google slide. It soon got to the part where they had to sing their song.

“Okay, so I'll be the baker, and you can be the other one.” (y/n) says, opening the song for them to sing. “Okay, i can do that!'' They started the song, getting ready to sing.

“(Y/N) ARE YOU WITH YOUR GIRLFRIEND???” (y/n) stops the song. “I swear to god I will kill tommy. NO JACKASS, WE’RE NOT DATING!!” niki tries to stifle a laugh. “ARE YOU SURE????'' Tommy responds, still downstairs. (y/n) glares at the laughing niki. “Sorry sorry.” niki says, still laughing. “IM POSITIVE, NOW SHUT UP WE’RE TRYING TO DO SOMETHING!!'' Tommy responds immediately. “ARE YOU TWO HAVING SEX??” niki chokes on her own spit, while (y/n) blushes profusely. “OH THAT'S IT, COME HERE YOU LITTLE BITCH!!” (y/n) says, jumping out of their chair, running downstairs to attack the child. Niki leaves as well, wanting to see (y/n) beat up a child.

She comes down the stairs to see (y/n) putting Tommy in a choke hold while techno cheered them on. Niki stands next to techno.

"Apologize! I'll take your Cds if you don't!!!" "No no not my disks!!"

Niki turns towards techno. "Does this regularly happen?" Techno nodded as a response. Niki turned back, seeing Tommy try to bite (y/n). "OH STOP IT RACOON CHILD!!" philza soon comes In and breaks them apart. "Awwe my free entertainment.'' Techno says. "Oh calm down. Tommy, please stop annoying your sibling. This is why you get choked.” Tommy pouts. “Okay phil.” philza glares at the young child. “Also, (y/n), next time, just punch him in the throat. You've learned from techno.” “HEY!'' Tommy says, offended. (y/n) laughs, “okay, will do dadza. Oh, what time is it?” techno looked at his phone. “Its close to 9 pm.” (y/n) pouts, going over to niki and clinging onto her. “Noooo, it can't be her time to leave.” niki giggles, patting (y/n)’s head. “I have to leave. I'll come over soon, okay?” (y/n) nodds, letting go.

They go upstairs together, grabbing nikkis stuff. They go back downstairs to the front door. (y/n) and niki hug each other. “Are you coming back tomorrow?” (y/n) asked, letting go. “Yeah, we did never got to actually practice the song! I'll be over at 4 pm, like always.” (y/n) nodds. “Okay, well, see you tomorrow?” niki nodded, leaning over and kissing (y/n) on the cheek, making them blush. “Yep! See ya, bye!” she says, opening the door and closing it, leaving (y/n) a mess.

“Yep…” they say to themself, smiling happily. “YES!!!! I TOLD YOU THEIR GIRLFRIENDS!! PUSSY DIDN'T EVEN KISS HER THEMSELF HAHA!!” (y/n) turned around, running towards tommy. “COME BACK HERE AND SAY IT TO MY FACE YOU LITTLE BITCH!”

#niki nihachu x reader #niki nihachu #niki nihachu x you #niki nihachu x y/n #nihachu x reader #nihachu #mcyt x reader #school au #dreamsmp x reader

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ri-ahhh · 4 years ago

Text

good vibes

sometimes best friends get a little curious

warnings: badly written smut

***

“Gray, can you help me with this?”

Inspired by your best friend’s new affinity for minimalism, you had decided to clean out the junk drawer of your nightstand. You had been hit by one of those random whims to do something productive, and the mess in there had been bothering you for months.

But now, even though it’s practically empty and a good few pounds lighter after removing nearly all of its previous contents, you’re struggling to shove the damn thing back into the nightstand. The solid wood is heavy, and the high of accomplishing something is starting to wear off in wake of the frustration that the stupid thing just won’t go in. It’s like a reverse of the prank Jim pulled on Dwight when he jammed his drawers to only half open; yours will only half shut.

The final straw is when you pinch your finger between the drawer and the corner of the opening in the nightstand, and you let the whole thing fall to the floor with a heavy thump that your downstairs neighbors will most definitely not appreciate.

“Ow, fuck!” you exclaim, holding your finger with enough pressure to keep the throbbing at bay for a moment and to check if your nail broke. “Gray!”

A dark head peaks around the doorframe, handsome features drawn in concern. “What the hell are you doing?” he asks, stepping into your bedroom.

It always takes you by surprise somehow, how much space he takes up in here. He’s shirtless and still slightly sweaty, having taken advantage of your apartment gym while you did your cleaning thing.

You pout at him. “I need help.”

Grayson rolls his eyes and chuckles, glancing at the drawer on the ground as he puts two and two together. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says as he strides next to you and squats down so he’s level with the nightstand.

“Shut up,” you mumble, flushing as you suck the little spec of blood off your cuticle (the biggest casualty from your drawer mishap) and shove his giant, rounded shoulder with the other.

He barely budges, and squints at the open space. “There’s something stuck that must have fallen from the top drawer when you took this one out.”

Before you can even think to stop him, he’s pulling the top drawer — your underwear drawer — out of the nightstand now. And there, right where you left it that morning on top of a pile of skimpy lace and cotton, is your hot pink vibrator.

Grayson stares at it for a moment, and you can tell he’s processing what it is before smirking as you gasp and snatch it away from his curious gaze. “Nice.”

You scoff. “Don’t be gross. Girls masturbate too, Dolan.”

“I’m well aware,” he retorts, eyebrow raised at the way you’re hiding the object behind your back as if he’ll forget about it if he can’t see it. “Fingers don’t get the job done?”

You don’t think you’ve ever blushed this hard in your life. But, after all, it’s just Grayson — he’s your best friend. And, with his track list, there’s probably nothing the man hasn’t seen.

“I keep my nails too long,” you say with more confidence than you really have. “Plus it’s just... better.”

“I’ve never seen a girl use one in person,” he says. He looks at you and cocks his head. “You should show me.”

A purely instinctual bark of laughter escapes your lips. “In your dreams.”

“You are,” Grayson admits, his smile cocky but soft. “Way too often lately.”

You pause and consider that, your belly heating and head swimming momentarily at the idea that you might have some semblance of the same effect on him that he does you. “Only because we’ve been spending so much time together the past few weeks.”

“We can over-analyze the reasons later,” he says dismissively. “I’m serious, I’ve only seen these things in porn. I wanna see first hand what they do that I can’t.”

You can’t resist digging at him a little. “And here I thought fuckboy extraordinaire Grayson Dolan had seen it all.”

“I’m not a fuckboy,” he says pointedly. “That implies a certain level of shitty behavior that I don’t believe in.”

“Fair enough,” you concede with a shrug. You really look at him for a moment, and much like the urge to clean, a similarly sudden wave of “fuck it” overtakes you. You bring the vibrator back into sight, and watch him look at it curiously again. “You’re telling me you’ve really never had one of your little girlfriends use this with you in the room?”

“Nope, I swear,” he says with an insistent shake of his head, hazel eyes wide as he realizes you’re maybe about to actually agree to his suggestion. “Please?”

Are you really about to say yes to this? You take in his shirtless self, muscles bulging from their recent exertion, skin a leftover honey bronze from the summer, eyes warm, lips pink and inviting...

An idea hits you.

“Fine,” you say, crossing your arms and smirking up at him. “But you have to do it with me. Jerk off, I mean. It’s not fair if I show you mine but you don’t show me yours.”

His arched brows shoot up into his flop of hair with surprise, but it only takes him a second for a wide, crooked smile to break across those lips you were just admiring. “Deal.”

You roll your eyes, but the grin won’t leave your lips. “That was way too easy.”

“What can I say? I have no shame,” Grayson shrugs, dropping the drawer he was still holding onto your bed. He reaches down and picks up your favorite leopard-print thong, letting it dangle from two of his thick fingers. “These are cute, by the way.”

“Don’t push your luck here,” you warn, only half-joking; you’re still a little cautious about this whole plan, no matter what your pussy is telling you right now at the thought of seeing Grayson completely naked.

He follows you without question out to the living room. You choose the couch rather than your bed for a couple of reasons. Easier to see. Less intimacy. He can take his pick of which one he wants to think was your driving force behind it.

You settle on one end of the couch, and he the other. You’re surprised to see the half-hard outline of him already through his sweats, and it’s truly pathetic how fast it has you clenching your thighs together.

“How do we start?” you ask, head tossed back with an embarrassed, breathless giggle. Your toes wiggle next to his against the middle seat cushion. “I didn’t think this far.”

When you look back at him, Grayson is staring at you with a surprising intensity. He’s got a palm over his sweats, right over his dick, and your eyes are drawn there for a hot, sticky second. His hand itself is turning you on, wide and veined and masculine.

“Let’s talk,” he finally says, drawing hour gaze back to his handsome face. “What do you like?”

“What do I like?”

“Yeah. Like... what’s your favorite position?”

You’re catching on. It’s not the most conventional dirty talk, but the simplicity in just learning these new things about him so casually is kind of hot in its own right. The thought alone makes your nipples tighten behind your shirt — his shirt, you’re just now realizing.

You hope he can see them through the thin white fabric as you answer, “Doggy.”

“Mm.” The corner of his lips turn up in a quick smirk and his hand starts to move over his crotch in slow strokes. “I think I like missionary most, to be honest. The kind where I’ve got her legs pushed back or over my shoulders. Super deep. Eye contact. All that.”

Fuck. “So we’re opposites,” you grin, and to Grayson’s visible approval you allow your legs to open some — his eyes zero in on your center, hidden beneath your tiny sleep shorts. “Do you eat pussy? I can’t get the vibe if you do or don’t.”

