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targaryen-dynasty · 7 months ago

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THE CURSE OF CURIOSITY.

Aemond Targaryen x twin sister!reader

"While your brother searches the library of the Dragonkeeper Elder for something new to read, you come in contact with some unlabeled fluid. You both learn that it's something meant to aid in the breeding of dragons, however, it also has a unique effect on humans. But lucky for you, your twin is there to help you through the ordeal."

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest, dub con, sex pollen (rather fluid lol), p in v, breeding kink

WORDS: 4 K

NOTES: Hope you enjoy me having literally zero grasp on English. 🤭

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

“It’s far too late for us to be here,” you huff, almost annoyed, as you watch Aemond graze his fingers along the spines of the several books kept in the currently deserted chambers of the Dragonkeeper Elder. “What are we looking for here anyways?”

The room is barely lit by anything else than just a handful of candles. Your twin holds a lantern of some sort in one hand, using it to make out the writings that are carved on the books backs.

When there doesn’t immediately come an answer from him, you start to slowly walk around the room, inspecting its decor. “I have exhausted the castle’s libraries, and hope to take something of their collection for my own,” he murmurs, carefully selecting two books.

You stop in your tracks and turn to look at him. Although you’re just a few moments younger than him, sharing the same attributes with your long, silver hair and lilac eyes, you have a much gentler nature than he does, one that doesn’t lend itself to the same mischief you had pursued together as children anymore.

“And you couldn’t have just taken Floris with you? You ought to wed, and doing something together would do no harm to your future union. One sparsely sees you two around court,” you note, slightly annoyed your brother chose to wake you instead of his betrothed.

Knowing all too well that just the mention of the betrothal is going to set him off, you choose to play with fire. If your brother wants your company, he’ll have to put up with your teasing. And just like expected, the notion of being forced into a marriage he doesn’t want to be in irritates him, audible in the sigh he releases. His resentment of the situation has become worse over time as he feels more and more suffocated by the ordeal.

“The girl is as dull as stones. Besides,” he replies with a shrug, “she knows nothing about our family’s history, much less about dragons.” The topic of dragons is something your twin is very passionate about, and you know that the fact that his wife-to-be cares so little about his passion infuriates him. It might be one of the main reasons for his dislike of her. “I have no desire to have Floris at my side any more than she does me.”

His annoyance is palpable, but you don’t feel bad about making it worse. For all the hours he has spent teasing, taunting and annoying you while you grew up together, he gets it back twice and three times over. And although he hasn’t spoken it out loud, you know you’re one of the few people he trusts blindly to be himself around.

“That aside, it would be foolish to read with Floris,” he continues, your silence coaxing him to speak more, “as all she does is gossip with her friends and prattle on about pointless nonsense. You of all people know best how I feel about this match.”

“Floris isn’t so bad, you know,” you defend with a low voice. “And you’ve barely tried to get to know her. Surely you can find at least one thing to like about her. If you did, you might just see she’s not as terrible as you’ve decided.” If you both have to spend your days withering away in marriages sealed by your father and mother, you at least could find a little solace knowing your twin wasn’t as miserable in his.

Aemond sighs in frustration. “You sound just like mother,” he comments dryly, finally moving to look at you from over his shoulder. “Can you really say that you like her? She is dull and naive. I am certain I couldn’t find anything to like about her even if I had all night. There is nothing for me to like about her. Nothing at all.”

Finding yourself at somewhat of a loss of words at this, you open and close your mouth without any words leaving it. Part of you wants to disagree with your twin, as Floris hasn’t been entirely unpleasant to spend time with at court, which makes Aemond’s dislike for her appear entirely without reason to you. On the other hand, you’ve known your brother long and well enough to know when he is resolute about something.

“Just promise me that you won’t be a terrible husband to her. Even if you don’t like her, don’t make your lifes awful,” you finally blurt out.

As you allow your gaze to trail through the chambers once more, you spot some small vessels standing lined up on the desk in the far corner with books and scrolls littered around them. You don’t wait for Aemond to reply as you make your way over, determined to inspect the small containers. The liquid inside of them resembles milk of the poppy, although it’s slightly more permeable to light when you hold it to one of the candles.

You hardly think about the dangers coming with it when you open the lid to inhale a whiff of the fluid. Not smelling entirely unpleasant, it still has you scrunching your nose as a slight burning grows prominent in your nose and throat.

Placing the vessel back down rather quickly, it stands too close to the edge of the desk. You’re not quick enough as it falls to the ground with a clatter, the vessel shattering into pieces and the pale liquid spreading across the floor.

“By the Seven,” you mumble, sinking to the ground to collect some of the larger shards.

The sound of breaking glass and your sighing is enough to catch your brother's attention again. Where he has read the spines of the books before, he makes his way over to the source of the commodation now. “You shouldn’t have dropped that,” he comments dryly, which prompts you to shoot him a heated glare. “Oh, you don’t say, mh?” you reply, your voice laced with sarcasm.

Reaching for another shard, you pull your hand back with a hiss when it cuts your finger. “Ouch!” you exclaim and rise to your feet, soon enough spotting the crimson oozing out of the cut.

Despite his annoyance at your clumsiness, Aemond’s good eye is drawn to the cut you have given yourself. It’s no deep wound, but even the hint of your blood makes something akin to guilt bubble in his stomach. “What were you doing with that?” he inquires, as he takes your hand to inspect your finger, nodding towards the vessels still standing on the desk.

You watch him twist and turn your hand to have the perfect look of the wound, the stinging pain suddenly not too bad with his warm skin on yours. “I… I just wanted to see what they keep here. It is unusual for anyone other than the maesters to store unmarked liquids,” you reply, hissing as Aemond pinches the cut finger a tad too tightly. “I shall see Maester Mellos. Mayhaps this needs stitching.”

“That’s an excellent idea.”

Aemond fetches the books he has chosen from the collection, holding them under his arm as he brings the other to you to place a hand to the small of your back, guiding you out of the Dragonpit.

On your request, the cut on your finger is stitched by Maester Mellos, although he has voiced that it wasn’t quite necessary. But something tells you the opposite, especially when you catch him staring at your face and checking your temperature more than once. “Is everything alright, maester?” you ask him with a soft voice, a yawn following.

Aemond towers over the both of you, carefully watching each move of the needle in the elder’s hands, just waiting for him to make a wrong move that’s meant to hurt you – he’s familiar with being stitched up after all.

The maester seems to be out of his mind, and only reacts as he hears you say his name. “Maester Mellos?”

His eyes are wide, but he nods quickly. “Yes… yes, princess. The wound should be able to heal calmly now.”

He is quick to pack his utensils up again, and even faster to leave your chambers at once. And while Aemond hurries after the old man, trying to catch up on him outside of your chambers, you don’t wait for any of them to return again with sleep coming over you.

The crackling of the fireplace is the only thing audible when you stir awake, a sheen of sweat covering your skin, making your nightgown cling to it uncomfortably. Your body feels as though it’s on fire when you squirm from one side to the other, not finding back to sleep. A tingling spreads in your loins, and each time your thighs squeeze together, it surges up your spine.

“Gods be good,” you whine, utterly bewildered with the feeling of liquid fire coursing through your veins.

Aemond not so silently rises from one of the chairs close to the fireplace, and comes closer to the bed, though, careful not to startle or frighten you as you regain your bearings. He has hoped you’d sleep through the entire ordeal and wake up as if nothing has happened, but that hope slowly dissipates with each passing moment.

“How are you feeling?” your twin asks, concern in his voice. Suddenly, hearing his voice allures you, and doesn’t diminish the burning at the apex of your legs.

As you clench your thighs together again, it releases some of the tension your body holds, and makes you whine in despair. “Aemond…” you pant, your chest rising and falling with your heavy breaths. “What are you doing here?”

The thin sheets covering your body do little to conceal what is happening beneath, and your brother just assumes it’s your way of trying to suppress your bodily urges ignited by the pale liquid you came in contact with before.

“I…” his usual confidence and boldness completely deserts him at the state you’re in, and he can barely find the words to tell you what he’s been told by Maester Mellos.

As he watches you writhe and writhe about on the bed, he’s unsure of how much longer he can just stand there and do nothing. But his concern and love for you cause him to make the decision to act, approaching you and reaching out to grasp your hands.

At the contact, the feeling of his warm hands fully engulfing yours, it’s like something overcomes your mind and body, luring you in to move, staring up at him with wide eyes as you sit on your haunches. “Dohaeragon nyke… kostilus,” you whimper, strands of your silver hair clinging to the damp sides of your face. “Ziry ōdrikagon.. sīr bāne. Nyke sepār – dohaeragon nyke, lēkia.” Yet you don’t quite know what exactly you’re begging for. Help me… please. It hurts… so hot. I just – help me, brother.

In the dim light of the candles, you spot his eye widening as you shift and squirm, looking up at him in such a vulnerable state with your innocent eyes, pleading for him to help you through your ordeal although you have no idea of what’s wrong with you right now. He can’t help but notice how your hair clings to your skin, seeming as if you’ve just bathed, and that your movements seem to contribute to its dampness.

“Mellos has told me what the fluid is that the Elder keeps in his chambers,” he states, trying to stay calm and not let your state affect him too much.

But with his proximity, all effort of you to process what he’s saying is fruitless. You pull on his hands, as if you want to encourage him to join you in bed, and when he doesn’t budge, you rise on your knees, and start to fidget with the buttons of his coat – solely driven by your urges. “And that is?” you mumble, not really listening.

His cheeks run hot when you start to undo the buttons, and his hands capture yours once again to put a stop to it, making you pout. With furrowed brows, his grip finally has you looking up at him. “It’s something used to aid in breeding the dragons,” Aemond states. “He told me it’s also used to increase their stamina and to make them more…” he trails off, his body slowly growing tense as the implication of what he’s going to say settles into his mind. “... receptive to breeding.”

“Mh–Mh,” you hum almost nonchalantly, and watch completely mesmerized as your fingers graze along his, the warmth and softness of his skin only intensifying the tingling in your loins. Aemond is hesitant, unsure whether or not what you’re doing is entirely due to the potion’s effect, or if there is genuinely some desire for him on your part.

You lick your lips and free your hands from Aemond’s to shrug the opened coat off his shoulders. The fabric of his tunic is pinched between your fingers as you tug on it once again to beg for him to join you. With him taking his sweet time, you find yourself clenching your thighs every now and then to soothe the aching burning at the apex of them.

“He also informed me that ‘tis necessary for someone to… help you through it,” he murmurs quietly, his voice almost sounding shaky as he speaks, “... for it will burn you from the inside out if not.”

Even though you’re fully acting on your body's desires, you do notice the way his widened eye trails down to your thighs, lingering there for a moment before it returns to yours.

You don’t give a verbal response to his words, and instead, your only reactions are subtle ones. Nodding your head slowly, as if you’ve understood what he is implying, your hands squeeze his tunic further into his chest. He can practically see your body tensing with each movement of your fingers, almost as if you’re trying to hold back.

With your eyes firmly locked with his now, you slowly trail your hands beneath his tunic, pushing it up to remove that as well from his body to get further access to him – if it wasn’t for him not raising his arms.

Exhaling a deep breath, you sit back on your haunches. His reluctance does little to quell the fire raging within you, no, it only fuels to make you even more desperate. The lacey hem of your nightgown rides up your thighs as you spread them, and fully exposes your undergarments the moment you bring your hand between your legs. A breathy whimper falls past your lips as your fingers finally make contact with your clothed cunt, and then something akin to mischief flickers in your lilac eyes.

“And… will you help me, brother? Or shall I ask Jacaerys for help instead? We ought to wed in a moon's turn after all,” your voice is honeyed as you speak, dripping with feigned innocence. “But you don’t want that, do you? That’s why you’ve stayed.”

You spot the exact moment his breath hitches in his throat. He suddenly feels a wave of heat overcoming him, your words triggering something in him that is more than just the usual desire to protect his younger sister, something primal. You sound and look so vulnerable asking for his help, secretly begging for him and him only.

Intertwining your fingers with his, the intensity of your grip increasing as your senses become more heightened, your twin finally moves as you pull him onto the bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight as you watch him come closer, and when he is close enough, you reach and pull him down onto you in a quick motion. You don’t waste a second more and lock your lips with his, your hand slowly traveling down his back. But before you can grab his tunic and pull it over his head, Aemond pushes you back to lie flatly on the bed, pinning your wrists above your head. His eye burns with hunger as he gazes down at you, visible even in the dim light, and it makes you yearn for more.

“Well, if I chose to leave you here to your own devices, would you crawl to your betrothed for help? I do not think so,” he says, his voice taking over a mocking tone. “No, in fact, I’m certain you would come to my chambers instead.”

When he doesn’t touch you, you try to wrap your legs around his body to grind yourself against him, but Aemond is quick to catch your hip with one hand, keeping your body still as it's pinned to the mattress.

“Sir, dohaeragon nyke,” you beg, voice shaky enough it comes close to a whimper. But when you notice that speaking in the tongue of your ancestors is not having any effect on him at all, you choose to coax him to tend to you in the Common Tongue. “Touch me, Aemond. Help me… please.” Now, help me.

Aemond is silent for a moment, visibly dragging his eye over your squirming frame. One hand still holds your wrists above your head, while the other slowly but surely releases your hip. “I shall take care of you,” he reassures you. “But you will have to let me, do you understand?”

You gaze up at him with wide eyes and slowly nod your head, only for you to pounce on him the moment your wrists are released. The tunic is gone as soon as your body collides with his, causing a strained gasp to leave your twin’s lips. While just the thoughts of his warm skin on yours have incite your mind already, seeing his bare chest sets your body alight.

His demeanor changes in the blink of an eye, and he has never treated you as roughly as he does when he pushes you off of him. It leaves you dumbfounded for a moment, more so when he moves between your parted legs, towering over you.

“Look how dull this fluid has made you,” he mocks, the condescending tone of his voice sending a shiver up your spine. Aemond notices that you’re not shying away from him, no, you keen at that. “Just because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“If I help you,” he warns, “no one else, let alone that bastard of a nephew, is ever allowed to touch you again, do you understand?”

It might be the liquid-induced state, or the despair to have him do anything to you already, but you’re far too eager to nod at his words.

Aemond’s hand wanders below the hem of your nightgown to heartily fist your undergarments and peel them off of you. He can already feel that the linen is soaked with your arousal, but still can’t stop himself from licking his lips as he sees your now exposed cunt glistening in the light of the candles.

“Now, we do not want you to suffer any longer, hm?” he asks.

And you nod once again. “Gods, yes, please. I need you, Aemond.”

You don’t have to beg him any longer. He undoes the laces in the front of his breeches and pulls out his throbbing cock, painfully hard and aching to be buried inside of you. It’s slightly curved and thick, and if you have to guess, you’d say that you need both hands to pleasure him, and even then there’d still be a bit of him that would be left abandoned.

Aemond wastes no time in lining himself up with your entrance, pushing into you as you both moan in unison. You don’t expect him to set up a merciless pace almost immediately upon fully bottoming out, but you’re not disappointed either.

While you’ve been able to talk before, he’s quickly reduced you to a whimpering and whining mess, relishing in the delicious burning of accommodating his sheer size.

“Does it help?” your twin asks through gritted teeth, desperately trying to keep his sounds of pleasure at bay. But you’ve been fucked into a stupor by him already, not even able to keep your eyes open. “Mh-mh,” you hum.

Putting some of his weight onto you, Aemond’s hand finds your throat like the most treasured necklace you only take off to sleep, taking up the entirety of your neck and leaving no room for you to shift even the slightest.

It was subtle at first, but the merciless pace slowly changes into something more determined, his hips rolling with each thrust as if he wants to make sure the tip of his cock really brushes your sweet spot every time. He’s seemingly spurred on by the way you’ve lost all inhibitions, not that the fluid allowed you to have any in the first place, and the wanton moans that spill past your lips.

One of your hands grabs his wrist, keeping his hand around your throat, while the other finds solace on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. Your nails dig into his alabaster skin, and you’re sure that crescent shaped marks will bloom there not long after, staking your claim on him.

“But you need more,” Aemond grunts, and you can’t do more than whimper a pathetic string of yesses. “The only thing that will truly help you is for me to fill you up with my seed, to breed you.”

Your head tips back in plain bliss, and you’re not sparing one thought to the possible repercussions of him putting a child in you. If anything, there is something buried deeply inside of you that has waited for this moment. You have waited for this moment. You grew up thinking you’d marry your twin one day, only for the rising tensions inside of the family to force you to marry your nephew instead as the final straw to mend the chasm.

Aemond’s stamina doesn’t seem to be able to handle the way your body reacts to him and his words – not when a renewed wave of your arousal drips from your cunt at the mere thought of you carrying his child. It’s running thin, ready to burst at any given moment, hence he brings a deft finger to your pearl, rubbing it with frantic movements that should bring you to peak just in time with him.

The pressure brought to your pearl has your body squirming, not anticipating it and the shiver of pleasure that comes with it. You arch your back and moan, yet a tight squeeze of your throat is enough to bring your attention back to him.

“Do you want that?” he pants, dark blown eyes fixed with yours. “Want me to put a babe in you?” It might be his way to ask for your reassurance, and while your body’s reaction should be enough with your walls clenching around him so tightly, he stills wants to hear your voice.

Your cheeks grow hot as his words finally seem to settle in your hazed mind, a whiny ‘yes’ slipping past your lips. “Fill me up, Aemond… please. I want it,” you all but beg, your voice croaked with him squeezing your throat.

The confession flips a switch inside of you that allows you to let go, your body shattering beneath Aemond with a pathetic whine. He relishes in the way your walls flutter and spasm all over him, utterly mesmerized as relief etches itself into your features.

With a groan, the first wanton sound of pleasure you’ve heard of him, Aemond spends himself inside of you. He connects your lips in a heated kiss that has you swallowing down each grunt and groan he unleashes. Working you both through the blissful highs, his hips only stop once he’s sure he’s fucked his seed as deep as possible, determined to put a child in you.

Aemond topples over into the vacant space next to you, his breeches soaked with your arousal and his chest heaving with his breaths.

The sudden loss of friction makes you whine at first, but is quickly overshadowed by the feeling of relief. “Thank you,” you whisper through heavy breaths, turning your head to look at him.

“I won’t leave now,” he says softly, although there is a linger of mischief in his voice. “I would be remiss not to aid my sister in her hour of utmost desperation… so, I shall stay the night just to make sure you really get through it.”

Aemond Taglist: @persephonerinyes @dr-aegon @schniiipsel @thekinslayed @baizzhu @legitalicat

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capslocked · 1 year ago

Text

KINKVEMBER DAY: 6

[prompt: blowjob]

male reader x hyeju

12k words

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone who actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

The first time you hook up with your roommate, it’s because of genetics - though not in the weird, uncontrollable way your body gets rigid and sensitive to any pretty girl who wears nothing but a towel moving between her bedroom and the bathroom, or how her eyes might flick fast from your chest up to yours - or given that the absolute shape of her is a blessing from one god or another (benevolent, clearly). That's not why Hyeju and you find yourselves only a few months later grinding on each other after the clock ticked past midnight, making out on New Year's Eve.

No, it has to do with the fact that Hyeju's nearly failing the nine AM section of molecular genetics because she's spent every lecture doodling stars and planets and planets shaped like asscheeks and planet-ass constellations while everyone else writes notes or doom scrolls twitter or whatever and she is somehow simultaneously the only student who never slept with her face on the lab desk or missed an assigned reading and the only one who absolutely needs a tutor.

It's just cosmic odds that you'd be that one: her roommate, who shouldn't be talking so loudly in the library about sex (in a sort of non-sexy, Mendelian kind of way) or be thinking the kind of things you've started thinking when Hyeju wears one of her more sleepshirt-esque long sleeves, her voice getting lower as you rattle off, "fruit flies and thale cress, definitely, it's just an error of fate or chromosome splitting..." before trailing off into a question.

"This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me," she finally tells you. You listen to her sigh into the binding of her textbook, facedown. "I'm really going to bomb this exam."

You tap her hand twice with your highlighter across the desk. "Then you're pretty damn lucky, if you think about it."

She turns to you, smiles a bit. "Okay, point. The worst thing will be having to retake this stupid fucking class."

"Why didn't you ask for help or go to office hours if you knew you were... failing?"

"Maybe because doing anything more than the bare minimum to get through a class I don't care about is my definition of, failing," she mumbles. "Why didn't anyone tell me a single lab is worth half my grade? Or that the TA is this fucking unreliable? How is this the one thing, really, beyond the basics, that can't be taught by wikipedia, a wikihow article and a youtube video?"

You scoot your seat closer to her. "You really need to relax."

"Fucking tell me about it."

You turn it over in your mind a few times, capping the top of your highlighter.

"Want me to get you off?"

And it’s not like you really mean it, when you say it, which is the strangest thing: you wouldn't actually suggest it, normally, wouldn't mention it in passing and then leave yourself open to the follow up and cross examination; yet there it is, after three, four hours of cramming notes on heterochronicity and the sloshing of gametes - you actually did propose it.

Hyeju jerks up, surprised.

