#review Love is Better the Second Time Around

[zara-renata]

The Jog | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: You go for a jog, encounter some wanderers, get injured, Sylus helps make you better. You know, a typical Christmas oneshot.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, Second person POV, Sylus POV. Not part of the Sylus series, with a slightly more damaged (haha can you believe it) MC than in the series, with a relationship development that differs significantly from the Sylus series. This story contains: angst, canon typical violence, serious bodily injury, medical intervention, MC with self-destructive tendencies, grief, hurt/comfort both physical and emotional, a (hopefully more sensual than graphic) brief NSFW interlude towards the end, a happy ending.

It was supposed to be a simple job. An alert on your hunter watch. A location near where you’re jogging after work. You’re wearing insulated tights, short swords strapped to your back, an Association standard-issue pistol strapped to your hip. Not an average person’s jogging outfit, but you never know when you’ll be needed. And the weather’s probably not ideal in the average person’s opinion—a misting, gentle rain that creates halos around the streetlamps you pass on the gravel path through the long park along the riverfront on the outskirts of Linkon City. It’s dusk, now, but the rain is drowning the air, and it feels like night already. You love the wet hush, the sweeping shush of dead leaves in the winter wind, the spatter of puddles with each footfall. The poor weather means there are very few people out tonight, and you can let yourself relax in solitude. No one to worry about passing if they’re going too slow, or whether you should smile or just ignore anyone you encounter as you run past in the opposite direction—all the minute demands of being a human amongst other humans, trying to weigh kindness versus available energy, a hunter as a role model versus just a person trying to survive each day.

Just you, your footfalls, your breath. Running used to be meditative to you. One of the few times you could actually get your racing mind to be fully present, shutting out all the noise of worries constantly spinning in your brain like your motorcycle’s wheels— reviewing for exams, then training, the regulations of your job, the code of conduct for dealing with the public as a role model and a public servant. Your latest failed relationships. The embarrassing things you blurted during a meeting, or during obligatory after-work drinks with colleagues. While you ran, you could be mindful, when it was just you, your pumping heart, the joy in the strength of your legs, your even breath and healthy lungs. You could be present in your body, for once, instead of only living in your head. 

Running used to be meditative for you, until it wasn’t. It has been harder to find that calm headspace, every time you lace up your shoes and just go—like so many things in your life now, there is the Before, and there is the After… After Caleb. Because before, running was a joyful indulgence in the power of your body. And it was one of the few things you shared with him, through all the years in which your lives were intertwined, and then through the years in which your lives slowly unthreaded as you grew older and life took you in different directions. You would run with him as a reckless child, exploring parks around your grandmother’s house, playgrounds for tag and cops and robbers, hunter and wanderer. Later, you would run together after school during the off-seasons of track and field or cross country. It was one of the few times you both could fully relax, your footfalls mirroring each other, each of your competitive edges often pushing you further and further, harder and faster. The joy you felt sprinting as hard as you could at the end of a long run, only to collapse in the grass with your chests heaving, laughter spilling out of you like apples falling from a tree during the season of harvest. And you took it for granted—because the one constant in your life was Caleb, your running shoes, his teasing. Even when he was away more and more on flight missions, and you were busy at the Academy and then as a new Hunter, you both would do your best to carve time for each other in your schedules, And those times always included a run. Each time, you were secure in the knowledge that there would be a next time. You thought the laughter would be never ending. If you won that final sprint, you’d taunt him, flinging friendly insults about him getting soft in his job that kept him behind the yoke of the ships he piloted. If you lost, you’d accuse him of foul play as he used his longer legs to reach the designated finish line of that weird tree further up at the corner, doesn’t it kind of look like it has a face? Okay-ready-set-go, ooh you snooze you lose, it’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention and now I got a head start!

“Better work harder if you want to keep up, pipsqueak,” he’d say, reaching over to pat your sweat soaked hair, much to your annoyance. You’d swat his hand away and demand a rematch. He’d just laugh, and say “Next time. Next time, see if you can beat me.”

“Pfft, next time I might be too busy for your ass,” you’d grumble, taking it all for granted. The one constant in the blur of fighting wanderers and mind-numbing paperwork and the compulsive need to get out there and do it all over again, day after day.

That was Before. Now, After, you’d give anything to be able to grab his big hand and hold it to your messy hair. To be able to say, yes, next time. Next time, and the time after that. Until we’re old and gray. And you will carry the memories of what little I can remember of my childhood inside you, and I will carry your own youth in me, and we’ll laugh about the things only we know, about Gran’s cooking, about late nights giggling under a blanket, flashlight in hand and the latest graphic novel issue between you, way past bedtime. About sneaking the cookies Gran had made and told the two of you that you were allowed only one a day—then desperately brushing the crumbs from each other’s mouths and cheeks when you heard her footfalls approaching on the polished but worn wooden floorboards of the only home you can remember. About how quiet she’d sometimes get, as she contemplated you with a faraway look on her face. About how she’d suddenly hug you, out of nowhere, and whisper an apology in your hair, clutching a little too tight. You were too young to recognize guilt, at the time. You never knew what she was sorry for. Not while she was alive, anyway. How cruel, that so often life requires death for answers to ancient questions to rise to the surface—a tectonic shift to crack open the earth and reveal the bones buried below.

All of these memories that you now carry inside you, alone, in this After.

You breathe in. You breathe out. It’s full dark now. The miles are stretching out behind you now. You refuse to look at your watch, and let time pass over, through you. You could have been running for only half an hour, or for two hours. It doesn’t matter. Until you’re utterly exhausted, you won’t quit. You need to sleep.

The river flashes between the trees, blurred, shadowed trunks and the glittering water streaks like headlights on a rainy highway. The more the memories come, unrequested and unwelcome, the faster your footfalls become, as if you can outrun the images, the sounds, the scents. Caleb’s clean sweat. How he tells you to use shorter strides if it ever gets to be too much. Just slow down. You don’t have to stop. Just do as much as you can, allow yourself to catch your breath. But never, ever quit. Little steps, until you reach the end. You can do it. You can do it. He shortens his stride, looking ridiculous as the big body he has grown into moves forward with little bitty strides to allow you space to breathe, to regain your strength and be able to push him at the end in your traditional sprint against each other.

But now that he is gone, there is no end. There is no finish line. In this After, it’s only day after day, and you have to keep running, keep busy, keep meeting wanderer after wanderer, keep staring at your ceiling through your sleepless nights, only to get up and do it all over again. Because he’s gone, and you’re still here. No matter how much you shorten your stride, the small steps you take, you will never be able to rest. He told you that you can't quit. You can never, ever quit. You don’t want to think about the holidays coming up, the first since you lost your family. What will you do, as the snow begins to fall, and Caleb isn’t there waiting behind your Gran’s door, the fire already crackling, the presents under the tree?

Your thoughts drift to Sylus. Sylus, who came into your life like a wrecking ball after Caleb exited like… like a bomb. Sylus, who offered to disappear from your life altogether, if you accepted his bet of surviving the encounter with some business rival. The bet you refused to agree to, and in the refusal left the door open for him to walk through. And he has—he barreled through it, slammed it so hard against the wall that it fell off its hinges. You can’t shut your door on him if you tried, now. Sending you gifts. Showing up when you least expect it—out with colleagues, at the arcade, even on a few jogs. Saying such sweet, straightforward things, all in his teasing, playful, taunting manner. He has invited you to his base, into his world, leaving his own door open for you to walk through. But even though you have come to trust that he is currently interested in you, affectionate toward you, amused by you, you still can’t bring yourself to step over the threshold, from light into dark, from the safe, the mundane, into the intoxicating excitement that his life, his touch, offers you, with each brush of his fingers across your skin, holding your hand, his nose along your cheek as he hugs you goodnight. What happens when he gets bored? What happens when he decides you’ve seen too much, that you’re expendable? What happens when he disappears from your life as suddenly as Caleb did, because of the violence of his existence or because of his low threshold for boredom? You have stopped fighting him, when he sends gifts. When he invites you out to dinner. When he wraps his big arm around you during a film in the theater. When he lays you down gently on the bed, and gives such great pleasure to your body. But you are still waiting for his door to slam shut, to cut you in half in the process.

You haven’t been able to ask Sylus what his plans are for the holidays this year. Every time the thought crosses your mind, your heart hurts at the idea of him responding that he’ll have to be out of town, that he’ll be working as usual, that he never does anything special, so why should he start this year? You’ll be fine. You’ll set up a small tree in your apartment, make a toast to your dead in the soft glow of strings of multicolored lights. Go to work the next day, as usual.

It was supposed to be a simple job. You’re running too fast now, the adrenaline coursing through you as you are chased by memories that you want to erase, memories you’re afraid to forget, when your hunter’s watch, which is measuring your distance and your pulse and your oxygen levels, suddenly trills. A shift in metaflux near your location, a possible wanderer along the river’s edge.

You gulp a big breath, and urge your legs faster, your stride longer.

There’s no one around, thankfully, because the night is dark and rainy, the air cold, only you and your lonely memories and thoughts willing to brave the poor weather. Three wanderers, panther-like, with sharp scorpion tails, immediately hostile. You have to eliminate them, even as you admire their savage beauty. You catch the first one by surprise, your sneakered feet muffled on the wet grass, grabbing it by the tail right under the vicious stinger, slicing through meat to remove the threat. It twists, bucks, but you’re already leaping on it, straddling it like a bucking horse, and you drive your short sword into the side of its skull, right at its tender temple, killing it almost instantly.

The other two turn, tails whipping, and charge at the same time. You ride the falling body of the first one you killed to the ground, use the momentum to sprint between and past them, their tails missing you by inches, but your path between them has one stinging the other, and the accidental victim lets out a scream that hurts your heart with how much pain the poison must be causing it. They can’t help their nature. But you have to live, because Caleb is dead. If you let them kill you, they will kill someone innocent, someone whose existence is worthy, and useful, and then you will have failed to make up for all of your shortcomings. You have to earn your death, in the end, and you feel like what you owe the universe for living while Caleb died, what you owe the universe for still being alive when your parents died or didn’t want you, with your limping heart, still isn’t paid. You have to live, because you don’t deserve death, yet.

The stung wanderer collapses, mouth foaming, and twitches in the wet grass, now churned and slick with mud from your tussle with the first one, with the heavy footfalls of the other two. Now it’s just the one left. A fair fight. You circle each other, the rain misting along its scales, glittering in the light reflected from the river, the haloed streetlamps on the distant path. It moves like the panther it resembles, beautiful, deadly, a low rumbling drifting through the quiet evening, its tail whipping. You wait, slightly crouched, ready to dodge when it inevitably loses patience and charges at you. You’re patient. You have nowhere else to be, no one waiting for you, no one to care whether you make it home or not in the end. You wait, swords drawn, chest heaving from your jog, from the adrenaline, your ears ringing from the tinnitus but still attuned to every shift of the magnificent creature before you that you’re going to have to slaughter.

It finally loses patience, snorting once through flaring nostrils, crouching low, powerful haunches rippling, its tail curled over its back, ready to strike at the same time that it launches itself at you.

You can survive being swiped by claws, being ripped by fangs. You will not survive the poison in its tail. You force yourself to wait until the second millisecond, until it’s already in the air, before ducking and rolling toward its form flying toward you, using the slick mud to slide under it—you skid, scramble, rise behind it as its tail strikes the wet, soft earth instead of your fragile body. You slip in the mud but manage to grab it by its tail, just as you did the first one, to grab it by the tail and slice off the poison bulb attached to the stinger. As you slice, the wanderer screams like its companion, whips its body around, and swipes its vicious claws down your side, not too deep to catch on your ribs, but deep enough to flay you open, for the blood to flow.

You’re so high on adrenaline that the pain isn’t immediate. There is only you, the still living wanderer, your life balanced on the edge of your swords, your blood splattering over the muddy ground. You twist, drive both swords into the beast’s vulnerable flank, where its leg connects to its torso. You twist them, doing as much damage as possible, slicing through major arteries, rendering its leg on this side useless. It screams again, your heart squeezes. You’re sorry. You’re so fucking sorry that even in this, you have to live when this creature, doing what its nature tells it to do, has to suffer and die under your bloody hands. The wanderer half-collapses, but still tries to bite you with its gaping jaw, its glistening fangs. You dodge backwards, just out of reach, and then shove one of your swords into its maw, up, up, through the soft palate of its mouth, directly into its brain.

It collapses against you, head still pinned on your sword. You fall backwards underneath it, landing on your ass in the squelching mud. There is only the sound of your panting breath, the softly falling rain. You curl over it, rest your cheek on top of its magnificent head, regaining your breath, honoring it and the companions you were forced to exterminate. 

Passing out from the blood loss is like falling asleep, before Caleb died. A pleasant feeling of exhaustion, of having done your best to earn your rest, and then slipping under, the peace of the deep, deep black.

Sylus is exhausted. Meeting after meeting, shipment inspections, having to explode one supplier to teach other fucks a lesson for trying to pass off counterfeit protocores Sylus needs for modifying a shipping container of Hightowers. He’s finally done, after working through his ‘night’ to secure alternatives to the fake protocores so that other contracts could be fulfilled on time. Sylus always keeps his word, after all. He’s exhausted, and now it’s his version of dawn, but he’s not willing to go to sleep until he checks in with his beloved. He’s in the middle of the N109 Zone, ready to return to base, but he’s impatient and pulls up Mephisto’s app on his phone before settling the helmet on his head and getting on the road.

Mephisto is in your bedroom. Your room is empty, and the windows are shut tight. There’s just your verdant houseplants spilling out of their pots, the plushies tumbled on the floor, the city’s lights filtering through the windowpanes exposed by your open curtains. 

Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose. He has scolded you about this before—sometimes you forget that Mephisto has been programmed not to cause any damage to your place, so if you leave without letting him out the window or the door, he’s stuck. And if he’s stuck, he can’t serve his purpose, which is to keep an eye on you. 

“I survived long before I had you or Mephisto to stalk me. I don’t need him to follow me everywhere I go, running down his battery so that when you actually need him, he won’t be unavailable.” You had scoffed, completely missing the point.

As far as Sylus was concerned, Mephisto’s sole purpose was to be of use to you when Sylus is unable to be there in person to be of use to you. What part of Don’t be shy when using me did you still not understand? “Have you considered that I need him to follow you everywhere you go? That I specifically upgraded his protocore so that his battery can survive a thousand trips a day between Linkon City and the N109 Zone?”

You had just patted his chest indulgently, with a strange, sad little smile on your face that he didn’t like. He opened his mouth to continue, to make sure you understood—it was important to him for you to understand this, but you had moved your hand from his chest to his throat, running your fingertips along the tender skin at his clavicle, palming the side of his neck. He couldn’t help himself—he leaned into your touch, lost his train of thought. Your other hand joined your efforts to distract him, to soothe him, to make him forget what he was just talking about, and then you were cupping his cheeks, smoothing your thumbs under his eyes. It felt so good, to be touched like this by you. For your hands to be on him, for you to be looking at him with such quiet affection. He couldn’t help himself—he leaned down and kissed you, the conversation submerged in the feeling of being treasured by you, of you touching him like he was the fragile one, like he was the precious one—submerged, but not forgotten, because you were the precious one, the one who could be hurt, who he wanted to kiss like this, softly, meeting your lips with his, over and over, gentle presses, nudging your nose with his, until you slid your hands from his cheeks into his hair, kissed him a little harder, with purpose, and he slipped his tongue between your lips like he knew you wanted, and you sucked, sucked, sucked.

He let the conversation go. Later, while you were sleeping, the silken sheets he had replaced your own crappy cotton ones with draped over your hip as you lay on your side, facing away from him, he ran his finger thoughtfully down your spine, admiring its curve in the moonlight through your bedroom window, lower, lower, until he slipped that finger between your legs and pressed back into you, where you were still soft and wet from his earlier efforts. He thought about that strange sad smile, your refusal to let him fully look out for you. He thought about how he always came to you, and you had never once taken him up on his invitation for you to come to his base. To make use of him whenever you pleased. You would accept him when he came to you, ‘ran into’ you, kissed you, but you never initiated. It was like you were still afraid to accept everything he was offering you as unconditional truth, irrevocable once offered. You shifted in your sleep, made a pleasured noise in your throat as he slipped another finger inside you, as he scooted closer behind, spooning you, filling you, as he let his mind wander back to that terrible smile of yours. 

He hated that smile. A smile that isn’t a smile—a hollow mask, containing none of the joy you deserve to feel, all the time. A smile that says that you don’t believe that anyone will care if you don’t come home, now that your family is gone. A smile that says that you can’t conceive of a world in which Sylus’s entire existence revolves around you, your genuine smile, and his utility to you. That if anything were to happen to you, he’d burn down the world and fall on your sword after he had ensured that no one else survived your death. 

Even though you let him in. Even though you let him touch you, you still can’t seem to understand the depth of his devotion to you. He’s been forced to live so long without you. He’s not going to endure that hell again now that he's found you.

Now, he pulls up the app that tracks your hunter watch. You’re along the river, moving faster than a walking pace, but not fast enough to be on your motorcycle. You’re… going for an evening jog? What the hell are you doing, running by yourself after a long, exhausting day in the dark? No matter how strong you are, no matter how skilled a warrior, you should take at least the most basic of precautions and let him know where you’re going if you’re going to behave in such a reckless manner. You’re just one person, against a sea of cruel humanity, against the ever present threat of wanderers.

He wants to pull you into his arms and squeeze you, to press into your skin his worry, his care, his love, to squeeze you so hard that you finally get it through your ridiculous, beautiful, anxious, clever brain that even if you don’t have a care for your own safety, your own value to everyone in your life, but most of all to him, he cares, and if you get hurt, so does he.

This won’t do at all. Sylus is exhausted after being awake for twenty-four hours, but he will always, always have time and energy to spare for you. If you want to go jogging at night so badly, he’ll fucking join you.

The winter night is cold, the gentle rain almost sleeting, billowing curtains turning the streetlamps into something soft, muted stars that Sylus’s sensitive eyes can tolerate. He enjoys the dark, the rain, the cold, as he steps out of the tank parallel to where it looks like you’ve paused to take in a view of the river. Luckily this park, though long enough to enable running enthusiasts a long, uninterrupted stretch of path to run, is narrow, so Sylus could park relatively close to where you’ve stopped and jog to you easily in a few minutes. He doesn’t need to stretch, or warm up his muscles. His body is primed, at all times, for physical action. It’s a perk of the monster within. He shuts the tank’s door and jogs to where his phone indicates you are.