He looks genuinely offended, and pauses the motion of his hand, eyes meeting yours again. “Of course I do. Wait, do you really get the impression that I wouldn’t?”

You shrug and drop a palm to rest low on your belly. “I just have it on good authority that Ethan does it very well and very willingly. And you guys are so opposite. You just never know.”

Grayson deadpans you, his breathing picking up along with the movement of his hand again. “Are you asking me to eat you out? Because that sounds like a challenge you know I can’t refuse.”

“No. I like the idea of being your first ‘something,’” you say. Grayson’s dark eyes glance to the object in question clutched in the grasp of one hand, then follow the fingertips of your other as they start to trail lightly across your waistband. The heat of his gaze makes your pussy throb, and you’re actually getting more and more excited about this. “And I thought tonight was about what you can’t do.”

“Tonight, maybe. But then there’s always tomorrow,” he says, voice low and gruff. He squeezes his dick through his pants and growls a little. “Fuck. Can we — fuck, your tits look so cute in my shirt. And it’s taking everything in me not to rip off those damn shorts.”

“You wanna see my pussy?” you ask in an almost-whisper, lip caught between your teeth. His words and the neediness behind them flood you with confidence and desire. The vibrator is warm and heavy and apparent in your hand, calling your name as your body heats steadily at the sight and sound of Grayson a mere six feet from you.

“As much as you wanna see my dick,” he counters, and his fingers finally hook teasingly in his own elastic waistband.

You’ll feed his ego, if that’s what he wants. You’d expect nothing less from him — and, to be fair, he’s not wrong.

“That must be a lot, then,” you say, and then you’re both pulling down your pants and underwear until you’re naked from the waist down and he is completely.

Your legs close shyly once your bottoms are discarded to the floor, the hand cupping your pussy trapped between your thighs. You’re nervous again for a few seconds, but then you see his cock wrapped loosely in his big fist, and you can’t help but relax again.

Dicks are ugly, in a general sense, but not Grayson’s, you think. Long and thick, ridged on the shaft and swollen at the tip. You instantly think about what it would taste like, or feel like buried inside you. Because he’s definitely got the vibrator beat in that department.

“Lemme see,” he murmurs.

You take a deep breath and obey, knees still bent but parted as you move your hand from completely covering your center to tracing the smooth skin with your middle finger. Grayson groans, and his hand leaves his dick long enough for him to spit in it for lubrication when he instantly returns it there.

“I can see how wet you are,” he says, and you wonder if he’s even talking to you or just making an observation.

You answer him anyway. “You have a nice dick.” Your fingers migrate to your clit, and you twitch with a little gasp. “Big. I always kinda wondered if you were just compensating.”

“Of course not,” he grins, and it just makes him way too sexy. His teeth gleaming in the low light of your living room, tattoos covering his legs — one of them bent on the couch and the other planted firmly on the floor, muscles hard... you don’t even realize you’re sucking your fingers into your mouth so they’re nice and wet when you bring them back to your clit to start rubbing slow circles in time with the strokes he’s giving his cock.

“Damn,” Grayson mutters. His eyes are wide and fixated on your pussy, and his hand starts moving quicker. The beats of his chest pick up, too. “Can you use it now? Please?”

You nod, starting to feel desperate for release yourself. You push the button a couple of times until the silicone buzzes to life on a medium setting; there’s enough teasing going on between you and Gray, and you don’t need anything other than a good, steady vibe to help get you to the edge.

“This isn’t gonna last long,” you admit, gasping when you trace it against your pussy so it can become coated in your arousal.

If Grayson responds, you don’t hear it, because as soon as you directly stimulate your clit with the vibrator, your mind is going blank as you moan wantonly. Definitely not going to last long.

He speaks, and your eyes open at the sound of his gravelly voice. They lock first on the rapid pumps of his fist over his cock, then on his face with his brows drawn and his jaw clenched.

“Feel good?”

“Really good,” you whimper, tugging on your nipple through your shirt with your free hand. “God, you’re so hot, Gray.”

“Yeah?” His voice turns a little whiny in the sexiest way possible, but still low and a hardwire to your pussy. “You’re fuckin beautiful. Can’t believe I get to see you like this.”

You moan quietly and press a little harder with the vibrator and finding the perfect spot with the perfect pressure. Your back arches and you instinctively fling a hand behind your head to find a grip on the back cushion of the couch. “Fuck!”

“Oh, shit, are you really gonna cum already?” Grayson asks in disbelief.

You whine out mindlessly in affirmation. Your breaths come sharper, you moans higher pitched. The wet noise of Grayson’s fist moving faster and faster on his cock prompts you to let your eyes open to watch him, and all it takes for you to fall over the edge is to watch him watch you.

Your legs shake and you whine pretty moans as the continuous vibrations drag out your orgasm perfectly. You come down just in time to hear the rough groan and raspy grunts of Grayson cumming too, and open your eyes to the glorious sight of his head tossed back so his thick neck is open and begging to be sucked on. His balls are drawn tight, abs clenching, fingers and chest painted with white streaks that you’re kind of sad you missed.

Something tells you this might not be your only chance to see it happen, though.

You turn off your vibrator when you become far too sensitive to take any more and toss it to the side. Your body slumps into the couch cushions, and the room is silent other than both of your heavy breathing for what feels like ages as you both come down.

Grayson shifts at the end of the couch, and it prompts you to do the same. You reach to the floor for your shorts and pull them hastily back up your legs, mind still hazy as you sit up and tuck your legs beneath you. You stare at him unashamedly, not feeling nearly as awkward as you think you should, all things considered.

Gray pulls his underwear on, and reaches his hand out to you. You take it with a sheepish little grin, and let him pull you closer.

“So, be honest, was it really the vibrator that made you cum that fast, or did I have any part of that?”

You laugh and slap his chest playfully. “Maybe when I find out what your mouth can do, I’ll consider you competition for the vibrator. You need to be knocked down a peg or two, Dolan.”

“Hm. Well, like I said, we always have tomorrow.”

#literally no one in my inbox #so i took it upon myself to write this on a whim #its v bad and im sorry #dolan twins #grayson dolan #blurb #g blurb

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jalapeno-princess · 4 years ago

Text

Body Language

Mark Tuan X Reader

Genre: The most adorable fluff I have ever written with some first time sex (the smut in here is so vanilla and soft and terrible but I don’t even care at this point lol)

Word Count: 14.5K

Summary: You and your boyfriend Mark had plans to go out on a date until the two of you find out that it is expected to rain for the rest of the night. What starts off as a romantic night in turns in to finally becoming one with the love of your life.

Warnings: Oral (male and female receiving), fingering, breast play

A/N: Hey guys! If I am being completely honest, this is one of my favorite stories I’ve ever written because Mark is such a soft, fluffy and doting boyfriend in here (and I feel with my entire ass that he is like this in real life) and I don’t know but I just find it so cute when boyfriends are considerate of their partner’s desires to wait for sex (it’s rare but if a man really loves you he will wait for however long you need him to)(it’s even more rare when he puts your pleasure before his own but there are men out there and I still have yet to find one like that but one day)(@God...When?) by the way, this is based on the song “Teach me how to love” by Shawn Mendes, I highly recommend that you listen to the song before or while reading this so it makes more sense. Happy reading!

Ooh, your body's like an ocean I'm devoted To explore you Ooh, what do you desire? I'm inspired I'll do it for you

Won't you draw a map for me? Laced with strawberries And I'll get on my knees Put my hands around you Ooh, teach me how to Touch you, tease, caress you, and please you Teach me how to love Put my hands around you Ooh, teach me how to Touch you, tease, caress you, and please you Teach me, teach me, teach me how to love

“Thank you for tuning in to Good Evening Los Angeles. Make sure to stay indoors tonight for there is a 80% chance of rainfall with winds up to 25 miles per hour. We’re also expecting a thunderstorm on Wednesday with winds between 30 to 35 miles per hour—“

Mark released an exasperated sigh once he heard the weather forecast and was quick to change the channel in disappointment.

“Well, I guess there goes our plans for tonight. We haven’t gone out on a date in almost an entire month because we’re both so busy, I really wanted to take you to that new sushi restaurant but I guess it’s just going to have to wait.”

You giggled softly at his now upset demeanor and took this time to snuggle up closer to his body if it was even physically possible. Your bodies were practically glued together to the point where you could feel his heart beat against your chest.

His arms were wrapped protectively around your waist as he was propped up against his headboard with you lying on top of him, legs on either side of his lap—hiding your face in the crook of his neck. Right after you returned home from work a little over two hours ago, Mark suggested that you took a quick nap to regain some energy before you both went out to dinner later that night.

For the last week and a half, he’s been planning to take you out on a date and claimed that there was something he had to tell you. Being the impatient person that you were on top of overthinking quite often, you begged him to confess what was weighing heavy on his mind, but he would always try to change the subject and told you not to worry about it.

As much as you were dying to know what he was hiding from you, you knew Mark like the back of your hand—if it was something bad, he would have told you already so you just had to accept that he was going to tell you on his own time; even if it meant having to wait another week until the both of you could go out on a date again.

He was quick to give you one of his shirts and a pair of sweatpants to change in to—this was a regular occurrence. For the last six months of your relationship, the two of you spent quite a lot of time at each other’s places. A lot of your stuff was scattered throughout his apartment; he purchased both your shampoo and conditioner, body wash, a toothbrush and some other beauty products that were currently sitting on the bathroom counter—your side to be exact.