"Are you serious?" She looks around, nearly snorting. "In the library?"

The face you’re giving her makes her scoff.

“You’re absolutely nuts.”

You have character flaws; the inability to admit wrongdoing chief among them. Hell, maybe it's from your mother - or maybe all your brains are just scrambled by the fact that Hyeju's sitting there with her pen against her pretty lips, hair glossier than usual as she scans your face and makes your entire body feel like a reactor core in meltdown.

Maybe you can blame what comes next on that.

"I'm always serious. I'm asking a serious question," you whisper, closing the textbook and resting your elbows on top. You look around quickly, like you're sneaking something in instead of this perfectly reasonable exchange, the perfectly platonic - except maybe not so much - way for friends to help each other.

"And I'm wondering what you're asking." Her cheeks are definitely pinker, you think, or the way it fills out her face, from the bottom up, is just that easy to imagine.

“I’m saying you haven’t gotten laid in months.” Here, you realize, these blocks of mental logic that definitely weren’t there when you blurted it out start to coalesce into something solid as you go on.

And you hadn't been wrong when you thought no one had given Hyeju a helping hand in a long, long time: you've heard through the walls or the floorboards at odd hours of the morning that she spends far too long fingering herself to a mind-numbing, tear-worthy frustration that leaves her knuckle-deep but never, ever sated or satisfied.

"No one's around, you'll feel better. You said it yourself."

Not a work of your imagination here - her ears are fucking burning.

"Wait a minute." She pushes her chair back, away from you and your gleaming offer. It clatters on its back legs, and a librarian waves her finger in warning. You wave back, sheepishly, until she stops and Hyeju stands and moves away from the table to talk, hands crossed over her front.

She turns and asks in a hushed-down-voice, "how did you know - did you hear something last night?"

"You couldn't keep it down even if you wanted to, honestly."

Hyeju turns further and throws a glare at the library doors, because obviously her noisiness and their collective noisemanship, or whatever the hell the word is, is clearly the root of the whole goddamn problem.

"Look - if not, no big deal - but I'm just saying you'll probably get over it and at least think less about sex. Or at least the wrong kind of sex."

You expect her to turn, sigh, and ask if you've lost your mind. Expect her to gather her jacket from the back of her chair, take her books and stomp out the room. Or even burst out laughing at the insanity, before slapping your arm lightly, in playful retaliation - anything other than the serious look she gives you in return, tilting her head, pressing her lips.

She turns up at the ceiling for a moment, contemplating something. And it's cute. It's so very, very cute, how her mouth pouts as she considers the possibility, right up until she says, "okay, fine."

The moderate twist of surprise taking hold in your brow must be visible.

"Oh, don't tell me that was all talk. Get me thinking about the right kind of sex or whatever."

You laugh, which has the librarian staring at both of you - until the librarian stops staring and probably sees Hyeju sliding back into her chair, the full, pent-up weight of her concentration pointed your way, knees inching apart - you, and Hyeju waiting, your knee bumping into her inner thigh, leaning closer as the textbook hits the floor.

"Don't laugh."

"Not laughing, seriously. Not laughing," you stammer. “I just think you’re just full of surprises.”

She spreads her knees further and sits taller, looking right at you.

"So then, surprise me," and then presses her cheek to the crook of your elbow.

You slide your chair right into the space next to hers, nuzzling up into the space under her ear. “Keep studying, Hyeju, you’ve got shit to do.” And then you slide your hand beneath the waist of her sweats, knead the swell of her thigh until you find the seam where her leg meets her body, press your palm down on the place just next to her center, your thumb in the middle. All this perfect pressure.

"Fuck," Hyeju says under a shudder. She's breathing heavier when your hot, open-mouthed kisses start landing at her neck, and she probably tries to read her textbook for about forty-five seconds longer. But there's the clench of her jaw right as your middle finger begins tracing circles beneath the fabric of her panties, and her gaze is blurring until she can't tell the difference between an allele or your fucking name.

"Shh-shh," you quiet her, finger tapping harder, playing with the slick wetness beneath all those layers of thick cotton and pressing two fingers there until her knees part like they’re not interested in resisting at all. Your lips press a kiss to the shell of her ear and she tenses all at once, hand shooting up to cover her mouth.

She simply leans back, closes her eyes, and lets you take care of her.

“Okay, you’re right,” she says, shaky and uneven, “that really did take some of the edge off. Did we ever review - poly- uh, pol-polymers here?"

The sweatshirt sleeve falling off your shoulder is a hindrance to any actual reading; her shifting against the chair isn't helping either, but you manage to push down the thoughts of stripping her down completely and giving her your tongue as yet another distraction.

"What did the syllabus say? I don't know if we need to read too far on 'polymers'," you say, having going through an entire afternoon without considering this once, but as you curl your fingers and take an honest crack at cramming the remaining chapters into her head, the knowledge that no one else is getting her this wet - except for whoever she's got in her mind's eye at three AM - is enough to get you feeling a little dizzy.

It’s probably supposed to be weird, given that you’ve never gotten any of your other friends off spontaneously in the library, or there's the fact that you can't really avoid each other afterwards, how she shows up in a silk negligee when you're pouring coffee before sunrise to prep for another day and you have the opportunity to notice - yes, she has amazing taste in underwear, yes, you might not have really appreciated her chest and figure enough before - yes, fuck it. She catches you noticing that first time, after coming downstairs with nothing but one of her cropped t-shirts and her board shorts, and she smirks when she realizes you're still thinking about it that afternoon, when her foot grazes yours while you're both washing dishes, and she dries the plate in her hand with a slow swipe.

And it is weird, actually, to describe what’s going on between you in words.

A few words, anyway, like a one-word label to describe what it was: friends or roommates-with-benefits, or - fuck buddies - god, it's even worse. Fuck buddies? Fuck friends? Something equally terrible and stupid that still makes sense, like something out of a shitty rom-com: it doesn't capture any of the rest of the myriad ways in which things can feel less or less friendly between two people.

So, friends was never, ever going to cut it. Roommates - although technically correct - is just this side of too clinical. And let's be clear: strangers don't wake up every morning together, walk to the same class, sit close together in the middle seats, secretly flick a strangers' skirt up in an empty lecture hall and get on their knees and work your mouth onto her pussy and watch the legs of the desks shake when her feet arch into the floor.

"The notes you've got are better than mine," is how Hyeju tries to put things, the next day and every time after that, standing in the doorframe, or at the foot of your bed and looking every bit the disheveled and hopeless mess you imagine she might spread out over the sheets of her own.

It gets complicated, which isn't really a surprise.

"You think your roommate is going to be home tonight?" is the question that comes up multiple times - from a revolving door of pretty names and faces. Hyeju has at least one opinion, if not more, on each of them.

"Tell Jinsoul I say hi," she says once, watching you get ready for a date, and you nearly bang your knee on the edge of the bathroom vanity.

It's one of the more harmless comments she's offered.

Another, backhanded: "if you’re just looking for a blowjob everyday between lunch and our physics lab, let Hyunjin or Heejin or whatever-her-name-is know she's easily my favorite," Hyeju says on your way out one morning, still under her covers.

Or,

Hyeju's texted a simple "uh, Chuu? really??" when you mention, once, how much fun you've been having - and what kind, as you make a round of self-conscious and rambling phone calls the next day that land you with only one prospect for the night - but your roommate's also no longer being your roommate by the end of it, bouncing against your thighs in the bathtub and moaning something about please more and fuck or fucking make me cum; the details escape you a bit.

That's what friends are for, probably.

Still, in the same, bare-bones explanation, friends also aren't for falling asleep on you - or letting you hold her - or fucking you awake in the middle of the night. Friends aren't for pushing down your jeans when the early-morning dew settles on the back patio, or jerking you off in the seat beside yours with a sweatshirt over your lap when a group project is due later and you all should probably work on that and instead get yourselves off and leave the mess of what you're doing half-finished. Friends aren't, probably, for offering to watch you rub your palm up and down your cock the night before next semester's exams when you can barely sit in a single chair and you can't think about molecular biology or neurochemical transcriptions when your whole body aches to do the transcribing. (If you can catch that drift.)

The lists of who are and are not good enough for you goes on and on - the latter longer than the former.

So, there's Choerry, who according to Hyeju is 'straight up, a total slut'. Yeojin, who gets mistaken for your little sister enough times that Hyeju refuses to - in good faith - let you keep sleeping with her. Both Heejin and Gowon are apparently too pretty for you. "Kim-lip?" she asks, in the middle of peeling garlic, "is that one name or two?" And laughs into a bottle of beer, loud, while you're telling her to quit being nosey and watch her fingers with the damn knife.

"You have a problem."

"Why, because I asked a few simple questions? I think anyone would be a little curious with the -" she pauses to wave her fingers - "I'd be remiss to not be interested in the very drama that unfolds literally across the hall."

She waggles her eyebrows.

You look up at the ceiling. God save you, you think. "Hyeju."

("Seriously," Hyeju chimes in one evening, arms around you, and a mouthful of the dinner you'd cooked.

"You need better taste in girls. Don't waste time on anyone too dumb, or who drinks the milk straight from the carton, or doesn't wash her socks with the same load of laundry. Oh, and - no one who chews loudly. No one who can't tell you're going to cum. The worst is someone who doesn't know what you like, trust me on that. And remember the last rule: don't do anything with someone who eats at a really slow pace, it's incredibly depressing."

You rest your chin on her shoulder from the spot behind her. "Duly noted, oh Master of all Knowledge."

She sighs into your arm, but in the next moment, her voice gets a lot softer, her hips fidgeting slightly against you. "I just mean you're the kind of person people would want to sleep with again," she says, before turning to say your name and kiss you again and again as your bodies curl inward.

"I wonder what that means, Hyeju," you say.

"Fuck," Hyeju groans as you slide further into her, pushing her back into the sofa - hands on her shoulders, legs bent on her either side, "don't tease me like this.")

The first snowfall of the year is mild, a tiny dusting, nothing that sticks on the pavement in the alley or on the sidewalks - or the lintels - or in Hyeju's hair, but by evening, when the snow picks up and everything goes quiet, Hyeju has changed into flannels and wool socks in anticipation, curled up like a cat at one edge of the window ledge as the world begins to go white. It's enough that you even pull on a thicker sweatshirt, open up a book, and join her.

She turns toward you, quiet.

You've reached a point in the semester where this, the silence, doesn't unsettle you anymore. It's the space you fill up with time in-between, where you can see the contours of her body against the orange lamplight of the space heater, or watch her kick off the top half of the duvet at night as you fight over space in her bed and wonder about the bare skin peeking out from her shorts.

"Feeling bored?" She slides her foot a little closer to yours, almost imperceptibly. "Am I keeping you entertained enough?"

Her lips pull up at the corner. You chuckle.

"Oh, no."

She scoffs and puts her hands on her knees, pushes herself closer to the window sill and bumps her elbow into your shoulder. The bare skin of her neck and shoulders and face is getting a little redder as she cranes it forward. "Okay, if not, do you need someone to entertain you, maybe."

Your mouth twists, fighting a smile.

Hyeju is so close to you, you could kiss her really, really easily and not care how she'd feel about that. It's not a habit, not as often as it used to be, but every once and a while - she starts this game. Every once in a while, Hyeju just starts smiling like that, and leans into you like she's daring you to play along, hard round of chicken until it's clear what the two of you are doing with each other; the minutes pass by, one, then two, and then - maybe she pushes first, her leg on yours, or a kiss to your jaw or a palm on your back as she walks behind you - and then you'd turn and kiss her full on the mouth and pull at her clothes like nothing's holding you back.

She cocks a smile, and says, "why don't you go and call what's her name."

"Because."

You glance out at the cold, gray light outside. If you had a better understanding of any of the workings inside you, you could reach forward and tell her everything that's stopped you.

You're supposed to meet the girl-of-the-month at a New Year's party. Hyeju looks disgusted within the first ten seconds of the whole story.

"Heejin dumped you once, like, two months ago? For no reason."

"It wasn't a break-up. We talked about what we did wrong and we're doing better," you say, lifting one finger.

She glares, then, tilts her lips into this unamused purse that you can't take seriously at all when she starts walking back and forth across your living room, hands moving emphatically to the sides as she speaks, like she's in the process of unveiling a brilliant argument and is using both palms to guide your eyes toward the unquestionable logic. "God, you're the worst. You're just her easy fuck and you'll still answer her late night calls, really."

She leaves the rest unsaid - that she's just not that into you.

"I don't tell you which boys or girls you can call up," you try, putting on a boot. "If you'd like, I can. Name off the list, and make sure that the right name leaves my mouth this time."

Hyeju doesn't blush when you glance up, which is the surprising thing. No - her cheeks have grown a little more sullen, and she stares down at her socks in contemplation. You're in the middle of fastening up the lace and getting to your feet, waiting, wondering if Hyeju's going to continue this conversation, when Hyeju takes one small step forward.

And her hand goes out to touch your chin, thumb at your lip, fingers holding it in place - like you'll turn if she lets it go - the sharp shock of the sensation like a short circuit, before her knee comes between yours, and your body tingles, at the root and stem. "Hey," she says, eyes meeting yours. The edge of her nail flicking gently as she drags the curve of her thumb downward.

"Hyeju, please - I need to get going."

When you start walking toward your car, she calls out from the window. Something about how you better have the time of your life, fun for the two of you - it’s only fair.

(You feel, somewhere, a certain strange loss.)

"What, are you going to stay up and wait until I come back? Or am I interrupting your session for the night."

You can barely make it out, the smallest look passing over her face. "Maybe," she says, and then: "god, it's fucking cold."

New year's parties have this sort of quality of being simultaneously the most thrilling, exciting prospect on earth and the absolute worst fucking event in the history of the planet - depending on the venue, how egregious the racket is for a gin and tonic, the guests - oh, and the company.

Jinsoul and Choerry are both in attendance; in separate corners and in equal states of undress and intoxication, which seems fine by every present party, who are for the most part busy ogling one or the other in the full spirit of the New Year - as you would too, if the stars are aligned and Heejin hasn't already gone upstairs with half the guestlist, her arm wound with someone else's, as per her recent habit; if you haven't been tossed aside for any of the usual, less forgettable prospects and for something bigger, better and certainly much more enjoyable.

Which, if there were any way to track these things down with math, you'd already be reaching for your pen and notebook, as Hyeju would describe this sensation in a phrase she picked up from some podcast. Inevitable means necessary, or something.

"Good party," says Heejin, throwing back another drink.

"Yep. You said that," and you finish yours in one long draw, hissing through your teeth.

Heejin is a goddamn delight, of course, in all the simplest of ways. When she looks up at you - mouth pink, hair framing her face - she is so clearly and completely aware of what she is, and exactly what the world has in store for her, what it has set aside.

"Do you want to know what happened at the other New Year’s party we went to last year?"

"I - yeah. Hit me. Tell me all about (another date you were on) Heejin, that’s exactly what I’d love, let’s hear it."

She throws her head back and laughs, before starting into an overlong recount of her latest, greatest conquest, you on the outside. This is the thing - this is how a pretty face, with just a hint of a flirt, will make you feel for a beautiful, attractive, vivacious - absolutely shameless, raving sex-crazed lunatic of sorts who, apparently, loves to run around town and make a bunch of your closest friends fall in love and heartbroke-er, with every passing notion of her beauty, her charm - just the tilt of her chin, and some poor fucker is lost, absolutely lost.

Even she knows it's a bad habit of hers.

But who doesn't have a weakness? You've got plenty of your own - plenty, Heejin can admit - everyone does, in a way, and so Heejin, the other sloppy drunks milling about the party, and Choerry and Jinsoul all agree - someone like her just happens to have the best kind of weakness - so, so many of them, in fact:

"Can you believe how easily a few words get Jinsoul riled up? Or how it only takes a couple drinks for Choerry to pull up the hem of her skirt, not knowing the effect that'll have?"

And as for the last, and arguably worst kind -

"Hyeju, huh? What a great start to the New Year," is her final word. Heejin reaches across and downs your drink. Her expression turns just shy of grave, a pensive look. "Not your smartest idea, the living-together situation. Who in their right mind would put themselves in such a mess?"

"Thanks for the great advice." You wave her off, irritated.

There's another laugh before Heejin leans her face onto the table.

"Though maybe she's onto something, now that I think of it. Who needs anyone for the New Year?" and it's almost convincing the way her mouth, lined up with the rim of the glass, smirks when she drinks. "Mm. All a matter of taste."

The snow is halfway up your calves when you realize you need to find a cab at 11:30 PM on New Year's Eve. (Which, categorically, is the worst time to need to find a cab on New Year’s Eve.)

Or just:

11:36 PM and the nearest bus stop is too far away.

11:41 and the temperature feels like its dropped by fifteen degrees, like you should start wondering what hypothermia symptoms look like and what signs to look out for in yourself, your future wife and your children. You try not to think about why, but you get your phone out and immediately call Hyeju, so you're not sure what you think you're denying.

"No party?" she asks. Her voice is distant and sleep-ridden, but Hyeju's quick to pick up, like always.

"It sucked, I'm trying to find a way home early. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year." There's a long pause, filled in by the squeak of snow beneath your boots. "Get a kiss?"

"Uh, not yet. In the market, I guess."

Hyeju's low hum isn't reassuring, either. "Well, you're kind of missing your window. Bad time to start looking."

"Says you, and here you are - still up for someone to spend the night with. Look at you," you respond, all this snark in your voice that she clearly hears. There's a long sigh.

"Actually," and Hyeju, much to the confusion of you and possibly the whole world, doesn't respond, and for a few seconds, the line goes completely silent, leaving you hanging.

She breathes once and comes out of her sleep with a yawn.

"I actually," she begins. There's a lot less preamble this time - this tone - and when she speaks again it comes through not nearly as sleepy, "was sorta wondering. Are you on your way home?"

"If I don't freeze to death, yeah."

"Yeah - no, yeah," and that's it. That's the sum total of what makes any difference between where you were a moment ago, and where you are right now, head spinning, fingers buzzing. Hyeju waits and there's the wind on the line, snow settling on your hat and in the corners of your face.

"I - sorry. I probably woke you up. Are you expecting someone else," you say, very small. Your foot drags behind the other. The cars whizz by you faster, passing.

"Hm. You're the only one, I guess," and after that - just static and the muffled sounds of her footsteps on creaky floorboards - or the tick of her ceiling fan? You can't make heads or tails of the rest of the background noise. All those words she said.

You bite your tongue to stop whatever curse words start pouring out from the jumble and cross streets, or the pedestrian underpass; snow gets stuck in your lashes and burns, but your chest is like a molten furnace. You consider telling her right there on the line, everything you're feeling - so hot, it feels like fire, Hyeju, I'm not used to getting heated and desperate and impatient - that even if you're not here now - just imagining your face - the sound of your breathing, it feels like I'm on the cusp.

"Yeah. Sure - good - okay, Hyeju."

"I guess, see you soon?"

"In a bit."

(It takes 33 minutes, trudging through cold and wet. It's all very dramatic, you think, and there's no one there to even watch you suffer for it, or - though you try not to think about that particular line - really, no one at all.)

You hear the way your key grinds in the lock - it's been like this, jammed since summer, when you pushed the front door in late at night a little too hard and something came undone and made a sound like a small stone tumbling down the world's deepest well. The hinge squeaks, and there's ice on the stoop, on the doormat, on every nook and corner you can see, all the way up your neck.

And your face, too. You shake off your hat, undo the buttons on your jacket, and pull off your boots before hanging them and all the layers to dry.

You can make out the outline of her profile at the edge of the door frame, right in the kitchen - barefoot, hip pressed against the island, pajamas - the dim lights illuminating the shadow of her head, hair over her face -

- but you don't pause. The next layer. There's nothing left to say. You're too cold for excuses, too smart to use the same ones you'd been taught, like: this is a normal, acceptable circumstance; everything, anything, will be perfectly normal if the two of us act as though that's the case; pretend we're both acting within the norms of reason, within our senses and logical thinking and I won't make myself go out in the cold a second more - won't stand for more than five minutes with your eyes looking like they're waiting.

So you move instead toward the kitchen, where the heating is better and she's already pouring coffee. There's a heat radiating out of the oven, and it smells sweet in there, like cinnamon and warm butter, and you wish you weren't still shaking, blood barely thawed, but there it is - her face, watching you - eyes gleaming as you wrap your hands around a mug, steam rising up - a shiver running up your arms; her knees skirting yours when she takes one step back and there's the cabinet door shut, then open again, and then a palm on your back.

Hyeju presses a cup of the fresh coffee, now warm enough to drink, to your chest, and says, softly. "What the fuck happened out there?"

She starts reaching out to wipe the frost and slush from your face. You let her hand hold you still, eyes wide.

"Oh you know," and her palm stays, even though it's obviously - suddenly - gotten warmer, and wetter too, and the longer she stands there and lets her fingers warm the pale bones of your cheeks, her wrist, the base of your forehead and ears, the more expectant the look on her face grows. "The usual."

Her eyes go as narrow as they ever can. For just a moment. "You're gonna die a slow, pathetic death someday, just for the record."