Before he sees you, he can smell it. Blood. Yours. A lot of it. His heart stops beating, his mouth goes dry. On instinct, he presses Luke and Kieran’s contact in his phone. He doesn’t remember everything he says or how he says it. He gives your location, orders them to bring the bags of blood he keeps at the base, the bags with your blood type in them, just as a precaution, the bags you don’t know about, along with all of the other contingency plans has in place that you don’t know about in order to prevent his worst nightmares from coming true—of you dying before him, this time. Of him being forced to live without you, again, as he has through lifetimes already, where he never even found you. He has you now, in this life. You let him touch you, you touch him in return. This time, no matter what fate, or destiny, or any gods have to say about it, you’re both going to live. Together. He has finally found you, and he’s not going to let you fucking die on him. When he’s done with the call, he dissipates into red and black mist.

He re-materializes a few feet away from you. There you are. Two huge wanderer corpses in a muddy clearing where a vicious fight clearly took place, and you, cradling the third wanderer’s head in your lap, slumped over its impressive form. The rain falls softly over you both. Your hair is soaked through, tendrils winding down your cheek, droplets falling from the ends like dew falling from a petal. One of your lovely arms curves around the wanderer’s head, almost as if you’re hugging it, while the other is limp at your side, resting in the bloody mud, your palm relaxed and open to the falling rain. 

You look dead.

You look dead, but Sylus can smell you, your life, your sluggish heart, he can hear your faint breath. You look dead, but you’re still alive.

Although you’re alive, Sylus feels like he’s going to die. He’s died before. Many times. He dies every time he receives a wound that would be fatal to anyone else. It hurts, every single time, because Sylus isn’t the type of man who dies peacefully, in his sleep, at the end of a long, placid life. Each death is violent, frightening, and deeply, deeply painful. His first death, the most painful at all, simply because he knew he was leaving you behind, leaving you alone. The most painful, and yet the least. He could tolerate the sword through his chest, knowing that you would be free from his curse, that you were already on your way to growing your own horns, your own tail, weapons against a world that could not stand against you. It hurt, but he was at peace with his decision to die for you, that first time.

Sylus knows very well what it feels like when he’s going to die. But he doesn’t remember feeling the kind of fear he feels now. A terror that he can’t scream through, because his throat won’t work. He can’t make any sound at all, as he stands frozen for a heartbeat at the entrance to the clearing, only a few feet from you, as his eyes are forced to look at your slumped form, the deep gashes along your side, partially hidden by your arm as it hangs limply, lifelessly.

You look dead.

“No.” He doesn’t recognize his own voice. No. No. No. No.

He has not come this far with you, he has not started all over with you again, from absolute scratch, from your blank memory, fear and hate written all over your face, spilling out of you, so thick her could taste it over the taste of you, your scent, the scent he had been craving for lifetimes, when he found you again—he has not painfully, slowly, rebuilt your trust in him, lured you in like the feral kitten you are, leaving crumbs, treats, tricks, toys, feathers, patiently coming to you and leaving again, instead of doing what he wanted and dragging you with him to his lair, smothering you, shaking you until you remembered his face, his heart, his love. He has not gotten you to the point that you let him touch you, run his fingers along your skin, and you do the same. That you look at him, eyes soft, with affection, with laughter on your tongue, even if you still don’t quite understand the depth of his want for you, his servitude, how utterly you own him, all of him, and always have. He has not come this far with you, only for you to die before he does, from something so mundane, so pedestrian and anti-climactic as a wanderer attack—from just doing your job, and one day, you just don’t come home to him.  He refuses to accept this. This is not the death you deserve. You deserve a death at sunset, entire armies turned on each other, blood like rivers across a ravaged plain, a death by Sylus’s side, as you both fight and maim and kill, the flesh of your enemies between your teeth, each of you crazed with bloodlust for your foes and lust for each other.

Or better yet. You deserve a death at sunset, in Sylus’s arms, when you’re old and gray, and you’re simply a little too tired to keep going. And Sylus will hold you in his arms, and he will press his forehead against yours, your skin paper thin and wrinkled, still perfect, still beautiful, your hair wisps of cotton around your head, and as you close your eyes for the final time, Sylus will close his, and your hearts will stop beating at the same time. A peaceful death, after a long, simple, happy life together, with flower crowns exchanged on anniversaries, your friends around the table, the wine generous, your hand in Sylus’s through all the long years that will never be long enough for him.

You’re not going to die here, under the soft, cold rain, from blood loss after a victorious battle in the dark.

All of these thoughts swirling through Sylus’s nimble mind take only a heartbeat to complete, to bring him to his resolution that he’s not going to let you die here, whether you like it or not. He kneels in the mud next to you, covers you in his leather jacket, slips your phone from your pocket and calls your doctor, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder. As the phone rings, he gently, so, so gently, slips his arms behind your back and under your knees, lifts you in his arms. Your blood is still flowing, and it seeps into the tight athletic tank he had put on in anticipation of jogging with you. He turns, running shoes squelching in the mud, and begins walking back to the tank.

“It’s never good when you’re calling me this late,” comes the crisp, even tone of your primary care physician’s voice. But Sylus can hear the slight smile in his tone, even if you fail to hear it every time.

“You’re right, it’s not good. If you want to see your patient alive again, then you need to come to this location,” Sylus bites into the phone, rattling off the closest address, explaining how to find your and Sylus’s tank.

“If this is a joke, it’s not funny,” Zayne answers after a short silence.

“This isn’t a joke. Wanderer attack, too much blood loss. I already have the right blood type being brought as we speak, but you need to get here, now, for a transfusion.”

“You need to bring them to the hospital—they need proper medical facilities and treatment if they’re to have any chance to survive,” Zayne argues, his distress starting to bleed through his even tone.

“What they need is for you to stop fucking arguing with me, and do as a I say. If you care about them at all, trust that I care more, and I’ll explain when you arrive.” Sylus doesn’t even bother to hide his own agony. He needs your doctor to stabilize you, because you need to be conscious for Sylus to save your life, but Sylus doesn’t have the expertise of a medical professional to get you to the point of surviving long enough to wake up. “Now, are you going to stop wasting time, or not?”

“You have no idea how much I care,” Zayne retorts icily, and ends the call.

Sylus takes his answer as acquiescence to what probably seems like insanity to your doctor.

Sylus walks through the rain, crosses the running path, the expanse of grass and trees, until he’s back on the quiet Linkon City street where he parked the tank. His evol opens the back passenger door and he maneuvers you inside onto the middle bench seat. He strips his now bloody shirt and ties it around your torso, tightening it, trying to stem the flow of your bright, precious blood. He grabs his athletic hoodie from where it was tied around his waist that he brought in case you got cold and hadn’t properly geared up and repeats the motion, trying to create a tourniquet as he waits for Luke and Kieran to arrive, as he waits for Zayne to arrive. He pulls you back into his lap, torso elevated, presses his palms to your wounds through the fabric, orders the SUV to crank the heating to full blast. He busies himself with phone calls, arranging for medical staff to be waiting at the base.

Finally, after what seems like multiple lifetimes—he would fucking know what that feels like—the twins come screeching to a stop in front of the tank at the same time that Zayne’s low-slung, understated but very expensive sedan pulls up behind it.

Zayne drags out a large medical bag from the passenger side of his car as the twins pile into the front seats of the tank, Kieran clutching a medical grade cooler with the blood in it. Sylus’s evol throws open the tank’s sliding back passenger door, and your austere doctor manages to fold himself inside the cramped space.

“I need more room if I’m to do this. Move,” he orders in quiet disdain.

Sylus doesn’t argue. This isn’t a dick-measuring contest, this is your life or death. As gently as possible, he slides out from under you and lays you onto the long bench seat. He teleports to the third row of seats at the back of the vehicle.

Zayne doesn’t even flinch, just flicks his eyes to Sylus’s re-materialized form, from his face to his bare chest, and then turns his attention back to his medical bag without comment. He gets to work, unwinding the makeshift bandages of Sylus’s athleticwear, cleaning your wounds. He sutures the open gashes, stemming the blood flow. After it appears that your bleeding is somewhat under control, Sylus and the twins watch in tense silence as he orders Luke to hang the bag of blood from a hook on the oh shit handle above the passenger door after he has placed an IV line in the tender skin of your inner elbow and connected the tubing.

After he’s done, and the blood is sliding from the bag into your arm, he sits back against the tank’s door, arms crossed.

“Explain why you refuse to take them to a hospital.”

Sylus can’t take his eyes off you as he answers. “While I’m sure you would do a fine job of finishing stitching them up and preventing infection, I can heal them completely. I just need them to resonate with me.”

Zayne’s voice grows sharper. “Who are you?”

“You can call me Skye.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Sylus finally tears his eyes away from you, lying there, blood drained from your beautiful face, deep bruises under your eyes, hair still soaked and matted from the rain and mud. His heart, bleeding and broken.

He looks into Zayne’s pretty hazel eyes. “That’s all I can give you.”

Zayne stares in return, looking for something that Sylus can’t give. Sylus isn’t sorry for the fact that he carries half of your soul, and that you carry half of his. That in this universe, you belong to him, and not to anyone else. But he knows what it’s like, to live lifetimes without you. To look, and never find you. He’s never been in the position of finding you, only to find you bound to another. He doesn’t know what he’d do, if such a thing were to ever happen to him. He likely would not be able to look so calmly into the eyes of the person who had your heart, as Zayne is doing now. After tonight, Zayne has Sylus’s gratitude, and also his respect.

“What I can give you is a promise that you will see our hunter again, healthy and whole, because you helped tonight without asking too many questions.”

Zayne snorts softly through his nostrils. “You didn’t leave me much choice, did you?”

Sylus shrugs. “Even so. You could have stood on ceremony, insisted on going by the book, and likely killed your childhood friend.”

“No, your insistence on doing something incredibly reckless and demanding that I come to you, instead of bringing them to me at the hospital, would have killed them.”

Sylus lifts an eyebrow, enjoying the subtle spark underneath your doctor’s icy exterior. He has a backbone, and Sylus likes that. “Oh, I still would have brought them to the hospital. You just would have had to explain to your board how your heroic hunter patient disappeared on your watch after the blood transfusion without anyone seeing them leave. Because I can guarantee you that the first thing kitten would demand after waking up would be to get the fuck out of there.”

Zayne’s lips part slightly, apparently the good doctor’s version of gaping in surprise. “Kitten?” he asks, bewildered, until he sighs, looks incredibly tired for a moment, and then says, “Never mind. I would rather not know.”

He pulls a prescription pad out of his white lab coat and scribbles on it with a pen. A pen that has a cute little seal on the cap. Sylus has the strangest feeling that he knows where your fucking doctor got such a pen. He makes a mental note to remedy this injustice when you wake up later and are feeling better. “These are the antibiotics they’ll need for the next week, even if you’re convinced that your evol can fully heal them through the resonance. I’m assuming that wherever you’re taking them will have medical expertise on staff?” he asks, ripping the prescription off the pad in one decisive stroke and holding it out between his index and middle finger to Sylus.

Sylus takes the paper, letting his fingers brush against your doctor’s, just to vex him. He does not disappoint as he scowls and jerks his hand back, shoving it into his pocket of his labcoat. “If anything happens…” Zayne’s voice trails off as he returns his gaze to your still form. “Call me. I’ll come, no matter the time, no matter the place.”

Sylus can hear the plea in his words formulated as an order. He is glad you have people in your life who care for you. He makes a note to arrange more opportunities for you to play with your doctor, so you will come to realize that Zayne cares for you as well, as more than just your primary care physician. Another person in the threads of your life, woven together to form the safety net you don’t even realize you have, even without Sylus. Not that you ever have to worry about being without Sylus, ever again. But Sylus has read that it’s apparently healthy for people to have more than one anchor, more than one source of comfort. Friends. People who love you and who take joy in your presence in their life. He wants to give you that. He wants to give you everything. You belong to him, but he can’t begrudge others for wanting to bask in your light—he’ll allow it, as a side effect of you having a healthy, rich, full life. And it doesn’t hurt that it looks like the doctor will be hilarious to torment.

“Deal,” Sylus says. Zayne breathes again, a sharp exhale through his nose, and then extricates himself, along with his medical bag, from the tank, shutting the door decisively behind him.

“Whoa, boss is learning how to play well with others,” Luke says, probably wide-eyed underneath his mask.

“The hunter truly is a miracle worker,” Kieran agrees, sounding pleased.

“Enough. Kieran, drive us back to base. Luke, follow us in the other vehicle.”

They nod, understanding that now is not the time for silly banter, that underneath their boss’s calm exterior is a very worried, frightened man.

As Luke clambers out of the tank and Kieran settles himself into the driver’s seat, Sylus makes his way from the backseat to where you’re lying and lifts you gingerly, settles himself onto the seat, and gently lays your shoulders and head back onto his lap. His eyes do not leave your face, his hands do not leave your hair for the entire duration back home. On the way, he soothes himself with memories of your face, blooming with color, health, your eyes bright, the teasing curve of your lips after saying something mean to him. He soothes himself with plans upon plans about how to finally convince you that you have someone waiting for you now, someone who will not recover if you don’t come home. That you’ve always had people waiting for you, worrying for you, loving you, even without Caleb and your grandmother in your life.

Before Sylus came into your life, waking up was always something you did reluctantly, a slow drag from the peaceful dark to the painful light, something to fear, something to resist, heart pounding with the shrill noise of your alarm in your ears, jerking from a calm numbed sea into the chaotic storm of emotions, of wakefulness, of being back in your body where everything hurt.

Now, something inside you whispers that it’s safe, even as you know the pain is coming. That beyond the pain, the first gasp of breath as your face breaches the tranquilizing ocean of unconsciousness, waiting on the other side is a pair of warm ruby eyes, big hands, soft despite their callouses, a heartbeat that should be a little too fast to be calming, yet soothes you all the same. That waking up has a purpose, beyond your penance, your self-imposed sentence of surviving despite everything, in order to earn your rest when something finally, mercifully kills you. Now, there’s something to wake up for besides guilt, even though you fear it will be snatched away without warning.

You open your eyes slowly. Your body feels heavy, but for once you’re not in pain, as if from the neck down you’re still in the ocean of sleep. You blink, eyes focusing on the ornate crown molding of Sylus’s dark bedroom ceiling. You haven’t been in this room since you searched his beautiful body for the brooch, right before the auction. But you’d recognize his ceiling anywhere. You turn your head on the soft, silk-covered pillow, and just as you knew you would, you’re met with the warm glow of Sylus’s eyes. You wonder how you got here. You’ve never before taken him up on his countless invitations to visit him at his home.

He doesn’t say anything. He just reaches over and palms your cheek, fingertips sliding over your ear, thumb stroking under your eye.

“Hi,” you say, smiling at him. Because you always smile at him, no matter how you’re feeling. You smile at him when you’re happy, when he has said something hilarious, or sweet. You smile at him when he surprises you, when he teases you, no matter how hard you try to keep a straight face, to scowl at him in mock anger for his mischievousness, his intentionally trying to get a rise out of you. You smile at him when your heart is hurting, because no matter how in pain you might be from grief, from worry, from missing him when he’s right there, you care for him so much already, and you can’t help but smile when he turns to look at you.

“Don’t smile at me like that,” he says, dark silver eyebrows drawing together. “I hate that smile.”

You stare at him, feeling the joy of seeing him drain from you like he’s just shoved a knife in your stomach. He hasn’t said something so cruel to you since your first few days of knowing each other.

You swallow. 

It has finally happened. He’s finally sick of you. Whatever pedestal he has had you on this whole time has finally toppled.

“Okay,” you whisper, giving him what he wants. Because what else can you do? You stop smiling. You turn your head away from him again, from his beautiful, wine-glow eyes, his soft silver hair falling over his forehead, and stare at his ceiling. You’re thankful for the strange numbness in your body. It makes it easier to breathe. To tolerate the pain washing through you. You gather your resolve. All you have to do is roll over, sit up. Put both feet on the floor. Get dressed, in your own clothes. You hope you didn’t arrive in any of the clothes he has bought for you over the past few months since he started playing the game of keeping you. The game he apparently never had any intention of finishing.

You try to do what you just imagined, but your body doesn’t listen. You just lie there, like the useless sack of shit you often feel like.

“Fuck,” he says, strangely. He must really, really want you gone.

You laugh a little breathlessly, because what else can you do? “Sorry, I’ll leave as soon as I can. I must have had too much to drink.” Because what else could explain this paralysis? Why else can’t you remember how you got here in his bed again? The last thing you remember is lacing up your running shoes for a run after work.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, tone dark. Which doesn’t make any sense at all. 

Oh.  

He’s not only bored with you, but he’s finally decided to kill you. You had wondered, at the beginning, what it would take for him to finally get bored. What he would do, when he was ready to cut his losses. If he would feel compelled to get rid of the now useless witness to so many of his secrets. But you had trusted him enough to keep accepting him when he came to you, when he told you how much he cared for you. When he had told you he wanted you, and that wouldn’t change. You must have let yourself believe him, based on how deeply hurt you feel now. This shouldn’t be a surprise to you, after all. This is why you never took him up on his invitation to come deeper into his world. 

You always have been so fucking gullible.

You suppose that you deserve what’s coming, the fool that you are.

It’s a relief, really. Maybe now you can see Caleb again. See Gran again. Maybe if your parents are dead, you’ll finally get to meet them.

Or, if the universe is actually kind, maybe dead is just dead, and at least you won’t have to hurt anymore.

Part of you thinks that you’re a fucking coward for taking the easy way out. For giving up without a struggle. You thought you could survive anything. That you needed to survive everything, to finally earn your death. But losing Sylus’s affection must have been the last straw for you, because you’re so fucking tired. You could fight an endless amount of wanderers, and still keep dragging yourself back out to do it all over again. But after having Sylus, and then losing him… turns out, that’s the one thing you can’t survive.

“I know it doesn’t mean shit, but I want you to know that I love you. It felt really good, being your toy for a while,” you say.

“Toy?” Sylus asks, voice strained. 

You wonder how he’ll do it. “Just, if you ever cared about me at all, make it quick.” You close your eyes. It’s so strange. You could fall asleep again. You’re so, so tired. You suppose, in a way, you’re lucky. Not everyone gets to die by the hand of someone they love. Who they’d die for anyway. It’s better than bleeding out alone after fucking up against a wanderer.