There were a few of your clothes in his closet, but you never got around to using them. Whenever you would sleep over, he’d lend you some of his clothes because he claimed almost every item he owned looked amazing on you. You had a few of your work sandals and flats on his shoe rack, some of your vitamins and medication on his kitchen counter and he even purchased Disney+ because you were such a fan of Disney movies.

Your place mirrored his; he had set up an Xbox in your living room to play with when he did come over, he had some of his clothes in your closet and in your drawers; some that he left there and some you would secretly take over time. He left a few of his rings and a necklace his parents gave to him on your dresser and he’d even bring his briefcase over if he had plans on staying the night.

Sometimes, your mutual friends would hint towards the two of you moving in together since technically, you already did. However, Mark never really said anything about it and you just assumed that he believed it was still too early in your relationship to move in together.

You thought about it every now and then; you wouldn’t mind going to bed wrapped tightly in his warm, protective embrace and getting to wake up next to him in all his handsome glory every single day. Any moment spent with your boyfriend made you always feel so happy; Mark had to be one of the best things in your life at the moment.

Your heart craved his presence all the time—even when the two of you had a small argument or disagreement which never happened all too often. Whenever the two of you couldn’t hang out and spend time together—if your schedules collided or if either of you went home to visit your families, your chest would always feel so empty.

Mark Tuan is where you held your heart; the both of you might not have been together for all that long just yet, but you felt and believed wholeheartedly that he was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. You could only hope he felt the same way about you because you honestly didn’t know what you would do if you were to lose him. Mark in more or less words was your soulmate—your best friend.

From the time you were a little girl, you were such a hopeless romantic. You were in love with the idea of love and being in love and it wasn’t until Mark came in to your life did you realize how beautiful the concept of love really was. He’s opened your eyes to so many different things; he’s brought in so much life and color in to your dull and seemingly black and white world. You placed a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth—trying to take his mind off of the unfortunate weather situation and thankfully, it worked.

He smiled against your lips, humming gently and deepening the kiss as he brought his fingers in to your shirt and grazed them just above your belly button.

“That’s fine baby, we can just stay in tonight. If I’m being honest, I didn’t really feel like getting ready or dressing up. I just want to be lazy. We can order some take out and watch another movie if that’s okay with you.”

He was silent for a few seconds, as if he was considering your suggestion to follow what the weather reporter said and stay inside for the night. He nodded in agreement before placing a sweet kiss on your forehead.

“That sounds like a plan. I don’t care where we are or what we end up doing, I just want to be with you.” You playfully flicked his forehead and giggled at his look of confusion.

“You’re such a cheeseball Mark. Don’t say things like that, you don’t understand what your words do to my heart. What do you feel like eating tonight?”

You repositioned your body and sat right on top of his lap so that he could look at your phone while you scrolled through the many take out options that California had to offer. He placed his chin on your shoulder; watching as you searched up restaurants and fast food joints near his apartment. Feeling his breath against your neck sent a tingling sensation to your chest; it wasn’t like you weren’t used to the proximity.

You and Mark clung to one another like sloths. If you were cooking, washing the dishes or doing laundry, he’d always take his place behind you and allowed you to do your thing, but he had to be holding you at all times. He confessed that he just loved the feeling of having you near; your presence always calmed him down and made him feel at ease.

However, he seemed to be quite touchy tonight in particular, not that you were complaining. His hands were lingering in foreign places; the two of you had yet to become one in that sense. Since Mark was your first genuine boyfriend, you had yet to give yourself to anyone.

It wasn’t as though you were waiting for marriage or anything, but you were the type of person who believed that sex was a spiritual, sensual and memorable experience as much as it was sexual. You wanted to save your virginity for someone you knew would love you and cherish you for your entire being; not just your body.

Sex to some people was a way to receive pleasure and to soothe their carnal urges—but you believed that it was so much more than reaching an orgasm. You wanted to trust the person you decided to give your body to and you were more than grateful that Mark was so patient, considerate and understanding of your feelings.

Not once did he ever ask you to go that far with him; he made it known that he wanted to take your relationship at the pace that you were most comfortable with. Although you were sure it had to be hard for him to stay abstinent, especially because it was scientifically proven that men had their needs and desired sex more than women did; he continued to be such a gentleman and allowed you to determine when you were ready to give yourself to him.

It didn’t take you long to realize that you were in love with your boyfriend; actually, you noticed that your feelings for Mark went further than just infatuation around the beginning of the second month. The two of you had yet to say that four letter word though; it almost slipped from your lips a couple of times, but you were afraid of rejection if you were to tell him only to find out that he didn’t reciprocate your fame feelings.

As the days went by, you were soon losing your resolve. Seeing him shirtless almost every day, kissing him passionately and making out with him fervently, having him drag his fingers along your bare skin—each and every touch drove you closer to your end. You knew you’d have to have him one of these days; and with the way you’d feel him harden up against your butt or your thigh as the two of you would cuddle or the way his jaw would drop and clench when he’d see you in a body hugging dress or even in one of his baggy shirts, you knew he was just as on the brink of insanity as you were.

“Hmm, pizza sounds good—“

“We always get pizza—“

“Well, that’s because I love pizza. Almost as much as I love y—yogurt. Uh—fine, we can get whatever it is that you want. How about you decide what we eat and I’ll pick out a movie for us?”

You could feel your heart rate increase immensely as you heard the l word fall from his lips—but your stomach sank when he caught himself. Was he going to finally confess what you’ve been dreaming of him to say since the day you realized you felt that way toward him? Did he really love yogurt? Or did he catch himself about to say the only thing that the two of you have been prolonging on getting around to and try to redirect the entire conversation so that maybe you could forget about it?

Luckily you weren’t facing him or else he’d be able to see the frown that quickly rose on your face. You continued to look at different menus for a few more minutes as he pulled up Netflix and began to scan through the many different shows and movies there were.

“Oooh, what about Thai food? It’s been a while since we’ve had pad Thai. We can share multiple entrees if you want?” You felt him hum against your shoulder blade and you took that as a yes before calling in your order.

“Should we wait for the food before putting on a movie? Or shall we watch a tv show for now and just wait for it to arrive?”

“I’m fine with waiting, there’s a new episode of buzzfeed unsolved that I’ve been wanting to watch. Is that okay with you?” He placed a kiss on the back of your neck and began to graze both of his thumbs on your hip bones.

“I like the sound of that. I’m glad you waited for me—you always have a habit of being impatient and watching without me—ow, what was that for? You know it’s true y/n. You finished an entire season of The Office while I was in Taiwan.”

He rubbed the left side of his abdomen where you had hit him and playfully pinched your cheek. Your mind wandered back to that day three months ago; his entire family went to China in order to attend his cousin’s wedding and it was the first time the two of you went over a week without seeing each other physically. He called you whenever he had the chance and tried to send you as many photos of his trip as the terrible service in Taiwan allowed him to.

In order to take your mind off of his absence, you sneakily watched some episodes of your favorite show even after promising to wait for him to come back. You tried to watch other series, but nothing really entertained you like the cast of the office did. Mark was pretty upset when he found out—you forgot that Netflix showed you where you last left off and it was on an episode he had yet to see.

Hell, he had multiple episodes to finish of the previous season to even start on the one you currently were watching. He gave you the silent treatment for two days; although, he still continued to take care of you silently—but he willingly gave in on the third day after you cooked him some of his favorite meals to get him to forgive you. He also claimed that he couldn’t stay mad at you for much longer and he could tell you learned your lesson by how apologetic you were in order to get him to start talking to you again.

From that day on, he made you promise him that you wouldn’t watch anything without him and the entire memory made you snicker. Mark was twenty-seven years old, yet he still acted like a child. Even his laugh was that of a little kid; you didn’t think it was possible for a man his age to have such an adorable, contagious and high pitched laugh that never failed to send warmth to your cheeks every time you were the cause of it.

His laughter and child-like mindset were only two of the many things you appreciated about your boyfriend. He was like a breath of fresh air—he never took life too seriously as most of the people around you did. He kept you sane in a world where everyone was seemingly crazy because of how hectic the real world could get. Both his and your laughter filled the room as Steve Carrell’s character was freaking out about something and soon, there was a knock at the door which you assumed was the delivery guy.

“I’ll be right back babe.”

He gently lifted you off of his lap in order for him to get up and stole a chaste kiss from your lips while making his way to the front door. You decided to grab some napkins and chopsticks from the kitchen and waited for him to head back to his room.

“Shit, how much did we order, this bag is heavy as hell.”

You couldn’t help but stifle back a laugh and led the way back to his room. He placed the food down on the bed and you began to distribute food on both your plates—all the while thanking him for buying the food. To say Mark was generous was an understatement.

He loved buying things for you no matter how many times you’d tell him to save his money for things he’d actually need. Sometimes, the two of you would fight over who was going to pay; most of the time, he would give his card—whether it was at a restaurant, while you’d go grocery shopping together; if you went to watch a movie or went to the arcade, if you went shopping for new clothes or just random trinkets he’d see that he thought you’d like, he’d purchase it in a heartbeat.

Mark just really enjoyed seeing a smile on your face and he would do whatever he could just to make you happy. You tried to tell him time and time again that you weren’t a materialistic person, truthfully—he could write you a heartfelt letter or give you a ring pop and you would probably cry. But he’d never listen and you just got used to his generosity over time; it just showed you how much you meant to him and knowing that alone did wonders to your heart.

Even if you had given him his own share of what you ordered, he’d playfully steal some food off of your plate just to rile you up. Mark was well aware of how protective you could be when it came to your food. There were times when you felt like sharing with him, but that was only if you both got different meals and he wanted to try yours or if you so happened to be eating and felt bad that he didn’t have any food.