"Don't forget how this starts," you try, and feel your neck go warm, throat and breath tight. And not even when her shoulders shift, her mouth going smug - just looking at you.

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone you actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

When Hyeju sighs and gives a long, nonchalant hum, leaning her body closer, pressing up until her waist hits the cabinet top and you're pressed together chest-to-chest, she looks at you and her hips settle, the heel of her foot reaching around your calf.

There's that tingle. Again and again. You're not even trying to not think about what it might mean.

But then, you start, silently and unconsciously, trying to answer the question: why don't you, maybe. Why don't you, actually - Hyeju kisses you, pulls on the loop of your jeans and lets your lips brush the corners of hers and pulls away, suddenly, mumbling and head-turning. And just as abruptly, your nose buries in the space between her neck and her shoulder, where it's all warm. And when she puts her palms on your hips and squeezes and twists her knuckles into the fabric there, it seems she wants your hands up her shirt and under the small of her back.

And her hands - they're fidgety tonight, fingers curled up to keep their nails and the chill away, moving lower - one on your ass, while the other comes forward and begins rubbing circles, a handful of times - enough so you're letting a deep, low breath escape into the space just above her collar, your knee working its way between hers.

"That," Hyeju breathes, lips at your ear, hand reaching down to trace the hard curve of your cock pressing in the spot right between you, and there's that small rush again, familiar now, like you've caught a rhythm and she wants to feel it in its fullness: "is how you can make it up to me. For making me stay up. Worrying about you, god knows why. Waiting."

You're still half-frozen in a way, slowly thawing. "Hyeju, I've been trudging through the consequences of my actions this entire night. What am I about to suffer through now?"

"It's no consequence, honestly."

You squint.

"Just an idea, but," she breathes again; your bodies getting closer, and looking up at you, she grins and reaches down to touch the very root of you, her fingers drumming. You make a sound, and at that she says, her voice coming out thick, low:

"Want me to get you off?"

She squeezes again for good measure, just to be clear. Just a slight curl of fingers that's enough to send a flash of heat and the transient thought: why, why, why is she always wearing those fucking shorts, even in the winter?

Your blood thrums through the pulse at the end of your cock. You shake.

"Alright," is the response you let out.

And at that, Hyeju takes your wrist and leads you upstairs.

"There's that look. Don't worry. We'll find a way," is all she says as your feet walk forward, up step-by-step and higher and further up to her room. "After all, isn't that what we've always done?"

"It's usually whatever will make me stop talking."

Hyeju puts her chin on your shoulder. Her eyes follow the lines and shapes in the patterns of wallpaper as you turn onto her side of the apartment, and even through the wall and behind the doorway, her arm still around you, she pulls at your chin until your faces turn and you both can share each other's heat.

"Who, you and your awful habit of talking out-loud in your head while you work through equations?" and she brings her lips to yours, close and warm.

"Hey. Fuck you," and your voice breaks into an odd, low laughter when she kisses you harder.

"Yeah, I know," she whispers as her hand dives past the band of your boxers, palm sliding easily until she's gripping you fully and letting her fingers rub. She holds you there, in her room, her arm looped through yours, another arm resting at your belly.

And she stops there. She stays like that: holding your gaze.

"Look, Hyeju," you say, unable to not, though this can hardly count for anything; this, what you're about to admit, is nothing new. You swallow. "The thing is - you shouldn't."

"Don't want me to touch you?" she says, finger to your lips.

"Well, that's different. Maybe. Is there - maybe it's not the best thing to ask you right now."

Hyeju considers for a brief moment and tuts under her breath. "Can you at least do me the decency of waiting until I'm done wringing you dry before you say shit like that."

And she moves then, toward the bed.

So:

No. Yes. Maybe. Who knows, you tell yourself. Maybe, but only because you'll do anything if it makes you feel less sick, like a creature standing over its own skeleton - an abandoned shell; a relic, something to be feared and disgusted, as you let her go between your thighs, kneel beside the bed.

"I mean - since when - have you felt," is just as far as you're allowed to go before Hyeju presses her nose into you and pulls you out of the thin, cold fabric - palm, thumb, all those slender fingers swiping over your head - and now there's just the smell of her room and the shock, the buzz that runs down your spine and settles somewhere, somewhere inside the small and desperate movement of your hips and the tension building just below.

And god, fuck, Hyeju’s lips.

These soft, wet, pouty fucking things that could suck you straight off if you were feeling any less stupid or inexperienced or sentimental - if she wasn't solely intent on teasing it out of you first; a slow drag of the tongue up the underside; the tip of it poking, tracing the rim, like she's figured you out, just where to lead you. She's ready to smoke you out - always - until you're not taking in a breath every ten seconds but starting to close your eyes to the overwhelming, needling pleasure, too sharp, the way she knows you like best.

"Now you're finally - mm - starting to sound hot," and that smirk comes back to the corner of her mouth, teasing the sensitive belly of your cock and tracing her tongue everywhere. "With the voice and -"

You're losing track, her thumb and fingers circling the whole length of you - just, one after the other - mouth a hair-breadth away, her breath hovering like a promise.

"- that face."

"Don't, fucking tease me-"

The sound of your cock going in is like nothing else.

Wet and filthy in all the right ways.

Just the suction in her throat has your eyes nearly roll back into your head - Hyeju's gaze calmly watching the terrible sort of helplessness that washes over you like this: her lips wrapped around, bobbing - her hair falling into the wet mess of her mouth and sticking there. Hyeju likes being a little sloppy, likes feeling that spark run up the length of her tongue when she slides. It's the wet and the heat that gives everything away.

"I don't have much of a choice -" her jaw and chin is smudged when she pulls back off of your cock, mouth glossy and glistening, "and honestly, wouldn't it be a better use of our time, or my talents if I actually do that thing?"

“Which is?”

She looks up for a bit and sighs, the flush blooming pink to the tip of her ears and into the rounds of her cheeks and all across her neck. "Since, as far as I can see, what you really like - is, oh I'm just spit-balling here," and she stops just to bite her tongue and look into your eyes, "it's letting the girls take care of you? Isn't that right?"

You want to tell her, no, not always, that it's not as though you enjoy giving control completely - that that would be completely and unarguably, the opposite of true -

That most of the time you love it when the person you're with is a little bossy, a little crazy for you. You know some guys really get off on a strong woman and maybe, maybe if a girl's pretty and dressed up, and - sure - a little wet, but that's hardly -

“You know I’m right,” she says, a flicker of mischief skittering across her features. “These walls are paper thin.”

You want to tell her, perhaps remind her, that she likes someone in charge just as much as you do - to be taken care of, told what to do - to have a hand curled up around her throat and the other at her tits while a guy fucks her the right way and takes the reigns when she needs. So who are you, when it comes to knowing her better? And who, really, are you fooling?

But before you can get any words in: Hyeju dips, lips parting where the head of your cock throbs, and then disappears; and the hot wet warmth, enveloping all around your shaft and back; the curve of her throat contracting.

You moan - a lot, and louder this time - into the whole feeling. The way her fingers work the distance from the base, twisting and twisting and twisting into the pout of her lips; or how the sound is like nothing - a whimpering, messy sound - almost a whine and definitely not a slurp as your cock sinks further and further, until it's all one big, heavy throb.

And it's like Hyeju can read your thoughts, the visual you have of her lips screwed tight around your shaft - cum leaking from the corners, and her eyes scrunched up tight, as she looks up to watch your face unravel - this perfect image of her taking you, all of you, swallowing each drop as your hips start rutting up into her and - and - and.

Or else she gets impatient, because then Hyeju gives one long pull off the tip of your cock - saliva mixed in the precum there, and that shiny string of fluid hanging, caught in the middle between your bodies - a disgusting and irresistible sight. Her jaw slack, lips swollen and full, and her mouth gone wide open, wanting.

"Fuck - that's good. Don't stop," you start to whimper, desperate, at the sight, the smell. Her hot breath coming quick over the red wanting wetness left behind - then touched by the cold air - fuck -

She slaps your cock to the corner of her lips as she speaks.

"Can you believe what's going on down here?"

"God, can you -"

"And to think most guys wanna jump straight in. That or fuck a load out between my tits."

"Hyeju, shit, come on -"

She kisses the soft tip, right where it’s most sensitive, rolls it along her lip. Then, back down the length of your shaft where she's generous with her mouth inch after inch - lapping, licking, laving - and Hyeju begins working her way down and downward, nestling in at the edge of the bed and between your thighs.

Your eyes blow up the first time she dips low enough to put your balls in her mouth.

“Mmhm,” she hums.

It’s killing you and she knows it; it’s killing you and she can feel the pre-cum leaking from your slit - the thumb she has moored there, keeping everything right where she wants it, running circles up the length with such little intention - she could bring you to the end just like this.

"Am I supposed to believe it?” she asks out from beneath the shadow of your cock, looking up at you with her eyes all wide and brilliant - pupils dark as sin. “That not a single one of those girls ever did you proper?"

You curse under your breath. Hyeju seems amused, at least, like she can't help but love doing that to you, which is almost worse and honestly the sexiest thing a girl can be. You groan - wanton, raw and desperate and feeling exactly what she wants you to feel when her nails drag along the dip of your hip bones.

"Did they not leave you fucked-up the right way?"

Her wrist flicks out these twists and turns, making your spine bend to her control. Like even when you're sure to be bundling her hair in your fingers and fucking the whole length of your cock down her throat, all of this is the worst kind of power-trip for her - not the other way around.

Her tongue runs through the tangle of your balls, slowly, lasciviously, as though the plan is to memorize and map every detail.

And the worst part is, how much it's making you desperate for the warmth of her mouth - where she'll run her tongue up and down and over and around and inside - before sucking you off nice and slow.

"Or maybe," she laughs; another flick to the top and then suddenly her hand goes faster and the fist pumping the rest of you tightens. "They left you so needy you're resorting to having the bestie suck you off so that you won't be desperate the next time you date. Oh my god-"

Hyeju breaks into this fit of laughter, and you're nearly cross-eyed at the feeling of your entire existence - not just your cock - so wholly held within her mercy, and her pity, and you're breathing so shallow now you'd think this is the real reason people have died and will die - this exact moment where you're choking and stuttering at the edges, so very close to cumming and going absolutely bonkers with how good Hyeju is with her hands, her tongue, her mouth - everything - how much she's wrecking you, and your jaw drops, wide open, her name dripping like molasses off your lower lip.

"Are you going to cum?" she asks, curiously. All as if she can't see you nodding, collapsing under pressure, and then and there: "should we make it official?"

Her nose tickles the seam of your balls. And your toes begin to curl and uncurl - all this anticipatory, coiling pleasure burning from her throat, shooting from the pit of your stomach; the tightening spiral, twinging and stretching every nerve - as her lips enclose around the end of your cock, softly.

And oh, just excruciatingly slowly.

You watch the irresistible shape of her mouth travel down until her throat feels so incredibly, beautifully, and unbelievably tight, and then, just like that - Hyeju starts fucking herself onto you; pushing forward and down the full, rigid length of you, hard and fast - each time hitting deeper inside her - all that sticky, messy, wet squelching.

"Unh-unh, yeah. Unh. Mm-!" you say, or moan, or some animal version of that, maybe, it’s incoherent.

But regardless:

It's messy and your hands scramble for purchase in the sheets of her bed when you feel that snap, the tightening of a trigger; when your balls roll up and it builds, and builds, and it comes faster - harder and -

"Hyeju," you pant, and it sounds so, so filthy. "I'm gonna cum, if you - gonna cum-"

Hyeju pulls you free from her lips, quite possibly at the most final of final moments, to rub the base up and down, just right, between her fingers. Your cock is resting right on her cheek when it all happens. When she squeezes her fingers around your balls just enough to hear you wheeze and make a sound no sane man should have the right to. And fuck, you're cumming all over her face - or just one side of it - which is already just -

Okay, fuck.

She makes a startled sound and her fist closes tightly around your shaft when you pump another fresh load of white up onto her eyebrow.

"I'm, ah-shit," your mouth moves faster than the blood in your veins - and now the shame - oh god, the humiliation, it's pulsing right behind you. "Hyeju," you apologize.

Only, Hyeju has no interest in any of it. She doesn't seem offended or disappointed in proportion to how you're ruining her pretty face: "no, just do it, cum wherever you fucking like."

Which isn't what you're expecting at all, because Hyeju makes no effort to close her lips, let alone avoid any of it; nor is she making a fuss about the sticky mess in her hair, her mouth, nor as another stream of cum throbs from your cock, all tangled up in the long dark eyelashes that sweep down across her cheek.

It’s fucking filthy: you're cumming all over her and she's just kneeling there, telling you, "good boy."

See, she pushes through it, languidly - all those filthy sounds, and those watery little tears gathering at the edge of her eye and all of that, mixing up together until you're rolling your head back with your orgasm, shuddering, feeling weak - drained dry -

Except,

Hyeju's pushing a finger to your chest, kneeling up tall from the side of the bed. She turns her body toward the center of the bed and wipes a bit of the cum on her knuckles into the sheets. Here you feel like you've done something terrible or at least regrettable, like that last round at the bar when you have a test the next morning; a dick move, all of the sort that requires apology.

"You gotta give me a minute, if you're thinking about hopping on."

"Hmm. Sounds like a lot to ask."

"Wait," you grab her arm. Hyeju grins and there's nothing stopping the shake of your knees now, that weakness between your thighs: "let me get you a drink."

"Or."

"Or?"

Her tongue peeks out, running along her upper lip. Her eyes drop again, hands dipping below, beneath the hem of her shorts and oh. She slips a hand past her bra. The whole outline of it. And you -

"Mm, I could show you what that actually means." She lowers her chest, her breasts, and a lot of skin to the mattress while keeping your cock firmly in her hands. "That look tells me you wanna stick around a bit. Stay up past New Year’s, you know?"

You're almost unable to parse her words, there is so much to look at: the jutting curve of her chest, cleavage pressing into the mattress as her body settles between your knees. A soft chuckle; a sigh: "you are seriously the best lay, no-one else can get hard the minute after they just fucking exploded all over me-"

"Fuck, watch it," you hiss, because there's oversensitivity - and then there's Hyeju's mouth on the line of your cock, polishing you clean.

And it’s not that she isn’t trying to prove a point. Or that she's not trying to tease - that's an inherent quality of her character: a naturally dominant position with a high appetite for your lust. That much, Hyeju gets from you, whether you've got your head down between her thighs or the other way, too, so that her neck is arched around and her ass pushed up high in the air, legs open, and if she had any idea you would spend the next twenty minutes or more just going down on her, licking into her creaming cunt while two fingers work over her aching clit, then really, Hyeju would only encourage it - maybe get on top, force you to gag - and so you don't know where it comes from - how and why you want nothing more than to drive your fingers inside her and work her until she's a wet, squelching mess, not when this was always Hyeju's role of being the aggressor; and yes, sure, even the aggressed.

Surely not because you came so hard, still somewhat shivering with the remnants of a rather abrupt, painful, sudden and all-consuming orgasm.

"We're not doing anything else," she says, lips pulled up into a smirk right at the crown of your cockhead. But before you can respond she pushes a hot open kiss, and goes lower. She presses the flat of her tongue to the seam, just below the head. Licks a line right up to the tip and finishes with a tender flick that sends you fisting the bedspread in your fingers and leaning back as your mind begins to disintegrate -

"I'm not going to ride you yet, or going to get my hips in your hands so you can fuck my pussy real hard until I cry and pass out. Nothing of that sort is gonna happen." She licks one long drag of her tongue. Then, the other way. "I want to make this very clear: this isn't some huge favor - and if you want it - want it so bad, you can stay there and I'm going to do everything for you. We will get there - together," and with her voice shaking as she brings the wet, glistening skin of your cock just inside her mouth, she looks up. "We'll get each other off, just like this," and it's the deep, dark, throated moan that makes your thighs and all the nerves in between stiffen and buck when she swallows you again.

Hyeju's hands tug, pull her whole body closer still as it slowly bends, curves - her ass raised, her stomach lying on the bed. Her mouth takes you another few inches, until the tip of her nose is barely visible, but when she pauses to lick the cum still left over - the cum that's starting to leak out again - to breathe through it, then squeeze her palm and bob her mouth down, take another inch, until the sides are stuffed and emptying out again, that's when she finally has something to say: "got anything left? I'm a little starved."

"I. Christ, yes-" you whine, which doesn't help your case at all: the image, the image of you lying flat - back with Hyeju's head tucked between your knees, her hand pulling out your cock.

Sloppy, slimy-wet.

She presses an innocent, not-at-all-innocent kiss right to your tip, puckering -

"You know what I did learn in that genetics class?" she muses, tongue flicking over her lips. Hyeju's about ready for a second helping - you're losing it. "When I first saw that DNA diagram - the double helix and all those little base pairs, and everything - it made me think of your cock. Your cock and me. Specifically our DNA. Did you know-"

She presses her palm over the head and rolls it - teases and strokes her palm - her knuckles - her fist - the whole nine. "When I hold your big fucking cock, mm, and just get it right - up in here, rubbing all along my walls - so deep, it gets me in my fucking ribs, makes me choke like I never been choked before, ah-mm," and it's this thought sliding toward the front of your mind, this perfect picture: Hyeju, getting fucked hard and open and stuffed full and stuffed good and stupid; you’ve got more than a few inches on her, can make her feel small and delicate; you know how to do her right.

But here you have Hyeju stroking the shaft - holding her hand tightly up near the head, rolling and twisting and sliding down and pushing her whole body right into the side of your legs: the soft, solid length, warm flesh and curves everywhere pressing into you.

You sit back, and just watch Hyeju with her eyes cool and composed, like half of her fucking face isn't streaked with your cum, mouth wrapped and looking fucking satisfied to be a total, gorgeous mess. She makes a dramatic display of kissing the tip again, just before telling you words you probably dreamt up at some point - either sleep deprived, or, during three AM jackoff, fantasizing. "Sometimes, just from riding your cock, I can't sit up straight."

"Fuck," and you feel your whole body run rigid, because apparently that's something you’ve been aching to hear.

You're covering her mouth again. White streaking onto her lips - where she's catching it in the well beneath her tongue and letting it spill out of the corner of her mouth. Into the crook of your thumb, which catches a drip here and there and rubs it down the length - down the curve - and pushes it back between Hyeju's pert little pout.

"Doesn't count, mister, just more pre-cum," she says, all with the audacity of a wink and smile; her words are a little garbled around the head of your cock between her teeth. And when you nod and realize just how painfully your jaw hurts, your throat becomes tight and raw, a knot pulling the underside from the center. Hyeju slides her lips lower, lower down, to the hilt and stays there, just like that - one hand holding down the flat of your belly to keep your hips still, her chin hanging - bobbing-as she feels every pulse, every twitching shift. You curl one hand around the side of her face, over the sharp edge of her jaw; rub a thumb into the delicate skin of her throat.

She shifts. You start to tell her what you like: how hot the rush comes when a girl puts her tongue against the slit at the very tip, and licks at the precum in nice, quick circles, soft and fluttering. And how her fingers shouldn't hesitate either, Hyeju's not even struggling to give it to you - god - just giving and -

She jerks her head up, swallowing down her next breath like it's one of her last. "I'm serious, if you're going to fuck a hole, start with my mouth - we can move onto everything else after."

"You're ridiculous -"

She meets her lips to your head, kissing once. Again. Kissing every inch, letting her mouth wrap around and then just - staying, just - staying like that and humming, with you, enjoying the fullness, the smell of you, the taste, the shape, just the weight and size and you.

There is spit fucking everywhere.

And if it's not clear what you're supposed to be doing - her fingers weave through yours, squeezing hard at the wrist and you can imagine: pulling her forward by her hair and holding her down while she chokes on your cock. "Fuck, Hyeju," you say, and your voice comes out way shakier than you'd like, "when, how did it get like this, huh? You always - always did, shit, always want your mouth filled."

"Never figured you to be someone who'd get turned on watching their friend sucking their cock like this."

"Doesn't everybody love the sight of their cock in a pretty girl's mouth?

"You were really convinced they weren't lining up behind you? Or anyone in the queue who can't keep their eyes off of this thing. Tell me, and try not to lie, try not to bullshit this one out: how many girls have you come home and fucked and creamed their brains out - then asked for the sloppiest, most -"

"Honestly."

"- Filthiest, nasty, ball-busting, gut-wrenching blowjob ever to make them think - to make them really start wondering what the hell it was you did - like it's gotta be something that leaves them so ruined, they can't ever not compare - can't ever not compare this moment, right here. Ever. When you give them the hardest fucking of their life, compared to any other guy - can't not, because no-one, literally no-one's cock can fuck like you do-"

"Fuck-"

"Any harder. Come on, seriously, tell me it isn't true. Come on."

Her voice - her fucking words, the tone she uses and how her words roll: honey-warm and soaking with sweet, thick degradation - she talks like sex, and that's exactly what gets you harder, like it’s something else; like it’s nothing, like it’s less, so much worse - you feel this guilty-dirty heat pool at your tailbone and push down the hard press of you throbbing all the way to her nose. And Hyeju smiles as much as she's capable around the fat, round stretch, humming around the warm taste of you, before opening wide and sinking her throat on it.