You feel his fingers on your neck. How poetic. How we met is how we’ll end. Sylus has always been strangely poetic.

“Will you resonate with me?” he asks through the waves that you’re letting yourself sink back into.

Why is he bothering to ask? He could just try to force it, like the first time. It would probably work, since he succeeded in making you love him. You wonder why he wants it now. You’ve only ever resonated during fights. Gun battles. Being caught by surprise by wanderers between Linkon City and the N109 Zone. He’s never asked you for it, outside of the context of violence. But then again, maybe putting you down is just another quick little conflict. If his evol is strengthened with yours, so much the easier to snap your neck. He’s such a big man though. He could do it so easily, even without his evol. Does it really matter why he wants to resonate with you now though? You would give him anything, for any reason, the fool that you are.

“One for the road, huh?” you ask. 

His fingers tighten on your neck. He wants to strangle you so badly, it’s almost funny.

You lift your hand, and it feels like a 16 kilo kettlebell. You sigh as you rest it over the back of his hand, resting at your throat. 

“You can have whatever you want, Sylus Qin.” 

“And so can you, my beloved,” he says, and he sounds so sincere that you’re reminded why you believed his lies in the first place. Anyone, not just your idiotic, desperate, lonely, gullible self would have believed the sweet words coming from his beautiful mouth. Cold comfort, but comfort all the same.

He lifts your hand, turns it, threads his fingers through yours. You summon the very last bit of energy you have, all of the love you carry for him, and let your evol flow through you and into him.

It’s the weightlessness of sleep, of falling, of flying. Floating in a vast ocean of stars, the night sky as it actually is without light pollution, so bright that the word ‘night’ loses all meaning. As your gold waves flow into him, his scarlet and ink tendrils flow into you. Power, strength, the exhilaration of wild, unchecked energy, possibility, coiled to explode into action at the slightest twitch of your fingers or his.

The boundaries between you, between him, your minds, your bodies, thin, dissolve. The resonance has never been like this, before. Every time before, you could sense where he was on the battlefield, anticipate his movements. You could work in sync, powering his punches, increasing the speed at which he gathers energy, charging the storm that would unleash and ravage the hostiles arrayed against you. But you were still you. He was still him. Now, his heart beats in your chest. When he swallows painfully, you feel it in your throat. You are big, strong, powerful, and exhausted.

With your eyes closed, you see him. With his mouth closed, he speaks.

When you smile like that, you look so sad, I can’t bear it, he says. His arms gently curl around you, pull you into his chest. Relief floods through you, holding the person you cherish most in the universe in your arms again. And unlike the past two days, they’re awake.

Your mind is overwhelmed, the disparity between what you thought he was feeling just moments ago and feeling his actual emotions now large enough to make you feel insane. You breathe through the disorientation, focus on the words that just flowed through your mind.

Smile like what?

He doesn’t answer immediately. You just see yourself, like looking in a mirror, but from a greater height. You see your upturned face, your lips curved in the idea of a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Like a sketch by a skilled artist with their eyes closed. It’s a smile, but it’s wrong. Sylus, the intuitive creature that he is, can sense the disparity, the disconnect, between your smile and your heart. But he doesn’t understand that underneath the sadness, you are actually happy to be looking at his face, to be the object of his focus, to be able to hold him and laugh with him. That even if your heart is hurting, his mere presence can still bring a smile to your face. He said he hated your smile not because he is finally bored with you, but because the heartbreak in your smile broke his own heart.

He finally answers you with words. Like you did when you woke up. You smiled even though I know you’re exhausted. When your body has been through hell. You smiled even after almost dying two days ago.

You open your eyes, turn your head on the silk pillow to look at him. I almost died?

Sylus scoots even closer, and you realize that he’s holding his body away from your torso, even as he rests his head on the same pillow as you, runs his nose along your cheek. I found you bleeding out after killing three wanderers by yourself. You had already run eight miles before your hunter watch alerted you to their presence.

You stare at him. Notice the deep, dark circles under his eyes for the first time. The exhaustion drawing his mouth tight. Through the resonance, impressions of sour terror, heart-palpitation-inducing anxiety, clenched-teeth determination, refusal to sleep blur together. Sylus hasn’t slept since he found you. He has been lying here by your side, watching your face as you slept, for the past two days. You get the impression that he was already exhausted before he even found you.

But why?

How do you expect me to sleep, when I’m not sure if my beloved is ever going to open their eyes again?

You’re reeling. You just thought he was done with you, that he was about to end you. Your beloved?

You feel a pulse of disbelief, incomprehension, dawning understanding, and heartbreak, as all of the tangled feelings you just went through flow through the resonance from you to him. He had no idea that you have been fearing the end like this, somewhere deep inside yourself, all along. This fear, based on how you began. Based on all that you know about him, the way he lives his life, conducts his business. How easily bored he becomes playing simple games, listening to other people talk. Fear based on your own view of yourself, what you perceive as the value you have to offer other people in your life. He knew you were reluctant to come to him, yes, but he thought such reluctance was rooted in him being a criminal and you a deepspace hunter, that you didn’t quite understand how much he cares for you, and that in time, he’d be able to prove to you just how much he cares through his actions alone. Through his consistency in showing you his love. 

His hatred of your sad smile compounds, grows, as he realizes the depth of the hole inside you.

Now that he can see everything, you’re so scared. You don’t want him to see, to finally realize how disposable you are, even to yourself. Your parents, Caleb and your gran leaving you behind, the association once your heart finally gives out. How you’re only surviving until you receive a sign from the universe that you’ve finally earned the peace that you believe only death can offer you.

But instead of withdrawing, instead of dawning disgust in his heart, your heart, you feel determination rise in you, in him. A firm rejection of everything he just felt from you. An efficient, resounding no. If you don’t fucking believe it yet, he’ll just work harder until you do. He’s been too cautious. He’s been so busy trying to give you time, trying to lure you in like a scared kitten, that he has inadvertently let you believe that you’re ultimately disposable to him, when you’re the one thing he can’t bear to live without. No. No. No.

But why? You can’t help but feel, ask. Why you? When the world is so vast, full of people who are so much more interesting, competent, true equals to the man now running his fingers so gently along your cheek, staring into your eyes, sending wave upon wave of wordless, overpowering love through you.

Along with the warmth, the affection, the gentle amusement, the lust, the endless fascination that Sylus is sending along through your connection to him, you start seeing visions of your own laughing face, your lips curved in a scowl or a mischievous smirk, the few times he’s managed to instigate a big belly laugh out of you, squeals of delight at the claw machine, your competitive smugness following a motorcycle race that ended in a tie, and afterwards your lips bathed in moonlight as the both of you lay in a field of flowers, staring up at the night stars on the side of the road. Your mouth, as a metaphor for every reason he loves you so much. Your thoughtful frowns, betraying your clever mind, your bloodthirsty snarls, revealing your righteous fury when engaging in battle, your grin, telegraphing your dark sense of humor, your ability to laugh in the face of the horrors of humanity, existence, the constant plague of hostile wanderers. Your mouth, slightly open, panting, little noises of pleasure escaping your lips as Sylus makes you feel good with his body, as you make him feel like a king with every satisfied whimper out of your mouth.

You had no idea. All this time, you had no idea the depth of his feelings for you. When he is away on business, how his thoughts return to you, over and over again. When he is here at his home, how he intricately plans the ‘happenstance’ encounters with you. His joining you on jogs, because he’s so afraid something may happen to you when you’re exhausted and alone.

Do you understand yet? He’s pressing his forehead to yours, still being careful of your torso, breathing you in.

You feel his heart, and he feels yours, and you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins, as the connection loops through you, a closed circuit, infinity entwined. You understand that when you’re in pain, so is he. That by doubting his sincerity, his love for you, your own self worth, you’re hurting him too.

I’m sorry, is all you can think. You didn’t know, before. You may never have believed him, if he hadn’t opened himself to you like this, through your resonance. 

He silently rejects your apology. Relief unfurls through you, as he realizes that you’re finally understanding. That now you and he can finally begin.

But now you’re curious about what led you to being here, resonating with him, in his bed.

If I was hurt so badly, why don’t I feel any pain?

There is the feeling of a sigh, of tension released. Like he’s finally breathing after being underwater the entire time you were unconscious, and then worried that he was done with you. The painkillers that I’ve had the doctor pumping into you via the IV since I got you back to base. They’re pretty strong.

You smile. Thank you.

His face grows serious, his red eyes troubled again. Don’t thank me yet. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up, so that you could resonate with me. I need to heal you.

Heal me? You look down at yourself. The bandages wrapped tightly around your torso, the IV in your arm. Don’t I just need time to heal? You can dump me at Akso and Zayne can—

No. Sylus is scowling, full lips turned down like he smells something unpleasant. I can heal you better than your accomplished doctor. Under his thoughts snakes a winding thread of possessiveness, of pride that he can’t quite contain, even under these circumstances.

You’re bizarrely pleased with his jealousy, unfounded as it is. He’s the only person you’ve been able to see, from the moment you looked up into his disdainful face for the first time. Then why shouldn’t I thank you for it, if you can do that?

He brushes your cheek with the back of his knuckles. It’s going to hurt, my love.

You snort softly. I’m used to pain. You turn your head, feel brave enough to kiss his knuckles.

He licks his lips, briefly, uncharacteristically nervous. Not like this.

And when you’re done?

You’ll never forget the pain, but you’ll be fully healed. As if you were never injured at all.

You watch his face thoughtfully, thinking about all the times he has been injured since you’ve known him. And all the times the wounds have closed up right before your eyes. His stone-cold face, as blood turns to ash, as flesh is re-knit.

Is there any way you can heal me now, without feeling the pain yourself?

He shakes his head, as if he can’t quite believe you’ve just asked that. Still only worried about me, when you’re the one who almost died. He's incredulous.

I don’t like it when you’re in pain. You’d suffer a million injuries, to spare him one.

The feeling that fills you is his heart, mirroring yours. He takes the injuries every time, to spare you getting hurt.

When you hurt, I hurt. As I heal you, we’ll hurt together. When it’s over, we’ll be relieved, together. That’s what I’ve been offering, all along. Will you say yes?

You search his eyes, and you want to drink them like the sun-filtered wine they resemble.

Only if you promise me that you will stop taking hits meant for me. That if I’m not fast enough to get out of the way, we’ll heal together, but you won’t hurt twice because of me.

He laughs, low, breathless. He can’t believe you’re trying to bargain on his behalf in the state you’re in. I can’t promise that. Especially after the past few days. I can heal. You almost died. You don’t understand that terror.

But a part of you, deep inside you, does understand that terror. You don’t know how, but the thought of losing him makes you want to rip off your own skin, tear out your own lungs, set the world on fire. You scowl at him. He just leans down, licks your lower lip. I like it when you look at me so meanly. You deserve to be a little meaner, sweetheart.

Not towards you. 

Especially towards me. I can take it. If it’s from you, I can take anything.

But that won’t do, not at all, not for you, not for what you want to give him, especially now that you know how much he cares for you in return. Sylus.

Yes, beloved?

That’s not the kind of love I want to give you.

I don’t know any other kind, darling.

Then I’ll allow you to heal me, if you allow me to teach you that love isn’t something you should have to endure. It shouldn’t hurt more than it heals.

There you are. His smile is soft, dark, welcoming like night after a long day. My sweet, master negotiator. That’s a deal I can accept.

Then heal me. Quickly.

My demanding kitten, he thinks, his affection, admiration, gentle amusement warming your exhausted heart.

He gives you what you ask for, As I will always try to do, as he clutches your cheeks in his big palms, rests his forehead against yours. The pleasant numbness is slowly burned away by an inexorable, excruciating heat along your ribs. It is like having your flesh threaded, jerked, drawn together with a blunt needle, rough twine. You can feel your sundered cells re-merging, the scuffed bones filling in, veins, arteries tugged, braided, pulled tight. The pain is much worse than any injury you’ve ever suffered, including broken bones, a bullet through your muscles, your broken body thrown to the ground in the shockwave from the bomb that killed Caleb and your grandmother.

Through it all, Sylus grits his teeth, holds you, absorbs your pain. Your ribs, his ribs, your flesh, his flesh, fused, whole.

The physical pain fades, but not its memory.

You start to cry.

A feeling of alarm ricochets between him and you. What’s wrong?

I hate that you feel this, every time. I’ve dug bullets out of you, just for you to have to go through this. Every time. You have to be more careful, from now on. I can’t bear you hurting like this, now that I know what it’s like for you.

Now that your wounds are healed, your body whole, Sylus throws his arms around you and pulls you close, crushing you to his chest. I’ll be more careful, if you never doubt again that I feel the same for you.  When you come home from a mission exhausted and bleeding, I feel the same way as you do now, imagining the times I’ve been hurt. You have a reason to come home, even with Caleb and your grandmother gone. Don’t leave me alone. Don’t go and get hurt, when I’m not there to heal you again.

You laugh through your tears, so relieved that you’re no longer in pain. That you can move freely, the numbing effects of the pain medication seemingly gone along with the physical trauma on your body. Who’s the sweet master negotiator now?

You feel your own relief absorbed, rebounding, returned to you in an echo. Relief that he really could share his own healing abilities with you through his evol and your resonance. Relief that he won’t have to call your doctor again. That you are going to be fine, now. That you finally understand how much he cares for you, now. The relief morphs into something else. Something hungrier, more demanding.

He rolls you, settling his big body over yours. His agile, calloused hands yank at the bloodstained bandages wrapped around your torso. He leans down, licks the tears at the corner of each of your eyes, salt on your tongue, on his. He kisses your temple. Your forehead. Your nose. Your lips. Licks you, until you open your mouth, and he’s kissing  you so hard, just shy of rough. Tasting your tongue, the slick softness of your inner cheeks, his entire being radiating a question, May I? May I? And a demand, Let me, let me. I was so frightened, holding your chilled body in my arms, your hot blood soaking through my shirt.

You send your wordless Yes, yes, of course, yes through the resonance. He lifts a hand, snaps his big fingers, a gunshot in the quiet room. The IV in your arm dissolves into scarlet and black ash, drifts into nothing. He leans down, laps at the blood trickling from where the needle was just embedded with his tongue. You taste iron as he tastes iron, and you shudder. He has succeeded in yanking your bandages from your body, and you lie underneath him, chest exposed. He moves from your inner elbow to your ribs, where you were just gravely injured, and licks long swipes across the muscles of your side, across the bone underneath. A beast, nursing a mate’s wound the best way he knows how.

His hunger, his desperation to feel your body against his body, to feel good after so much physical pain, fills you. You reach for his evol, pull it into yourself, snap your fingers, and rejoice when his soft shirt and sleep pants, his underwear, dissolve into colorful ash. He hovers naked above you, a look of surprise on his beautiful face. Perks of the resonance, you smirk. He grins, and it’s lethal to your heart—his canines sharp, his dick hard. He snaps his own fingers again, and you’re suddenly naked as well. You laugh, delighted. You grab his cock and pump it, and he groans, twisting, repositioning himself a little clumsily in the tangled bedsheets so that his cock is now hovering over your mouth and he’s trailing open mouthed kisses along your upper thigh, up to where you legs meet, before sinking his mouth over your most sensitive parts.

You gasp, bucking up into his mouth, wanting more of his tongue, his lips, his saliva dripping onto, into you. He feels your pleasure in his own body, and accidentally bucks himself against your lips. Before he can feel sorry, or regret, you tighten your hold around his big dick and open your own mouth, tonguing his soft skin, inhaling the scent of him. You stuff your mouth with him, your jaw wide open. Through the resonance, the closed circuit fires, sparks. You can’t tell where you end, where he begins, the pushing, the pulling, the taste of him, of you, the saliva dripping out of both of your mouths as you feast on each other, as you choke a little on the size of him, as he swallows, again and again, everything he is sucking from you, the wet sounds of your shared pleasure loud in the room.

When you finally come, he follows, and you swallow as best as you can. Salt, warmth, and musk. He rolls to his side, his still-hard dick leaving your lips with a wet pop, and he uses his evol to lift you—you yelp as he spins you, drops you next to him. You roll, throw your arm around him, and kiss him. He kisses you back, tongue sliding back into your mouth, and you taste yourself, and he tastes himself, through the resonance, through your messy, wet mouths combined.

Sylus. His name is a sigh, a talisman, a comfort, a treat in your mind, on your tongue.

You feel the pleasure course through him, hearing his name in your mind. He answers in kind. Beloved. 

Sylus. You repeat, just to feel the spike in his enjoyment again.

He shudders a little. Never stop saying my name.

That’s an easy demand to indulge from your sweet lover, as far as you’re concerned. Okay, Sylus. You smile against his lips. He snakes an arm around you, pulls you tighter.

You enjoy each other quietly, as you each regain your breath, as you revel in the feeling of being whole, unharmed, finally understanding where the other is coming from, the depths of your mutual devotion.

I want to fuck you again, but it's already taken you longer than I expected to wake up. We’re going to be late.

You pull back a little, look at him questioningly.

I arranged a Christmas party at your place. Well, he thinks, gemstone eyes sparkling in mirth. Your boyfriend Skye arranged a Christmas party at your place. I was afraid I was going to have to cancel, and I can if you’re not up for it. But your friends will miss you.

You gape at him. My friends?

Tara, Nero, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, the twins—who are Skye’s younger cousins. Through the resonance, you receive an image of your apartment, half the small living room taken up with the biggest Christmas tree the twins could stuff in there, decorated with big gold glass ball ornaments, as well as a hilarious assortment of mismatched crow ornaments. Fairy lights strung over your windows. Pine-scented garlands hanging over the sides of your kitchen island. Big, pretty red and black wrapped presents under the tree, each with one of your friends’ names on them.

You stare into your boyfriend’s smiling, lovely eyes. But why?

Did you think I couldn’t tell how sad the idea of the first Christmas without your family was making you? He tsks, a low disgruntled sound in his throat. I’m insulted.

You hug his big body tighter against your own. You did all that for me?

This is nothing, compared to everything I am willing to do for you, darling.

You bury your head in his big, pillowy chest. Breathe in the scent of him, run your hands through the soft silver hair along his skin. He shudders. Keep doing that and I’ll definitely make us late, kitten.

You laugh, filled with such warmth. You can’t believe how wrong you were, about him, about how much you mean to him. You make the decision to live for more than just the day you can die. To live, instead of just survive. This is Sylus’s Christmas gift to you. You send the thought through the connection to him, and he palms the back of your head, gently presses your face deeper into his chest.