He did feed you to make up for his many bits of teasing and you could feel your heart flutter every time he brought the chopstick full of noodles up to your mouth. When you were both done and full beyond belief, he took the empty bag and went to go throw it away while you prepared the area for you to both get comfortable in.

Once he was finished putting away the left overs and taking out the trash, he made a beeline to where you were and flung himself on top of you; earning himself a loud groan and a punch to the shoulder. He was quick to pull you back in to the previous position; allowing you to sit in between his legs while he intertwined one of your hands with his and placed his free one on top of your lap.

“I was thinking we could watch that Ted Bundy movie since you were interested about his case back when they did an unsolved mystery about it.”

Mark was always great at observing people; since he was more on the introverted and soft spoken side, he was more of a listener than he was a talker. For the last month, you’ve taken an interest in murder mysteries and solving crimes.

You had the adorable tendency to repeatedly tell Mark your theories or who you suspected the killer was while you watched these shows and your excitement never failed to bring your boyfriend so much satisfaction himself. For some reason, you were beginning to feel warmth in your chest—it wasn’t the kind that you’d always seem to get whenever Mark would compliment you or did something to make your heart flutter. This was a feeling you couldn’t fathom in to words—it was one you weren’t familiar with, but it did feel good.

Really good.

Maybe it was just because hearing him point out such a small detail that he remembered set it in stone that he really did care about you. God, what did you do to deserve such a wonderful human being to call your boyfriend? What war did you lead in your past life to be the lucky girl who was able to love Mark Tuan? For the first hour of the movie, you found yourself unable to take your eyes off of the screen—it was just so addicting.

Not only was the acting really good from both the main characters, but the storyline and the suspense was too interesting to pull your attention away from. Mark had to cover your mouth with his hand because you were unable to stop talking about how stupid the justice system were to believe Ted’s lies in the first place and that if you were a detective at the time, you would have seen through his act from the beginning.

“He’s not even that good looking, why would these girls fall for him?”

He snickered against your neck at your enthusiasm; you would always be very verbal when it came to movies like this. Movies where you would put yourself in the shoes of one of the characters and explain in to detail to your boyfriend how you would have went about the entire situation.

Unfortunately, you failed to notice the warning at the beginning; you were too excited with the idea of how the director and all the screenwriters came up with the movie in it’s entirety to read that there was explicit sexual content in the film. When Zac Efron and one of his love interests began to have sex up against a vending machine, you were unprepared to say the least for what was coming.

The female’s moans were extremely loud and Zac’s thrusts were rough; the two of them were practically shaking the vending machine and you were feeling flustered at the sight and the noise. Especially because you were watching such a graphic scene with your boyfriend who you had yet to have sexual intercourse with. If you and Mark were to have had sex already, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt so awkward watching other people having sex. But because you had yet to participate in that activity, it just felt so weird.

Mark began to tense up against your body and before you knew it, there was something hard pressing up against your ass. You weren’t stupid, you could tell that this scene was having an effect on your boyfriend as much as it was on you. There was a tingling sensation between your thighs; you’ve felt it a couple of times before, but now that you were watching a sex scene and found yourself growing hot at every thrust and curse of how good it felt, you had a huge feeling you were turned on—but it wasn’t because of the two people fucking, it’s because of the beautiful boy whose embrace you were currently in.

To your dismay, the scene seemed as if it was going on for hours—it’s as though you were now watching a porno and you honestly didn’t know how to feel about it. You couldn’t see his face, but you could tell by his now clammy hands and the way he was slowly retracting himself away from you, that Mark was having a hard time watching—especially because he probably wanted to be doing the same thing they were and you couldn’t blame him, you wanted it too.

“Babe, I um—I’ll be right back. I have to uh—use the bathroom—y/n, what are you—holy shit—“

Whether it was because you were exceedingly horny at this point and wanted to give in to finally experience what so many people referred to as their favorite past times, or because seeing the woman on screen beg Zac to fuck her harder made you want to feel exactly what it was that drove her to the point of cursing and begging for him to go faster. You also wanted to use this as your way to nonverbally confess your love to him.

You were a coward; there was no way you’d be able to tell him that four letter word without knowing that he felt the same exact way, so you were going to wait for as long as you had to. Surprising both yourself and your boyfriend, you brought your hands down to his clothed erection and began to palm him through his sweats.

He was hard as a rock; just feeling him made your breath hitch. You had no idea what you were doing, this was another reason why you’ve tried so long to prolong having sex with him; you knew he had previous girlfriends and although he never talked much about that part of his past life, you were sure he must have had a few one night stands and you were afraid that you wouldn’t be able to give him the pleasure he desired—the pleasure he deserved.

However, watching his head tilt back as you shoved your hand in to his pants in order to actually feel him without the restraints of his clothing, you had a huge feeling you were doing something right.

“B—babe, baby—fuck, just like that y/n. That feels so good. Ahhh—“

You pulled down his sweats to give yourself better access to his lower region and did him a favor by pulling him out of his briefs. The sight of his cock standing right at attention; the tip red and leaking precum made your mouth water. You’ve never watched porn before and the closest you got to seeing Mark naked was when he’d come outside in just a towel right after he would take a shower—so this was the first time you’ve ever seen a penis. Well, other than what your high school health teacher showed in class.

From what your friends would tell you, penises were ugly. But then again, genitalia in general was not the prettiest sight. Maybe you were being biased because he was your boyfriend, but his cock was very pretty. Was that even possible? You had no clue at all, but what you did know was that you wanted to feel him inside of your mouth and inside of your pussy.

“Mark.”

He was quick to look down at you and with the way he was gazing at you; with so much adoration, yet lust in his eyes, you knew that tonight was going to be the night you gave yourself to him. You couldn’t wait anymore; you needed him.

“Yeah?”

You took in a deep breath; suddenly nerves began to build up and you had a hard time understanding why, but you found yourself fondling his balls against the thin cotton material.

“I’m ready. I want you. I want all of you Mark. I need you—I trust you. I’m all yours if you’ll have me baby.”

He was at a loss for words; were you really telling him that you wanted to finally have sex with him? You giggled softly at his blank expression; he must have had been processing what you just told him, but when it finally registered in his mind, you were being pulled up to his level and he smashed your lips together.

The kiss was rough; he was allowing his hormones to act for him and you were extremely thankful for it. In the past, the two of you had many passionate make out sessions which usually ended with Mark giving you an excuse as to why he had to leave early or why he took so long in the bathroom. Now, it all made sense.

“Shit, are you sure baby? Fuck—I’m so excited, please excuse my swearing but fuck—I promise you, I’m going to take such good care of you okay? You don’t understand how long I’ve been dreaming about this day. Your body—God spent a lot of time creating you. I lose my damn mind every single day watching you walk out in these tight little outfits and in my clothes and it takes every single bone in my body not to just say fuck it and have my way with you. You’re so fucking beautiful y/n, every single thing about you is mesmerizing. You’re one of the seven wonders of the world—I would stare at you all day if time allowed me to. Everything about you—your personality, your strength, your courage, your passion and dedication to every single activity and job you put your heart and mind in to—you’re simply perfect baby and I can’t wait to show you exactly what you mean to me. I’m going to warn you right now, I’m not a mind reader unfortunately, so I can’t tell what you’re thinking. I’m going to need you to tell me what feels good, what hurts, what feels uncomfortable, what you like—just be vocal okay baby? I want your experience to be mind blowing. I want this night to be one you will remember for a very long time.”

You bit your lip at his words—you knew you were making the right decision in allowing Mark to be the person to take your innocence away. He already was the rightful owner of your heart, so you saw no harm in giving him the entirety of your being.

There was nobody else in the entire world that you saw yourself with—Mark was it for you. You came to the decision months ago that you wanted Mark to be the first person you experienced going all the way with and you could only hope and pray he’d be the last and only person.

He pulled you on to his lap and reconnected his lips with yours—grinding your clothed core against his naked sex. His fingers were squeezing all but gently on your lower waist as he guided your grinding—a breathy moan left his lips practically every ten seconds. If you thought hearing your boyfriend laugh was your favorite sound in the entire world, his moans and growls against your jaw had to be pretty high on that list also.

“Mark—babe—I want to suck you off.” He quickly pulled his lips away from yours and his eyes widened in shock at your sudden confession.

“W—what—you want to—you want to suck me off—who are you and what did you do to my sweet, innocent girl y/n? Where did you get such a potty mouth babe?”

“I don’t know, seeing your cock did things to me. You’re huge—is that even going to fit in either of my holes?”

Mark tried to cover up his mouth to prevent himself from laughing more than he should, but you were just so adorably naïve that he couldn’t help himself. You didn’t know what the average size; length and width of a penis was, but Mark had to be around 6.5 to 7 inches in length and his girth was thick. You looked at him and pouted slightly; you were only ruining the night the longer you continued to indirectly hint towards your lack of experience. What if he was laughing because he already knew you’d have no idea what you’d be doing if you did end up blowing him off.

Apparently receiving head was something a lot of guys enjoyed most about sexual intercourse—so you wanted to do that for Mark as your way of thanking him for being such a perfect boyfriend. For never failing to supply you with everything that you need, for making you laugh on the days that you didn’t think you were able to do anything but cry, for picking you up and dropping you off to work when he had the time, for comforting you when you had a rough day by preparing you a bath and making you a cup of tea—you just wanted him to know that you were aware and extremely appreciative of his many sacrifices, how he was so quick to tend to your needs and how he’d drop everything to be by your side.

He didn’t have to say it; you knew deep in your heart that Mark loved you just by his doting actions. But you were hoping that maybe one day, he’d finally say those three words you’ve been dying to hear from the first time he kissed you.