There's nothing like it.

You've got two fists in her hair; she's so tight and wet around every god-damn inch. Her cheeks flush - hot to the touch; her tongue laving in slow, long drags, slicking your shaft nice and warm until you're balls-deep and pushing her further: a small shift to the hips, a push here, a harder, faster pull, and Hyeju's feet behind her go curling like an angry cat, wanting the tug.

A long, satisfied breath slips from the hollows of her throat.

There are tears threatening, thickening her lashes, and though she doesn't choke - you're just afraid. Every sound that she pulls out, her eyes blinking up to you as if it's only natural to love getting used by her friend's cock, like the very premise of it - swallowing down the very shape of you, dragged over her tongue and brushing cum into the back of her throat - is something she can’t go without.

But this is nothing compared to the noises from where her lips are pressed tight around you, where you're hearing and even feeling:

That gluck, gluck - where her chest spasms just the slightest when her nose gets nuzzled right into your belly and you remember how much she likes to hear you talk dirty, how fucking wet it gets her. The heavy, deep breaths, gasps; the strangled moans when your hips just buck - the heat and the thrill, and this is better than every other time because there's just something in this moment -

"I'm not gonna come again, not like this. Not in your mouth. You can’t-"

But Hyeju refuses to hear a word; just pumps your shaft faster, feeling it's familiar hardness grow and throb and ache and retch, all her effort paying off: you're slick with precum and spit, hard and straining, the whole shaft begging for release - all because of her. And Hyeju won't stop, she pushes her cheek onto your thigh and then taps a hand there to pull your hips. The motion drives your cock further still inside her. Until it’s bathed in her spit, your cum, all this mess.

Until it's reaching, choking her, and the muffled sounds she's making are filthy and wet and so incredulously hot.

But god. Hyeju has something of a temper and a habit, too: with those big beautiful eyes and the perfect plump of her pouting lips, her tits swelling up around, when your grip slips on her shoulder, and her mouth goes tighter - how the pleasure begins to make you unbearably cruel and you push her away from you, only for a second -

She doesn't wait or seem to care; Hyeju follows the cock with her whole head and whimpers so hotly in her throat when it plops right back on her tongue. "That's more - more like - fuck, oh, there we go," her nose and fingers prodding.

You groan through a high, strangled whimper, a helpless shiver that turns into an uncontrollable roll of the hips - you can't believe it: she's already so thoroughly debauched and defaced; just fucking painted with it. Your cum dripping off her chin and rolling down her neck.

"Fuck - gonna make me - ah, Jesus -"

When Hyeju seems to have reached her fill, the feeling, you're cumming - pumping the length of your shaft. And the moment she feels you twitch and throb and that first hot spill lands in the bend of her mouth, it's as if she understands and holds herself tight - her legs going stock-still while your eyes blow up behind her, your cock spewing another and then another thick, milky load into her mouth, over her tongue: all along the topography of her throat - sticky cum landing in every ridge and valley -

Hyeju catches as much as she can. What little she can. You cum and pump and gush so much that when you're finally finished - done - every last drop spent and given - your cock throbs soft between her fingers; her chin is a complete and utter mess and her chest heaves with the sound of her catching her own breath. Hyeju groans softly and just swishes the load around in her mouth for a bit as if wanting to remember its feel and weight before lifting her eyes to look into yours. You can just barely see the color.

"Jesus, Hyeju-"

The entire bit of it, slick and shining-wet. With a small moan, a sound from the back of her throat: one swallow and the cum is gone, disappeared, vanished. She smiles like she didn't just ruin your entire goddamn life and, with her body limp and exhausted beside you - her gentle hand rubbing a flat stroke over your thigh before yours slips up to meet her chin.

"You," you curse and roll your eyes, catching the mess at the edge of her jaw, the very little left in the corners of her lips. You feed the cum over her bottom lip - her chin, her throat - watching your friend: Hyeju's throat, bobbing. "Really didn't have to," you start, but you realize just how useless a point it is to make.

She's smiling and biting and showing you what's left between the tips of her canines. "Do you always do this to the people who suck you off?"

"That's an awful habit. A pretty girl's lips aren't meant to get that messy," you reply.

"Oh." She frowns. "Well, I do a lot of things I shouldn't."

"God, seriously," and you think there's no greater hell, no sweeter pain than whatever's lingering in these little aftershocks - this fizzling and dying sort of pain, where the body is buzzed with all you're aching for. It's impossible to stop this train of thoughts, is the fucking feeling of her-

But just then, Hyeju rises to her knees, a new spark in her eyes, as she grabs ahold of your wrist and tugs you off the sheets, a few inches closer.

"And you," she purrs as she drags the palm of your hand across her neck and collarbone, collecting what remains and making the perfect image, "well - you are going to help clean me up, like you said before." She sits tall; the arch of her spine is pronounced - her back, so, very, slightly tapering, to where your hand slips right off the last of it: the wide flare of her hips. "Now isn't that the gentleman's thing to do?" she asks.

"Of course." You sigh, resigned and in desperate need of water. "Of course," you add and smirk a little and slip your hand lower, toward where her skin is getting hot, and her body, "let's get you clean."

"Mm." She's already grinning. "You know what wasn't in those textbooks?"

"Oh, I can only guess." You bite your cheek and start to lower yourself back. "Give it a try."

Hyeju drags you by the wrist toward the hall, the bathroom, ostensibly the shower -

"There's no way in hell you don't want to put a baby in me, like, right fucking now."

"Is that what we're doing?"

Hyeju makes a face like you're stupid - she might've grabbed a towel on the way out. She wipes her chin a little while walking - the corner of her mouth where, well - where it looks like a little dribble has somehow remained. "No. But you’re going to fuck me like it is."

(There's got so much on her mind.

The door of the shower rattling in its frame as she struggles standing up against it. Getting fucked so fast and full, the feeling of both your hands cupped beneath the weight of her breasts. It's not the fact of where you are and your situation, per say - more about the immediate, the imperative nature. About fucking you. She was already feeling herself like, leaking the moment the door shut, so all that waiting, all that patience, really - and it's what drove her insane when you were, well: like that, after she put her mouth around your cock, made a right and proper mess of herself, and sucked you off.

Though there's less on her mind, clearly, when she cums all over your cock.

She's crying with her tits up onto the glass, your palm holding her ribs. Your cum-slick cock working itself hard again as it slips, back and forth, as you're fucking her open, spread apart. It's your finger in her asshole. That's what's on her mind then. How the press of your knuckle lights her entire fucking spine on fire - how the other hand finds her clit in all this, too, when you're no longer supporting the both of you but rather Hyeju is folding on her bent knee and trusting, on shaking and shivering, raw nerves, that you're not going to collapse.

"Fucking. God, please-"

There's the harsh slap of flesh - skin on wet skin, your palms against the sides of her ass and the curve of the breast. But otherwise - it's you, sighing - soft and gentle, like you can't get over the feel of her. "Hyeju, oh-fucking, god, fucking," is what you're saying, and it doesn't end up really mattering which one of you came last because she can feel you twitching, squelching in and out with how badly you're wanting to explode inside, but also you can feel her cunt absolutely begging, this fucking fluttering and clamping down on every thrust and the moment you manage to grind this angle she loses her ability to speak properly because you're not just, like - fucking her-

Just, absolutely, completely pounding her pussy, stretching her insides, dragging and sliding along the walls; each rough rub and thrust makes her knees quiver until her body is trembling and falling. But mostly her voice, the sharp gasp that shakes into her, how her nails are scraping the walls of the shower stall and she's saying - telling, crying and asking and wondering and pleading - just utterly astounded:

"Amazing," she huffs, breathes coming out cloudy and true onto the pane of glass, "you - it’s, fucking amazing.")

“And I am… Ironman.”

Your eyes flicker awake, hazy, as Tony Stark snaps his fingers, killing himself alongside Thanos’ army in the process.

The TV's long been running on background noise, though not as ambient. Its characters now bickering between the rubble and ruins and being picked up for the end credits. In the dark of the screen, you see Hyeju had nodded off and slumped over the side of your body. A new year means new beginning means resolutions and diets and gym routines -

Maybe no sooner than the sun can come up, apparently.

You lean over to grab your phone from the table: 4:14 A.M.

There's a lot of things you want to say, even more you want to hear, but your mind has begun to settle a bit - a lazy and dreamy thing that fills you with this sort of, tired kind of - not sad, or empty - no, of course not. That's hardly fitting; not after tonight. You want to wrap this in an idealistic sort of sentiment - maybe hold Hyeju close and let the hour carry you and the comfort be enough to forgive whatever there is to miss: like the fact, it's still really dark, so dark even outside. The moon reflecting off the sheet of snow on the street. And not even a distant dog barking, or car driving by or someone playing loud music in the early hours of the new year.

As the film drifts off into another set of commercials, you slip into an easy sleep that feels effortless. Your head drops, landing on the cushion by the arm of the couch, where Hyeju's hand begins to slip mindlessly across your belly, tickling your waist and causing you to slightly squirm - things are cooling down, but still a little agitated.

"Don't tell me you're waking me up, cause I just -"

She kisses the pulse at your throat and answers, mumbling half-words into the spot below your ear. "A kiss for a new year."

And maybe the world doesn't owe you anything at all.

Maybe it just gave you more than enough.

#hyeju smut #loona smut #loona hyeju smut #loossemble smut #loossemble hyeju smut #olivia hye smut #loona olivia hye smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember

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merakiui · 2 months ago

Note

OHSHC AU where reader breaks a precious arrifact from one of the dorms maybe all but instead of repaying the huggeeee debt with hours of labour she has to pay with her body and can’t refuse :)

every kink in the book is used as she’s pleading with the dorm leaders for mercy, crying about forgiveness but all they can hear is that her mouth is very wide open and needs to be replaced with a cock or gag </3 poor reader doesn’t have time to take birth control! and none of the students at nrc know what condoms are oopsies!! imagine savanaclaw in their heat … oh boy rip her pussy! she’ll never know a peaceful day until graduation but even then one of the dorm leaders might take her with them to spend forever with them

Omg yes,,, ohshc au, but it's freaky and full of sex because those scheming boys now have a girl in their debt and that opens so many possibilities. Their methods in dealing with you would all be different, of course, but in the end you're probably getting dicked down either way. <3

I think Riddle's punishments are probably more old-fashioned. If you can't fix whatever it is you broke, then you will write lines stating that you will be more careful, that you won't break anything again, etc. Or he'll make you write an essay detailing why exactly you're sorry, why you ought to be forgiven, etc. T_T really, these are just punishments his own mother gave to him in order to push him to do better in his studies. Riddle doesn't know any better.

He thinks differently when someone like Ace or Cater offhandedly and jokingly remarks how unlucky you must feel. Good thing their Housewarden isn't some pervert, otherwise he could totally force you to give him blowjobs whenever he wanted all under the guise of "repaying your debt." Riddle is appalled. He would never stoop so low! This is Heartslabyul, not Octavinelle. >:( still, the basic concept is just a little appealing. So maybe he's got a small crush on you, and maybe it would be easier to get you to spend time with him if you had no other choice. He makes you join him for tea parties in the gardens, for games of croquet, etc. His hope is that you'll warm up to him and not feel so rigid around him. orz

Leona probably doesn't care as much about the artifact as someone like Riddle might. It has no sentimental value to him personally, so why should he be worried? Besides, it was pretty old anyway. But that doesn't mean you can get off completely innocent. You're the reason he's got more work on his plate now, what with having to deal with the Headmage squawking at him about it. He allows you to choose between two punishments: either you become Savanaclaw's errand girl and do much the same work Ruggie does around the dorm, or you spend every night literally warming his bed (i.e. let him use you as a pillow if you're going to be good and still and quiet). If you want an easy way out, you'll choose the latter. Besides, his bed is comfortable, big enough for two. And as long as you aren't a pain, he doesn't mind. (You are definitely going to be warming his bed in other ways. The innuendo in his words is not lost on Leona.)

Azul...... of course he's slimy and sleazy about it. Oh, you poor soul. How is he ever going to get over this dear, priceless artifact that you have so carelessly broke? Jade is there to oh-so-helpfully inform you of its market price and what it could currently go for if sold. And Floyd's there to poke fun at the unfortunate predicament you've found yourself in. But Azul is a resourceful octopus. He makes a grand show of contemplating what he should do with you just to watch you squirm nervously, as if he hasn't already planned it out from the very beginning. He'll capitalize on your being a girl and have you work the floor in the lounge. There's always an increase in tips and sales when you're serving the customers, and why wouldn't there be? A cute, helpless girl in a school full of boys is an appealing sight.

He's irritating, but he isn't callous! Jade and Floyd are there to look out for you in case any of the patrons get it in their heads that they ought to appreciate you through touch instead of simply staring. Your uniforms change with every new event Mostro Lounge holds. Azul knows his target audience well because he also fits into that same group LOL. So maybe the sight of you in frilly uniforms is appealing. Sue him. >_< he wants you so badly, and luckily (with you being indebted to him) he has you all to himself. :) after hours are a very fun time at the lounge.

Kalim doesn't see what the issue is. He's not mad, so please don't cry!!! 🥺 you'll make him cry if you're not happy... Jamil is just about ready to pass out while he calculates just how bad this is. And here Kalim is, not caring in the slightest! T_T but Kalim is more sympathetic towards you, not the vase you broke. Besides, he can just get another one. :D no harm done at all! There really isn't any punishment to be had. If you insist on repaying your debt, Kalim tells you it's all water under the bridge.

Jamil is the only one who insists this is a good idea, and if Jamil thinks it's fine then Kalim agrees. So now you're sort of,,, there in Scarabia. Jamil puts you to work when Kalim isn't around, but when Kalim is there he spoils you rotten. The complete opposite of a punishment. There's definitely dubious shadows to this, though. For all of the delicious foods and alcohol you consume, you wake with hazy memories, only ever recalling you looked into the eyes of...something before you fell. Was it a snake? Maybe... but Kalim is always there in the morning to smother you in affection, so maybe it's not so bad.

You are Vil's newest pet project. He goes in with metaphorical fork and knife and cuts into you with his criticism, all of which is completely valid. You were clumsy when you broke that artifact. You weren't paying attention to your surroundings. You were completely oblivious, so in your own world. Epel would feel bad for you, but finally he gets to relax just a little bit now that Vil's eyes are mostly off of him and centered on you. Vil is going to put you through a reformation of sorts. You will come out of it your best, most elegant self! A wonderful improvement from your earlier carelessness. Only then will he forgive your previous transgression.

You and Vil get on like oil and water. That is, you don't mix at all. You are subjected to curses left and right because Vil is so strict. Suddenly, you can't eat certain foods and if you try to sneak them you find they've all been cursed (courtesy of Vil). If you try to slack on the work he has you do, even when you know he's not around, somehow word gets back to Vil. That creepy hunter always seems to know everything you do even when you're alone. It's troubling. Vil likes to think his heart is an iron fortress, so it's impossible to fathom when he falls for you first (and so hopelessly, at that)!

Idia doesn't put as much value in that artifact as he does in his own anime collection. If you broke something from his collection that was limited edition, he'd be far more upset (and then proceed to pull out the second one he got as back-up for this very specific moment). But this is an easy fix, really. He has the technology to make it good as new and, if that can't be done, he can always build a new one. Upgrades are important and necessary in some cases, especially when things get too outdated. It's a little awkward having a real 3D girl in his room all the time, though. >_< kick his ass in the twst equivalent of Smash and he's looking at you in a completely different light (hearing you trash talk him is so arousing; he's never been more hard).

Let's say the thing you broke in this case was a gargoyle. You're not sure how it happened, but it's headless now and Malleus is just staring silently at you. You can't read the emotions on his face, but with the way Sebek is shouting at you to get on your knees and beg for forgiveness you think you're about to be burnt to a crisp. It's so uneasy and awkward, and all you can do is apologize profusely, insisting you didn't mean to break it. It's Lilia who comes to your rescue: "Now, now, Malleus. You'll scare the poor child if you keep frowning so. Mistakes happen, do they not?" Silver also comes to your aid, adding that it wasn't your intention to break this gargoyle. It was an accident.

So now here you are, the second member of the Gargoyle Studies Club, accompanying Malleus for club activities while he teaches you all about gargoyles so that you can gain a better appreciation for them. It was Lilia's idea in the first place. He is Malleus's unofficial wingman. One way or another, you're going to find yourself alone in the woods with Malleus while Lilia is in the bushes belting out "romantic" love ballads from the old ages. T_T someone put peepaw to bed... at the very least, it lessens the awkward tension between you and Malleus, and it even gets the both of you laughing.

#twisted chit chat #n/sfw #tw: dubcon #i wrote it and yet it isn't nearly as freaky... orz it's a slow burn sort of freak :3

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rinachains · 23 days ago

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wc: 2.6k

contents: nanami x gn!reader; age gap (they're both adults); kind of a mentor/mentee relationship (but not really); reader has some unresolved issues; (sexual?) tension; seemingly one-sided crush; suggestive; MDNI

a/n: a little something while I'm working on the toji fic. the voices made me write this, I hope y'all will enjoy it. comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! divider credits: @cafekitsune

“Are you hungry?”

A shake of your head, barely noticeable. As expected, Nanami mused. He held down a loud sigh.

The lethargic state in which the mission – the whole day – had left him was wearing him down, and all he wanted to do was lie in his bed and close his eyes. But even then, sleep came hard to him; it hovered above him, a painful tease, but it never dared to give him a sweet release. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt fully rested.

“Is there something else you want?”, Nanami tried again, a swift glance towards you.

You only made a dismissive noise in response. The sound almost got drowned out by the heavy rain outside of Nanami’s car. Every hit of the rain against his windows like a punch, with vigour and frustration behind it. Nanami tried not to let his frustration show.

If there was one thing Nanami didn't lack, it was self-awareness and the ability to see through others.

He knew that in the eyes of most of his peers, he came across as stern, overly composed and perhaps a bit too serious. More than once did he hear from them that he ought to relax more and be less formal, but despite all that, they still had a certain respect (and some even admiration) for him. He was able to handle majority of his peers, albeit with a headache sometimes.

Yet he - for the life of him - couldn't figure out why you suddenly became a different person when he was near you. He caught a glimpse of how you acted around others – you were relaxed, laughed at some of the jokes that were made and could hold conversations without any problems.

So why did you act so strange around him?

Nanami would even go so far as to say that you seemed irritated by him. Sometimes he’d catch the roll of your eyes when he’d admonish you, or you'd give him a halfhearted nod when he’d share an important piece of information with you, as if you were trying to have as little conversation with him as possible. As if any interaction with him was a pain in the ass. It deepened his frown each time, the ache in his already throbbing head only getting worse.

He was used to a reaction like this towards Gojo, someone who was naturally irritating, but towards him?

Today, you went on a mission together. Initially, you were supposed to go on your own, but the higher ups decided it would be better if Nanami tagged along, in case something happened and you wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Nanami told you that he would stay out of the mission - your mission - and that he would only intervene if he thought it was necessary. Until a certain point, you believed that the mission was going well and that it would end in success for you. A way to prove yourself, to show everyone how capable you were. But then fate decided to show its twisted sense of humor today; just when you thought you had exorcised all the curses, another one suddenly came from behind you, catching you off guard. Too fast for you to react in time.

And the worst thing? Nanami had to come to your rescue, even though you nearly had it.

So now you were sitting in his car, parked in front of the apartment complex you lived in and waited. For what? You didn’t quite know. Nanami told you to wait until the rain stopped, since none of you had an umbrella with you. How considerate of him, right?

He sat next to you in the driver's seat, not a single strand of his perfectly coiffed hair out of place, not even a small stain on his clean, pressed suit.

With each passing minute, the silence between the two of you only grew more tense. Since all available managers were busy with other sorcerers, Nanami offered to use his car. He didn’t expect to do much or any work at all.

Your arms were crossed against your chest as you stared out of the window, chewing on the inside of your cheek and pointedly avoiding looking at the man next to you. You seemed uncomfortable, visibly upset, and that in return made Nanami restless; he tried to remember if he unknowingly offended you earlier. He sometimes tended to be a bit harsh, not feeling and seeing the need to sugarcoat things, but he was not someone who was reluctant to praise. So what did he do to you to make you dislike him?

He cleared his throat, one of his hands loosening his tie. It started to feel awfully tight around his neck.

"If you have a problem, you can tell me. After all, we are both adults here.”

"There's no problem," you muttered, fingers intertwined in your lap. You didn’t sound very convincing and your eyes still refused to meet his.

"Clearly there is," he said matter-of-factly, tired of beating around the bush. He wanted your honesty; he could handle it. After all, he had dealt with worse things in his life. "I may not know you that well, but I can see that something is bothering you."

Another beat of silence and Nanami considered dropping the subject and giving up. If you didn’t want to talk, then he won’t force you.