And what do you want for Christmas, Sylus?

You don’t know what you expect to hear as a response. Something expensive, or outrageous. Your soul, which you’re pretty sure he already has at this point.

I already have your soul. Now I just want your company. And... you receive the image of a set of pens with little cute crow figurines on the caps. You look at him in confusion. I want my own pens from my sweet little hunter. It’s only fair, since I’m the one who healed you.

You have no idea what he’s talking about. He already has your soul? Now he just wants pens because he healed you? He huffs a little, feeling your confusion. Don’t overthink it. But that’s what I want.

You decide to let it go. Like Sylus, you’re willing to give him so, so much more. But if goofy, cute pens are what he wants, you’re happy to find some for him, or have them custom made if necessary. A pulse of smug satisfaction fills you through the connection, as if Sylus just won a competition that only he knows is happening.

You drift in peaceful, satisfied silence with him. You think about how you felt when you woke up, versus how you feel now. Settled. Completely reassured. Hopeful, even. You want him to know that you're grateful, for not giving up. For insisting that you resonate with him. For showing you his true feelings when he saw how much pain you were in. Thank you.

He just hugs you, radiating contentment. There is no thanks between you and me. When you’re happy, I’m happy.

Fine, no thanks to you, you tease. You listen to his heartbeat. Think about the Christmas tree, and your friends, waiting for you, arranged by Sylus and the twins. Then Merry Christmas, Sylus.

This, he accepts. The first of many, he responds.

It was supposed to be a simple job. It was supposed to be a simple jog. There was a Before, and an After—Caleb, your gran. Small steps, each one more exhausting than the last, but you couldn't quit. You couldn't ever give up, even though there wasn't a finish line in sight, without the guideposts of your family guiding you home, without anyone waiting if you ever made it back to something resembling home ever again.

But the job almost killed you. The jog ended in Sylus opening himself to you completely, healing you in more ways than one. Now, there is a Before, and an After. Not replacing, but parallel to the Before and After of your family. Before Sylus, After Sylus. The small steps suddenly don't seem so exhausting, anymore. Maybe it's not surviving till the welcome end, but trying to live while you're alive. Maybe you have to create a new home, when one is lost to you. You nuzzle into Sylus's chest, ask a question.

The answer is so sure. So matter-of-fact. So Sylus. Of course I'll shorten my stride for you, beloved. Until you feel strong enough not only to sprint, but to fly again.

[sulumuns-dootah]

Celebrating Christmas w/ WHB demons

⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

A/N: Oh hey, something other than YfoH2 :D Since tomorrow starts the NSFW part of the event, I gotta show some love to all our other boys ♥

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Satan

Piggibacking off of the prompt I wrote for him last Christmas

I think it would be actually a funny idea to make Satan dress up as Santa

Buuuut since his lap is reserved to us, his people can ask to get hit instead

It might be better also to tell the other kings that this is happening othervise they might get concerned when suddenly a large number of demons fly all the way to their country

Sitri

Meanwhile Satan is happily hitting all his people, Sitri gets swept up in the whole organising part of things

Like, he's so busy he only got to ask to be hit three times :(

Another annoying thing is that the celebrations mean Amy is around, so he doesn't even get to enjoy the time he manages to take off

Amy

Amy and his group are in the town, just to make sure that everyone is safe

But they kinda just hang out in pubs and challenge random demonst to a drinking competition

Someone call Bimet, because the liquor bussines is booming at that time of year

Paimon

Poor baby Paimon is overtaken by the sheer amount of sponsorship offers due to their social media presence

The only good thign is that they get a lot of free things, so gifts for some less important people are taken care of

To help out Sitri, they also offer to buy all the presents he'd othervise have to come up with and buy himself

Leraye

This time of year is kinda empty for Leraye :(

So he's helping out where he can

Most of the time it's helping Paimon film all their hauls and reviews

Or he's helping to oversee the decoration process

Belial

If there's any cultural event, Belial will surely be there

Jjyu has the whole holidays off, so Belial prefers to stay at home othervise

When you go to visit him, he's most likely reading while listening to some classical music

Astaroth

Astaroth is the head overseer of the decoration group

Nobody's even sure how he got this post, but he's the only one who is able to voice his visions and how to achieve them so nobody complains

Problem is, that he doesn't actually acomplish much in the decorating department himself

So throughout the whole process, he's just reading his book and occasionally looks up to steer the others the right way

Zagan

The main decorator

He's the one to organise everyone, even without words

Other tha that, Zagan is usually seen somewhere, helping other demons learn a particular sport like skiing or ice skating

Ppyong

The second main decorator

Especially for placing thigs high up where no other demon can reach

It actually helps him to take his mind off asking Sitri about when he'll get to baking all those delicious sweets he always does

       ༺☆༻

Mammon

Mammon always looks forward to this time of year beacuse of the whole auction thing

Other than that, he doesn't really do much out of the ordinary

At least until you come around introduce him to bunch of new thigns from your own culture

Those things will then get added onto the list of things the country will now do every year form now on

Bimet

Shopping? Shopping! SHOPPING!

Ofc Bimet won't be spending his own money though...

Surely Mammon won't notice if Bimet buys an extra few gifts for himself while out buying gefts for all the other nobles

Eligos

Tartaros' main and only decoration conductor

Yes, he would wrap the whole country in a giant bow if he could

Oh, and during his off time, you can definitelly find him with Paimon in one of the holiday pop up cafés or stores

Valefor

If Bimet is out shopping, he always asks Valefor tog o wiht him to help him carry all the bags

Other than that, Valefor, like Zagan, likes to dos ome winter sports with other demons

Though, for Valefor, I imagine he likes hockey and other team sports rather than the individual ones

       ༺☆༻

Leviathan

For Leviathan there's no change

He doesn't leave his chambers and refuses to interact with anyone beside his nobles and you

Though, I feel like if he likes you enough, he will go out with you (if you sweet talk him enough)

Foras

The ever so busy, our poor baby U.U

All the nother nobles are so useless in all the organising that everything falls down on Foras

Somehow, he still manages to keep his sanity tho

Barbatos

From the beginning, Barbatos wanted to be in charge of decorations

But somehow, that led to everything being wrapped in chains of lights

Which is nice, but Bael had to talk to Levi that they need to turn the lights down bc Abyssos neons were barely visible in all that light pollution at night

(Some say that even the demons of Tartaros didn't see something glow as much as Hades that night)

Glasyalabolas

Glasya's paraphilia has nothing to do with the holidays, so he can't mess up anything, right? right?

nope

The cold weather outside gives him the best opportunity to clean and sanitise the Hades castle underground where his... partners rest...forever

There isn't much space in there so he has to move them all out and since Leviathan refuses to have them inside his castle halls like that, they have to be outside the castle

So he can only take them out when it's cold outside or they might start to... decompose...

Orias

Grandpa doesn't do Christmas or anything of that sort, so like usual he's either off, looking for another delicious angel soul

Or being a menace and making sure Leviathan is on the edge of his seat at all times

       ༺☆༻

Beelzebub

The gifts this man gives are 10/10

Along his travels, he always finds some cool stuff he randomly remembers you said you'd like to have

It's all fun and games until he's hauling a giant mf statue that's almost the size of your house

Bael

If Bael's in a festive mood, he grabs a few scraps of paper and makes a star out of it to put on top of the mountain of paperwork

Other that that, he doesn't really get merry that much since Beel gets merry enough for the both of them

You'll probably have to physically lock him out of his office to get him to do something else

Stolas

Very excited for the holidays actually

Sadly, to participate in most of the stuff he wants to, he has to wade through the crowds, which is easy to set him off

And his bird form is of no use in such situations, because it's usually too cold for his wings

Naberius

Similarly to Belial, Naberius chooses to stay at home and read a good book instead of participating in the mob insanity

And don't worry that he'll run out of things to read

That's what his huge home library is for

Amon

Cold weather is perfect for hibernating, which is perfect for Amon since Beel is never around

Even if Bael commands him to go look for Beel, you'll most likely see him snoozing away in some café

Only once Beel returns, Amon will try to join in on the festivities

       ༺☆༻

Asmodeus

One of his favorite traditions is going around through the whole prison and visiting each and every cell for a round or two of his presence

And yes, it doesn take a lot of time so he'spretty much busy the whole month and then some

But nobody in hell really complains about his presence

Ronove

Actually, I imagine the Abaddon demons have an orgy just like the angels one each of them have had their own fill of Asmodeus

And Ronove uses that distraction as a way to sneak out to find some unfortunate demons outside of the prison who have gotten injured while fighting angels

His usual journey leads him to Paradise Lost where he meets Glasyalabolas who's...

... on a similar mission, but to the PL morgue

Phenix

Phenix loves this time of year!

Both because of the orgy, but also if you check them out of the prison and take them to some public event

SO many different good-looking demons in one place!

Dantalian

This time of year is Dantalian's time to shine :)

The orgy always inevitably ends up into a bloodbath given the extreme kinks of its participants

If he were to die like this, he couldn't be more happier

       ༺☆༻

Belphegor

Our resident sleeper will also try to sleep all the hubbub away

The only way he'll notice it's the season of giving is when a fully decorated tree appears in the corner of his room

And also when Beleth barges into the room while carrying a bag of gifts from him subordinates

Beleth

A concept: Santa Beleth

And if you were extra good, he'll let you sit on his lap(but beware, that it's a bumpy seat and you might have to shift around a lot)

That's it

That's what I'm thinking about for the rest of the year

Gusion

Head organiser who honestly, hates that position

"No! Stop! You're hanging that thing at a 175° and not at 180° like I told you!"

This headache is not one of those that he enjoys

Hopefully resolving one of the unsolvable equations will make him feel better

Bathin

Officially, Bathin is the one to supervise the decorating process, but Gusion always steps in anyway bc something is not to his liking

So he's just reading texts from Stolas about how much he hates all these other demons that accidentally bumped into him in the crowd

He even had to quickly jump to Abyssos a few times to stop the small demon from shooting up a very busy area

Andrealphus

Similarly to Stolas though, the crowds are a nightmare for Andrealphus

It's so hard for him navigate such busy places plus it's easier for angels to hide in them

So instead he stays at home and watches some cartoons

Agares

Agares isn't one to really celebrate, unless it becomes a competition with Belphie

His subordinates even say that during that time he's the worst

Everything has to be even more perfect than normally

Vassago

Somehow, Vassago actually manages to fullfill every demand of Agares, no matter how insane it is

And he'll still have time to spend for himself

Maybe beacuse he's so used to his kings' insane requests all the time?

Vassago's decorating skills are 10/10 too

Everything he touches ends up looking amazing, but then Agares immediatelly swoops in saying that it was his idea and Vassago only followed his vision

       ༺☆༻

Lucifer

The longer he's in Hell, the more he is open to the idea of celebrating again

Sadly though, the decorations that can be put up are limited bc anythinig living can be a potential allergy trigger and finding a good-looking fake alternative is hard

Still, you'll be able to find some sort of decoration in every room

And every demons who visits the hospital in december gets a little bag with some sweet and small gift

Morax

Poor baby Morax doesn't really like leaving the hospital during the cold months of the year because of how many of his injuries react to the sudden drop in temperature

Instead, he preffers to stay in and enjoy his hobbies while not treating patients

Safe to say, most, if not all, patients and hospital staff get something crocheted/knitted each year from him

Gamigin

Ooh, Gamigin can't wait!

Every little thing exictes him

If you give him an advent callendar, he'll be over the moon and ecstatically telling everyone what he got that day

And don't even get me started on how loud an cheery he gets when he's finally able to open his gifts

Marbas

Just like all the other tall demons, Marbas is the one to be decorating everything

Lucifer even graciously allows him to be untied so he can actually move around

But give his interest in shibari, you already know that 80% of the decorating just involves wrapping something in ribbon, tinsel or something similar

Buer

Buer is tasked with picking out some relaxing festive music that plays in the hospital halls and movie selection for the inpatients

Well that, and holding Marbas back with his decorating wich would otherwise just turn the hospital into one giant ball of ribbon and tinsel

Other than that, he's also the one responsible for creating gifts for each patient

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - new entries upset the rankings

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

April 2024 Wk 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

City of Stars (Fri iQIYI) ep 11 of 12 - Like most Thai BL pulps, this show doesn’t have much story to it. But I'm discovering that what it does have I actually really enjoy. I love that the gay boys got to play matchmaker for a change and I like how just GAY they are. It's nice. Refreshing.

We Are (Weds GMMTV iQIYI) ep 1-2 of 16 - University ensemble BL featuring PondPhuwin, WinnySatang, AouBoom, MarcPawinPoon. I like it. It’s old school Thai BL, but having fun with itself and its tropes. I’m not expecting much, so I don’t mind it waffling. All the couples are comfy. Chemistry is okay. Friendships are nifty. I like Pond's floppy hair. We fine. 

Two Worlds (Thurs IQIYI) ep 5 of 10 - What an extremely bloody episode. And bad guy turned out to be very bad indeed. And now pretty much everyone is dead. Nice kiss. Of course. 

Deep Night (Thurs iQiyi) ep 6 of 8 - It’s cute, they happy, not a ton happened. Random gratuitous bathing. As you do in BL. And I still think the sides should just end up in a thrupple

Only Boo! (Sun YouTube) ep 2 of 12 - Oh they very cute. Also very silly. 

1000 Years Old (Thurs iQIYI) ep 9 of 12 - No. NOT THE GUITAR. YES abandon guitar for the sniff test! Love this for them. And me. My most favorite trope defeated my least favorite trope. VICTORY!!!  

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Unknown (Taiwan Tues YouTube & Viki) ep 8 of 11 - It’s just so good. Baby went away, grew up, and learned how to become a temptation... and a husband. 

Gray Shelter AKA Gray Currents (Korea Thurs iQIYI) 1 of 5 eps - SooHyuk, only just surviving, reunites with YoonDae, his (brief) younger stepbrother who feels abandoned. They end up living together. The younger brother is played by Lee Jae Bin of Choco Milk Shake. OMG. STEPBROTHERS TROPE. Lucky me! Two in one season. Yay!!!! It's Korea so great visuals too. I shallow but yeah, this is great.

Living With Him AKA Kare no Iru Seikatsu (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 1 of 10 - Kindly Ryota goes off to uni only to find his new roommate is his childhood bestie, Kazuhito. Kazuhito doesn’t have a girlfriend and Ryota tries to help him figure out why. Same director as Old Fashion Cupcake. It’s utterly charming. I am charmed. Also the framing is gorgeous (of course). Very stylish.

Love is Better the Second Time Around AKA Koi wo Suru nara Nidome ga Joto (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 6fin - I don’t know. Kind of a flat ending with the leads apart for most of it. I enjoyed this show but it never really hit with me. 

Summation

After a teen betrayal and resulting separation a reporter reunites with his first love. That love wants him back. I enjoyed the authenticity of a reunion romance explored in Japan's quintessentially contemplative yet surreal way. The juxtaposition of the tenderness of the sex scenes with this Japanese style of authenticity was oddly elegant but all in all this still fell a little flat for me. There's nothing objectively wrong with it, but in total the narrative felt sluggish and the main couple were just... stiff (in the wrong way). Frankly, I'd rather just rewatch Tokyo in April is. 8/10

Love is like a Cat (Korea Mon Viki) eps 3-4 of 12 - What is going on with this show? No, I get the plot. I just don't get the show or why I’m watching it. Annoying. 

It's done, but I suck

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps

To Be Continued (Sat C3 Thailand grey) ep 7-8fin - I can't for the life of me find the final 2 episodes. Haven't had a real hunt, but yeah. No dice so far.

It's airing but...

Takumi-kun Series 6: Nagai Nagai Monogatari (Japan Furritsubs) eps 1-? of 10 - I may wait and binge it.

Lady Boy Friends (Thai WeTV grey) 16 eps - reminds me a bit too much of Diary of Tootsies only high school. Not my thing. DNF unless it turns a corner and is truly amazing.

Kiseki Chapter 2 (Sun iQIYI) 6 eps - It’s so boring DNFed at 2.

Close Friend Season 3: Soju Bomb! (Weds iQIYI) 6 - The problem with situational comedy BL is it must be situational, comedic and a BL. This show gets 1 of 3 claims correct. 33% is not a passing grade. Dropped at 3.

Memory in the Letter (Thai WeTV) - only 4 eps, tell me if I should bother?

Next Week Looks Like This:

4/18 At 25:00 in Alaska AKA 25 Ji Akasaka de (Japan Thurs Gaga) 10 eps - Yuki lands his first starring role in a BL drama alongside superstar Asami (previously his senior at uni). Said superstar suggests they form a sham relationship until filming concludes. As they actually begin to fall in love, the spotlight begins to burn. I think I've seen this before (joke) and also the trailer doesn't inspire confidence.

Still to Come in April

4/25 Boys Be Brave! AKA Roommates (Korea Thurs Viki) 8 eps - Trailer Jung Ki Sub is Kim Jin Woo's slacker friend - and secret crush. So when Ki Sub crashes at his place, his heart tingles to be near him everyday. But as the short stay turns into permanent mooch, how long can Jin Woo keep his true feelings under wraps and hold back from confessing?

4/26 My Stand-In (Thai iQIYI) 12 eps - adaptation of Chinese novel "Professional Body Double" by Shui Qiang Cheng. Stars Up (Lovely Writer) and Poom (Bake Me Please) directed by the same team as KP (not a recommendation IMHO - my biggest criticism of that show was the clashing directing styles). This one looks complicated, lemme try: Joe is a stuntman for famous actor Tong. Joe falls in love with Ming but Ming sees Joe as nothing more than a Tong-replacement. After learning this horrible truth, Joe dies. Joe then wakes up in the body of another man also named Joe. He manages to rebuild the same life as before—with the same people eventually re-meeting Ming. Ming wants Joe back but Joe doesn't understand why. But Ming seems to know what's going on and wants to give him some kind of explanation.

I'm exhausted just trying to describe the plot.

Knock-Knock Boys (Thai WeTV) - 4 college friends conspire to help their friend lose his virginity. Familiar faces like Seng (yes, Billy's previous pairing) and Best, news here. But will it actually air this month?

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

NOTE: It looks like one of my personal favorites of last year Unintentional Love Story is getting a spin off!

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

Sniff test turning into a make out sesh? Please and thank you. City of Stars

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a bother.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly

If ya wanna be tagged each week leave a comment and I will add you to the template. Easy peesy.