“Yes, it will fit. How the hell are you so cute when asking to give me head? You can’t be real—fuck, hearing you ask to suck my dick is something I’ll never get used to but shit—I think I could come just by hearing you talk dirty. You’re so fucking sexy—please—blow me baby.”

You stole one more sweet kiss from his soft lips and got down on your knees; you were level with his cock and you wrapped your hand around his length, earning yourself a breathy sigh.

“I um—I don’t know what I’m doing, so do you think you could guide me?” He gave you an adoring smile while gathering all your hair and putting it in to a makeshift ponytail.

“You’re going to want to lubricate me just a little bit so it’ll be easier for you to take me in your mouth—so you can either spit on me or lick the sides of my dick and—holy—s—shit—just like that—oh—“

You didn’t hesitate to follow his directions; gripping his cock at the base, you licked long stripes up and down; making sure to press your tongue down harder on his veins. You then brought one of his balls inside of your mouth; sucking and nibbling on it for a few seconds before switching over to the other side.

After showing some love to both of his balls for around a little over a minute, you circled your tongue around the tip of his dick and flicked at his slit just to see what would get a rise out of him for future reference. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but you gave him no chance to emit any kind of speech before you finally wrapped your mouth around him. You wished you could have recorded his reaction in that moment; his moan went straight to your core.

His eyelashes fluttered as he shut his eyes and threw his head back—you didn’t know what to think about his reaction so far, but when he brought his hands down to your hair and tugged on it all but gently, you had a feeling you must have been doing something right. You continued your movements but increased your speed—bobbing your mouth up and down on his shaft as quickly as you could. Since he was well endowed, you tried your best to swallow as much of him that your throat would allow; the tip of his cock met your vulva with every thrust.

Tears began to build up at your eyes and you weren’t going to lie, it was painful. You were starting to choke and gag as he sank deeper inside of your throat. However, hearing his moans echo throughout the room as multiple curses fell from his mouth only led you to desire going faster—taking him completely down your throat and pumping whatever you couldn’t fit in to your mouth with your hand.

“Shit—baby, that feels so fucking good I can’t even—your mouth is so—feels amazing—“

You hummed softly at his compliment against his girth—pulling away in order to smile up at him but ultimately shoving him back inside of you. It was unexpected; you didn’t think you could benefit from giving head, but you were having just as much fun blowing your boyfriend as he was adamantly was being on the receiving end.

Something about seeing him writhing at your ministrations and hearing him praise you sent warmth straight to your folds. You also really enjoyed having his cocked stuffed in to your mouth; something about it made you feel confident; sexy even and you weren’t one to get all that cocky, but you were getting off on your boyfriend’s many praises of what a good girl you were. All you wanted was to please your boyfriend, you didn’t care whether or not you were doing it right—but hearing him whine and beg you to suck him harder brought you just as much pleasure.

“Y/n—can I—do you think I could fuck your face? Would that be okay or is that too much? You can be honest with me baby, I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this—I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to—“

“Do whatever it is that you want with me, I can take it Mark. I want to take care of you too. Tonight is as much about you as it is about me. I want to learn how to please you; I want to show you just how much you mean to me, so do your worst babe. Fuck, I love sucking your dick Mark. It feels so fucking good.”

He whimpered at your explicit words; yet he was quick to shove his cock back inside of your mouth—making sure you were prepared for him before he began roughly pumping in and out of your wet cavern. He tugged on your ponytail ever so gently and pushed you further down his length to the point where your teeth were grazing his balls. You honestly didn’t even think you were capable to practically swallow him whole, but you could feel his tip deep in the back of your throat.

That must have been a good thing; your friends always made comments about how they couldn’t fit even half of their partner’s cock in their mouths and apparently, guys enjoyed it when girls could deepthroat. The naughty and sinful noises falling repeatedly from Mark’s lips made it obvious that he was having the time of his life.

“Such a good, good girl. You look so pretty with my dick in your mouth. God, if only you could see yourself right now. You look so fucking sexy and you’re taking me so well. Your mouth was made to suck my cock y/n.”

You brought both your hands up to his ass and playfully squeezed his cheeks, earning you the most adorable gasp from your boyfriend. After this experience, you were well aware that you’d need to blow him at least every other day in order to get your own fill. If he already felt wonderful against your tongue, your mouth started to water at the thought of how he’d feel in between your pussy.

“Baby—I’m close—I’m going to—I—mmm—“

Before you could even process his stuttering, his creamy, warm liquid filled up the entirety of your mouth. You sucked him dry of all his cum—making sure to lap up any left over substance from off of your lips. Absentmindedly, you brought your thumb up to his head and grazed your nail around his tip, flicking at his slit playfully. He lightly tugged on your hair and the noise he released from the back of his throat—a mixture of a moan and a whine caused the coil deep inside of your core to tighten.

After a few more long licks against his girth, you made your way back up to him and stole a sweet kiss from his lips. His movements were quick; he pulled you with him back on to the bed and flipped over your bodies so that he was on top of you.

“What in the hell was that y/n? There is no way that could have been your first time—you were—holy shit I can’t even explain how incredible that felt and how amazing you are I’m honestly speechless. Damn baby, you’re a professional; that was the best head I’ve ever been given. Your tongue—God, you were made to suck my cock baby. Thank you—I’ll do whatever it is you ask of me—anything baby. Shit. Give me a moment will you?”

He began to take in deep breaths, his chest heaved right above yours. You couldn’t hold back; you released a snarky giggle at the way he was acting like he just finished a marathon. He had to be overreacting; there was no way you blew him as well as he claimed that you did.

All you did was sink your mouth on his cock and bobbed your head along his hardened length—going by your instincts and what you believed would drive him crazy. You did suck and nibble on his tip in particular; he seemed to react the most when you focused on that particular area of his penis. It was obvious he was sensitive there, and you were going to use that knowledge as your advantage and for future reference.

Once your boyfriend caught his breath, he turned around to face you and brought his hand up to your cheek, cupping and playfully pinching it before stealing multiple sweet kisses from your lips.

“You can’t be real—there’s no way. You—God, you’re wonderful. Absolutely extraordinary. I can’t even think right now. I know we’ve waited to be intimate for when you were ready, but damn—I’ve been missing out. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me, but I really would not mind receiving a blow job at least twice a day.”

You jokingly rolled your eyes and softly flicked his forehead at his comment; but you already came to the decision that you would need to have him in your mouth as much as he was hinting towards needing to have you.

“If I’m already losing my mind at having your pretty little mouth around me, what more when I’m buried in your pretty little cunt? I’m so fucking excited to be inside of you baby—but first, I really want to return the favor. I want you to feel the euphoria you just sent me through.”

There were a few moments every now and then when you would imagine what it would feel like to have someone go down on you. Whenever you would go out to meet up with your group of friends, you would talk about everything going on in your lives; work, school, family drama—and you didn’t know how the topic of sex would come about, but they all seemed to live very sexually active lives. Since you were twenty-three years old, you felt embarrassed at the fact that you were still a virgin.

Even more so because you were in a relationship—although sex was an exceptionally big deal when it came to dating, it wasn’t everything. You knew it was normal for some couples to not have sex at all—some people didn’t necessarily care for it and others didn’t revolve their relationships around it. But both you and Mark were still so young; sex was on the minds of almost everyone at your age.

Therefore, you kept to yourself and never joined in as your friends would go in to great detail about how amazing it felt to be eaten out and that some of them were so addicted to having sex to the point where they would have to call in sick from their jobs because they weren’t physically able to walk. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t envious of the fact that every single one of your friends has had some kind of sexual experience.

Apparently, it felt better to have sex with the person you were in a relationship with—or the person you were in love with. Sex was more meaningful and there was more connection—more intimacy involved. One of your friends stated that it was because men had a tendency of giving their all when feelings of love and adoration were involved. Now that you began to think about your conversations with them, you felt as though their words played a small part in leading you to finally wanting to go all the way with Mark.

“Hey, you alright? I didn’t hurt you too much did I?”

You didn’t realize you were spacing out until you felt him run his fingers through your tousled hair. Seeing the worry that was now on his face tugged at your heartstrings; it was painfully obvious that he was enjoying himself. Maybe a little too much, but you liked it. However, you were well aware that Mark wasn’t going to allow this continue unless you were having just as much fun as he was—no matter how thrilled he was to finally get to love on your body.

His reaction made you smile softly to yourself; although he would remind you on a daily basis how you were the best thing that has ever happened to him and that just the mere thought of you is what would keep him going throughout the day, it was nice hearing him worry about how you were doing. Honestly, what did you do to deserve him?

“I’m fine baby. I was just thinking. But—um—I—I didn’t think we would be doing this so I—uh—I’m not really—tidy down there and I don’t want you to see—“ He giggled against the juncture of your neck and dragged his teeth along your collarbone; humming while leaving wet pecks in his wake.

“Baby. Look at me.”

You lifted your head and made direct eye contact with the older boy. In the beginning of your relationship, you were very shy to even hold his hand. Every time he’d look at you or catch you looking at him, heat would rise upon your cheeks as you would blush in embarrassment. But overtime, you were able to look at him without having to turn away from growing shy and timid. You believed it was because you were a lot more comfortable with your boyfriend now and he was very verbal about how much he took great delight in being able to look at you; so you’ve grown immune to his many stolen glances. Although; you still had your few moments of shyness—but Mark was a fan of knowing the effect his gaze had on you.