You felt like pure shit. The truth was, you definitely had a problem. With him. And even though he probably didn't mean to, he brought out the worst in you, all those ugly, desperate feelings that were buried deep inside your body. You hated the way he nagged you or made you feel stupid and fragile. You usually prided yourself on being confident and collected, but he could make you question yourself and your abilities so easily without even trying. You wanted to be independent, not have to lean on him for support; you were a strong sorcerer, for God's sake. So when he had to step in and rescue you like a damsel in distress, it did more than just irritate you. Simply put, your ego couldn't handle it. And it wasn't even his fault, the cause was entirely your own deep-seated insecurities.

He wasn't much older than you, yet he somehow made you feel like a lost child that lacked decades of experience. It annoyed you, but what annoyed you even more was the strong attraction you felt towards him.

Nanami was intimidating yet gentle, someone with good intentions, probably better than any of the other senior sorcerers you worked with.

You longed for his praise, to hear his approval and let it wrap you in a warm embrace. But you were afraid of falling for it, of becoming dependent. An addict. You could never be casual about such things, the intensity was too strong in your heart, a part of you.

The smell of his expensive cologne made your head spin, the urge to nuzzle your face against his neck and breathe in his comforting, masculine scent growing harder and harder to resist. It was like fighting a natural instinct, every fiber of your body yelling at you to give in.

But what made it even harder was the simple fact that he would never see you in that light. Nanami was too good a man, you knew it, everyone knew it. It was supposed to lessen your attraction, but somehow it made it stronger. Maybe there was something seriously wrong with you.

Averting your gaze from the window, you couldn't help but let your eyes linger on his thighs, the thickness of them stretched across the seat, muscles straining against his tight slacks. You swallowed as your mind began to wander.

You imagined his big hand, the same one he used to exorcise curses, gently caressing the nape of your neck, the other one cupping your cheek so tenderly, as if you would crack under the slightest pressure, thumb brushing under your eye. The band of his watch would dig lightly into your skin, leaving faint marks that you'd only notice later when you looked in the mirror.

The sounds he'd make, a hungry humming vibrating against your lips as his mouth would fit perfectly against yours in a desperate rhythm, as if he'd waited far too long to devour you. A choked moan as your hand pressed against his thigh to stabilize yourself, nails digging into the fat there as the muscles twitched under your burning touch.

The deep blush that would color his cheeks, spreading across the bridge of his nose as his breath hitched. The growing bulge between his thighs that would ache and harden as you brushed your fingertips over it, his hips lifting up and chasing for more.

You wanted to see him crumble because of you, to succumb to his desires and abandon his principles. To bring all the pleasure that brew underneath his skin to a boil. But you weren't naive; you knew it would only remain a distant dream, a hidden fantasy of yours. Because it was Nanami.

"I'm just exhausted," you finally responded with a shake of your head, daring to briefly meet his piercing brown eyes, rid of his glasses. You watched how his lips pressed into a flat line, his head tilted the slightest bit. You thought the expression on his face could be concern.

"Then you should take it easy," Nanami said, so frustratingly considerate. "You may be an adult, but you're still too young to suffer all this stress."

Immediately, as if he had pressed a trigger point, a groan left your mouth at his words and your head slammed back against the car seat rather dramatically. Your fingers pinched the bridge of your nose.

"Stop treating me like an incompetent child. I can handle this perfectly fine. Seriously, you're acting as if I’ve just started as a sorcerer, even though I've been doing this for several years now."

Nanami went still and blinked. His brows furrowed, the shadows on his face darkened, and he shifted in his seat to face you properly. "I do believe you're competent. You're talented, but that doesn't mean you should disregard your own limits."

Your eyelashes fluttered and you peered at him from the corner of your half-lidded eye.

"I just want you to take me seriously."

"I do. And I don't want you to end up like me; it's my duty as your senior to make sure you have it better than I did."

"But it makes me feel like shit," you bit back, all the frustration pouring out of you like an uncontrollable body of water. You couldn't hold back anymore, the gates now opened. "You may have no ill intentions, but that doesn't mean your actions can't negatively affect me."

You waved a hand at him. "And then you had to save me today. I really thought I could do it for a moment, but of course I screwed up. And you had to clean up after me."

"You did not mess up," Nanami insisted stubbornly.

“Oh, c’mon,” you scowled. “I always seem to do so in your eyes.”

"I never thought of you that way," Nanami replied, the tension in his face softening. "I didn't know you felt that way."

"Well," you murmured, rubbing the back of your neck. "I guess that's on me." You exhaled, head tipped back. "It's just hard, you know? To show any sign of weakness."

"But it's not weakness. You're just being human."

Then he reached his hand up, and you watched as he placed it on your shoulder, the size of his hand dwarfing it. The warmth of his careful touch made your skin tingle through your clothes, his thumb rubbing lightly against the tingling spot. In just a few seconds, you found it harder to breathe, the air too stuffy in his car, which seemed to have shrunk.

A casual touch, you thought. Nothing special. But the way it consumed you and festered through your body was anything but casual.

"You did well today,” Nanami said pointedly, an attempt to calm and reassure you. The deep timbre of his voice crossed the small distance between you and traveled through your body, tightening the knot in your stomach. Your fingers pressed into the side of your seat. You held his piercing stare, fearing for a moment that he could read you every thought and figure you out. Your tongue poked out to wet your lips. A weak nod was all you could give him.

He removed his hand, slowly, and for a fleeting moment you thought that his fingers lingered on you for a little too long before he resumed his former position and his hand returned to his leg.

You subtly shook your head again – clearly your exhaustion was taking over you and clouding your mind. You had to get yourself together. Maybe a short trip to Shoko would help.

"How do you deal with all this stress?" you asked, more calmly now that the cat was out of the bag.

He made a sound, a mix of a huff and a sigh. “I don’t deal with it; I’m afraid it will always accompany me.”

You hummed, tilting your head to rest on your shoulder. Your eyes flickered back to him. "Sounds exhausting. Have you tried anything to relieve the stress?"

“I don’t think there’s something that could relieve it. I guess that’s just the price I pay as a sorcerer.”

"Really?" you asked, sounding skeptical. "Is there really nothing that would help relax your body? Take your mind off all this jujutsu stuff?"

His lips parted, words sitting right on the tip of his tongue, but they closed again. Instead, “No, I can’t really think of anything.”

“Hmh, but that way you might die from the stress, and not because of a mission. That would be an unimpressive way to go.”

To your surprise, he let out a snort, the ghost of a thin smile forming on his face.

“You’re probably right.”

“Maybe I can help.”

He didn’t respond right away. Then, “How?”

"By locking Gojo up for a few hours. Or a few days."

The amused glint in the brown of his irises returned. He rubbed his eyes.

"I'm afraid that won't do much. Knowing him, he'd find a way to be annoying from wherever he's locked up."

You were about to reply, hoping to keep the conversation going, but then you looked outside; the rain had stopped. All that remained was the dark sky. Your teeth sank into your lower lip, hesitating.

"…I have to go now. It’s late and you probably also want to go home."

He gave you a curt nod. His eyes were now focused forward, an unreadable expression crossing his face.

You opened the door and climbed out of the seat, your feet already on the ground, before you turned your head slightly, giving Nanami a view of your side profile.

“…thank you, Nanami.” And I’m sorry, you wanted to add. But you weren’t there yet. Your stupid pride still had a firm grip on you and not even the little conversation you had could get you out of it. Perhaps you needed more time.

“Of course.”

As you closed the door and started to walk away, you didn't get to see him slump back into his seat with a heavy sigh, a hand running down his face, the tips of his ears turning a crimson color as shame coursed through his veins.

You would be the death of him, he was sure of it.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #nanami x reader #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami kento x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami x you #nanami kento x you #suggestive

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gh0stswh0re · 2 years ago

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cockwarming with ghost

warnings: f! reader, mentions of injuries + physical pain (improper treatment of said injuries), mild somnophilia, manhandling, cockwarming, m! cries, very brief mentions of marriage, literally one line of a breeding kink

a/n: 1,5k words, writing time of 3 hours

it was a routine at this point – the regular, daily routine he'd always put you through – coming home late; his steps echoing throughout the apartment, the heavy combat boots sinking down onto the wooden floor with each weary step – he'd try to keep quiet, to not wake you up, but he was tired - too tired to notice how loud his heavy stomping actually was. if any luck is on his side, he'll manage to drop his keys somewhere in the process – just fucking great he'd think to himself, physically cringing as the metal hit the floor.

he'd start undressing before he even made it to the bathroom – hot strings of pain shooting up his spine, jolting his muscles as he pulled his shirt over his head – it was covered in dust, soaked in blood and sweat.

he'd turn around - facing the mirror as he inspected the freshly made wounds up close; maybe it was a bruise, a scratch, a cut, or perhaps a bullet grazed the soft tissue of his shoulder blade - recently he even made a habit of returning from the battlefield with burns scattered over his skin – it was whatever, really - any wound you could ever think of, he already came home with it at least once.

after a while – after he's already placed a damp, wet cloth over the scratched, bruised skin; cleaning off the blood clumps which formed at the red, burning surface of it – he'd notice your clumsy steps making their way to the bathroom – fuck, he had no intention of waking you up. you already don't sleep enough – waiting for him for hours on end every single night.

you'd lean against the door frame, watching him through half-lidded eyes as your head fell to the side. "it's not as bad as it looks" is a regular excuse of his – he really ought to get more original with his words.

but how could you not notice it - how his heartbeat thrummed in his fingertips as he carefully brushed against the injured skin - how his eyes shut closed each time he'd make the wrong move, and how he hissed when putting a new shirt on?

sex was the other part of the conventional routine – he'll always walk toward you, quickly closing the distance; picking you up, and carrying you around as if you weighed nothing.

dipping his head down to kiss you, his needy tongue slips inside your mouth as his lips sealed around yours and he practically swallows your whimpers with that fever, undying desire that burns deep inside, completely endowing him.

laying you down on the bed or tossing you around as he pleased – it was his choice entirely, as your very existence borderlines on his mercy.

he worries he's tainting you, all of you, - leaving a perverted, everlasting mark of his touch on your soul each time you present yourself - bare and naked - in front of him, and he fucks into you, stretching the tight, warm walls of your cunt, splitting open your core. as he silences your vulgar, nasty moans each time he claims your lips in a frantic kiss, and you rank your digits through his hair, nails scratching down his bare neck.

it just helps him calm down, cut loose for a bit – something that's hardly achievable for those in command, the men responsible for dozens of lives. it lifts some of the weight that lies on his shoulders and filters out all the shit he's put through every day.

it's as if he's suffocating throughout the day – drowning – and then you breathe the life back into his lungs with each kiss.

as if all the pain flees from his body the very moment you touch him – your hand brushing against his back, fingers playfully running over his shoulders before you start working on the ugly knots tied deep inside his muscles. he takes one of your hands into his own, bringing your palm flat against the side of his face, slowly nuzzling his head into your soft skin – his eyes looking up to yours for just a split moment before you hug him – fully embracing him in your tender, ever so loving touch.

he needs this – this part of the routine that you quietly established without ever saying a word – he craves it, but you decided to break the torturous pattern of the repeating cycle – he'd always pull out after feeling his dick grow limp inside you, but tonight you stopped him – "can we stay like this- just for a minute?" – it was a shy request, and the uncertainty of your voice made your lips tremble. but you notice his gaze softening, as his dark eyes found yours – if you didn't know any better you'd dare to say you caught him off guard – he nodded gently, before he readjusted himself, so he'd be laying on top of you a bit more comfortably; still careful not to crush you – he was always cautious of it, no matter how many times you told him to relax, reassured him he's not going to hurt you.

except that minute turned into two, and then those two turned into five, and then an hour passed by. you already dozed off - barely drifting in and out of your sleepy state, when he'd softly whisper your name, nuzzling hand against your cheek, caressing the delicate skin.

he'd change positions – so that you were laying on your side, with your back pressed against his bare chest – without saying a word. you didn't ever need to – sometimes you wondered if not only has he been reading your thoughts, but also planting some of them inside your mind.

he'd press his face into the side of your neck, smelling your scent as the drowsy sensation of arousal spread from his abdomen – weary breaths from the depths of his chest wracking his ribs – his throat bobbing each time he swallowed - his heart beating quicker each second, pumping his veins full of adrenaline. fuck, he's getting hard again.

he'd start pressing his body even closer to yours, unknowingly rolling his hips against you – subconsciously chasing the pleasure. his muscles growing weak - each movement malfunctioning, failing mid-synapse, despite his pathetic thrusting being barely noticeable – he just couldn't risk losing how close he was to you.

you'd knead the silky sheets between your fingers, as the misty moonlight fully awakened you. "didn't wanna wake you up, darling" his voice was muffled against your bare flesh, his hot breath tingling your skin. "-'s okay" the sweetness of your tone rang in his ears – as if your words hung in the air, messing with its molecules, for a little while at least – before your moans drowned out any remaining sounds, as the wetness dripped from the slit of your cunt down your thighs.

he'd sneak one of his arms around your side, entangling his fingers with yours as he held his hand flat against your chest – wrapping you up in the welcoming, familiar sense of safety that his embrace brought.

he'd press his face even further, harder into your neck – muffling his groaning as the ecstasy numbed every nerve in his body.

his composure is seeping away from him – his hips losing any and all rhythm, as he savagely, ferociously bucks even harder into you - the burning sensation of him nearly hitting your womb mixed with the anticipation growing in your belly - the warm, fuzzy feeling of your orgasm building up overtaking your body.

suddenly, you'd feel it – the warm tears, which crept by the corners of his tightly shut eyes, falling onto your skin – he was quietly weeping, his breath hitching in his throat.

"wanna marry you" he confessed. "put a baby in you" he blurted the words out.

"you'd let me do it, wouldn't you?" you silently hummed – your chest tightening, preventing the oxygen from entering your lungs. you couldn't fathom the actual weight, and importance that his words held – you couldn't even make up a half-assed reply without it breaking down at the second syllable – anything you'd say right now would be incoherent, wailing nonsense – no doubt about it.

the pure bliss numbed your mind and set your skin ablaze. the worst – best thing about it? the pleasure always hit you in waves – just when you thought it couldn't get any more intense, just as you feared your body might break, shut down completely - just as you thought he couldn't slam his cock any deeper in you ... it always happened, he always found a way – whether it was by lifting your leg up or quickly tossing you around or applying some extra pressure on your swollen, sensitive clit – he always managed to do it – pushing you even further into the hysteric pleasure, making your vision momentarily fade to black.

"say it" he demanded, his voice harsh and raw, simmering with frustration. "tell me you'd let me".

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley headcanons #ghost smut #ghost headcanons #ghost x reader #ghost #ghost mw2 #cod #cod mw2 #cod mw22 #cod ghost

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c0rpseductor · 1 year ago

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it’s so frustrating like i don’t mind depiction of incest i genuinely think more work out there needs to exist about incest bc it is such a deeply isolating experience and bc so many people feel alone and afraid to speak and cannot imagine having lives going forward and are crushed by all of it. there is so so so so much value in having fictional stories about processing it and real accounts and memoirs and open discussion and all that stuff. it is genuinely beyond important that incestuous abuse no longer be relegated to the darkness of secrecy simply because it makes people uncomfortable bc people living with the hell that is incest trauma deserve better than to be forced into isolation and silence. i will always ALWAYS advocate for these topics being discussed frankly. people go decades thinking it is their fault and that they are alone. it’s horrifying the way people who have lived through this become an afterthought and that needs to end.

so like i said like. it frustrates me, then, that the current discussion (where there is one) feels so weighted toward an exploitative and voyeuristic view and where cultural output about incestuous abuse is often like really offensive and clearly framed as being titillating and/or shock value. people joke freely about it in ways that are incredibly denigrating to survivors, there is still a culture of victim blaming and this idea of mutual deviance or dirtiness that makes it extremely difficult to come forward for fear of being not only blamed but fucking castigated for your own sexual abuse, you risk setting off a nuclear bomb in your already fucked up family, people don’t understand you. all the while there’s this air of fucking flippancy, and if you criticize that you’re a prude or a puritan or whatever the fuck else.

like, i get it. i can’t tell people what to do, what to like, how to process their own trauma. but treating it like a joke is not acceptable under any circumstances and that shit is fucking vile. be fucking respectful, be conscientious, you actually do owe it to the people around you and one day you will undoubtedly face social consequences if you continue to be cruel and thoughtless. it’s not even the writing at this point that makes me angry so much as the culture surrounding it where it’s so deeply fictionalized that incest itself gets turned into some sort of little game for people. i just saw people tagging an excerpt from the incest diary, a real human being’s memoir of abuse, with their ships. frankly if hell is real that’s where that kind of ghoulish behavior ought to send you. it disgusts me that i have to rant and rave and beg on my knees for scraps of human decency for myself and my fellow survivors who cannot or will not open themselves to this kind of Sisyphean debasement.

#and by the way if you do not like that i am angry: fuck you.

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locallixie · 2 years ago

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housemates — lee know

> summary . how can you live your life peacefully with having your housemate constantly seducing you like that?!

> genre . smut, fluff, housemates au, forced proximity, housemate!minho, gn!reader.

> warnings . sexual tension, general sexual themes, minor language, oral (receiving), unprotected sex, tipsy sex.

(wc) > 6.3k

(sunny's note) ☆ "and they were roommates.” wanted to be sweet and cute, until lee minho is in the equation. sorry for the late upload, i had a really bad writing slump and progress was slow. but i made it!

You shouldn’t have agreed to this if you knew this was how it would turn out. What a mistake, your kindness that yourself and other has taken for granted. And currently stuck in a living situation that tested your patience every waking hours, your dormitory experience was no match for this.

Jisung had asked you for a ‘small’ favour a couple months earlier, about how his friend got evicted and was now homeless, wondering if you could let him stay for a while until he find a new place. First of all, that was not a small favor. Secondly, you didn’t even know this friend that he was talking about. And you were reluctant to let a stranger stay in your house right off the bat. You lived in a dorm before, but that was a dorm and not your own house.

“Please, [Y/N], just a couple months.” Jisung pushed over the phone, you could tell he was outside from the loud and slightly muffled noise that the speaker picked up upon.

Sighing, your soft spot for him would be the death of you. Agreed with hesitation, since you were glad you were out of the dorm life and regained your privacy, but it seemed that life had came to pull you back in. Jisung should be expecting your complaints if something bad happened between you and your new housemate.

From the first initial meeting, you got some of the weirdest vibe from this guy. Maybe it was the amount of black and leather he was dressed up in, or the bitchy look on his face that could kill with a single stare. How the fuck was Jisung friends with a person like this? They were the complete opposite of one another, the guy looked as if he committed first degree murders as his favourite past-time. What you meant was you were convinced that he was a sociopathic killer, and he was probably plotting yours and Jisung’s death soon.

For one person, he sure did had a lot of stuff. You three brought around eight or ten different sized carton boxes up to your apartment, not counting the two gigantic suitcases that he had to take a second trip with Jisung to go get. He must have been living in his old place for very long to have that much stuff, wonder why he got kicked out? Possibly because the landlord found the bodies with how sharp his eyes always glared at.

“Don’t worry about the rent, Minho can pay for his half.” Jisung reassured, starting his car. The engine roared loudly, it had been through a rough day of carrying all that stuff to here.

Before he left, Jisung told you one last thing. “Oh, and don’t be afraid to ask him for help around the house, Minho may look intimidating but he’s quite a sweet guy.” With that sentence stuck in the back of your head, he drove away. If you could even have enough courage to ask him to take the trash out, maybe that statement would be proven.

You did all the house chores yourself, you didn't ask for any assistance from Minho. Wether it was because you were used to having to do everything yourself, or he was just still as unapproachable as the first time you two met. But he too, barely talked to you. You heard his voice once or twice when he was on the phone, but he did not speak a full sentence to you and ought for short few words replies.

"Do you need any help?" Another voice emerged from behind your back, offering assistance.

You pulled the trash bag out of the can, "I'm good, thanks,"

"Whatever, suit yourself." Minho walked away. Not even a bit of small talk? It frustrated you of how aloof he was acting, he didn't want to get to know you at all. However, it pissed him off just as much, you would always shrug him off every-time he offered to help you. As you two had made it clear before, you hardly knew each other, and here you were living together as people of unfamiliarity.

You didn't know his last name, or how he met your three years best friend—Jisung. Neither did he held any personal information about you, he wasn't even sure which variation of your name was the correct one. Already a month has passed by and no one was willing to start up a conversation with the other person. This ice between you and Minho just kept getting thicker and colder.

Ranting on the phone, "I'm telling you, I can not get through him! I think he hate me!"

"Calm down, [Y/N], he doesn't hate you." Jisung reassured, sighing as this was the third phone call of the month that you were expressing your discontent for the same subject. "It's simple, just talk to him, even if it's small talk."

Hearing the front door opened, "Fuck, he's back, I'll talk to you later." You didn't let Jisung say 'bye', hanging up in the midst of his sentence.

Minho worked a nine-to-five job, you weren't sure of his occupation in particular. You got a sense of his routine, he would leave the house at exactly seven-fifty in the morning and usually came home around five or six—depending on the traffic that day. On few occasions, he was nice enough to bring food home for the both of you.

"Hey, you're back quite late today?" You asked, seeing the clock already hitting six at the moment.