[chrispychanniem]

BL Title: Love is Better the Second Time Around

My Honest Opinion:

I am being completely honest, this is one of the only few BL series that actually managed to give me butterflies and win my heart. It's one of the best series hands down.

Each one of the actors worked really hard for their roles and it shows to be honest. It's one of the most refreshing BL series since after Kiyoi, we have another power bottom, Miyata. He is logical, confident and determined and hence, my favourite.

Takashi is the softest top I have ever seen. Man, he is so freaking cute. So don't think much and give this series a shot.

[vivianstravelblog]

Asian Drama Review: Koi Nido

~ Warning! Minor Spoilers! Japanese BL Drama Review: “Love is Better the Second Time Around” 恋をするなら二度目が上等/ Koi wo Suru nara Nidome ga Joto aka Koi Nido (2024) ~ REVIEW “Koi Nido” is about the second-chance love between business magazine editor Miyata Akihiro and his former upperclassman, university professor Iwanaga Takashi. Their young love ended before it took off due to a misunderstanding…

[pynkfairyheart]

pairings: peircer eren x black reader

warnings: smut 18+, kinda pervy eren

Good girl

“Hello?” Your soft voice rang over the chimes as you entered the tattoo parlor.

The shop was quiet, seemingly empty besides the softening chimes of the door and surprised cursing down the long hall.

“Shit- yeah. Just give me a minute. My apologies” The culprit of the cursing called.

In the meantime, you took a look around the lobby. The reviews didn't do the place justice. The largest wall contained a bright colorful mural, contrasting beautifully with the dark floors and connected black walls.

While admiring the piece of artwork, heavy thudding from the long hallway turned your attention to the most gorgeous man you had ever seen.

You never believed in love at first sight, up until now. You hadn't even known the man's name yet, but you craved him. The reviews warned you the entire staff was attractive but they clearly left out that this man was a god.

His long hair was pulled into a low bun, strands falling in his face, the color contrasting against his pale skin. He was tall, with a full sleeve on one of his muscular arms, and his green eyes had you drowning immediately. He couldn't be Onyankopon, they said he was a brother. Maybe Connie or, Levi-

“Hi, I'm Eren” He introduced himself after swallowing the large knot in his throat.

While in your own trance, you failed to notice how he froze the moment he saw you. The bright light you stood under showcased the sparkles of your pretty brown skin.

Your legs were on display as a result of the simmering heat outside, thick thighs causing them to roll up slightly. The fitted t-shirt you wore allowed the hardened buds of your nipples to peek through, despite the hot weather.

Eren never considered himself a pervert but the way his mind instantly thought about sucking on them till you begged him to fuck you had him thinking otherwise.

“Hi, I'm [☆]. Is this a bad time?” Oh, he could have come on the spot, your voice sounded even better without the numerous walls separating you and god your perfume had him wanting to devour you on the reception desk.

“No, no I just don't know how much I can do for you, the AC is out in all the rooms but mine and I don't even know how long that's gonna last so if you're looking for an hour long tat session you'll have to come back” He crossed his arms, muscles contracting against the white tee.

“Oh no, I'm just hoping to get a few piercings but I can definitely come back another time”

“No, I can do a couple of piercings. What were you thinking?” He grabbed the paperwork from under the counter, praying one of them would be your chest.

“Uh well, I want the other side of my nose, belly button, venus dimples, and my nipples but I understand if you can't do all of that or the last one I'll just come back”

“No, no I can do it,” He said too quickly, clearing his throat awkwardly before handing you the paperwork.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

“Good girl. You're doing such a good job for me, pretty. Just hold on for one second, lovey”

He was currently doing your last dimple piercing. The pain was unimaginable at first but as soon as the praises left his mouth all was forgotten besides the growing stickiness that rested between your thighs.

He praised you after every piercing a variation of “Good girl” “You're doing such a good job for me” “That's it, baby. You did so good” flowed from his pink lips. You could never decide which throbbing to focus on, the one from your new piercing or the throbbing of your clit.

With three new holes in your body and damp panties, it was now time for the piercing both of you were dreading yet excited for.

“Do I just take my shirt off here?”

“Wherever you're comfortable, baby. You can go in the bathroom or stay in here and I'll give you some privacy” He felt like a teenage boy again. His dick twitching at the thought of seeing you exposed.

“No, it's okay you can stay in here I don't mind”

“Oh. Okay,” He perked up. Giving you some privacy he turned his back, pretending to be busy when in reality he was trying to think of anything but you getting undressed behind him. Despite his concentration, all he could focus on was the sound of your necklaces and bracelets clanking at the movements you made.

He knew your nipples were still hard, especially since he took advantage of the working AC and he wondered what your moans would sound like if he flicked his tounge repeatedly over the bud, or if he pinched them in front of the mirror while you begged him to fuck you as you pressed your ass against his hard-

“I'm ready” Your soft voice broke him from his thoughts.

If his self control was any less he'd have gotten on his knees to worship you. There you were. Looking everywhere but him, tits exposed. If it weren’t for the fact other men besides him would see, he'd tattoo this image of you on his bare forearm.

“Are you ready?” He suppressed a groan.

“Mhm”

“Okay stand up for me” He led you to the mirror where he prepped each bud. During the process, you felt as if you could crawl into yourself. The most beautiful man you'd ever laid eyes on had his hands on your breast. Despite the occasion being nonsexual, you were convinced your arousal would start running down your thigh at any second.

“Is this okay?” He stood behind you.

You gave a simple hum of approval, thoughts gone as he explained how the process would go. You convinced yourself you could handle it, that it would all be over soon.

That was until he rolled the bud in between his fingers, the whimper you'd been holding escaping you.

‘fuck’ ‘fuck’

“Shit, I'm so sorry I- I didn't mean to do that, please understand I had no malicious intentions I just” He stumbled over his words.

He was just explaining the step by step process of the piercing. He wasn't thinking, just craving. He wouldn't have realized his actions if it weren't for the sound you let out. The sound he knew he'd replay in his head the moment you left the shop, stroking his cock as he imagined it were you down on your knees in front of him.

“It's okay” You reassured him. Your big eyes staring up into his through the mirror.

“I didn't…I don't mind”

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Before you knew it you were bouncing on his cock. His moans muffled as his mouth engulfed your breast. Tongue slightly grazing your nipple with the flickers of his tongue before sucking harshly.

He was stretching you out so good, leaky red tip repeatedly hitting your cervix as his frenum piercing brushed against your walls. The added pleasure contributing to the pace of your bounces as you chased your high.

“E-eren please” You whined, attempting to push his head away from the assault on your breast. His hair was everywhere, the ponytail holder long gone the moment your hands entangled in his hair. Your buds were so sensitive, every suck and swipe of his tongue had you squeezing around him, every clench releasing your cream that pooled at the base of his cock.

“Fuck” He groaned, reluctantly giving your boobs a break. His hands gripped the soft flesh of your ass, groping the brown skin before placing a hard slap on your cheek.

“Talk to me, pretty. You like this? Like bouncing on daddy's cock hmm?” His arms wrapped around you tightly as he fucked up into you.

“Oh my- fuck” You gave him control. Your head resting on his shoulder as you let out pornographic moans into his ear.

“Answer me, mama” Another slap landed on your ass.

Before you had time to register the mix of pain and pleasure on your flesh, the gentle pressure of his finger rubbing circles on your puckering hole had you seeing stars.

“Fuck y-yes. I love it so much, daddy. Please don't stop” You whined. Tears of pleasure wetting the crook of his neck.

By no means was Eren a fast finisher but boy was he trying his best to hold on, you're pussy was just squeezing him so tight, the added tension on his scalp as you tugged on it every time he hit the spongy spot along your walls had his nails digging crescents into your skin.

“I'm so close, daddy, please”

“Let go mama” He pressed hot kisses along your neck and shoulder.

In that moment you came, your pussy tightening around the large girth of his cock. Clear liquid squirting from you in streams as he continued his thrust. Your arousal splashing and dripping onto the chair.

With sweat dripping down his forehead, and stray hairs sticking to him, his thrust became sloppy and his breathing became heavier.

“S-shit” He whimpered, head thrown back as he came harder than ever. Repeatedly pushing his load back into your pussy.

“Lemme take you on a date. Please” He panted once you both came down, his hands roaming your body as he looked down at you, green irises peeking out behind his blown pupils.

“Okay, yea- oh” A broken moan escaped you as he moved your hips up and down his length once again.

“Eren” You whined

“Don't tell me you're wiped out after one round, pretty girl. I know you have more in you, mama. Be a good girl for daddy”

for my eren girlies. this is probably the fastest I've ever wrote bc i just needed peircer eren. oh also how do yall feel about pegging bc i feel peircer eren can be a bit subby sometimes ttm. mwah <3

pt.2 wit the pegging ໒꒰ྀི˶˃ᆺ˂˶꒱ྀི১

[usedpidemo]

Getting closer (Kang Hyewon)

“All I’m saying is—” Hyewon looks away, drink in hand, taking a little sip, calm and alluring as ever, “if you only want to see me naked, then you could have just said so.”

You widely stare back, silent, indifferent—or at least pretend to be. It’s gotten you a fair amount of awards, after all. It’s not the slightest bit of convincing whatsoever.  

She laughs, softly, as if this was the expected outcome. “So I’m taking that as an admission.” 

Setting down the near-empty wine glass on the bathroom sink, Hyewon attempts to walk away, only to be stopped by a sudden pull. Your hand appears tightly wrapped around her dainty wrist, unwilling to let go. Your eyes aimlessly wander up and down the empty void that is her black dress. There are hardly any thoughts behind that predictably empty head of yours, only the simplest of desires.

You catch the subtlest grin forming on her saccharine lips. You fucking hate how she makes you feel. How she makes your heart race with every exchange.

Despite all the time you’ve spent together, you wish you got to know her better.

—————

The last year and a half of your career has mostly centered around one thing, or in this case, one person: Kang Hyewon. There’s also this drama starring your pairing as co-leads, and you’ve been promoting together, but your names make up more of the headlines than the very show. Your names are synonymously tied together akin to an actual couple.

Unsurprisingly, Hyewon is damn gorgeous. It’s how she’s getting the calls to begin with. Another one of those former singers turned actors looking to be taken seriously within the larger entertainment industry. Most never make it past their first project and fall back on their old careers, with some completely flaming out of the spotlight altogether. She’s an exception. A minor part here, a supporting cameo there—until she’s more than pleasant eye candy. A starlet who knows how to pick what roles would showcase her talents the most. 

She’s the perfect blend of beauty goddess and hotshot young star that the internet can get behind.

So it comes as a surprise when she’s casted as second fiddle to you, the first billing—and everyone comes away talking about her more. The scene stealer. 

(This plucky rival agent, investigating a case your character has been trailing for years, barely scraping by with the thinnest of clues, only for her to uncover the mystery only days after starting the investigation. The writing screams Mary Sue, but she acts convincing and vulnerable enough to escape the scathing think pieces that’s commonly associated with such characters. Not to mention: you both look damn good together on screen and during your public appearances.

It’s a team that sailed a thousand ships—both for your characters and in the real world.)

The consummate professional you are, you don’t think much of it. Your filming experience can only be described as businesslike. Except for the scenes where you’re together on screen, you’ve been separated at arms’ length, only exchanging words between takes to keep any further relationship from developing. It’s only during the press tour where you’ve finally gotten somewhat close.

Perhaps a little too close for comfort. Enough to make video compilations by overzealous fans who think you and Hyewon are really an item. The evidence is everywhere—in interviews, behind the scenes content, and on both your Instagram pages. At least, that’s what they want to believe. Everyone else brushes it off as two hot people being hot together, and not much else.

Here’s the thing: you love Hyewon—that much is true. The question now is: does she love you back?

Thankfully, your duo doesn’t get in the way of the show being lauded, despite making up a majority of its fandom. Positive reviews from both critics and viewers, especially in regards to your chemistry. The connection between you two is one in a million, something that can’t be built over years and years of working together. It also helps your performances sell the dynamic incredibly well—well enough to create those delusional shippers that form the bedrock of your partnership. 

Your names were positioned to go far during awards season. Not the consensus top pick, but as dark horse contenders to steal one every now and then. And while you both won your fair share of accolades, neither of you ended up walking away with the top prize. The conversation during the final ceremony of the year consisted primarily of the media and viewers talking about how your appearances together these last few months—and how you’re a match made in heaven. 

Everyone’s gonna miss this pairing—and so will you.

Now you’re back at square one. Having snuck away from the afterparty currently celebrating the dozen or so awards your show won earlier tonight, you’ve brought Hyewon back to your hotel room. Neither of you cared once you both lost your respective categories. The pundits thought you each only had the slimmest of odds to win, so why bother. Hell, you were both itching to leave as soon as the red carpet concluded. 

It’s all behind you now. You’re finally free from the glitz, glamor, and chaos of these vanity ceremonies and can really focus on what really matters—the pretty girl that you most likely won’t be seeing starring tomorrow. Your careers and interests couldn’t be any further apart: your main focus is movies, while hers are dramas. Both of you remain booked and busy for the next few years with different projects, with not a single one reuniting you two for the foreseeable future.

Back to Hyewon. She’s looking down at her wrist, tightly held by your hand. She allows it. You can feel her pulse. You sense that your hearts are racing in unison, tense and anxious.

“Are you gonna do something?” she questions, daring you to pull the trigger. She knows something you don’t—or maybe you do. You’re blinded by fear to realize it. “The night is fleeting. If not now, then when?”

Her words ring through your head. 

If not now, then when?

The same five words, ordered in the exact same way—etched in tiny letters on her skin.

You still remember everything—frame by frame, down to the last details. On screen, it’s implied. In your mind, it canonically happened. She took her shirt off, exposing herself and the scars of battle, and you were gonna go there. In your characters’ supposed words, ‘Clean’’ in your own unique way.

It was ultimately never shot. Bare minimum of fanservice and completely unnecessary, the director said. 

The tattoo sticks out, not only because of how it's deeply embedded on her otherwise pristine, lithe figure, but also because it represents the last 18 months of your career.

During this period, there are a lot of things that you’ve regret—and will regret. The fact you’ve kept contact with her during filming at a minimum, keeping your interactions strictly between takes and creating a negative air around you in her eyes. The fact it took you so long to exchange numbers, only getting it done during the press tour. The fact that you never return her messages when she constantly reaches out to you, whether through text or on your Instagram. The fact you haven’t thanked her enough times during your acceptance speeches, even when you mention her name in almost every other sentence. If there’s anything you want to admit, it’s that Hyewon is everything.

Most importantly, the fact that you fucking love her, to the point where you’d yearn moments when you’re not beside her—and you still lack the will to confess to her. Even right now. When she’s right at your fingertips.

Perhaps she knows this. The signs were there all along. How she often posts your red carpet photos together and tags you in them. How she also mentions you as much during her acceptance speeches and credits you as a reason for her improvements in acting, even referencing specific advice you’ve given her. The biggest hint, however, are the dresses she’s been wearing to these galas, most evident being tonight. Simple all black, tailor made for her frame, showing off her assets for flaunting to the cameras. 

Earlier, she led you to an empty part of the theater to say something in private. “I wore this just for you,” she said—and from that point, you had to get her alone, whatever it takes.

Really, Hyewon has no intention to leave tonight. She’s just waiting for those magic words. There’s no other logical reason for her to be here, other than for you.

She might as well be holding up a huge signpost with all her requests written in capital letters. 

“If you’re not gonna do anything,” she says, tone casual, slipping one strap of her dress down her shoulder, the one half of the fabric dropping a fair amount. “Then I might as well do it myself. I was hoping you’d take this off me—”

“Stop.” 

You grab her other hand, close to touching the other strap, the dress more than ready to fall down. She raises her eyebrows in amusement. Afterward, she puts the seized hand down, convincing you to release the grip. 

Another win for Hyewon. You’ve lost count as to how many times she’s been messing with you throughout awards season. Probably in the hundreds. Thousands if you count the interviews and little jabs during her speeches. Every mention of your name is an immediate sign of trouble. You can sense she’s enjoying every single moment, relishing the remaining time you have left. Meanwhile, it’s clear on your face that you’re stressed. 

But for what?

“If it hasn’t gotten through your thick skull, then I have no choice but to explain it.” Hyewon climbs atop the bathroom sink, strong enough to lift herself off the ground. She pours the glass with new wine; it’s not meant for you. Her attitude flips instantaneously like a switch, composed and readying herself as if it were another photoshoot. 

Taking a sip of the drink, she pours the rest all over her dress. It serves no purpose anymore. it’s undeniable that she knows what she’s doing. That elegant yet cocky smile is permanently seared into your brain. Someone this haughty shouldn’t be this beautiful and seductive. “You can stand there and waste the night away, or you can do something about it. All up to you.”

You can only sigh. Whether out of wistfulness or annoyance is up for interpretation. You can add taking her back to your hotel room and taking this role in your ever growing list of regrets. When it’s all said and done, it’ll definitely be as long as the career documentary they’ll make about you in 50 years.

What more do you have to lose? 

This will all be behind you soon enough.

You finally stop giving her the cold shoulder. “God, I really wish you weren’t such a tease,” you remark, pulling on the dress strap she previously slid down. “Because otherwise, it would have been so much easier.”

Hyewon seems to have taken your words seriously, because she suddenly kisses you—as in, relentlessly smothers you. Her arms wrap around your neck, slowly pulling you close into an embrace. She smells of alcohol and perfume. An unusual concoction that you can drown yourself in.

“Only if you say the magic word,” she says, gently laughing between kisses. The lower half of your face is full of pale lipstick marks. It was foolish to think she had turned a new leaf, knowing how intentional Hyewon can be with everything.

You’ve really got no other choice.

“I love you,” you confess, but in the smallest audible voice imaginable—hiding that reluctance behind your tone. 

Hyewon pulls herself back, smiling toothily at you, borderline snorting. Her expressions convey the idea that you told her a joke, which it may as well be. 

“That’s it? Doesn’t sound like someone who loves me,” she remarks, tone evidently disparaging.

“Fuck me.” The groan comes out instinctively, as if this wasn’t your first time getting burned like this. Your head is raised to the ceiling, asking the gods for an out.

“That’s my line,” she spouts, her response almost as instantaneous. Wit comes naturally to Hyewon. The countless viewers and interviewers who’ve laughed can speak on her behalf.