“I don’t care about things like that, okay? Really—most men don’t and the ones who do are complete assholes. Whether you’re as bare as the desert or have a full on jungle going on, it really doesn’t matter to me. I’m going to eat you out nonetheless. We don’t have to do that if you’re not comfortable just yet, but I’m going to tell you now, I’ve been dreaming about the moment I finally get to have my face smashed up against your pussy since the first day I realized I had feelings for you. It will feel amazing—I promise you. But just like you baby, I want to learn your body. I want to learn each and every curve—I want to map you entirely with my tongue. I want to memorize each and every single birth and beauty mark, every scar, every dimple. I want to know it all and I have the rest of my life to learn. I need you to tell me what you like—what you couldn’t care less for, what you want me to focus on, whether you want me to slow down or pick up my pace. I want you to be verbal about what feels good. I need you to teach me how to love your beautiful body y/n and I won’t stop until you got to feel even half of the amount of pleasure you’ve given me. Okay? I’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

Each word that fell from his lips; his entire confession of what he had planned to do to you filled your chest with wonder and excitement. You were never afraid of finally giving up your innocence. Sure, you were worried that when he were to finally make his way inside of you—the pain would be unbearable and extremely uncomfortable.

There were quite a few first time horror stories that you’ve heard in the last year from your closest friends, some of your cousins and even a couple of your classmates. But you genuinely didn’t even think about how it would hurt; you trusted Mark more than anyone else in the entire world. You believed wholeheartedly that he wouldn’t hurt you and as much as you didn’t want to think about any of his past lovers, you were sure he had enough experience in bed to know how to take care of a girl.

Hearing that he planned on spending the rest of his life with you just set his feelings in stone for you. The two of you talked about your future together on multiple occasions; where you’d want to live in, the kind of house you’d want to purchase, getting a dog together—things like that, but you didn’t think he was all too serious about you being the person he ended up marrying. It was still so early on in your relationship to plan so far ahead, but when it’s real love, you just know and you’ve known for a long time now that he was the man you want nothing more than to see at the end of the aisle one day.

“Okay.”

“Okay? Are you sure baby?”

“Yes. I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure about anything else in my entire life. I’ve found myself staring at you whenever you’d bite on or lick your lips. I—I’ve pictured how they would feel like nibbling and licking on my clit. I—hate to say this but I think I actually came once—I don’t know if I did, I don’t know how these things work, but my underwear was soaked and my vagina hurt the entire day so—please, eat me Mark Tuan. Show me what that tongue does. Fuck me with your mouth.”

His jaw was now clenched and the veins on his neck grew more prominent. The low, stifled sound of what you assumed as a growl came from the back of his throat. He gave you no time to even think of what to say or how to react, he pushed you roughly on to his bed and smashed his lips against yours. His kisses were hard—fleeting, rushed—he tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth and kissed you with all the breath he had in his body.

His hands moved all along your sides; he’s touched you quite often, but not in the way that he was right now. Your body felt as those it was burning in flames—there was electricity running through your blood and you had to squeeze your thighs together because of how dominant and animalistic he was acting.

“Fuck, I didn’t realize how sexy hearing you command me to eat you out would sound. You’re so fucking hot, I can’t wait to devour you. But before I do anything, let’s get this off of you. Don’t get me wrong, you look so gorgeous in every outfit that you wear—but whenever you wear my clothes, I get hard every single time. It actually took every bone in my body not to beg you to let me have my way with you. Sometimes, I’ll even buy clothes for myself that I think would look good on you. I really don’t want to rush our relationship and all I care about is your happiness and your well being—but hearing that you trust me and that you want me to be the only man—a lucky man at that—to have you—I’ll never take that for granted.”

He practically yanked his shirt off of you and flew it somewhere across the room. It didn’t matter to either of you—you were both eager to finally indulge in one another and with the way he was quickly discarding both of your clothes from your bodies; impatient to have his way with you—you knew he didn’t care about the state of his bedroom floor. Not when he was seconds away from ravishing in your dripping cunt.

“I really wanted to take my time with you—I wanted our first time together to be soft and slow, but I can’t. The need to fuck the living shit out of you is strong. Oh God—your tits. Ah, I’m fucked. Seriously. As your boyfriend, I always find my gaze wandering over to these pretty titties of yours. But fuck—seeing them bare; your nipples are so perky and I’m sure if I were to flick one of them—they’d be hard. I can’t even tell you how much I’ve been wanting to suck on these huge breasts of yours. Whenever you’d wear a low cut top or even tops that are tight and hug your breasts perfectly—I wondered how wonderful it would feel getting to suck on and massage them.”

You bit your lip at the thought of him palming himself and getting hard while thinking about your boobs. The truth was all coming out and you wished you came to the decision to become one with him sooner—much sooner. His words were doing wonders on the burning sensation in between your thighs.

“Can I tell you something?” He nodded vehemently and you found yourself snickering at how eager he was to respond anything you said or asked of him.

“I’ve played with my breasts a couple of times and I’d pretend it was you in my place. You have such long, skinny fingers and you have such nice hands for a man—I’ve grown curious about what you would do to me once we became intimate and I actually really enjoy how it feels. Breast play—I like it a lot, but I’m sure you can do so much better.”

“You’ve touched yourself?”

“No. Not down there. Only my boobs. I’m too much of a coward to masturbate.”

Out of no where, he lifted up one of his hands and motioned for you to take it. You looked at him in confusion, but he motioned towards your mounds and you had an idea of what he was hinting towards wanting you to do.

“Take my hand and show me how you touch your breasts when you think of me—when you’re horny and playing with yourself. You know, I would have gladly done it for you. All you had to do was ask baby—now I’m hard thinking about you kneading these large mounds. Shit, we need to speed up this process, I need to hurry up and rail you or else I think I’m going to lose my fucking mind. Teach me baby—show me how you do it so I get an idea of what makes your pussy throb. Show me—and then I’ll take matters in to my own hands.”

You did as you were told—not wanting to wait much longer to feel his hands wander throughout your body. His touch was featherlight; you could tell that he was all talk. His words might have been naughty but you knew he was still going to be a gentleman when it came down to it. Mark was always so soft and gentle whenever it came to you.

Sometimes, he’d take care of you as if you were a child; he would feed you if the two of you went out on a date, he would push you on the inside of the sidewalk, run you a bath after you had a long day and he’d also tuck you in to bed before preparing what he needed for the next day.

As horny as he probably was right now, you could tell he was going to try his best not to go past his boundaries and risk making you feel uncomfortable. You dragged his hand between the valley of your breasts; letting his nails graze just below your bosom and you could feel goosebumps rising on your skin at how cold his fingertips were. To his surprise, you cupped one of your breasts with his hand and whispered for him to take your nipple in between his fingers.

“Pinch it—mmm—like that.”

“Like this?”

He squeezed your left breast—molding and kneading while twisting at your right nipple. Just the feeling of him pinching and rolling it in between his fingers was enough to elicit a breathy moan from your lips. You leaned your head back against his pillows as he was hovering over your lap. He leaned down so that you could feel his cock against your clothed entrance.

Mark had left you only in your underwear while he was completely bare of any clothing—if you weren’t so focused on watching him show so much love to your chest, you would have ripped your panty off just to have his naked sex pressed up against yours. He continued his ministrations—spending most of his time just fondling your tits and flicking your nipples.

After a couple of minutes tugging on his soft brown locks and trying to conceal your noises of pleasure, he looked at you with a devilish grin and a sneaky glint in his eye. Right as you were about to ask him why he looked as if he had a trick up his sleeve, he lowered his face down to your chest and wrapped his lips around your breast.

“Oh God—mmm—Mark—holy—“

You couldn’t describe how amazing it felt having him suck on one of your mounds. The sensation was exceedingly mind blowing. He brought your nipple in between his teeth; lightly biting your hardened nub. He lifted his hand up to your other breast and began to squeeze it softly. When you felt him humming as he started to switch back and forth between your boobs; making sure both of your breasts got the same amount of attention, the throbbing sensation in between your thighs heightened.

“Such pretty—pretty titties. I could suck on these things all day if you’d let me.”

You were about to retaliate—wanting to jokingly scold him because you weren’t quite used to him being this vulgar, but he was quick to return his mouth back to your chest.

“Mark.”

He looked so adorable as he released your boob with a loud pop sound. “Yes baby? You okay?”

You nodded in agreement before reaching for his hand and lowering it down to the waistband of your panties. Your boyfriend needed to know just how absolutely mad you were quickly becoming at his generous ministrations. He practically sucked your tits like it was his life duty to—as if it was his job. Without hesitation, you forcefully shoved his fingers inside; his breathing began to increase as he dragged his fingers along your wet folds.

“Holy fuck, you’re soaking wet princess. I’m not even kidding babe, you’re like the Pacific Ocean. All because I’m sucking on your titties? God y/n, where the hell did you come from? You’re otherworldly.”

To your dismay, he pulled his fingers away before genuinely doing anything, but he was quick to put his fingers in to his mouth and sucked on your essence. The sight alone sent chills down your spine—it was so fucking hot. He was so fucking hot and you needed him to speed up the process or else you would actually cry from sexual frustration.

“Just as I expected; you taste delicious. So sweet. Mind if I get a taste straight from the source?” Once he received your nod of approval, he kissed you a few times—smiling against your lips as he began to cup your sex through the flimsy cotton.

“Promise me you’ll be vocal about what feels good and what doesn’t. If you need me to stop—if it gets too much, I’ll try to pull away, but I can’t promise you anything. You taste too good.”

Before you knew it, he started to make his way down your body. He ran his hands along your sides while leaving kisses down your neck—your collarbones, kissing both breasts, gripping your hips while placing kisses down your stomach. Once his face was right above your naval, he left a chaste kiss on your belly button causing you to giggle at the tickling sensation—but the laughter didn’t last long.