He set down a few plastic bags on the table, "I got groceries on the way, I'll cook dinner." He explained shortly, bringing ingredients to the kitchen for preparation.

That was a first, he had never offered to cook before, much less thanking you for the meals you made for dinner. Guessed he was just hot and cold like that, and this was his way of showing his gratitude. You weren't mad, on what normal day would you have someone cook for you enjoy? You technically did everything yourself when you moved out a few years ago.

Watching his figure diligently cooking in the kitchen, it comforted you in an unusual way. He was like your own personal boyfriend—for tonight at least, he would cook and then sit at the table with you to eat, maybe he might even offer to wash the dishes. A fine, hard-working young man? Anyone who could scored him would probably be winning in life. You couldn’t hide your jealousy if he ever bring home a date.

He walked over to you, holding out a spoon with a small portion of thick orange liquid. Minho asked, “Try it, tell me if it suit your taste.”

The tangy flavour stood out immediately, he must have put something citrusy as it melt into your tastebuds. It was good, no, amazing even! This hidden talent of his was worth all the waiting you had done, you never knew Minho could be such a great chef. For a while, you thought this guy couldn’t possibly hold a knife correctly, yet you were proven wrong of your assumptions.

You nodded, the sound you made when encountered good food already told him enough. Everything smelled so mouth-watering, and the presentation was tempting you to devour everything in on sitting.

"Thanks for the food!" As soon as he placed the last dish onto the table, you immediately picked up your utensils. You could not hold yourself back when face with good home-cooked food, good home-cooked food made by an equally good-looking guy.

Minho sat down beside you—he usually sat across from you which kept a nice distance between the two of you—he was very close today. Asked he, "How is it? Good?"

You didn't hold back on your praises, "God, why didn't you cook sooner? This is actual heaven~!"

He simply smiled in a humble manner. Your face was a little puffed up when you eat, which he found quite endearing. Watching you stuffed your entire face with rice, sweet and sour ribs, and eggrolls. Flattered by how much you were enjoying it, yet concerned from how fast you were eating.

"Slow down, wouldn't want you to choke." He gazed at you as he advised.

"Unless you like it like that." Immediately, you started coughing profusely. A grain of rice flew up to your nose, making everything worse the longer it stayed stuck up there.

Minho patted your back, "Woah, are you alright?" Uh, obviously no?! You were coughing out rice over here, how could you even be remotely okay? And how did he expect you to be okay after that suggestive comment he just made? This guy was unbelievable. The smile laced with deviousness, as if he was silently planning something that would catch you off guard—which certainly did a minute ago.

He picked up a single rib and ate it with his chopsticks, he probably mind getting his hands dirty from that sticky sauce he used. How could Minho looked so graceful while eating while you were here devouring everything down like a fucking caveman. Work on your image a bit, would you? Especially when you were living with someone that wouldn't use their hands to eat ribs.

"Have you been talking to Jisung recently?" Minho suddenly questioned, setting down his bowl as to show respect.

You turned to him, confusion sitting on your shoulders and your heart sinking with a bit of guilt. By any chance, did he overheard your conversations? "Yeah, I have." Continued by another question, "What? Are you two not talking?"

Minho's eyes was bigger than you expected, now seeing him a bit closer from your distance from each other. It curved in a very pretty way, and glistened upon every reflections of his soul. You couldn't help, couldn't help but get a little sad every-time you gazed into his eyes, or when they would unknowingly stared back at you. He looked at you, as if through his eyes saw you as the most precious person to exist in the short timespan that was the human life.

"He haven't been answering my texts and calls, I don't know if he's upset with me or something?" Minho sighed, "Can you...just ask him for me?"

In a bit of hesitation, "Would it be a bit rude for an outsider to chime in? Whatever it is you and Jisung are going through, it's best if you two worked it out together...privately." You told, trying to offer other solutions.

Minho let out a tired breath, "I don't know, I'm not sure what I did wrong that made him upset with me, that's what I'm most worried about."

You patted his back, "Just talk it out with him, communication is key!" How ironic, you could hardly hold a conversation with him, and now you were here giving out communication advise? Unreliable source. You knew you shouldn't interfere with whatever beef Jisung and Minho was having between each other, but you were making it seem like you wouldn't ask Jisung for details. Or Jisung would tell you himself from how much he like to rant to you.

Minho flashed a genuine smile towards you, "Thanks, I owe you one!"

Your heart skipped a beat, just one enough for your whole system to go the very bit haywire. You were finally making some good progress with Minho, and his entire intimidating and remote façade all came crashing down when he smiled. Keep up the good work!

“Are you and Minho back on speaking terms yet?” The other line went quiet for a few seconds, you heard a sigh being let out.

Jisung replied with a question, “He told you?”

Fuck, your nosy tendencies were acting up again, it slipped out of you like a natural instinct. “No—um, yeah he did but I don’t know the details or anything! He was just wondering if you were mad at him or something since you stop contacting him.” You went on to explain, trying to tell Jisung that you weren’t intending to be impolite and simply wanted to help your friend out.

The other giggled at your tone of voice, of how freaked out he got you. You acted as if the people you were working for to take down started suspecting you to be a double agent, but unlike those action films, you were terrible at hiding the truth.

“My girlfriend don’t like the fact that I’m still friends with my exes, so she wiped out their contacts from my phone.” The whole problem was finally solved as the explanation came out.

Wait, one thing. “Minho is your ex?!” You exclaimed at the sudden realization.

Jisung was absolutely enjoying this from the other line, “What? You want him?” He teased.

Your face went red, denying the question thrown at you. This whole time, this was the relationship your housemate has with your best friend? And he had never cared to tell you about anything regarding this romance he once had? All these people do was lie. Struggling through your words, you outwardly rejected the idea. “No—! No– I don’t! I—!”

Jisung interrupted, “It’s fine, he’s all yours.”

You tried denying, “No, I don’t want him—!” Quickly being cut of by Jisung once more.

“And he’s a really great kisser—”

“Jisung, shut the fuck up!” You hanged up in embarrassment, throwing your phone away in a state of panic. Why would he tell you that? As if you needed to be more careful around Minho now that you knew these things about him. God, how did he expect you to continue living with this knowledge? Unlike Jisung, you saw Minho everyday of the week.

The door to your bedroom suddenly opened, “Are you okay? I heard a thud.” Minho was still in his work attire, a tad bit sweaty from the heated summer air, the first two buttons of his shirt were left undone. Solely from the condition of his appearance was in, you were mentally restraining yourself.

“Did you just came back?” You asked, begging that he didn’t heard your conversation with Jisung on the phone a few minutes ago.

He replied shortly, “Yeah, I’ll go shower now so we can eat.” Closing your door as he left without another word, left silently with knowing what you said earlier. He heard enough of your phone call, you were too caught up with talking that you didn’t hear the front door open. Minho was halfway across the hall to his room when he heard you shouted, his name fell out from your mouth as clear as day.

Oh, Jisung never told you that he and Minho were a thing? Now it was kind of awkward for the both of you. But if you wanted him, he wanted you too. He saw the way you would look at him, stealing glances from across the table. He was a very attractive guy, you were sure he wholeheartedly knew this, and he used it to his advantage.

Coming out of a cold shower, his hair was wet and dripping water down his back and shoulders, but at least have some respect for you by covering up his entire bare torso. At the dinner table? Was he going to be half-naked for the whole duration of dinner? He wanted you dead, you boldly claimed.

“So…how was work?” You opened up a topic, hoping he would start talking to fill the silence that was ongoing between the two of you.

Minho let out a chuckle, "Not fun." Handing you a pair of chopsticks and a ceramic bowl. That was understandable, he did looked quite worn out coming home after work.

"What do you do, if you don't mind me asking." You raised a question into his occupation.

He began picking up food from the many plates into his bowl, the wondrous scent controlled his chopsticks faster than his mind. Minho answered while pouring the meat broth over his rice, "I'm an accountant."

An accountant? Was that a code word for sex workers? No one in their right mind would go into accounting. Minho out of all people, worked as an accountant? You had no negative comments on his intelligences, or his work ethics. But accounting sounded so boring for someone as interesting as Minho, you thought what he said was a joke of some sort. Maybe he had a side hustle doing unconventional and dirty jobs.

"It's not fun, but I got bills to pay." Minho joked to lighten up the mood, filling in the empty pauses with yours and his joyful laughs.

He shook his head in a subtle yet prominent dissappointment, smiling to hide his actual emotion on his feeling of unfulfillment. "I wish I became a singer back then."

What he said piqued your interest, you looked up at him with a spark of excitement. Straight into his eyes, you asked. "You sing?"

His vocals was almost professional singer level, for a first in the short timespan of knowing him, you saw such happiness on his face. Holding the microphone as he sang you a love song, the amount of money you spent on that karaoke machine paid off. Minho wasn't wrong or thought too highly of himself when he said he should had became a singer, you would have said the same thing if you knew him sooner. And if he did, you would support him with your all.

The atmosphere got a bit hotter and hotter as the night went on, with alcohol entering the table as an uninvited guest. When a sensual song came on, the mood totally changed for better or worse. His loose t-shirt was showing some skin, it was too a little short as it was showing peeks of his toned stomach underneath. Your mind was going places, wether it was because of the alcohol getting you tipsy or it was your inner desires for intimacy.

Minho did not broke eyes-contact with you, in a hushed voice, stating that you were the only beauty he would keep in his sight tonight. Gently holding your hand in his, he placed it on his chest. Did you feel it? Under the warm and shaking palm of yours. His heart beating at a tiny bit quicker pace than usual, beating for you with all of these temptations in him.

"Minho, I should go to bed now, it's getting awfully late." You told, diverting away in a flustered mess. Yet, despite your attempt at diluting the air, Minho persuasion didn't seem to back down. Too heated, too close as you could now smell his liquor-laced breath.

Eyes half-lidded which made his desires just the more prominent, he was serious with no control. Before your lips could touch one another, a loud vibration emerged abruptly that pulled both of you out of that drunken trance.

Blindly grabbing for your phone, your eyelids were giving up as each minute continued to pass by. You didn't look at the contact name, the alcohol was taking over your system like a pernicious poison. A voice echoed out from your phone speaker, it took you a few seconds to register the other line’s speaking and its distinct frequency.

“Where is your report?! [Y/N], you are driving me crazy with your constant delays!” They roared at you, annoyed and angered.

You got off from your place on the couch, walking away with your phone in hand as you used your last few excuses to save yourself. “Seungmin, it’s not really a good time right now, can I call you back?”

Seeing you caught up with work on the line, he figured he would clean up this mess you two made on the coffee table for you. For a moment, he thought you felt it too. He might had read the room wrong, but the way you tried to avert from the situation felt almost like a reassurance for him. As if you wanted to go further with him, go little deeper, but you were unsure if he was onboard as well. He thought of apologizing, after you sober up more than the state you were in at the moment.

You swore, you couldn't remember anything from the night before. Went to bed at nearly one in the morning, woke up head-empty and half of the blankets and pillows were off your bed. Come on, you could confidently say that you did not exceed your limit. Yet as shown this morning, you had a rough night yesterday with the leftover liquor running through your veins.

You were absolutely dumb-founded when he said he was sorry for what happened last night, as if you remembered everything clearly to its very details. Let's see, you ate dinner, you talked, sang a couple songs out of boredom you assumed, then it all when foggy after that.

"What are you on about? I have no idea of whatever the hell you are apologizing for." Telling him straight up, you could not register anything he was saying to make any sense.

Frustrated, and a bit taken over by the shame from yesterday. "No, it's okay, you're better off not knowing anyway. Sorry for making a scene so early in the morning."

Minho finished the few last sips of his Americano, grabbing his laptop bag from under the dining table in a hurry. "I have to go now, see you again at six." He bid goodbye at the front door.

Before he go for the next ten hours, you told him tonight's plan. "I have a few friends over tonight, if you don't mind their companies."

"How many are coming?" Minho asked.

You tilted your head as you tried to remind yourself of the size of your party, maybe even the identities of your guests as well. "Just three. Jisung is going to be there too, if you want to see him."

You could forget anything, anything that you deemed important. But one thing that you couldn't seem to shake off your mind, as it has been bugging you ever since you knew of it, was the bygone romance Minho had with your best friend—happened to be Jisung. Now that you were non-actively trying to persue the guy, it left a bittersweet taste in your mouth. Though Jisung had affirmed that the past was in the past, you could court his ex-boyfriend all you want.

Minho looked down, "We'll talk later, okay? I'm late for work." Leaving things unfinished between you, he closed the door as he left.

You didn't work until around noon, you could work from home if you wanted, yet you still came into the office everyday since things moved faster with you being physically there. But after that call from Seungmin—head of your department, you were already considered brave for the mere thought of showing up. Despite how nice Seungmin actually was, his anger was incomparable to anything you had ever seen.

After your short shift, you went back home to get things prepare. On the way home, you had already picked up a few ingredients. Said ingredients were just a six-pack of cold beers and Gochujang sauce for the beef. The others wouldn't come for another hour, for the time being, you would have to get everything ready by yourself.

Pray to god that the table grill was still working today since you haven't brought it out for a good few years now, it was collecting dust in the very far back of your cupboard. The hangout had been planned for a little while already, you got most of the things a day or two prior.

Was Minho going to join you? His expression carried a bit of hesitation when you asked this morning, though you would be happy to have him if he did changed his mind. The more the merrier!

Hyunjin and Jisung came over just a tiny bit earlier than Felix, guessed he was caught up with some baking for desert. You and your friends were all gathered up together at the dining table, it felt crowded by how small of a space you had to eat for four people. Happy that Hyunjin’s beer wasn’t on the floor since it was standing so confidently at the edge.

“When is Minho coming home?” Jisung suddenly turned to you.

“I don’t know, usually he would be back by now.” You shrugged, just now noticing today’s abnormalities. Maybe something came up at the office, or he had something else he needed to do beside from work matter. Whatever it was, you just hoped he would get home safety.

Speak of the devil, not even ten minutes had passed and the front door softly rang of clicking keys. You came to open the door for Minho, meeting his slightly stunned expression. His glossy tired eyes under the dirty frames of his glasses gazed back at you, his hair disheveled and sticking to his forehead as if he ran his way home. God, he looked rough, but so strangely enticing at the same time.

"Hey, we were just talking about you!" You beamed.

"Sorry, I'm late. My digital files got corrupted, so I had to get I.T to check that bitch out." Minho sighed deeply, you could imagine how long it took to resolve it purely from how worn out he presented.

The others greeted him at the dining table, getting a stool for him to sit since you were out of chairs. Minho was sandwiched between you and Hyunjin, one he knew, one he didn’t. He felt the tiniest bit uncomfortable sitting in such a tight spot, especially when yours and his thighs were rubbing against each other. He didn’t mind it too much, he liked you anyways.

“Ah, Minho! This is Hyunjin, and that’s Felix, they’re my college friends.” You introduced. Though he was a year older, they treated him with a casual formality. Felt more like meeting old friends than new people, your group broke the ice a lot quicker than he had previously expected. Soon you all were drinking and chatting, learning a bit too much about each other for the first meeting.

Felix tapped out, “No more, I’m driving tonight.” With Jisung following along as most had already decided to stop drinking, including you.

You placed your hand on the shoulder of the person next to you, “Are you still going? Damn, you must know how to handle your liquor.”

Minho stared back at you as you spoke to him, his eyes half-lidded like the night before. The first few buttons were unfastened, his bare and defined chest laid underneath the thin fabric. A sheer cast of sweat made his body glistened by the overhead light, his glasses was slowly slipping off his nose bridge which reflected the sweat even more than it should have. His face was flushed red and pink everywhere, flushed from a love confession of a drunken mind. Any minute now, he might just be making out with you.

His heart and guts was burning up with these carnal desires, if your friends weren't here, you could bet he would be fucking your brains out like how you so desperately wanted him to. He wanted you just as much, so shamelessly wanted you.

Minho leaned in suddenly, his lips and hot intoxicated breath lingered your ears. Whispered gently with his mellow, sleepy tone of voice, "When are they leaving?"

“We’re just going to have some tea and brownies, they’ll be on their way soon. Why do you ask?” You returned, asking in with a bit of hesitation in the back of you mind. Could it be he was overloaded enough, or did he not like your friends? You doubted the second one, since they had so much fun together. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen.

He didn’t further elaborate, ending the subject then and there with no other explanation. His intentions were unclear, as if he was hiding something from you but you couldn’t figure out what it was. Hopefully not something shady, or would leave you with a bad image of Minho. Keep it simple, he was probably tired and he needed a bit more peace and quiet. And he couldn't get any peace and quiet if your friends were here, right?

You wanted him to take off his shirt, take every single piece of fabric on his body off, let you admire all of his grace and beauty. Occupied with drooling over your housemate, the teapot seemed to had slipped your mind.

"Fuck!" Yelped you, the heat of the hot tea finally burned your skin.

Hearing pain from your voice, Minho and the others were already there to aid you. Especially Minho, he grabbed your hand into his as soon as he noticed. Luckily for you, the injury was minor and running it through cool water was good enough.

Minho really has you in a chokehold, metaphorically speaking obviously—unless. If you two did become a thing, would it be a little awkward? Maybe not for Jisung, but you were unsure of how or what to think in a situation like this. Though, despite how much you might try to push the idea away due to having quite a lot of repect for your best friend, you couldn't help yourself.

Seduction existed in his eyes and body language, it was subtle yet effective. An absolute disaster that the two of you also lived together, which pumped you up with an amount of hormone that a high-school student would have.

The way he dressed may be ordinary, office worker fashion. His shoulders flexing in his fitted button-up, straight dress pant hugging his thighs. His thick frame glasses further accentuated his winsome features. There was no exaggeration that he, for a definite, has a lot of admirers from work. You too, would be weak on your knees if Minho was your colleague.

It was around eight o’ clock by the time you finished up, which wasn’t late—at least to your definition—but tomorrow was still a work day. Especially for Hyunjin, who was flying out of the country for a business trip, of which it was crucial for him to leave early morning for his flight.

“I’m catching a cab home.” Jisung answered when you asked him how he was going to get home without a car, since the other two already left on their separate ways.

“No, I’ll drive you home.” You offered kindly.

“You drank a lot tonight, you really shouldn’t be driving, [Y/N].” Jisung denied, pointing out the slight alcoholic haze you were in. He wasn’t wrong, you were a literally beast with the bottle. However, you were awake enough to still talk normally and sort of think, like being half asleep.

Reassuring you that he would be fine on his own, and that he would be sure to text you when he arrived at his place. You knew Jisung for too long for you to be worried about him on trivial things, it simply felt like the right thing or a common habitual saying you had going on. You just wanted to take extra precautions since you both had been drinking the whole night, and there were quite a lot of problems existing because of it.

"Don't worry about me too much," Jisung soothed you once more. However he had no regards for what a sentimental moment that was happening between the two of you, immediately back to his ways of joking to dilute the air. "You should be worrying about if Minho can keep his dick in his pants near you."

You smacked him on his shoulder, "Shut up, he's right over there!"

"I mean...I see the way y'all look at each other, we all know, [Y/N]." He commented, giving you a playful look. You wanted to murder Jisung, and you would make it look like an accident too. Were you being that obvious about your feelings? But the way Minho acted around you didn't help too!

Jisung waved goodbye to you and to Minho—who was in the kitchen, washing up dishes and shot glasses. "I'll see you on Saturday for coffee if you can even get out of bed, bye!"

Nodding, as you watched him walk away from your apartment to the main elevator, realization hit later than expected. You yelled out in annoyance but Jisung would definitely laughed it off and ignore you. "Hey, we're not fucking!"

You had to stay up to finish a few reports and lone documents, so that meant you wouldn't be able to see Minho during his morning coffee. Coming over to offer another hand in cleaning up, it wasn't a big mess but was a mess nonetheless. You might take care of everything for Minho to get some well-deserved rest that he has been needing.

Minho turned around as he felt a tap on his shoulder, "Let me take it from here, you should be getting ready for bed by now."

"No, I'll help." Minho single-mindedly refused your offer. "And too, I can't sleep with this raging boner you gave me."

Too sudden, too out of nowhere, your neck snapped to him when you heard him said those words. His expression was neutral, as natural as if he had said and had done nothing wrong. Still washing dishes and bowls, scrubbing and rinsing like he has been doing the same thing for years. Did he heard himself at least, or was it a thought that went loose.

"Oh, sorry." What the fuck were you supposed to reply to that? Thank you? Was that a compliment in disguise of some sort? Feuling the fire even more, the desires becoming stronger and intense, he had agreed to throw away his principles already.

Minho inched closer to you, his eyes on yours as he asked nicely for attention. "If I tell you that I want to fuck you right here right now, would you be mad?"

Face flushed, hot as when you would place your hand on your tea cup to check the temperature. He was evil, disregarding your state of mental stability by saying things of the same kind so out of pocket. He, for a fact, waited for the right time to confess his sins. The kettle was boiling all night, the heat and steams were his deepest thoughts.