“You’re gonna turn everything I say into a joke, are you?” you ask, knowing you’ve willingly fallen for the easiest bait in the entire world.

“You’re gonna turn everything I say into a joke, are you?” she repeats, mockingly imitating your voice, much to your utter chagrin. This isn’t part of some romcom or a sketch. This is real. Everything comes back around to Hyewon. She laughs—basks in your suffering.

It’s the kind of trait that would leave you second guessing whether you really love her or not. As it turns out, the public loves celebrities with a playful sense of humor. Not even you are innocent—you’ve been caught red-handed on camera a few times. Hyewon doesn’t need to reaffirm herself.

But she would love to hear it straight from the source.

“Say it. Say it.” Hyewon is urging you—demanding you—as if it were a matter of life or death. Her hands are everywhere, gripping you by the cheek and the throat like her prized possessions, threatening to choke the life out of you. 

Truthfully, this was coming the moment she stepped through those doors for the first table read. Hyewon’s gravity is inescapable.

“Love you—Hyem, please—” 

Struggling to push back against her hold, you can tell that she’s taking pleasure in every moment she has you like this: wrapped around her finger, so whipped over her that it’s alarming. There’s little use in trying to be coy or subtle. If she wanted you to go down to the afterparty in nothing but your boxers, you’d fold in a heartbeat. She’s the kind of girl you’d happily end up in a scandal with, someone you’d throw your career away in exchange for one timeless night, against the advice of everyone who knows better.

She knows this too. Look at the coy grin spreading on her face. A smile perfect for the front cover of any magazine or commercial. It’s the perfect facade for the attitude hiding beneath.

“I love you Hyem,” you repeat, showing a bit more desperation and sincerity this time. You’re breathing against her neck, the idea of pressing your lips against her skin a dire need. It’s unfortunate you can’t make it look like an accident—as is the idea of your bodies sinking down on the bathroom countertop. “For the longest time, I wanted you, but—”

Only now do you come to the simplest realization: there are no accidents.

Normally, you should feel some shame for being this oblivious. How a girl like Hyewon is giving out all these hints, to the point where she might as well be spreading her legs wide and pointing down at her cunt with a colorful sign. Hell, a thigh is peeking through her dress, pressing on your leg right now. If there’s one thing you’ve learned about working with other actors, it’s that chemistry comes naturally—it can’t be taught.

And your bodies are doing exactly that. The friction between you can’t be any more tense.

“Then show me.” She sighs against your ear, pulling on the topmost button of your suit, pushing down the matching coat. Her leg extends around your limb, goading you to pull away, even though leaving the pretty sight right in front of you is the last thing on your mind. 

You can only breathe. Slow. Hesitant. There's not a lot of hours left, and you’re wasting more by taking your sweet time—resting your gaze on her pale shoulder, admiring all the little details. In essence, you’re doing the complete opposite of what Hyewon wants. She’s showing a little frustration, proving how much better of an actress she is than you. Imagine being in her shoes, beckoning to someone astronomically unaware for months. So much energy and effort could have been saved if she chose to leave you out to dry. If you weren’t so preoccupied with thoughts of her, the many ways this little scene can go, you’d be wondering why she’s this persistent. 

Maybe you’re just as important of a character in her story too, or you’re both stubborn in your own ways. Perhaps both.

None of that is your concern right now. You’re cupping Hyewon’s face, kissing her, nibbling down on her creamy skin, reaching up to her lips by the way of her neck, pulling on the strap of her dress little by little. In response, she’s whispering sweet nothings into your ear, removing your dress shirt one button at a time. It feels like you’re going through the motions, acting under the words of an intimacy coordinator and a director. Slowly but surely, it’s all coming together, until—

“Stop.” 

You pull back, noticing your shirt is nearly undone as you look past her and at the mirror. Both dress straps are halfway down her arms, the fabric a mess, waiting to be swept away. 

You raise an eyebrow, puzzled. “What’s up?” 

Hyewon tilts her head at an angle, unsatisfied. She’s staring at you intently, taking a moment to analyze you like you’re a problem to solve—which you are—before coming to a rather alarming conclusion. “You don’t seem like you want me that bad.”

The remark doesn’t register in your brain. “What do you mean—”

She yanks you forward for a deep kiss, cutting you off. Reciprocating her passion comes naturally—and so does everything else. The movement of your hands, taking lease of her back, tearing through the fabric of her dress, coming back to her cheeks, until you stop feeling cloth and register more flesh. Feeling her skin becomes your new addiction, something you can’t get enough of. 

Watching her other movies—for research purposes—you knew she was well endowed, even when they were not on full display.  Some of her previous gala dresses truly put a spotlight on her cleavage. Part of you thought it was editing trickery, a perfectly taken photo at the right time, or a bra doing the heavy lifting. All three even. But holding them now, with nothing in between, you simply couldn’t believe how well they’ve been hidden from you. 

Her tits fold, go flush, and her nipples stiffen at your touch. They feel so right—as if they were handmade for you.

“God, Hyem—” you breathe out, savoring the sensation of her mounds in your clasp, unwilling to let go. Her taut nipples jerk with every run of your palms. If only you could rest your head between them, but your current position won’t allow you. 

“They feel so good right?” Hyewon moans in response, shedding your unbuttoned shirt off your body and tossing it to the floor, taking lease of your muscles and back. Her dress bunches up around her waist, practically collapsing when she decides to get up from the sink. Although an expected outcome, you’re both surprised that you’ve managed to get each other’s clothes off.

And you’re only getting started.

Pushing you away, Hyewon meets you at your level. Gravity does the rest. She stands before you in nothing but heels. What a mental image to remember her after tonight. She leaves you frozen and trembling, jaw agape, your eyes in a daze, unable to find a place to settle your fleeting gaze on—until she rests her hands around your shoulders. You’re caught up in your own disbelief to meet her lovely gaze and that rather sweet smile, quite the difference from her bare state.

She lifts up a leg, pushing herself onto you for another passionate kiss. Taking advantage, her legs eventually wrap around your waist, bearing all her weight on your grasp. Despite her surprise attack, she’s feathery enough to carry around. It certainly helps that she’s not the heaviest girl you’ve lifted before; you have some experience—mostly unpleasant and usually backbreaking. Still, you’ll treat her like some delicate object that crumbles at the slightest touch. Something—or someone—you can’t ruin, or else you’d be ruined too.

You both end up in the living room, deeply engrossed in a fiery passion that’s too hot for cameras. Lifting her high, your lips find their way to her chest, pressing them in the place where they rightfully belong. Hyewon is stubborn, pushing your head further up to meet your lips in a direct, frantic kiss. Back and forth, you take turns between her tits and her lips, unintentionally slamming her against a wall, eliciting a few yelps out of her. 

It doesn’t bother you both in the slightest. You hold her there, kissing down her abdomen and ribs, coming to the tiny inked part of her figure. The same tattoo that’s been ingrained in your head since you first saw them.

You mutter the very words against her skin. 

“If not now, then when.”

They’ve never been so relevant till right now. You softly kiss the ink, silently thanking her for saving you from a lifetime’s worth of regret.

Hyewon winces, throws her head back, moans up to the ceiling. Her nails brush through your hair, then claw at your nape as you remain fixated on her tattooed rib. She deserves to be adored and worshiped.

“Look at me babe,” she murmurs, gently tilting you up, faint at your touch. Against your desires, you follow. “Put me down. You know why I’m here.”

You oblige without a second thought—and you’re both on a level playing field again.

Still, you can’t help but kiss her right after. She reciprocates the favor. You’re a perfect match. Even as you’re making out, you’re thinking of ways to get messy and get the jump on her while she’s preoccupied. 

It ends up being your biggest mistake.

Both of you wrestle for control over the other, a scuffle that ends up knocking down a few appliances and tableware. The sound of glass shattering rips through the hotel room floor louder than your collective moans ever will. For someone with a lithe figure, Hyewon proves to be much stronger than you were led to believe. It shows when you try to push her onto another table; you both end up crashing to the floor seconds later. 

From there, it’s whoever is the first to get up, and you knew it was all over from there.

Hyewon leads you into the sole bedroom, shoving you onto the mattress. Unrelenting, she slams onto you right after, pinning you down with her bare hands. Surprising her with your own strength, you reach for her raven locks through her ironclad grip of your wrists. Your lips continue to crash like waves against rocks, neither of you willing to back down. There’s a clear disparity between you: she wants you more.

To further prove her point, she presses her palms down on your chest, sitting over you upright, straddled on your lap. She’s never looked better.

Making quick work of your trousers, your cock is freed from its confines, only to be immediately caught up in Hyewon’s hand. Her grip spreads through your groin, turning breathing into an absolute nightmare. The one fear that’s been haunting your mind these last few months, finally realized. 

And it’s staring you down with an innocent yet wicked smile.

“You have no idea how long I wanted this,” she remarks, her sultry voice sending shivers down your spine. Arching down, she presses her tongue forward on your throbbing tip. Combined with the pressure she’s building with her hand, holes puncture through your lungs. And right on command, you’re leaking. She’s lapping your cock in circles, slow and agonizing, taking every little drop of precum seeping. You can only tremble beneath her, utterly defenseless. “Remembering when I was tapping your foot with my heel earlier tonight?”

She leaves you in such a dizzying spiral that you can’t even look directly at her, let alone formulate a reply. Meanwhile, her eyes remain fixed on you, doe-eyed with innocence, yet her actions are cruel. Breathing proves to be a struggle, let alone returning with a response. “What about it?”

“I wanted you to follow me to the bathroom. And I wanted you to fuck me in there.”

Honest to God, that was not the first thought on your mind. If anything, the presence of many proved to be the ideal shield in keeping yourself away from Hyewon. Losing best actor was the greatest blessing in disguise, as it meant you didn’t have to look straight into her magnetic eyes during your theoretical speech and make an embarrassment of yourself in front of hundreds in attendance, and millions watching on television. 

Now that you’re in bed with no way to escape, you can only accept your fate.

“I’m not the best at reading the room,” you comment, sheepishly shaking your head.

“Not surprising, honestly,” she says, rewarding your candor with a kiss—on your tip. Then another. More heartwarming than arousing, if anything. “Anyone ever told you that you’re kind of a dork?”

“Not the first time I’ve heard it from a girl,” you say, in an attempt to show some wit, only to be met with a stiff grip on your cock. “Ah—fuck—”

A bit more force and Hyewon could break you in half with her mere hand alone. She’s cold, calculating, and cruel. Her expression seems apathetic, yet deep down, you can tell she’s having so much fun toying and teasing you, stealing what little semblance of willpower you have. And to think she’s this demure, sometimes funny celebrity with a certain image that’s universally admired by many. 

Behind that gaze, she’s thinking of more ways to further ruin you.

“I don’t think a dork like you has been with other girls,” she remarks, leaning forward to tease a kiss, only to leave you dry. “But looking at this cock—”

She stops to admire your shaft once more. Ultimately, she can’t help herself. She has to give your tip another ceremonious flick with her parched tongue in appreciation. Two, actually. If she doesn’t stop, you’ll soon be deep in her throat, and you know she’s not letting you go. Thankfully, she finally regains sight of what she wants in the first place.

Lifting herself ever so slightly, Hyewon takes a deep breath—then slowly melts into you. 

It’s a car crash you can’t look away from. It’s inevitable, but you’re completely powerless to stop her. You can only groan in agony as your bodies intertwine, creating a union that only she can break. Inch by inch, you helplessly watch as Hyewon slowly takes you into her suffocating heat. The sensation is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before: vicious, intense, and painful. 

It doesn’t help that she’s taking her sweet time, keeping you on edge for what may as well be an eternity, bracing for the certain explosion she’s going to leave in her wake. 

“Oh—fuck—it’s so perfect,” Hyewon throws her head back, her jaw dropping slow, every word delivered in a near-inaudible sigh. Eventually, she buries herself in you deep to the hilt—and she keens. “That—that’s it—that’s the fucking spot—”

Your hands cling to her waist, your maw similarly agape, breathing tensely as the pleasure slowly courses through your muscles. “God—you’re fucking tight—”

She hums in return, satisfied by your response, before losing herself in the sensation of your cock impaling her—and she begins to move.

As you fight the urge to cum right then and there, Hyewon slowly lifts herself off your lap, your cock reappearing with a fresh coat of her drenched pussy, before sinking back down. She rips the breath right from your lungs, while you’re forced to shut your eyes. Anything to keep your brain firing as the pleasure rushing throughout your body sends you into overdrive. 

You’re an outlet of ecstasy, a conduit for her to loosen all her pent-up frustration and lust. Her palms grip to your thighs, keeping you in place—as if you’re in any condition to move anywhere except for her whim. She’s crashing into you at a punishing pace as a result of keeping yourself away for so long. And she’s being open about it too: “Why did it take us so long—ugh—”

You can only moan back. Truthfully, you’re wondering the same thing too. 

As your eyes alternate between wide open and completely shut, you catch glimpses of Hyewon using every inch of you to fill her wanton pussy with cock. When she’s not cursing or screaming your name, her moans fill your ears with sweet, sultry music. It’s a sound not of her high class image. She’s riding you like it’s life or death, like her heart will stop beating if her cunt isn’t being stretched out.

With every bounce, so do her breasts. Up and down, settling into a rhythm, forming a hypnotic motion that your eyes get lost in. Your obsession reaches a point to where the movement of her tits stirs you on, reigniting your tired muscles. You can’t lie there and be a helpless viewer any longer.

And so, you meet Hyewon halfway, matching the grind of her hips with your thrust at the apex, setting her alight. This particular stroke. The hot sensation. It utterly shatters her. Her voice cracks. She trembles violently, giving you breathing room to sit upward and lean close to her chest. 

So while she staggers back, overwhelmed by your cock spearing her cunt, you go down on her succulent breasts, squishing your face between them. Despite having Hyewon’s body all to yourself, the friction between your bodies creates this wracking storm that drives you insane. It isn’t enough that you’re feasting on her tits, that her boobs are bouncing so hard it’s downright pornographic, and that she’s screaming her heart out in response to each stroke. This will be headline news tomorrow. Yet, none of that is your concern. You have to pour everything into her. It’s now or never.

“Fuck yes—oh fuck—fucking take me—fuck—” Hyewon’s riding your cock, forcing all the air out your lungs, rendering you speechless. Doesn’t matter, you’re drowning in her slick and her tits, pounding away with twice the effort. She’s swearing through her tongue like she’s a cop in a crime picture, biting down on her lip in a flimsy attempt to restrain herself, but anyone with a good ear nearby could have easily identified her voice through the four walls of this hotel room. Knowing her, it’s intentional. She’s determined to put you through a world of trouble, leaving you with no other choice but to shut her up.

And you’re going to do just that.

You end up yanking her by the waist as your bodies repeatedly collide with each other. Each impact the equivalent of a cosmic explosion, the aftermath echoing through the room. The sound of skin slapping skin fills your ears louder than what it seems in the movies. Sex with Hyewon is much, much better than in your fantasies. Here’s another thing that can’t be found on camera: her soft pleas begging you to keep going, interlaced between harsh whines and airy moans that can’t be faked.

“God, I’m gonna fucking cum, Hyewon.” There you go, your silly side showing at such a serious moment. Everyone knows you don’t proclaim your impending climax. Rookie mistake. You’re not shooting a porno, but you might as well be with how hard you’re fucking her. She can’t help but cackle even as you relentlessly pound into her cunt. What should be a moment of weakness immediately gets brushed aside as you hold her when she slams down, and you finally fall apart.

Impaling your cock hilt deep inside Hyewon, you’re digging your palms deep into her soft flesh, unwilling to let go. She rests her head beside yours as you blast her with thick, warm cum. Her prolonged, saccharine-sounding moan is nothing compared to the loaded groan that ripples through the room. The supplication she makes, demanding you to fill her with every little drop goes through deaf ears. Your dick seems to have heard it loud and clear, though. The amount you’re filling her is enough to rip through her body violently too. She follows with her own peak afterwards, hitting a previously unheard octave higher, your bodies finally melting into one. 

Just like that, she’s clinging to you like you’re her personal life support, completely drained of all her strength. 

The ecstasy lasts for a brief moment. The fall off happens too soon for your liking. Like her, you’re sapped of energy and you fall down to earth with Hyewon in your arms. The end comes—not with grandiose drama or spectacle, but by a calm, uneventful stir.

You should be done at this point. It’s been a long day. You’ve been up as early as sunrise, spent hours behind makeup and measuring tape for a suit you won’t wear more than once. Smiling comes natural, if not downright fake; in front of the cameras, on the red carpet, on screen, and even during the afterparties. Every time you step out in public, there’s an image, a reputation to uphold. You’ve done this a dozen times in the past few months alone, bearing a lifetime’s worth of and it never gets more comfortable or easier. It’s a miracle you haven’t cracked or had a public breakdown, even though your mind is calling for it.

And yet, all that labor and agony is worth it for what you have now. The awards, the recognition, the adoration—but most especially the girl. What are you now, taken out of a story. One that feels all too familiar and done to death, but it never grows old or tired. 

By all accounts, it should be a happy ending. 

Except you’re not done. You’re not satisfied, and so is Hyewon. Even though she’s settling down in your embrace, resting her head against your heartbeats, mumbling these sweet nothings about how much you’ve ruined her and fucked her to shreds, she’s quietly begging for more. It isn’t about keeping a sanctimonious image anymore; it’s about how far you’ll push her and use her. Your throbbing cock buried inside her cunt says it too.

If there’s anything you’ve learned about acting, it’s that one take isn’t enough.

Like a damsel in distress, you scoop Hyewon into your arms. Through what you might consider a second wind, you carry her into the bathroom again on wobbly legs, stepping into the shower, showing that you’re ready to take your relationship a step further. You’ll hash out the details in the morning—if she hasn’t left by then.

The sound of running water serves as background for the airy, lewd noises that quickly fill the shower. 

Hyewon feels incredibly soft to touch. Pliable in your grasp, like a doll to bend, twist, and use at your whim. You’re squeezing her flesh, fondling her mounds tightly till you’re seeing red everywhere. Her tits, her shapely ass, and everything in between. Kissing down her body, giving every little part its much needed attention. You’ve fucked her to pieces, yes, but she’s still housing a divine figure that deserves the same level of praise. 

With two fingers stroking at her cunt, she’s keening, her head tilted up to meet the relentless downpour rushing down over your bodies. Her voice is in tatters after an hour of tireless screaming, in addition to all the mindless chatter from earlier tonight. Part of you wishes to have taken up her offer. Something this good shouldn’t be kept secret, but you’re more than selfish enough to keep Hyewon all to yourself. 