He put both of his hands on either of your knees and pried your legs open; giving him better access to your entrance. Knowing that his face was just meters away from your core sent you in to a frenzy. This was something from your wildest dreams; you knew that the two of you would become intimate sooner or later, but seeing him in between your thighs made you lightheaded.

Mark wasted no time in nibbling on your soft skin—he bit on your underwear and pulled it down to your legs, completely ridding you of your final piece of clothing. You were grateful that you picked the right kind of panties to wear tonight; although you were sure Mark wouldn’t have cared at all if you decided to wear boy shorts or granny panties.

Since you were in a position where you weren’t able to see him, you soon grew insecure at the idea of being completely bare in front of him. All you wanted was to be enough for your boyfriend; he was nothing short of perfect and you desired to be exactly that for him. It’s what he deserved.

Seeing as how you lacked self-confidence, you brought your hands up to your eyes to prevent yourself from seeing his reaction of seeing you completely naked. Mark was a very kind person towards you; especially because he was your boyfriend, so you knew that there was a chance he would lie or not tell you the complete truth in order to save your feelings.

You were afraid that he might have been with girls who had nicer bodies than you—skinnier, smaller and more petite frames with tiny waists, big breasts and a round, plump ass. You’d rather him be honest with you, but even if he just so happened to find flaws on your body, you were well aware that he wouldn’t admit it. That’s just who he was; Mark hated hurting people’s feelings, even if they deserved to know the truth. Just because you were his girlfriend wouldn’t change the fact that he was always looking out to protect people and prevent them from feeling bad about themselves.

“Nope—we’re not having any of that.” He reached up to pull your hands away from your face and gave you a scowl. “You—are so breathtakingly beautiful. I can’t even fathom your beauty in to words. I could write a novel about your gorgeous features—how did I get so damn lucky? Your body; fuck—your body is a damn wonderland y/n and I can’t wait to explore it. You have such a pretty cunt and I’m so excited to fuck it. Listen to me baby—you are the most beautiful girl on this hell forsaken earth you hear me? By the end of the night, I will make sure you know how much of a goddess you are.”

He blew warm air against your cunt—immediately sending shivers down your spine. Finally, after what felt like hours waiting for him touch you—to actually touch you, he licked a long strip along your folds and you let out a loud whimper.

“Fuck!”

“You like that?”

You nodded so quickly—not caring how straight forward your response was. He began to lick and suck along your folds—his hands made their way up to your ass cheeks and squeezed both as he went to work; nibbling and sucking on your pussy. His teeth grazed against your overly sensitive nub and you found yourself pulling on the bedsheets—needing to grip at anything other than his hair because you knew if you were to tug on his locks while he was sucking you dry—he’d probably be bald by the end of the night.

“Fuck—Mark! Ah—there, right there—oh—“

With every hum and moan against your core, you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to your end. You believed that you were close to orgasming; there was an unfamiliar burning sensation in your stomach and you knew that Mark was going to do whatever he could to lessen the tension. Your moans only grew louder the longer his mouth stayed on your cunt; his wet muscle continued to lap up your juices. To your delight, he brought his index and middle finger up to your entrance and didn’t give you any time to prepare before he shoved both digits inside of you.

“Oh my God—Mark! That feels—so, so good!”

You couldn’t even describe the euphoria you were feeling as his tongue licked and slurped against your clit while he began pumping his fingers in and out of you. Your heart felt as if it was about to leap out of your chest; he was taking your breath away and you were sure with how many times you were chanting his name that you were going to lose your voice before the night ends. When you felt him curl both fingers inside of you, you yelped in shock.

He was reaching deeper—you weren’t sure just how far into your cunt that his fingers could go, but he began to graze along an area that was soon causing your knees to buckle and your thighs to shake.

“Mark—Mark—oh—baby—“

“That’s your g-spot if you didn’t already know. I plan on keeping that in mind. Feels good doesn’t it?”

“Mmm—yeah—please, go faster.”

He giggled against your folds and placed a sloppy kiss against your labia all the while adding in another finger inside. You could feel tears brimming at your eyelids, but it was only because he was bringing you so much pleasure. You absentmindedly lowered your hand down to his face and cupped his cheek; he might have said his main purpose was to please you, but you were hoping that he was receiving the same amount of ecstasy that he was giving to you. His movements picked up—switching between his lips, tongue and fingers. He even playfully slapped your pussy in the hopes of getting a rise out of you and instead of growing irritated, you were sure he brought you closer to your end.

“Close baby?”

“Yes—God yes. Your tongue—your fingers—I can’t hold it in anymore—“

“You don’t have to. Let go for me.”

The last sentence came out as a command; his voice was low and raspy which caused you to do exactly as you were told. Your head felt as if it was about to blow up. Everything was spinning; you began to see white and the tightness in your stomach was no longer there. It felt like a wave crashed upon you and filled up your lungs; taking your breath away completely. Mark didn’t stop his licking—he continued to suck up your juices entirely.

He drank from your cunt like you were a well and he was dying of thirst. Once your boyfriend decided that he rid you completely of your release, he pulled his fingers out of the depths of your silky walls and made his way back up to you. The sight of your fucked out state made him chuckle—your chest was rapidly rising, some of your hair was stuck to your forehead and your eyes were rolled to the back of your head.

In that moment—seeing you look as if the wind was completely swept out of you, he knew this was when you looked the most ethereal. The kiss against your forehead was delicate; featherlight. Nothing compared to the rough and impatient ones he left on your core just a few moments ago. When he brought his fingers up to your lips, you saw the white liquid running along both his index and his ring fingers and internally groaned.

“I want you to taste yourself. Say ah.”

You stuck out your tongue and allowed him to insert his digits inside of your mouth; you made sure to make direct eye contact as you sucked on his fingers just like you previously did with his length. You swirled your tongue around both of them, making sure to press your wet muscle before allowing him to pull them out. His brows were furrowed while he dragged his teeth along his bottom lip. He was obviously extremely turned on by your ministrations and soon, his lips were back on yours.

His hands immediately cupped both your cheeks as he put in as much energy in to the kiss that he could muster. With the way he was kissing you—like he would die if he were to take his lips away from yours, you were growing impatient with wanting to finally have him fill you up.

Having his naked body pressed up against yours, feeling his cock graze against your entrance, having your breasts pressed up firmly against his chest—everything was getting too much for you. There were so many emotions running through you; you were never going to get enough of having Mark like this.

“How was it y/n? I mean—I’m assuming you were having a great time. You absentmindedly began to wrap your legs around my head and I did grow a little lightheaded but—“

“Oh my God Mark, why didn’t you say anything?! I’m so sorry—“

He let out a soft snicker against your neck and placed a kiss there while making his way back up to you. “Don’t apologize, it was fucking sexy as hell. You’re like my own personal ear muffs. Being suffocated by these thick thighs of yours would be an ideal way to go if you ask me.”

You both erupted in laughter at his silly comment and you enjoyed the playful banter going on between the two of you. Was it normal to joke around during a time of lust and erotica? It didn’t matter—everything that happened tonight would be forever imprinted in to your heart. The events that happened so far were just as touching and heartwarming as they were sexual.

“You’re such a dumbass you know that? But yes, I had a wonderful time. Thank you baby. That was—wow—more than I could ever imagine. Fuck, that felt heavenly. I really liked that; more than I’d want to admit. Your lips and your tongue are now my favorite body parts on you.”

“Oh, really? I’ll keep that in mind for future reference. I enjoyed that just as much as you did. I’m not kidding, you taste marvelous. I could spend the entire rest of tonight with my head in between your thighs—but I think it’s time you and I finally um—you know—“

“Fuck?”

“Jeez y/n, could you be any less romantic?”

He squeezed your ass and slapped both of your both of your cheeks. However, he was quick to change his demeanor from naughty to gentle and soft. His eyes softened and he brought some of your hair behind your ear; letting his fingers glide along your neck and collarbones. The glint in his eyes made your heart swell up—any nerves that you had before going in to it were completely gone now. All you could think about was giving yourself completely to the love of your life.

“Babe.”

“Yeah?”

“Take me already. I’m yours.”

He gave you a soft smile and brought his bottom lip in between his teeth; he took his index finger and began to trace your features—starting with both your brows, then taking it along your nose to just above your Cupid’s bow. His ran his thumb along your top lip and you placed a sweet kiss on the back of it.

“Say it again.”

“Huh?”

“I’m yours. I want you to say it again.” If you were to take a look at yourself right now, you were sure your cheeks would be flushed—you were now shy for the first time tonight.

“Mark Tuan—I’m yours. Forever.”

He clenched his jaw—your words obviously had some kind of affect on him. To your confusion, he got off of you and leaped over to his drawer; rummaging through clothes and underwear. Finally, after what felt like hours of waiting for him to find whatever it was that he looked for, he released a sigh of relief and briskly made his way back over to you.

The tin foil packet was held in between his fingers and he waved it around like some kind of trophy. Only then did it really occur to you that you were going to lose your virginity—and to the man who your entire life revolved around. It was a bittersweet feeling; but you were more than happy to eventually be able to experience having your way with one another. He tore open the wrapper and placed the condom on his dick—crawling over to you and hovering over your lap. He gently took your chin in between his fingers and lifted your face so that you were looking up at him.

“I’m sorry if it hurts okay? It might feel uncomfortable and maybe even painful at first. I want you to tell me if you need me to stop or to slow down. I’ll try not to go too hard since it is your first time, but if you were already so tight around my fingers, I can only imagine you’re going to clench around me with your pussy in the most delicious way. You trust me right?”