You turned off the sink, your hands cool and wet and smell of dish soap from the water. For a split moment, you were solely looking at each other, begging either one to make a move. Minho leaned in towards your direction, his bare forearms brushed gently against yours. The alcohol in both of your bodies made the moment all the more intimate, slowly yet steadily closing your distance between each other, breaking down the wall of sexual tension you had unconsciously built that stood with all its might.

The faint taste of his strawberry chapstick on your tongue, his lips was a little sticky but so soft that you didn’t quite mind. There was no way of stopping him, as you too, did not want to stop the thrill ride that was ongoing. Letting out heavy breaths as he sucked dark red marks onto your skin, lips painting your blank canvas. May he be the only alcohol you would get drunk on, let you drink him up like your sorrows and distress.

“Oh, Minho.” You breathed, moaning out his name as his hands rushing to take off your pants. Hot tongue making a line on your stomach down to your sex, freely as his mouth worked on you like how you dearly enjoyed his food. Both your legs resting on his broad shoulders just did nothing but helped spread you wider.

Your sweet voice singing out to encourage him, using his tongue in all directions that favoured you. Stomach knotting with alcohol and dinner and a heaven he had created for you, coming onto his lips, a result of prolonged temptations.

Every fabric that touched yours and his bodies that day were all scattered on the floor by second round. Never even seen your best friend naked, and here you were admiring his ex-boyfriend’s entire unclothed figure with no ounce of shame left in yourself. You could not keep your hands away from him, so greedily touching him in different places.

Neither could wait any longer, deciding to lay each other’s pride out on the dining table. Minho placed his lips on yours, closing his eyes yet still seeing the vivid image of you in his dark mind. With each passing second, his cock making its way into the very depths of you. You hugged him quite tightly, as if you haven’t scored anyone in a while.

Your eyes told him everything he needed to know, you body twitching and squirming under his embrace, the silent language that told him every one of your secrets. Thrusting faster and harder, wanting to hear you make some more music for his aching soul. Minho grabbed your legs, pushing them against your torso as his cock went deeper into you. You could barely keep your eyes open, or could you stay present with him. This pleasure felt like a dream, a dream that softly pulled you in.

Minho kissed your lips once again, “Baby, don’t sleep on me, I’m not done with you just yet.”

But as much confidence that he may has in him, he was nearing his high and coming apart for you along the way. Minho’s vocals were heavenly when he sang for you, and were just as heavenly when he came into you. He kept going despite being out of breath and tired for you, he started something and he was going to finish it.

Second time felt much more powerful than the first, almost like he gave his all. You could feel his seeds dripping out from inside of you, onto the dining table and even the chairs. Dirtying everything all over again, now you had more cleaning to add onto your list. Guessed neither of you were going to get any sleep tonight.

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twistedchatterbox · 2 years ago

Text

New voicemail

summary: sappy boys being mushy over the phone for you. ft.Riddle, Cater, Vil, Idia tags. Female reader, No Spoilers, Fluff, Cheesy Sappy Lovey Dovey Romance, Slice of life, Spice of life, Smitten Vil, Lovesick Riddle, Cater sings for you, anniversary date with idia, copious use of petnames, no beta we overblot like men.

Wordcount; 1520+ | Masterlist & Taglist

Riddle has cleared his throat thrice, drank water and mentally rehearsed what he wanted to say for this voicemail; however once he hit record, none of that really mattered. "Hi," he whispered, the nearly overwhelming happiness in was audible, it nearly spoke for him. Thinking about the silliness of it, the dormwarden laughed, giggly at the mishap, it really was unavoidable anyway. Riddle took a breather, sighing in a relieved and relaxed manner, "Hi" he whispered with a wide grin, one you would hear vividly, openly adoring, "I missed you." "I missed you so, so much; I want to spend time with you- If you'd have me, we could study together once the exam subjects are announced, if you want to." Riddle murmured, twirling one of the longer locks of hair framing his face with his idle hand; eyes closed, envisioning it. "And then, we could go on a date." He hummed, would you like a cafe date? Karaoke? The aquariu- Well, maybe not the aquarium. Maybe he could take you out on a walk to the district nearby of the internships he picked out, but that sounded too serious. So, a cafe would suffice for now. He would check Cater's magicam page, namely his older posts to see some of the calmer, more relaxing places he could take you to. "What do you think? Let me know once you see- or i suppose hear- this, my lovely." "bye-bye, I love you." And suddenly, time couldn't pass fast enough. ...He supposes he could write his own written permit to stay over, it's not as if anyone could stop him; you had always been ecstatic to see him use the loopholes of rules to be a good boyfriend, after all.

Cater leap onto his bed, giddy and giggly, rolling back and forth while occasionally kicking his feet like a schoolgirl. Lightly smushing and slapping his face with both of his own hands to calm down, he sighs, hugging one of his pillows, looking idly around his room. A love song. He had been giddy and sappy because he heard a love song, it sounded so much like the essence of you. He has already begun memorizing the lyrics, so that he could sing it, maybe he'd learn to play it too. it made him so happy. You made him so happy. He loves you- and he sighs, you really ought to start paying rent someday for living in his head all the time, and his heart too. And then he thought, what if he.. sung, for you? Well that suddenly made him anxious, but ecstatic, he was such a nerve wreck. but it was good. and overwhelming. Cater curses the lack of logistics in him. He thinks back to the comment lingering in the back of his mind, he knows why he's even thought of this- "I love it when you sing" you said, cuddling up to his neck, leaning on him, on his bed, sitting on his lap while he sung a simple tune of a song as he was practicing on his guitar. It was his favourite, his sisters hated it. and you loved it. And Cater soaked it up like a sponge, like a golden retriever, if you will; fetching his phone fast, so that he could do this before his dumb insecurities could catch up to him. Sweater weather. "All I am is a man I want the world in my hands I hate the beach But I stand in California with my toes in the sand Use the sleeves of my sweater Let's have an adventure Head in the clouds but my gravity's centered Touch my neck and I'll touch yours You in those little high waisted shorts, oh-" Cater felt the song and your hands crawl up his body like phantom touch as he sung. it was ticklish, making him end the song halfway with a breathless chuckle and a dumb smile, he knew you could hear it in his tone, but he didn't mind at all. He hoped one day, you'd get to grasp how precious you are to him; he loves you, and he loves everything you love too, somehow inlove with the way you do too. The word doesn't make sense anymore, but it really does too. He feels a lot like love with you, yeah, Cater laughed; it really shouldn't make sense, but he's so thankful it does. Looking back at his phone, he records his final piece. "I love you, princess." Sent. ...And maybe, he grinned- "Meet me in my room for the full piece, maybe? I could pick you up~" Sent.

Vil laid down in bed, normally he wouldn't do so until it was time to sleep, yet he knew he'd cave into something far more off-schedule if he didn't. He laughed, it truly was bizarre; Vil Schoenheit, the renowned actor was missing his girlfriend. That, it was the entire reason. The cause of his simple complicated mood. Well, he knew that if he called you it could get you in trouble; perhaps you were in class, or working on something, he couldn't interrupt you without being a hypocrite. But. Vil eyed his phone on the night stand, maybe he could do something. A playful grin rose on his gorgeous features, mischief, rarely shown in a not overly elegant manner. Vil couldn't give a damn. He reached out and swiped his phone, opening it swiftly and admiring your contacts information. "The love of my life." it made him smile, he was so indecisive about what kind of nickname would fit; he did not want to jinx this by being overly cliche and being soft or off-character, until you so naturally, casually reminded him that for as long as he's off stage, then he's supposed to be off-character. No one besides himself, and you, that's all he really needs. He sighed dreamily, hitting record. "Hi, my beauty, my muse, my dove," Vil chuckled to himself, "My, my my, haa.. I missed your presence so much, if only you knew." He tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear, closing his eyes, "Lets remedy this once you are available, okay? We could have a spa day, or, if you can, I can ask my management to pick you up so that you can accompany me for the entire day..." "It's been a while since we got to spend the entire day together, side by side" That was a goddamn lie. "Maybe you can make up to me by joining me on a day-long date and night time spa?" You slept in his room and woke up side by side every day already.

"Let me know when you're free, my dove; " He blew a kiss, a soft click of his lips, "I love you."

Idia sighed, drinking down the cup of water, staring at the mirror reflection of himself on the screen of his phone. "The things I do for you" he thought with a softened, pleased smile. Calming, it was accurate to describe the affect you had on him when he thought of you. Sure he flared up into life from the power of anxiety, love, nerves and his traitorous color changing flame hair the second you stepped foot into 6ft of his physical area of existance, but he had come around to relax so much more as your relationship developed. This will be just another milestone, he said, time will pass either way, he told himself, better do it now than miss a limited edition chance. Idia averted his gaze as he pressed the record button, "uh- Hey, hi, " he fake-coughed into his hoodies sleeves, tugging on the strings of said hoodie with his idle hand. "I missed you, so" He shrugged, mentally smacking himself upside down the head for doing something you had no chance to hear. "So i decided to leave a voice message- Come visit me once you can, okay? I'll order your favourites too, if you want. Or we could cook together, I dunno'," Idia glanced back, looking momenterily at your contact picture, it was one he took while you two were out on a date. Outside for your half-year anniversary, a year ago now. That gave him an idea, making him grin. "I know instant noodles aren't always your thing so I'll treat us to something nice," He 'hummed', pretending to ponder. "..I could take us to that ramen place, maybe? I..I-I think it was nice last year." Idia said, stuttering at the last bit, yet carrying on. "Let me know what you think." "I love you." He said, it was only natural, as everything lovely seemed to be when it came to you. Idia fist bumped the air, letting out a happy victory sound; that actually went perfectly?!- He couldn't help but laugh, loudly and absolutely thrilled, ecstatic. He jumps into his bed and screams into his pillow; Idia sighs, relaxing as if he just ran a marathon (his heart sure did, to be fair.) and a closed eye-d smile made its way to his face without any resistance "I love her so much.." You always make him so happy.

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moonstruckme · 2 months ago

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Happy birthday and congratulations on 7k!! You deserve it. Thank you for sharing your gift for writing with us <3

Can I request apple pie- James potter + an airport terminal at midnight

I once saw a guy at the airport who looked a bit like James but I was looking busted and severely hungover from my last night of spring break to talk to him 😅

Thank you for requesting lovely!!

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 688 words

“Excuse me.”

The voice is soft but still you wake with something like a growl brewing in your chest, fingers tightening possessively around the strap of your backpack. There’s a boy with brown eyes and a strong chin looking at you concernedly from behind a pair of glasses.

“Sorry,” he says, setting a hand on your suitcase. You’ve got your leg hooked through the handle, but he doesn’t look like he’s trying to steal it, only resting his hand there. “Would you like this?” He holds up a clumped-up mass of fabric.

You blink at him, trying to puzzle out whether he’s really making no sense or whether you’re just that tired.

“For your head,” the boy clarifies. “You just, you don’t look very comfortable.”

You lift your head, feeling the imprint that something poking through your backpack has left in your cheek. “Sorry,” you say blearily. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s my fault,” he owns immediately. “Sorry, I meant would you like to use my hoodie as a pillow? So you can sleep properly.”

“Oh.” You still feel odd, and it doesn’t help that this is the sort of thing that might usually only happen in a dream. Since when do attractive strangers walk up to you in airports? “Um, thank you, but you don’t have to.”

“No, it’s really alright.” With your head lifted, he starts positioning it atop your backpack, fluffing it as though it’s a real pillow. “It’s my spare. I’m warm enough without it, see?” He gestures to the hoodie he’s wearing as if to demonstrate. It’s a deep red color that looks nice against his warm skin. He does look very warm, overall. “Anyways, there.” He steps back, grinning almost bashfully as he takes a seat across from you. “Now hopefully you can sleep better.”

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

He nods, still smiling much too brightly for this hour of night (or morning, you suppose. Is it morning yet?).

You close your eyes, trying to ignore how pleasantly warm your makeshift pillow is, like he’s been carrying it around in his arms all day. It smells nice, too, the scent of a shampoo you vaguely recognize and also pine, maybe picked up from wherever he’s coming from. You open your eyes again.

“When’s your flight?”

He looks back at you, pulling his headphones off one ear.

“When’s your flight?” you ask again. “So I can make sure to give it back in time.”

“Oh, not for a few hours yet.” He waves you off. His headphones come down around his neck. “We’re suffering delays. When’s yours?”

“Five-thirty.” You feel weary at the thought of it, though you can’t wait to get out of here. You’ve been dying to leave this airport since you’d arrived, grievously regretting your decision to save money on a hotel for the last night of your trip.

He makes a sympathetic hissing noise. “That sounds truly awful. Early bird gets the worm, though?”

“Something like that.”

He smiles, and maybe it’s the fluorescent lighting but you think that if you weren’t already lying down it would take your knees out from under you. “I’m James.”

You tell him your name, and he nods like he’s tucking it away.

“Are you going on holiday?” he asks, crossing one of his legs under him, getting comfortable.

“Sort of,” you reply. “I’m going to see my mum. But she makes it feel like a holiday.” Something softens around James' eyes, and for reasons unknown it makes your face warm. “Where are you headed?”

“My best mates are spending the holiday in France. They’ve spared me a pullout couch.” James tilts his head, looking far more content than anyone traveling at this hour ought to be. You wonder if his lips just lie in a permanent uptilt. “So where you’re going to visit your mum, is that where you’re from?”

You reposition your backpack so you’re propped up a bit more, James’ hoodie still under your cheek but suddenly feeling less keen on sleeping the hours until your flight away. Oddly, you’re no longer dying to leave this airport quite so badly.

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inkpot909 · 7 months ago

Text

How They Text the Reader Headcanons #2

↳ Characters included are Giorno Giovanna, Pannacotta Fugo, and Narancia Ghirga. Gender neutral Reader; implied everyone lives AU.

A/n: Thank you all so much for the support on my last text headcanon list. It was so fun to write, and I hope that y'all enjoy the second-half of the main part five cast. Once again, I had a blast while writing this!

Warning(s): None.

Giorno Giovanna

You expected him to be a dry-texter, in all honesty. Straightforward and to the point; only ever texting out of necessity. You couldn’t really imagine him as the type to sit down, and have a silly conversation over text.

And at the beginning, that was certainly the case.

Being introduced to the team all at once is certainly overwhelming, and although Giorno adjusted well, he still didn’t know you or the others.

Within the team’s groupchat, he only ever spoke up about important matters as that were being discussed. Whenever a more lighthearted conversation arose, usually because of Mista, he would grow completely radio silent.

Does he really read those texts at all? you recall yourself wondering, Or does he tune us out completely? Can’t really blame him if that's the case; this team... takes time to adjust to.

And eventually learning that he always read those conversations, it was one of the first indications you saw of his character. One of the first times you realized he can and will find his place on the team.

So, while you were in the process of just getting to know Giorno, you developed low expectations when it came to communicating with him over the phone. Hell, you hardly expected him to text you at all.

Oh, what a fool you once were.

As the relationship blossoms, Giorno still texts you as usual. With proper grammar and punctuation, as well as the occasional emoji or two.

But he's far from being a dry-texter. On the contrary, he’s rather cheeky.

And because of his position in Passione after a certain point, work soaks up a lot of his time. He’d much rather call you, but that’s simply not an option most days.

So he simply pokes and teases you over text. Sitting alone in his office, he almost always wears a tiny yet pleasant smile on his face when he reads whatever you send him.

Giorno doesn’t send memes or funny pictures often, but when he does, it’s either pure gold or ridiculously unfunny. Merely doing it every now and then to get a little bit of a rise out of you, of all things.

And he loves it even more if you’re the type to tease him right back:

Pannacotta Fugo

Practically the inventor of double-texting.

He’s got no shame in it either, and if anything, he would argue that him sending multiple messages means you ought to reply. He’s not exactly impatient with you, though.

He usually uses proper grammar over text as well. More than that, he’ll lecture anyone case for not doing the same. He even once pointed out a simple mistake Abbacchio made.

It’s merely lighthearted teasing if you’re the type to not use proper grammar over text, though. Fugo wears his favoritism for you on his sleeve whenever he gets on Narancia’s case for the same exact reason.

That said, when he’s angry, forget about grammar- you just want to be able to understand him.

He complains to you over text... a lot. The outlet is good for him, in a sense. Fugo’s incredibly grateful to have someone like you who will listen to him so earnestly, and he expresses that often. Considering his temper, it really does mean so much more to him than he knows how to express.

It makes knowing whether or not he’s genuinely upset or just playing around easy for you to figure out, at least. Are his text messages legible? If so, there's no reason for concern.

Once, he was ranting to you about a disagreement that arose between him and Abbacchio. His texts were steadily becoming hard to understand, and you prepared yourself to talk to your boyfriend through his anger.

But before you could, he stopped texting you all together.

That was rather confusing, as he’s the type to continue blowing up your phone when frustrated. It wasn’t until almost twenty minutes later, when you saw Mista’s contact pop up for a phone a call, that you found out why.

It was Fugo on the other end, calling from Mista’s phone to bashfully inform you he chucked his own phone out of anger and ended up breaking it.

Later that year, you got him one of those expensive cases that could likely protect a phone falling from absurd heights for Fugo’s birthday. He seemed a bit embarrassed over it, but appreciated the gift nonetheless (He won’t admit it but it does come in handy).

You just cannot stop yourself from teasing him a little bit, especially over the phone. His indulgent reactions are worth it every single time:

Narancia Ghirga

He’s bound to make you cry from laughter over text. Whether it’s his words alone or a meme he sends you from his vast collection (His phone is almost always on the brink of running out of storage), making you laugh comes naturally to him.

It’s a source of pride for him, so reacting bombastically over text is exactly what he’s looking for.

Narancia is also a major sucker for gossip, so he loves sharing everything he hears with you over text. From a random conversation he eavesdropped overhead while out, to drama taking place within Bucciarati’s group.

Doing the same in return is greatly appreciated, as he adores hearing your input.

He’ll also text you at random asking questions like “What did Buccarati want me to do again?” and “Do you happen to know where I put my notebook?” Whenever he racks his brain and cannot find an answer to a dilemma, he’s almost always going to voice his confusion to you with little hesitation.

He’s sent you those types of texts... while on missions. Snitching to Bucciarati is not advised.

You’ve tried telling him he could type those sorts of things down in his notes, but he either forgets to do so or wrongfully assumes that he’ll remember.

Narancia, Mista, Fugo, and you have a groupchat separate from the others on the team. Considering the madness that regularly occurs on it, Narancia’s proud to mention he’s the one who originally suggested the idea.

That said, as much as he likes to text you, he’s not the type to text you good morning and good night every day. Rather, he texts you only when “he has something to say.” Which... is often enough on its own.

He will also complain to you over text often as well. Although, it's not usually out of outright anger:

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iisasarcasticlittleshite · 2 years ago

Text

We've created a monster (Brothers x MC)

In which the brothers find out that they've created a human with zero self preservation or reasonable fear of demons.

This rattled around in my head all morning, I just had to write it. Is it good? Probably not, but it exists and I like it, so there ;P

Sort of implied polyamory, possessive and protective demons.

If by some miracle anyone likes this sort of longer, random fic, please let me know, I'd be happy to write more little scenarios like these.

Warnings: none

Since arriving in the Devildom, MC has moved within the same "social" circle. They talk to the brothers, Diavolo, Barbatos, and the other exchange students. They've had no real need to move outside of that up to now.

They're civil with other demons, but the interactions are extremely limited and always under the watchful eye of someone they know and trust.

Even Luke's presence would be enough to dissuade any demons from getting ideas around the human who does not have magic rolling off them in waves.

Most are aware of their pacts with the lords and steer clear.

But demons aren't exactly known for riskless behaviour.

On the one day out of hundreds MC walked to class alone, wanting to get ahead on something, a demon of envy singled them out in the broad hallway.

He's big, tall, though still has nothing on Beel, and snaps vicious sharp teeth at them as he backs them into a wall.

'Humans like you shouldn't prance around a demon's home unguarded, not flaunting all those pacts.'

MC recognises that look, and cocks their head curiously. 'Levi wears envy better, you ought to practise in the mirror a little more.'

He takes one gargantuan step forward, letting loose a roar that threatened to shake loose bricks out of the walls.

Still, MC didn't flinch, didn't even take their hands out of their pockets. 'Stop that, it's too early for that kinda noise.'

'I am going to KILL you!'

Snorting, MC finally bothered to lift one hand from their pocket, tugging gently at the bonds of their pacts to find the magic they wanted. It wouldn't be much, really.

'No. You're not.'

A flick of the wrist, a muttered word, and the demon felt his body become too heavy to move, almost too heavy to breathe. He commanded his limbs to carry him, demanded that his magic answer his call.

Neither obeyed. None but his eyes, who watched the infuriating waif tuck their hand back in their pocket and carry on with their day, walking around him like he was an inconveniently placed statue.

'You thought you could scare me? I live with Lucifer and Satan you dipstick.' MC huffed, glancing at their watch and hurrying away, lest they lose their head-start on the day.

Just out of sight, Asmodeus had recorded the entire ordeal, fully ready to step in and protect the human (or better yet, set Satan on the bastard), and instead, finding himself capturing a side of their little MC none had seen yet.