Your raging impulse gets the better of you, and you slap her tits from behind. She yelps a cry of pain and pleasure. The recoil and sound activates something in your brain like a sleeper agent. You do it a second time, then a third. You stop counting after, indulging yourself in the satisfying noise of her mounds smacked over and over, every squeal, every strike equally as gratifying as your cock slamming into her pussy. She’s clinging to the walls as a respite, her body shuddering vigorously, but you don’t give her a moment to breathe. It’s what she would have wanted: to be used and taken like a ragdoll.

Hyewon screams again when you swing her around, lifting one leg around your waist, and slam your cock inside her. No pleasantries, no talking through the process—only a desire to fuck. Burying your face against her neck, growling into her skin like a ravenous beast, you hammer away without care for neither your comfort nor hers. You’re counting the hours, minutes, seconds before she disappears from your life, and you’re gonna make sure that years from now, she remembers this night in particular.

You’re too engrossed to see her expressions twist in impossible ways that average humans can make. But that’s the point: Hyewon is no ordinary person. She’s one actress, something that can be found in others who are more talented and have more resounding qualities, but more than that, to you, she’s everything. The clench of her cunt on your cock continues to invigorate you and push you further. With every thrust, she jumps and sends aftershocks coursing through your veins. God, you love how incredibly well she fucking takes it, and the slightest tilt of her lips struggling to form a grin reinforce this. You’ve got nothing else to say, really; you easily lose yourself in your own lust, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

It doesn’t take too long before you feel it again. The end. It’s approaching faster than you can react. You knew it wasn’t going to be a drawn out affair, but you’re so desperate to reach that high, no matter how brief it may be. It was too good to pass up, and you’re beyond waiting a second more.

You’d give everything up for even a single minute longer, but the period of bargaining has long passed you by.

“Gonna cum again—fuck—” is all you can muster, your first words after a long while. Her pussy feels so good to form coherent words. Lust has utterly consumed your brain more than anything. The entire time, Hyewon’s mewling, keening in every direction, trying to find purchase on the walls or the shower door, only to fall a few inches short. She ends up coming back to you, hanging on for dear life. You’ve never let up, terrified that she’ll magically disappear into nothing at any second. 

Acting fast, as if you’ve got a ticking bomb in hand, you draw your cock out, coated in a thick sheen of your own cum and hers, pumping yourself with a few strokes of your hand until you finally explode. The shower washes down the milky white blot you’re unloading on her skin, never leaving a permanent mark. It does, however, bring you back to the place that began your undoing.

The tattoo on her rib. 

Water wipes the cum blocking the view. Despite those same five words occupying your mind for the last few hours, it still hits like a fresh revelation. You hear her voice repeating them inside your head as you come to your senses, your lust being satiated—for now. Even when Hyewon is completely broken before you, reduced to a quiet pile of flesh. One hand on the surrounding wall, the other in limbo, her leg still coiled around your waist, forcing oxygen into her tired lungs wherever she can. 

With the ‘quick’ shower done, and after hardly any cleaning was made, you carry her back to the bedroom. 

You don’t even make it past the living room before your legs finally give up. You end up crashing onto the floor together before you both finally call it a night.

—————

“This is your fault you know,” says Hyewon, drawing circles on your chest, over your calm heartbeats. “I’m supposed to be in London tomorrow for my table read. And yet I’m still here. My flight was five hours ago by the way.”

It’s already high noon when you finally regain consciousness, your head still spinning despite not taking more than one alcoholic drink the night before. Hyewon’s doing marginally better, having woken up 30 minutes earlier. No wonder it feels so hot; her body is snuggled up on you, your limbs tangled. Despite the urgency she’s speaking about, she doesn’t seem to be interested in moving any time soon.

At least you’re awake and sensible enough to fire back. “Who’s fault is that? I wasn’t the one inviting you to come over and have you fucked senseless.”

She chuckles into your skin, little ripples forming where her lips are gently pressed. “And I wasn’t the one who spent the last 18 months saying we’re just friends.”

You’re already lying flat on the floor, but the rebuttal only makes you want to get up only to fall back down. So you settle with an expressive sigh. 

Hyewon laughs. It’s what won over millions, including you. You’re taken back to that fateful day you first met. Right then and there, you knew there’d be no one else like her. If given an opportunity to go back and change a few things here and there or, you’d do it over again, mistakes included. Last night was worth all the waiting and teasing. 

“So—about that show,” you lean up, pushing her closer to your face, “What was it again? Something about you being a nymphomaniac? Delete what?”

“You mean Delete This? Let’s not.” 

Mention of the premise alone is enough to set her gummy cheeks on fire. For someone whose career has been built up on mostly more general audience friendly programming, leading a sexual soap opera is quite the jump.  

She buries her head on your neck, embarrassed, feeling guilty. “Yeah. I mean, last night was—different, you know? I’ve shown my tits and body already, but I’ve never had sex—on screen before.”

You should have known. She needed a reason to get in your pants without your working relationship only centering around your bodies. And those were clearly stand-ins based on how her face is never shown during her older scenes.

“Jesus, Hyem. If you wanted to have sex, you could have asked anytime. You have no idea how annoyed I was when they scrapped our scene last minute. It was only you taking off your shirt too.”

“On the bright side, we didn’t have an intimacy director getting in the way, right?”

She does have a point. Still, your personal cold war didn’t need to last 18 months before either of you would make the first move.

But with all that tension a thing of the past, the chains are unfettered. Now both of you have the ability to take this little secret in any direction you desire. You could simply be a workplace couple; it’s been the story of your year so far. Or you could take things a step further. The possibilities are truly endless.

Hyewon’s cheeky grin slowly reforms, her hand snaking up to cup your cheek. “Shame we only had one night. I could spend the rest of the day here, but—” she huffs, “I’m running late. Too bad I won’t get to have this cock for a long, long time.”

You lift an amused eyebrow, barely able to keep your new cockiness from showing. “Will you, though?”

She’s taken completely by surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Check your phone.”

After rising to her feet, Hyewon walks over to the console table where her purse is set. Fishing her phone from the handbag, she scrolls through the apps, her attention di–vided between the screen and you on the floor, finally getting up as well. 

Her stare then lingers on the phone, as if whatever headline of the day has caught her attention. 

Next thing you know, she’s grabbing you by the chest, dragging you back to the bedroom before shoving you back onto the mattress—right where you belong. Pinning you down and dead to rights, Hyewon mounts herself on your lap, your cock pressed against her aching core, ready to receive a fresh beating.

Some jokes can go a little too far.

“You fucking asshole. You mean that—”

“Yep.”

“And it’s not—”

“It’s not.”

You can feel her hips slowly grinding against yours. You’re gonna love—and hate—the next 18 months with Hyewon.

“I’m going to kill you. And I mean: kill you.”

“No better way to go out.”

—————

(A/N: Thank you for the commission! That Hyewon dress is so ripe for material, and I had to incorporate her tattoos into it somehow. She doesn't show them quite often—heck, she hasn't publicly addressed them even once, I believe. That little nod at the end is for everyone still waiting for Delete this to return. At this point, a reimagining or remake must happen first before the next actual episode because good God my writing back then versus now is night & day. Even comparing the last update from 2022(?) to today is also radically different in style. I'm still interested in reviving it; it's just a matter of when, not if. Thank you for reading!)

[coldfanbou]

Saleswoman

Who would've thought Yuna made a good saleswoman...Well, I would have. Anyway, here's the fic for the week; originally, I was thinking of doing a Yuna gangbang fic, but then Eros presented a saleswoman concept I liked in a writer discord and thought would be easier than a gangbang.

Length 2.1K

Yuna X Mreader

Having seen good reviews about the new mattress store, you look up the location. Your mattress has had a depression in it after years of use, and you needed another. The reviews praise the staff for their help in deciding. You set aside time to head out, ensuring you researched the different types of beds beforehand. You arrive at the store just a few minutes after they open; you take in the grand scale of it. You next notice how empty it was, considering the many reviews you thought the store would be full. You don’t even see any workers as you walk through. 

Shaking your head, you move through the store and look at all the different bed models. They had various kinds of technology, all meant to aid sleep, or so they claimed. You tested a few beds laying on them to see how they felt. You had decided beforehand you wanted something that was a little firmer, so you focused on those. As you tested another out, you shut your eyes, imagining what it would be like to sleep on it for years. This one was too firm, having very little give. You open your eyes to see the face of a young woman staring back at you. “Hi! Welcome!” She greets you. You jump, shocked that you hadn’t noticed her walk up to you. “Oh, sorry for scaring you. My name is Yuna, and I’ll be your special aid today.” She says with a wide grin. You look the woman over as she fixes her hair. Yuna didn’t look like someone who worked her. She wore a white sleeveless crop top from a nearby university and matching white shorts. Her red hair stood out against her clothing, attracting attention to her face. 

“I saw you lay on a few models. Did any of them interest you further?” Yuna asks, her hand behind her back as she listens to your response.

“Well, there was the smart bed and one over there.” You say, pointing out a mattress that wasn’t too firm or soft. “The second one is what I’m leaning toward. It’s a lot cheaper.”

“That’s true, sir, but the smart bed is much better for your sleep and other activities.” She states. 

You find her comment odd, “Other activities?” It takes you a moment to connect the dots; when you realize what Yuna meant, she nods.

“Yes, sir. I did mean that.” She states, “Now, if you’d like to test them out, please follow me.”

“But I already did.” You’re confused again, not understanding what she means.

“For the…other activities. You need to follow me.” Yuna says, walking ahead of you. She checks to make sure you are following her, smirking as she sees you are. Yuna stops at a door at the end of the building, picking up a mounted phone. “Hello? Yes, we’d like to test out the Genie smart bed and the Dura hard mattress. Okay, thank you.” Yuna hangs up and spins around on her heel. It’ll be just a moment; they have to set everything up. You see the hunger in her eyes as she looks you up and down. She licks her lips and smiles at you. “I’m sure you’ll like the Dura brand, but the smart bed is the way to go. I’m sure your girlfriend would love it.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” You respond, fixing Yuna’s error. “Why do you recommend it so much?”

“It has a lot of nice features; I can show you soon,” Yuna says just as the phone on the wall rings. She picks it up, talks to the other person on the line, and grows her smile as she places the phone back on the hook. “Everything is ready; please come in.” Yuna opens the door; the room is decorated like any regular bedroom, with only one thing standing out: both beds you had been thinking about were set up in the middle. Yuna grabs your hands, taking you to the cheaper bed, placing her hands on your chest, and pushing you onto it. She lifts her shirt, her perky breasts bouncing slightly. “First one of the day,” Yuna whispers to herself as she places a hand on your crotch. You’re taken aback at her advances but willing to go along with it. You wouldn't, couldn’t deny her. She feels your bulge grow larger, her eyes widening for a moment as her lustful smile appears.

She unbuttons your jeans, pulling them down. Yuna giggles as she sees your bulge being held back by your underwear. She bends over, planting a kiss on your cock through your underwear, “You’re so big,” She says with a giggle. Yuna pulls at the hem of your underwear, feigning shock as your cock pops out. You see her shining teeth as she smiles and grasps your cock. She strokes it gently, watching it fully harden in her hand. Yuna kisses the tip of your cock before tracing her lips with your cock.

You grunt her name; her warm lips surround the head, wrapping around it as her tongue moves across it at an agonizing pace. You’re squirming, wanting her to do more. “Relax, baby. I’ll give you what you want in a minute.” She says, her hand pumping your cock as she moves closer to your ear. “Once your cock is in my pussy, you’ll see who I really am.” Yuna’s low, sultry voice sends shivers down your spine. She runs a finger down your chest until she returns to your cock, her lips pressing against it before separating and taking you in. Her tongue runs along the underside of your cock, slowly moving from side to side as she strokes the base of your cock. 

“How are you so good?” You moan out, throwing your head back as she takes more of you into her mouth. Yuna ignores your question for the moment, too focused on your cock to answer. Your hips buck, sending your cock into the back of her throat, surprising Yuna. 

She pulls back, her saliva dripping onto your cock. “Ah, if you wanted more, you could have just said so.” She pushes herself back onto your cock, making it disappear. You feel Yuna’s throat tighten around the head. You fall back onto the bed, lying down as you explode in Yuna’s mouth, sending waves of cum down her throat. Yuna’s cheeks fill with your semen, puffing up as she pulls away. You sit up slowly, watching her as she lowers her jaw to reveal a mouthful of cum. Yuna swallows it, moaning slightly as she revels in the salty taste. 

Yuna takes a step back, undoing the button on her shorts and pulling them down, shivering as the cold air hits her cleanly shaven pussy. “Move back a little.” You follow her orders, centering yourself on the bed. Yuna crawls over you, her modest breasts swaying. She reaches down, grabs your cock, and runs it between her wet folds. Yuna’s soft moans arouse you further, making you want her more. She Presses the head against her entrance, slowly dropping on it. She takes a deep breath, groaning as she feels your cock stretching her. Yuna places one hand on her lower abdomen, feeling your cock make its way through her until it knocks against her womb. “You’re tearing me apart,” She whimpers. “I need a moment.” Yuna focuses on the sensation caused by your cock. 

You sit under her, desperate for more, her tight cunt feeling too good to just sit there. You grab her hips and begin thrusting, surprising Yuna. “I’m sorry, but I need you.” You moan, thrusting into her quickly. Yuna places her hands on your chest, trying not to collapse on top of you as you split her apart. You catch her expression, her furrowed brows and shut eyes showing slight discomfort as you knock against her womb. Yuna’s expression soon softens as the pleasure overcomes her. 

Yuna’s moans echo in the room; her head tilts back. She looks to the ceiling as she feels her climax approaching. “I’m gonna cum.” She mumbles. You were still a little ways away from your climax. You speed up your thrusts, trying to cum with her. Yuna felt your cock piston in and out of her; she felt like a toy being used and was loving it. A delighted smile appears on her face as she cums on your cock, her walls tightening around you as you continue to ruin her. The young woman’s strength gives out, sending her onto your chest as you near your climax. She mumbles something; it’s inaudible initially, but Yuna repeats herself. “Cum- cum in me,” she says. You moan Yuna’s name, repeating it as you impale her and shoot your cum into her pussy.

You feel Yuna’s walls milking you for your cum as you both start to relax. She stretches out her hand, pointing to the other bed. She gulps softly, saying, “We have to try out the other one.” You nod your head, already tired. Running your hands along her back, Yuna shudders as she feels your hands come to a stop on her ass. You sit up, struggling slightly as you move over to the other bed with Yuna still having your cock inside her. She grabs a remote and holds down one of the buttons, causing the back to raise and letting you be in more of a seated position. You found it convenient. Yuna gives you a dreamy smile as she tosses the remote and begins moving. 

You’re seated position puts you much closer to Yuna’s breasts. You notice now her small brown nipples; they move softly as Yuna bounces on your cock. You lean in, dragging your tongue over one slowly, flicking it with your tongue at the end. She gasps, and her body shivers at your tongue's warmth. 

“W- What do you think?” Yuna mumbles as she rides you like her life depended on it, her walls squeezing you as you hit her womb. You can tell Yuna is trying to speak more, but the pleasure she’s receiving is making it difficult. Moans flow out from her as her walls tighten around you again. Yuna could give you no warning as she came. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she reached her second orgasm; her voice was becoming hoarse from her moans.

You get Yuna off you, laying her beside you. The moment you do, she turns to you, “You didn’t cum.” She says softly. “I want to feel your cum.” Yuna’s hand slithers down her body, spreading her lips for you. You stare at her glistening pussy, it makes you hard, and you find yourself unable to resist Yuna’s invitation. She grabs the remote, lowering the bed back to its original position. “There, easier for you.” She says, licking her lips as she imagines you inside her again. “Go on, fuck me.”You align yourself with her cunt and push in quickly, feeling like you’re being sucked in.  Yuna’s moans bounce off the walls, fueling you to start thrusting. You lift her hips off the bed, giving yourself a better position and allowing you to go deeper into Yuna’s cunt. Each thrust creates a bulge that Yuna presses down on, making her walls tighten around you. Her moans grew louder; she was getting more pleasure out of it, too. Neither of you last long, your quick thrust making you both cum again.  You collapse on top of Yuna, feeling parts of the soft mattress. 

You watch her grab the remote, feeling the bed become firmer. “So what do you think? How was the smart bed? Better, right?” Yuna mutters, slowly regaining her composure as time goes by.

“I think you’re right. It is better.”

“I told you.” She replies, a smile on her face.

You and Yuna hammer out the details as you lay beside each other, your cum oozing out of her cunt, and you end up buying the smart bed. You don’t know if Yuna being naked at the end helped her convince you, but you were buying the bed. Yuna felt satisfied with herself. After you had left, she went to the staff room, skipping all the way there while still naked, happy to have made a good piece of commission on the sale. She showed off, annoying the others as they stood there watching cum run down her legs. You write a review for the store, writing about the helpful staff much like the others before you.

[taesanrot]

[earrings] anton x f!reader | 1.5k words fwb!anton, secret relationship kinda, theyre in a bit of a limbo hehe syn. in which anton accidently leaves behind evidence of his stay last night note. first anton au hehe, also my first riize fic in a minute. hope u guys r enjoying this series so far :)

now playing: earrings by malcolm todd

"her love is your head, you lost your earrings in her bed"

anton was fucked, he was sure of that. it only took a glance at his reflection in the mirror to notice the jewelry he was missing, his usual earrings nowhere to be seen.

hand shooting up to feel his jewelry-less earlobes, he sighed and massaged his temples slowly. it was barely 10 in the morning, and he'd just trudged back to his place after being shooed out of your apartment.

you and anton were … complicated, for a lack of better terms. if the two of you were being honest, you'd say you were talking — although you definitely did a lot more than that when you were together.

anton didn't mind the slower pace; he wasn't itching to jump into anything super quickly, and he enjoyed getting to know you bit by bit.

what he struggled with a little more was you requesting to keep things between the two of you a secret. your friend circles were pretty much merged, and you weren't super keen on letting them in on your escapades with the taller boy just yet.

this meant quiet excuses away from larger functions, meeting up to walk to one of your places, and panicked morning afters.usually he had until at least noon to make his way back to his own place, but today you'd promised your friends that you'd study for a calculus exam with them.

anton groaned and whined when you'd shaken him awake at nine in the morning, saying something about some people coming over in an hour. he could barely hear over his exhaustion, eyes bleary as he looked at your face hovering above him.

you were trying to explain that his friends were on their way but all he could focus on was the strands of your soft hair falling in his face and how good you smelled. you eventually herded the poor boy out of your apartment, sending him on his way back home with a wet kiss to his cheek and a protein bar.

what neither of you seemed to remember were anton's earrings sitting in the small tray on your nightstand. they were the earrings he wore everywhere — gold links with his initials engraved on the front.

over time, anton made a habit of taking them off and placing them on your nightstand before getting in bed with you. the two of you learned the hard way that keeping them on in bed was not a good idea; the second time anton came over, your hair had gotten tangled in the metal and he almost lost an earlobe.

groggily pulling his phone out of his pocket, anton debated sending you a text. he typed it out before hesitating. what if someone looked at your phone screen and saw the text from him? how would you explain yourself? frustrated, anton shut his phone off and tossed it onto his bed.

god, anton hated sneaking around. but he liked you, more than he'd like to admit, and the last thing he wanted was go against what you asked of him. he just hoped that no one would notice the earrings before going to take a shower.