You nodded—not missing a beat while giving him an exhausted smile. It wasn’t even up for debate, you trusted Mark with your entire being. He was the only person you would confess every single thing to. Whenever you had good news, he was the first person you wanted to tell and whenever your day wasn’t all that great, you wanted to find solace in him and he wrapped up in his embrace. When you nonverbally gave him your permission to take the lead, he lined himself at your entrance and tapped his cock against your folds; running it back and forth along your labia in order to collect some of your juices.

“Remember, I don’t move unless you say I can.”

He lowered himself and placed his lips against yours; you assumed it was his way of taking your mind off of the stretch that was about to come. As soon as Mark entered himself inside of you, you couldn’t help but let out a whimper. It wasn’t all that painful, but it was uncomfortable. Obviously, you weren’t used to being filled like this; something about the way his cock felt against your walls ignited a tingling sensation to your core. Your boyfriend moaned against your mouth and tightened his grip on your hip bones. “

Fuck—you’re so tight. Shit; I’m not even exaggerating—“

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yes. God yes. You feel glorious. But are you okay? It doesn’t hurt too much does it?”

You shook your head in disagreement. No matter how uncomfortable you were, it was adamant that your boyfriend was trying his best not to lose his shit. You were going to suck it up and take him like a big girl; you were well aware that the pain would soon be replaced with pleasure once he began to pick up the pace.

“Mark, you can move. I’m okay.”

His eyes seemingly rolled to the back of his head after hearing you give him permission to move and he didn’t even take a second to process that information, he began to ram himself slowly inside of you. He pulled his cock out of you before pounding his length back inside of your cunt all but gently. His pelvis hit your ass with each and every thrust and just as you expected it, you were now moaning in pleasure from the feeling of the tip of his cock hitting the back of your cervix.

The two of you moaned in unison each time he bottomed in and out of you. He rotated between stealing chaste kisses from you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck and groaning against your jaw and sucking on both of your breasts; biting on your nipples whenever he thrusted himself a little too roughly.

“F—fuck—feels so—“

“I know—shit—you’re so fucking wet y/n—“

His pace grew quicker to the point where he was practically railing you—the sound of skin smacking and clapping against each other alongside of both his and your moans and curses bounced off of his walls. You weren’t sure whether or not he was aware that he was leaving bruises on your skin, but you didn’t care—your mind was solely focused on him and only him. Everything else was just going to have to with till the morning. He pulled his hands away from your waist and brought them up to your breasts, pushing them up and down as he mirrored his movements inside of your warm cavern.

“You look so beautiful right now I don’t think there are enough words in the English dictionary to even describe just how gorgeous you are. I can’t believe you’re all mine.”

He lifted one of your legs and threw it over his shoulder; you weren’t sure exactly what he was doing until he pushed his dick back into your folds and began to reach deeper and further in to your pussy. “H-holy shit Mark—“ His girth continuously grazed against your clit; the way his hands were roaming all throughout your body, you had a feeling he couldn’t keep his hands in one place.

Sweat was dripping down the both of you; when he lifted your other leg on top of his shoulder, you immediately clenched around him. The sensation was driving you literally insane. He was right; now that he had an idea of what made you squirm and scream, you could tell that he was going to use it against you.

“Fuck, did you just get tighter? Stop that—please, I know I’m minutes away from coming and I don’t want to cum just yet. I really didn’t want to tease you tonight, but I will teach you a lesson if I have to. Don’t test me y/n. Come on, you’ve been such a good girl this entire night baby. We can experiment more next time, but for now, I just want to make love to my pretty girl.”

It was tempting; if he was going to mess around with you by constantly trying to reach for your g-spot, you wanted to show him the same amount of teasing by clenching around him. You also wanted to see just how animalistic your boyfriend could get and you wanted him to go rough on you—but you didn’t want to have to beg him to do something, anything to help you reach your release. You wanted to experience coming with him—you were already so close to your second coming.

Mark was a man of actions rather than of talking, so you trusted the fact that he would punish you if you did continue to go against his wishes. Although you were well aware now that you’ve finally had him inside of you, having sex would be a frequent activity—you felt yourself smiling like an idiot hearing him make plans for the next time you’d tumble in to bed together.

After a few moments, you felt your legs giving in—probably because of how sore your inner thighs were now that he kept burying himself in between them at a mind blowing pace. He fucked you like he had vengeance on you—his cock filled you to the hilt. Slowly, he brought your legs off of him and got closer to you; he intertwined your hands together and placed them on either side of your head.

He continued to pump himself inside of you—constant moans continued to fall from your lips. You were completely speechless; his name fell off of your lips like a mantra. He kissed you hard; his pink lips were swollen and you were sure your lips looked similar if not the same.

“Y/n.”

You looked up at him and your breath hitched when you saw the way he was looking at you. His gaze was one that you didn’t recognize. His eyes were soft—he had a small smile that you wouldn’t have been able to distinguish if you didn’t see the glint in his eyes. You were about to question his sudden whisper of your name but he beat you to it.

“I love you. God, do I love you. I love you so much baby. I love you, I love you, I love you. I don’t ever want to stop saying it.”

With every thrust came a love confession and just hearing him admit those three magical words; the three words you’ve been yearning to hear for months—his words alone sent butterflies to your tummy and you weren’t even able to say it back to him before you felt yourself letting go and seeing stars for a second time. With a few more thrusts, you were soon being filled with his creamy, warm liquid and he flopped down on top of you while burying his face in between your breasts.

You brought one hand in to his hair while dragging the other gently across of the expense of his back. The two of you laid there in silence; giving yourselves some time to both settle down from your breathtaking and extremely mind blowing orgasms. You were sure he could feel your heart racing against his chest; his was beating rapidly against yours. A huge grin rose on your face as you began to think about his love confession.

He loved you.

You didn’t care that it took him six months to admit his feelings for you, you were completely over the moon. You left a soft kiss right below his ear.

“I love you too Mark and I’m in love with you. I have been for longer than I’d like to admit. I’ve been wanting to tell you for months, but I was afraid that it was too early to tell you and that you didn’t feel that way about me—“

“I’ve been in love with you since our second date y/n I’m not even joking. Don’t get me wrong, like I’ve mentioned multiple times tonight, you’re genuinely such a beautiful girl—you’re literally a sight for sore eyes. But everything about you is seemingly perfect. Your personality, your intelligence, your kindness, generosity and your heart. The way you dropped everything to run over to help that older lady carry her groceries to the bus stop and then the way you didn’t even hesitate to buy ice cream for that little girl who dropped hers at the play ground. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, I need you to know that. I don’t know what I would do without you. You’re my entire world y/n. These last six months with you—getting to love you—kissing you, having late night conversations about the future with you, going on all these cute little dates with you, staying up till three in the morning to talk with you—I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I would go to the ends of this earth if it meant having you for the rest of my life in each and every lifetime.”

Tears began to fall down your cheeks and you immediately pulled him in to another kiss; you didn’t think you were able to top his heartfelt speech nor did you want to. You could only hope your signs of affection would be enough to prove what your words weren’t able to.

“Is sex everything you could hope it would be?”

“Yes. I um—I’m actually upset with myself for waiting this long. If I knew back then what I know now; if I knew how glorious making love to you would be then I would have let you take me right after our first date. You’re so good to me Mark. You’re the best boyfriend a girl could ever ask for. Thank you for that; and for every single thing that you do for me. Was I okay though? I know, you’ve probably been with partners who had more experience and were able to please you in better ways than I did, but I’m willing to learn whatever I need to in order to be good enough for you—“

You frowned when he roughly placed his hand over your mouth in attempts to silence you and licked his hand out of force of habit. “I never ever want to hear you say that you aren’t good enough for me or that you want to change your ways to be what you think I deserve. You are what I deserve; hell, if anything, I’m not good enough for you y/n. That was the best sex I’ve ever had in my entire life and I mean it. I’m not just saying that to spare your feelings or to make you feel better about the situation. You are the only person I’ve ever been in love with. You’re the only person I am ever going to love. What we had wasn’t sex—we made love. You were perfect baby. You made sure to take care of me and made tonight about us—even if I really wanted to focus specifically on you. Did I not praise you enough for the mindblowing blowjob you gave me? Where did you even learn how to do that? That was—I’m speechless. You took my breath away at least five times tonight and now you’re doing it for a sixth time just looking the way you do right now. If you’re not tired, I’m hard again. I’m sure you can feel it. There are so many things I want to do to you and since the night is still young, maybe we can cross some of those things off of my list. I want you on all fours baby. I wanna see that ass clap for me.”

Your imagination Now I'm fixated And I'm dying to learn Every inch of you Therе's something new F'ing me up I'm what you deserve, just

Draw a map for me Laced with strawberries And I'll get on my knees

Put my hands around you Ooh, teach me how to Touch you, tease, caress you, and please you Teach me how to love Put my hands around you Ooh, teach me how to Touch you, tease, caress you, and please you Teach me, teach me, teach me how to love

How to love How to love Teach me, teach me, teach me how to love

Teach me, teach me, teach me how to love Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Teach me, teach me, teach me how to love Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush

Put my hands around you Ooh, teach me how to Touch you, tease, caress you, and please you Teach me how to love (please teach me how to love) Put my hands around you Ooh, teach me how to Touch you, tease, caress you, and please you Teach me, teach me, teach me how to love

How to love How to love Teach me, teach me, teach me how to love How to love How to love Teach me, teach me, teach me how to love Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Teach me, teach me, teach me how to love Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Babe, I won't stop 'til you feel the rush Teach me, teach me, teach me how to love

#got7 imagines #got7 #got7 mark #mark tuan #mark tuan imagines

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