He sends the video into the brother's group chat, and immediately all of Devildom breaks loose. Lucifer demands the offender be sent to him for punishment, until Asmodeus reminds him that the bastard is still frozen in the hallway with a smug selfie.

Instead, the eldest pulls everyone from their classes, including MC and calls an emergency council meeting. He doesn't even wait for Diavolo to be in attendance, so urgent is his need to address this.

Mammon had found his way to MC's side and is glued to them like a protective hex, he'll go nowhere, and will not be told otherwise, Levi and Beel take turns hovering at their other side, the elder glowering like a gargoyle while the younger hooks a finger in the edge of MC's pocket and follows them around like a lost puppy.

MC does no more than go with the flow, as usual. They slide under Mammon's arm and teases him for turning red despite his focus on protecting them.

Once everyone is seated, MC finally asks the question.

'So, what's this about? Never thought I'd see you endorse us all missing class, Lucifer.'

'We're here to talk about the incident this morning, MC.' Lucifer began as calmly as possible. His blood still boils that anyone would dare try and harm his human simply because his back was turned. 'The envy demon, did he hurt you?'

'Oh, him? No, didn't even touch me. Is that why Satan looks ready to butcher someone?'

The avatar of Wrath is living up to his name, he's quietly glaring holes into the floor and no one dares interrupt him.

'You don't seem to realise how much danger you were just in, MC.' Lucifer broaches carefully, unwilling to trigger his own temper even though MC can clearly see it in his eyes. 'You dealt with it cleverly, but if that had been a smarter demon, one who struck without you knowing-'

MC pondered his point for a moment, rolling their bottom lip between their teeth. 'What would happen to a demon that killed me? Like the one today, if he had actually done something.'

A crash filled the room, Satan's magic lashing out, pushing him into his demon form as the very thought of anyone laying hands on what is clearly his sent him spiralling.

His brothers jump back, while MC, jumps in.

They're in front of him in seconds, big eyes speaking of kindness and love, and though the wrath still boils in his belly, his magic stops writhing for blood.

'Breathe, I'm right here.' MC reminds him, not daring to touch until she feels the pact bond settle. 'It's not going to happen, yeah?'

'It almost did, and you're not nearly as worried as you should be!' Belphegor snapped. 'You're human, anyone could-!'

'He was one idiot with a death wish, and he couldn't even lay hands on me when I was alone. Who the fuck do you think is going to go for me with you guys around?'

They have a point, that doesn't settle the unease in the room, and it shoes as Satan nuzzles into their hair, pressing his chest to their back.

He's the last one to show physical affection in front of anyone, let alone Lucifer, but the need to touch them outweighs his pride, clearly.

MC lets him cling on, and carries on the conversation without missing a beat, gently rubbing their thumb over the back of Satan's hand.

'But, you really weren't scared. Not even a little.' Beel uttered softly, big eyes shimmering with worry. 'He looked right at you and told you he'd kill you.'

'And? Most of you have said that to me at least once, hell, one of you succeeded.'

The youngest flinched, MC threw him a smile.

'Honestly, who in the demon King's name is gonna scare me, when you guys can't?'

Realisation dawned on them then, spending all their time with the 7 Lords of the Devildom had completely desensitised MC to demons.

If they could stare down Lucifer on a rampage, throw themselves between him and someone he means to kill, who the hell is supposed to be scarier than him?

Lucifer voices the point aloud, and Asmodeus breaks into laughter, soon followed by Leviathan.

'That is kinda funny.' Snorted the third-born. 'I think we broke MC.'

The twins soon join in, and MC felt Satan's chest tremble and he settled his chin atop their head, now free of his demon form.

'Guys, this ain't a good thing!' Mammon wailed. 'If MC ain't scared o' nothin', what's stoppin' 'em from just walkin' into Cerberus' mouth or somethin'?!'

'Uh...common sense?' MC added dryly. 'Not being afraid of dying doesn't make me want to die, dipstick.'

'Hey!'

'Which brings me to my next point, when did you learn to call on all our magic at once like that?' Lucifer swiftly interjected. 'Solomon said he's taught you nothing but basics.'

'I'm in school, you know? I don't get good grades for decoration. I knew it wasn't worth summoning any one of you so I just grabbed all the threads at once and squeezed.'

'Honey, you're telling us you had a demon threatening to kill you and just...winged it?' Asmo concluded.

The human merely shrugged. 'Pretty much.'

'...we've created a monster.'

Part 2

#obey me x mc #obey me shall we date #drabble #headcannon #obey me brothers x mc #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me lucifer #obey me #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me leviathan

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obsidianpen · 3 months ago

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These questions about Lightning make me wonder what direction you plan to take it. I know you don't use the same things in every story, which makes them so delightfully unique. This is just my wishful thinking for you to explore the prophecy more. I know that in the books the power that defeats V is love, but for some reason I feel like there's something more to it than that. Harry is the chosen one, and that could mean so many things. Jamie, have mercy on me and please tell me something about this new story of ours 🥺🥺

omggg what me ramble about my the plot of a fic im not writing? Please

okay so

SPOILERS in case I ever do get around to writing Lightning

Here’s what I know so far about how the beginning of the fic is going to go (and I may, ofc, change my min entirely):

Harry, a young auror in training, goes back by accident, due to a dark ritual involving the ring, an illegal time turner and human sacrifice that he Ron and Hermione attempt to bust on their own, ignoring ministry protocol. Things go very awry, Harry ends up in 1950 ish, alone. Oh and he has a ton of gold, thanks to an interaction Draco that happens earlier that day - how lucky

Harry carries a terrible blood curse with him, and knows immediately that this shit is going to kill him and soon if he doesn’t seek medical help. But he also knows that time traveling like he did, no matter the circumstances, will send probably him to Azkaban, if not off as a test subject to the DoM. He knows they’ll look into his memories if he comes off as suspicious at st mungos, because it’s a real dark curse, and he’s a horrible actor and he’s awful at Occlumency and he knows it, so

harry concocts a ridiculous plot that allows him to pull out alllllll of his memories but with a plan in place to get them back after his curse is lifted, and sets things up so he wakes up right outside st mungos, where he knows they’ll take care of him

he is well taken care of, the poor lamb, to be attacked on Christmas Eve!!! and spends a few days there, maybe makes some hospital friends who have also had their memories fucked with

they assume he was the victim of some awful mugging, and that the perpetrator wiped his memories after and did such a terrible job and that’s why Harry can’t even remember his own name (they deduce his first name is ‘Harry’ only because he wrote it on the inner tag on his robe beforehand; a healer tells him that next time he writes his names on his personal belongings, he ought to put his last name, too)

but he still has his wand - how lucky! So they tell him he should go to ollivanders, as it looks like one of his (man remembers every wand he ever sold, ten galleons says he’ll remember you)

so Harry does, and the moment he asks, ollivander’s face goes slack - he’s clearly been confounded. He goes into a back room, hands Harry a moleskin bag, and bows him out of his shop without another word.

Harry goes back to the room he’s renting, and it’s NYE btw, and he opens the bag to find a shit ton of galleons and two vials, both glowing silver, one so bright it’s almost blinding. There is a handwritten note on each one. ‘Before you died’ and ‘after you died’

another note reads something along the lines of, ‘hi Harry, these are all your memories. I’m not even sure if you should take them all back or not; it might be better if you didn’t. It’s not often you get a chance to start over. But I know you - ha - so you’ll definitely end up taking them back. Maybe think about it first. It’s not great. I think I’d take the do over. really, think about it. Oh, and while you’re considering it - avoid Knockturn alley.’

harry does indeed find this all ominous, and assumes he must have been a horrible horrible person. He probably stole all this gold! What if he killed people for it! So he takes his sad amnesiac self down to the Leaky and starts to day drink heavily as the new year approaches

he is friendly with the young bus boy named Tom, who swears he’ll be running that pub someday.

as if gets busier later in the day, quite crowded, Harry gets more depressed. At one point, half the bar seems to cheer when a new person arrives. harry looks. He’s tall. He’s very handsome. He immediately makes Harry’s mind go on high alert and he’s instantly anxious and doesn’t know why.

tom the busboy tells him that if he keeps staring like that, the bloke is going to notice. Sure enough, he does. Harry looks away and is having a crisis (why am I staring at that handsome man? Why do I keep calling him handsome? Am I gay, and I forgot? Wtf is wrong with me)

so he goes to leave, but Tom the bus boy got busy, so he shouts to get his attention so he can say goodbye to his bestie. “Tom!”

”…Yes?”

wrong Tom. Harry is suddenly eye to eye with the very tall very handsome very scary man. He’s staring down at him, looking confused. “Have we met…?”

harrys body acts without his consent. He moves in ways he did not know he could move - in a flash he has his wand out, pointed at this man’s temple, has him backed up against a wall, his elbow across his throat, pressing on his windpipe.

about a dozen people around them are ready to kill Harry at once, but mystery tall man calls them off with the barest gesture. Harrys heart is pounding and he is having all these horrible confusing thoughts, like ‘should tear his head off, lock him up, stop him now, ruin him’

And he’s looking right into his eyes while thinking all these things, so TR is just drinking it all in, unbeknownst to him

Owner of the bar yells at harry. Harry, so very confused and too guilty and panicked to even apologize, just leaves. he goes somewhere far away for a bit… and decided to take the first vial of his memories then

mental crisis ensues

aaaaaaand I actually have a lot more than that semi planned but that’s the exposition 🥲

#Lightning #tomarry

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ordinary-barbie · 2 months ago

Text

sexy to someone - porco galliard x reader

summary: After scrolling social media you're feeling particularly insecure about your looks. Your boyfriend, Porco, is determined to convince you that you really are pretty.

word count: 2.3k words

tags: fem!reader, pet names (babe and baby), reader has a tooth gap bc I'm nothing if not self-indulgent, dirty talk, oral (fem receiving), face sitting, vaginal fingering, doggy style, breast play, praise kink, consent checks, reader is self-conscious about her body and struggles with mental health issues

minors and ageless blogs dni.

title comes from the song "sexy to someone" by Clairo.

Normally you loved scrolling through social media, but you just couldn't do it today. If you saw one more vacation photo or one more bachelorette party with someone's former sorority sisters, the already deep pit in your chest would cave in. And it wasn't anyone's fault: you couldn't get mad at your friends or random influencers and celebs for simply posting about their lives. To put it delicately, you were just feeling like a steaming pile of garbage compared to everyone else on your Instagram feed.

Today you hated pretty much everything about your looks. Your tooth gap looked like an eyesore. Your eyes seemed dull and sleepy. Your nose? Meh. Your figure? Nothing to write home about. It was a wonder that anyone liked your Instagram photos at all, and especially unbelievable that you managed to snag a boyfriend, especially someone like Porco Galliard.

Porco was an absolute babe. You'd never been hugely into blondes, but something about him and his undercut had got your heart racing when you met him at a frat party that your bestie Pieck, a Delta Zeta, had invited you to. You were always pretty reserved, and especially nervous to be around a bunch of frat dudes. Luckily, Porco eased your nerves by making you laugh, and the rest was history.

He was funny, confident, and hot as hell, while you were more reserved. When you'd first gotten together, you felt like the nerdy female protagonist in an 80s teen movie who managed to land the most popular guy in school. That had subsided after five years of dating, but now you couldn't help but feel the insecurity clawing at your brain again. Porco could easily get any woman he wanted - why you, of all people? Was he simply settling until someone better came along?

You rolled over onto your stomach and buried your face into one of the couch's armrests, quietly sobbing. Why were you like this? Why couldn't you be hotter so you could look like someone who actually belonged with Porco? Porco shouldn't be with someone like you. There were plenty of cute sorority girls he could've gone after in college, including Pieck or your other friend Sasha.

You recognized (thanks to months of therapy) that you were in a thought spiral, but you felt powerless to stop it. Normally you would go on your phone to distract yourself, but since social media had triggered your insecurities, you decided to settle for a nice little depression nap. That ought to make you feel better, right?

When you woke up, you didn't feel as crushingly awful as you did before, but you were still in a bit of a shitty mood. You snuggled tightly in your blanket and stared up at the ceiling, not even moving when Porco came home from work.

"Hey babe, I'm home! Traffic was nuts today - that podcast you recommended to me honestly saved my ass from dying of boredom," Porco joked, kicking his shoes off and making his way into the kitchen.

When you turned your head towards Porco but didn't react, his cheery expression morphed into worry. "Baby, what's wrong? Is everything okay?"

"It's nothing, don't worry," you hurriedly assured him, not wanting to be a burden, especially since he'd had a long day at work.

Unfortunately, Porco was a stubborn motherfucker, so he kept prying. "Come on, don't do that thing where you try to sweep shit under the rug. I can tell something's bothering you. You know you can tell me anything."

You sat up, protectively wrapping your arms around your midsection and chewing at your bottom lip. "I just - why are you with me, Porco?" you asked, your voice wavering. "I mean, look at you. You could be with anyone you wanted and you settled for me."

Porco furrowed his brow. "Baby, where is this coming from? I picked you because you're funny and kind and fuckin' hot."

You snorted. You appreciated Porco complimenting you in his Porco way, but you weren't totally buying what he was selling. "Please, Porco. Gigi Hadid is fuckin' hot. Pieck is fuckin' hot. I'm just..." You gestured to yourself vaguely, making a face.

Porco scoffed, shaking his head. "First of all, Pieck is like a sister to me, so don't even go there. Second of all, yeah, Gigi Hadid is pretty, but she's not you. You're actually the hottest woman I know. I honestly feel like I outkicked my coverage here."

"Porco, stop acting like I'm some big prize," you insisted. "Especially when I scroll through social media and every woman I follow is pretty much a smokeshow, including my friends."

Porco said your name sternly, making you jump. "Is that where this is coming from? Babe, please don't compare yourself to Instagram. You know everyone curates their feed to only share the good shit, even the celebs."

"I know, but that doesn't change the fact that there's so many gorgeous girls out there, and I'm just...me," you responded, staring down at your lap.

"Hey! Look at me," Porco commanded, and you reluctantly met his gaze. "You are so desirable to me. I love you. And I wish I could fight your shitty brain for making you ever think otherwise."

You sighed. "Porco, I love you. I just wish I could see the person you see. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror earlier and just felt ugly. I hate that I can't just make these thoughts go away."

Porco moved closer to you, kissing both of your cheeks. "Babe, you are a fuckin smokeshow to me. Please let me prove it to you..."

"And just how do you plan to do that?" you asked, arching an eyebrow. You tried to look impassive but you couldn't help but rub your thighs together in anticipation.

"Like this," Porco simply replied, ghosting over your lips with his own. You shuddered, still amazed at how turned on Porco could make you without touching you. "But first - are you sure you want this? And you remember our safe word, right? Just say 'red' and I will stop, no matter what."

You nodded. Porco frowned. "Use your words, baby."

"Yes, I want this. Please touch me, Porco," you whined impatiently, your mind now clouded with lust.

"I mean damn, if you insist, babe," Porco joked before kissing you deeply. He draped his body over yours on the couch, suddenly enveloping you with the smell of his favorite cologne. It was heavenly.

Since your mouth was occupied, you tapped Porco's shoulder, and he instantly ceased his movements. "Everything good, babe?" he worriedly asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I just - could we move it to the bedroom, please?" you shyly asked.

Porco smirked. "Okay, dirty girl," he teased, leading you by the hand into your bedroom. Once inside, he slammed the door with his foot, deeply making out with you and letting his hands roam all over your body. You made a motion to take your bra off but Porco stopped you in your tracks.

"Please let me do it, baby," Porco begged, and you happily obliged. After tossing your bra to the other side of the room, Porco shoved his hands under your shirt, massaging your breasts. "Man, I'll never get tired of these tits. They feel so good in my hands."

Porco bit at your bottom lip, and you let out a moan. Porco was driving you wild right now. "That's my good girl," he praised, and those four little words sent a shockwave straight to your core. "I love it when you moan so prettily for me. Now take those clothes off, baby."

That lit a fire under you. You quickly rid yourself of your t-shirt (really one of Porco's, a vintage shirt from the university you both went to) and sweatpants, standing nakedly in front of Porco except for a simple pair of black undies.

Porco let out a breath. "Oh fuck, baby. You're so goddamn sexy." You shyly smiled at him. "Now take a seat for me; I need to taste you."

You sat down at the end of the bed, gazing at Porco as he kneeled in front of you. The fact that he was still dressed in his light blue button-down, navy tie, and khaki slacks from work made this even hotter, somehow. Porco pushed your panties to the side, moaning when he saw gossamer strings of your slick clinging to the fabric.

Porco dove in, lapping at your clit with his tongue and grunting as you arched your back in pleasure. "Can't believe you think I'd want anyone else when I have the sweetest pussy right here. You taste so fuckin good, baby."

Your mind was blank, devoid of any coherent thoughts except for how fucking amazing your boyfriend was with his tongue. You were in the throes of ecstasy, grabbing at his hair to push his face even closer to you.

Porco removed his lips from your clit, eliciting a whine from you. "Easy there, baby," he said, chuckling. "I'm gonna eat you out; I just wanna finger fuck you too. Is that okay?"

Aroused, you reached for his hand, but Porco tutted, shaking his head at you. "Use your words, babe," he reminded you.

"Porco I need your fingers inside me," you whined. "Need your mouth and your fingers in my pussy."

Porco smirked, a dark glint in his eye. "Can't possibly deny you when you ask me so nicely." He returned to sucking on your clit while his fingers pumped in and out of your opening. "Babe, I can't believe you're so wet for me. I could fuckin drown in your pretty little cunt."

You gasped, feeling a warmth in your belly. You felt like you were about to burst, and Porco could sense it too. "Come for me, baby," Porco encouraged you, fingering your clit. "Make a fuckin' mess on my face."

Before you knew it, you were cumming, coating Porco's face with your wetness. Porco wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, moaning happily as he licked his fingers.

"Let me return the favor," you offered, your gaze focused on the way Porco's erection strained in his pants.

"Nah, not this time," Porco refused. "This is all about you, baby."

You softened you gaze, beaming at your boyfriend. You truly did adore this man.

"Be a good girl, lose the panties, and lie on your stomach," Porco instructed as he unbuckled his belt. "Get that pretty ass of yours in the air for me."

You quickly obeyed, tossing your underwear onto the floor and lying face down on the bed, sticking your ass in the air. Porco hummed appreciatively, rubbing your butt cheeks in his hand and lightly biting at the skin before soothing the pain with his kisses. "Can't believe this amazing ass is all mine."

He got up from the floor, retrieving a condom from his bedside table to slide over his dick. You scooched farther up on the bed to give him more room, and the two of you moaned in unison as Porco pushed himself into your entrance. Porco had an average-sized cock, but what he lacked in length, he more than made up for in girth.

Porco growled as your cunt clenched around his length. "Fuckin love the way your pussy feels around me. So warm and so damn tight."

Porco pulled out of you and slammed back in, making you see stars. He pumped in and out, snapping his hips and muttering praises in your ears the entire time. You tightly gripped the sheets, feeling your body light up in pleasure every time the tip of his dick grazed that special spot that made your toes curl.

"Are you close?" Porco asked as you writhed under him. You hummed affirmatively, unable to form words anymore. "Me too. Play with your clit for me, baby. Let's cum together."

You rubbed at your clit, feeling a second orgasm about to wash over you. You came with a yelp, feeling Porco's cock spasm inside you as he spilled his seed into the condom, moaning your name. He tossed the used condom in the wastebasket next to his bedside table, and then two of you laid in bed for a few minutes, drenched in sweat and panting heavily.

"Porco...thank you. I needed that," you admitted, lovingly squeezing Porco's hand.

Porco tenderly looked at you, softly pecking your lips. "Of course, baby. You know I always want to make you feel good. And I hope me blowing your back out is proof that I actually think you're hot."

Your mouth dropped open. "Porco Galliard!" you shouted, playfully hitting him in the shoulder.

Porco snickered, but his face soon softened. "Seriously though, I'm glad I could give you what you needed. You know I love you so much, even on your bad-brain days."

You felt a warmth in your chest. Porco could be cocky, sarcastic, and crass, but he had the biggest heart. You were overwhelmed with love for this man who had been by your side through years of highs and lows, who always encouraged you and looked at you like you hung the moon in the sky.

"I love you so much, baby," you said, nuzzling into Porco's chest. He kissed the top of your head and tightened his grip around you.

"Hey babe?" you asked after a few minutes, wiggling a little in Porco's grip.

Porco cocked an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're ready for round two already. I mean I'm down, but let a man take a shower first."

You good-naturedly rolled your eyes at him. "No, you dingus, I just have to pee."

"And they say romance is dead," Porco quipped, loosening his grip so you could get up and use the bathroom.

"Okay, mister drama king," you playfully replied. "Cut the sass and maybe I'll help you get cleaned up." You waggled your ass at him before disappearing into the bathroom.

Porco grinned, fondly gazing at you even while you were on the toilet. "You're incredible, you know that? I can't want to marry your ass someday."

You chuckled. Just Porco, being Porco - and you loved him for it.

#aot x reader #porco galliard #porco galliard x reader #porco galliard smut #porco x you #aot smut #attack on titan smut #tiff writes #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction

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