...

"morning." seunghan greeted you cheerfully as you answered the door. shotaro and sohee followed after, waving at you before walking into your apartment.

"sup, ning." as you shut the door you heard shotaro greet ningning, who had arrived 10 minutes earlier and was sitting in your living room.

eventually, the 5 of you migrated to your bedroom to study — you, ningning, and sohee were sprawled across the floor while shotaro and seunghan sat on your bed. your calculus notes were strewn about, having studied for what felt like days.

yawning and stretching his arms, seunghan sat up a bit, taking his attention off of the chapter you guys were reviewing. the rest of you were chattering with each other, reviewing a practice problem that was particularly confusing.

"ugh, what time is it?" he mumbled, leaning over to look at the clock on your nightstand. his phone was somewhere in your blankets and his notes, and he wasn't keen on looking for it.

before his eyes could drift to your alarm clock sitting on the nightstand, his attention was caught by something shiny glinting at his eyes.

your focus was pulled from your notes as you heard a soft gasp from the direction of your bed. looking up, your eyes widened at the sight in front of you.

seunghan had one of anton's earrings in his fingers, eyes squinting as he inspected it curiously.

"are these anton's?" he asked suspiciously, turning to look at you. his lips were curled slightly upwards, clearly amused by the discovery. your cheeks burned in embarrassment as you stumbled over your words, not knowing what to say.

"uh-" before you could deny it, sohee interjected.

"they totally are! he wears those like every day!" sohee exclaimed. shotaro and ningning also looked up from their work, both of them giggling at how obviously flustered you were.

"no they're not, those are mine." you mumbled unconvincingly, cringing at how bad your lie was.

"you're lying! i can see his initials on them!" seunghan was leaning across the bed to show the rest of your friends, all of them nodding in agreement.

"y/n why do you have those?" ningning's head tilted confusedly as she turned in your direction. after a beat of silence, a look of realization passed across shotaro's face.

"he was here, wasn't he?" he asked, the knowing smile on his face growing even bigger. you choked on your spit at his question, coughing lightly.

"what are you talking about?" sohee rolled his eyes and seunghan laughed loudly at your weak response.

"hyung's right, he totally was here!"

"did he spend the night?"

"oh my god y/n did you guys fuck?"

"ok, enough!" you spoke up, finally finding your voice. you gulped nervously before continuing. "yes, anton was here last night. we've been seeing each other for a while."

you let out the biggest breath, one you didn't even know you were holding as the words escaped your mouth. seunghan was the first one to break the silence following your announcement.

"i fucking knew it!" he exclaimed, taking you by surprise.

"huh?" you asked, perplexed.

"you know you guys aren't that subtle right?" ningning laughed as she spoke, ruffling your hair gently. "we all noticed you two leaving every function together."

"not to mention the way you basically eye fuck each other 24/7" sohee fake gagged, earning a punch in the arm from you.

…

after his whirlwind of a morning, anton decided to shower and take a well-deserved nap. unlike you, he did not have calculus test to study for, so after washing up he climbed into his covers and caught up on some much needed sleep.

a couple hours later, he finally woke up, groaning at the sun shining onto his face. it was late afternoon, and the light shined directly on his eyes, making going back to sleep nearly impossible. stretching his arms and legs, he rubbed his eyes and sat up groggily, grabbing his phone to check the time.

to his surprise, he was greeted by what seemed like 100 notifications from his messages. clicking them open, his eyes widened as the words came into focus.

it was in fact, your friends' group chat discussing the two of your and your not-so-secret arrangement. his eyes nearly popped out of his head reading the texts, still groggy from just waking up.

scrolling through the rest of his notifications quickly, he clicked on one with your name.

3 missed calls from y/n <3

[2:03 p.m.] y/n <3: r u asleep? call me when you see this

anton's fingers were practically shaking as he dialed your number, each ring making him wish the earth would open up and swallow him whole. his anxious thoughts were interrupted by your soft voice.

"hey."

"hi."

"um… did you see the groupchat?" anton winced. straight to the point, then.

"yeah… i'm sorry. i forgot them in a rush this morning" he felt like he was holding his breath waiting for you to answer, until he heard you chuckle on the other end of the line.

"anton, it's okay."

"what? but i thought-"

"it's about time we told them anyways, i'm tired of sneaking around." you laughed as you heard anton stutter on the line.

"plus, i like you, a lot."

"me too." he spoke softly, his heart nearly exploding in his chest. you smiled on the other end; his timidness never failed to make you feel giddy.

"good, cause it would've been really awkward if you didn't" you giggled, fiddling with the end of your shirt.

"so … does this mean i can take you on a real date now?"

"hmmm i guess that's fine" you answered teasingly. anton sighed dramatically on the other end, slapping a hand over his chest so loud that even you could hear it.

"in that case, what are you doing tonight?"

…

[bonus] the groupchat

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: In Which Gojo Satoru Commits Regicide.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 0.7k.

TW: Mentions of Consensual Sex and Off-Screen Violence. I Am Coping, But I Am Also Pissed. Be Patient, I Beg of You.

Live Dove: Tender and Sweet.

You’d been a little confused when Satoru came home uncharacteristically giddy in spite of the bitingly cold February weather, and a little more than confused when he said he had something to show you, took you by the arm, and teleported you out of your apartment entirely (after waiting for you to give your clear and enthusiastic consent, of course). You had no idea where he was taking you, but it only took a single second of whipping your head in either direction, a single glimpse of those awful bright yellow curtains and tacky eagle rug, to know where you were.

“Satoru,” you gasped, and his grin widened. “Is this the oval office?”

“The one and only.” His voice was low and smug, his tone more than enough to prove that he already knew you like your surprise. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he swept the content the presidential desk in the floor with his free hand and lifted you onto its outer edge, placing himself in the space between your open legs as if brought there by a gravitational pull. You draped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a long, deep kiss as sweet as apple pie, or funnel cake, or other true symbols of American culture that were formed through a broad, grassroot endearment rather than a bunch of gross old men deciding they’d look cool on a flag three-hundred years ago.

Reminded of gross old men, you pulled away with another sharp gasp. “But, ‘toru, what if he catches us?”

You had no problem with getting your back blown out by your loving boyfriend in one of the most sacred rooms in the United States, but if that lead-paint poisoned geezer happened to walk in (if he even could walk on his own, anymore), it’d totally ruin the mood. Satoru only laughed. “Don’t worry, baby,” And then, flashing you a quick wink, “I made sure to clear the place out for us.”

“Satoru, you didn’t!”

“Guess some fascists just can’t handle their blunt force damage,” he said, shrugging. Suddenly, your expression dropped, and Satoru noticed right away. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Well, it’s not that the racist, senile felon didn’t deserve to have his skull caved in by a bisexual transgender man – since, y’know, we’re both bisexual and transgender.” Satoru nodded, affirming the fact that you two were similarly transgender and also bisexual, which you were. “It’s just – now that misogynistic white supremacist who jerks off to Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale every night before fucking his couch is going to be president, and that that kind of sucks too.”

“James David Vance?”  Satoru asked, refusing to use his initially and therefore highlighting how stupidly pretentious his name was. “You think too little of me, sweetheart.”

Possibly for the third time, you gasped. “Is he…?”

“Mhm. Took care of him right before I came home, got him right as he was coming out of his filler appointment. Beat him to death with a copy of his own book and everything, after leaving it a one-star review on Goodreads, of course.” Again, he shrugged, but smile gave away his self-satisfaction. “It’s all in a day’s work for the world’s strongest and most politically active sorcerer, I guess.”

“But, if that pathetic old man and his castrated lapdog are both dead, then who’s the president?”

“Check the news, baby.”

You fished your phone out of your pocket as Satoru sucked hickeys into your neck, obviously waiting until he had your full attention to go further. Again, you gasped. You were starting to lose count of how many times that’d happened, so far. “Abortions and insulin are provided upon request and also free now?!”

“Oh, wait, are they?” You turned your screen in his direction, and Satoru hummed in approval. Everyone’s quality of life had gotten a lot better since your good friend, Nanami Kento, was placed onto the Supreme Court in the final days of Biden’s term. “Sick. Not what I was talking about, though – scroll down.”

You scrolled down, and gasped once more. Your throat was starting to hurt. “Everyone in the country’s unanimously ellected the first female president?”

“Not just any female president,” he said, smirking and tapping on a trust-worthy article from a reliable and non-partisan source. “Say her name for me, baby.”

The final gasp you gaspt was the loudest and most gasp-like of all.

“Hatsune Miku?!”

[megamindsecretlair]

Hi, beloved! ❤️ Would you be down to write about Terry Richmond using some rope tricks that he learned from his Marine training on reader? 🤭 If not, I completely understand and you’re still amazing !😘

A/N: Forgive me, I know this doesn't technically fit the bill, but this got my mind spinning. Let me know if you want a more faithful response.

Touch Me Like You Care

Pairing: Daddy Dom!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female), fingering (fem receiving), teasing, size kink, dirty talk, mean Terry, daddy kink, praise kink, spanking, lite bondage, overstimulation, reader is able to be picked up, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some, rushing.

Summary: See Ask. Story by @uniqueoutlierblog . Terry comes home to find you reading in bed, all thoughts of getting dressed out of your mind as you rest. He was prepared to let you, truly, but then he finds that you’re not wearing the bracelets he bought you. And well, he can’t let that slide, can he?

Word Count: 4,475k

AO3 Link

A/N: @planetblaque knows I can deny her nothing!! Whew, everytime I think I can take a break from this man, ya'll pop out with all of these amazing fics! I'm so over the moon to see so much activity. We fr just tossing this man around like a beach ball and I love that for us!!! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You pulled your dresser open and searched for your favorite pair of thigh high socks. Ever since the weather turned, you were back to shivering every two seconds, feeling colder than a witch’s broomstick no matter what you did. 

After a refreshing shower, you opted to dry under your blanket hoodie, feeling the need to retreat from having to be “on” all the time. Navigating the world as a Black woman was fucking exhausting. 

You picked up your phone, scrolling through your latest dirty book. There was a subtle increase in Black led romances that were making you stay up to the wee hours of the morning reading. The latest book was absolutely filthy from your favorite author. The anticipation for this book had been immense, the group chat blowing up with speculations and guesses.

The book was getting better, when the couple who swore they hated each other was about to fuck that tension out since fighting got them nowhere. You squealed, picking up the nearest pair of socks. You tore your gaze away long enough to put your socks on.

You looked around the room for your blanket hoodie. It was sitting on the famous chair, piled on top of a mountain of clothing that was near toppling over. You grabbed the hoodie and then checked in on your phone. 

Oh, the tension. The passion. It just ate you up inside when the characters got to that part. Confessing their love in drunken confessions or in the middle of an argument. Ouee, your body was on fire just thinking about it. Your pussy clenching at the details. The rich words creating a movie in your mind’s eye.

Abandoning your hoodie, you laid across the bed and decided to air dry. With the way this book was going, you might need a second shower. You rested your head on your closed fist and let your mind drift, picturing the scene.

You didn’t hear when your boyfriend called your name after he arrived home. Or how his heavy footfalls padded down the hallway to your bedroom. Or how he called your name again when he stood in the doorway. You didn’t hear the subtle camera click as a picture was taken.

Somewhere between the fifth and…counting?... sex scene, you ended up on your tummy, legs high behind you, tapping your socked feet together. You were literally kicking your feet as the characters kept telling each other that they hated each other as they were clutching onto each other for dear life. 

You sighed. You simply ate this shit up. You were already mentally typing up your notes for your review on Goodreads. Ouee, maybe you should start keeping a side notebook. Just to jot down bullet points so your scatterbrained mind didn’t forget a single detail. 

Fingers reached across your ass and you yelped, looking behind you ready to scream. Terry stood behind you, his head tilted and a smirk on his luscious face. You choked out a laugh, rolling to one side so you could look at him better. 

He looked damn good in gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. Terry slid his fingers absently across your bare ass, tracing the globes up and down. Your body shivered, pussy clenching with need. You gazed at your man. At the smooth planes and lines of his face, the cut of jaw, those big pink lips. 

“You didn’t hear me calling you?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Sorry,” you said, giving him a cutesy grin. 

His lips twitched but he didn’t let himself smile. “You’re not cute. You have to be more aware of your surroundings,” he said. 

“Yes, sir,” you said, nodding. “Though to be fair, the only man getting in here is you.”

“Mhm,” he said, nodding his own head. “You reading your dirty books?” 

“Yes! You remember my favorite author?” You asked. 

Terry nodded, hiking his eyebrow up as he encouraged you to tell him all about your favorite author. And the book you were currently reading. “And I just got to the good part,” you said.

Terry chuckled and nodded. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it,” he said. He trailed his fingers between your legs as he moved away and you gasped. For two reasons. On the one hand, Terry’s hands on you always instantly put you in the mood. With your pussy already wet, you were thinking it was a good time for a break. 

On the other hand, you forgot that you had taken off your gifts from him while you showered. It was the only time you were allowed to do so. You meant to put the ankle and thigh bracelet back on when you lotioned up but plum forgot.

Terry stopped and you could feel his stare. It burned in the back of your head. Your heart thumped in your chest. You had no idea what he was going to do.

“Baby,” Terry’s deep timbre was a physical caress down your spine. You stretched your back and bit your lip. 

“Yes, Big Daddy,” you said, pitching your voice higher. 

“Where are your bracelets?” He rubbed his thumb across your thick thigh. The weight of those words pressed down on you, making you want to retreat in your mind. You began to pant, feeling out of sorts. You were so turned on you could barely breathe. But you were also worried about what kind of punishment you were about to receive. 

“I just showered,” you said. You rolled so that you could look at his pretty face. To at least try to gauge where his mind went. Terry stopped you by wrapping his hand around your thigh. 

“I believe you. But you’re out of the shower now,” he said. 

“I really forgot this time,” you said. 

Terry sighed, the sound like a coin drop in an empty room. “You know what we have to do now, right?” He asked.

“You sure I can’t bargain out of this one? I can be pretty cute, you said so,” you said. 

“Up,” he said, his calm voice making matters worse. You may as well have been pleading your case to a brick wall. There was no changing his mind.

You got to your knees and then flipped over, scooting to the edge of the bed. Terry rolled his shoulders as he moved to your closet. He pulled a pine green box down from the top shelf. 

He placed the large, repurposed gift box on your dresser and opened it. Cheery snowmen looked at you from the painted edges as Terry rummaged around. He drew out a pair of leather cuffs and crossed over to you.

You pouted at him as he strapped the cuffs to your wrists. There was a small golden link between them keeping it connected and not giving you much room to escape. You tested the pull on it as you tried to separate your wrists. No dice. 

Terry grabbed the link and pulled you into a standing position. He sighed deeply, his voice a rumbling thunder behind it with a hum as he stared you down. “I had plans to treat you so well when I got back,” he said. 

“Fuck,” you said, the curse flying fast. You rubbed your thighs together, staring up into his pretty colorful eyes. Every time you looked at them, they were a different color. You loved to see the changes, especially this up close. His eyes went more brown when he was like this, when he’d sunk into that role of being in charge. Of being protective. 

He kissed your cheek, softly, reverently, his juicy lips leaving a small wet spot behind. He moved down to your lips, not quite kissing you. He hummed and smirked. “Whatever happens, just know that I love you, okay?” 

“Terry,” you huffed. His name was a plea and a curse all in one. You didn’t know what was worse. Knowing the torture was coming or having to live through it. Your thighs were on fire, burning with the need to have him between them. 

He pulled you closer by the cuffs, kissing you completely this time. He brought his free hand up to cup your cheek, hands warm. You licked his lips and he moaned. “Nice try,” he said against your lips. 

He said that, but you stepped closer, rubbing yourself against his growing bulge. He chuckled, letting you, looking down while you rubbed on him. He grinned and then grabbed your shoulders, turning you around. He pushed you down. You let out a soft oomph, flopping onto the bed. 

He grabbed your hips, pushing you further up your big ass bed. He positioned you how he wanted, close to the edge, but not so close that he didn’t have free range behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you could only hear him moving around behind you.

It sounded like he was rummaging through the goody box again. You sighed. Digging your toes into the bed. “Start reading,” he commanded, voice sharp.

How the hell were you supposed to read anything? You hesitated, looking at your phone. There was no way you’d be able to concentrate and he knew that. 

“Baby,” you said and licked your lips. 

Terry said nothing and again, you felt his gaze bearing down on you. You whimpered as you grabbed your phone, unlocking it, and swiping back to your phone. You began reading aloud, reading about the sex scene you were in the middle of. 

Reading it aloud to Terry, picturing him as the main male character, you were miserably wet. Dripping practically. You sighed, thinking of your ruined bed. You’d have to spend tonight doing laundry. 

Terry’s massive hand slapped across your ass, the recoil loud enough to rival a gunshot. You squealed, falling forward onto the bed. Heat bloomed between your thighs, warming up your core to a dangerous level. 

It still really fucking hurt though. Your ass stung and you swore that you could feel aftershocks of his hand, slapping across your ass over and over. “Fuck, fuck!” You yelled out. 

“Keep reading,” he said. 

You got back to your knees and arched your back like he positioned you in before. You returned to reading out loud, pussy throbbing at the way the words made you feel. You got to an explicit part when Terry’s hands came back down. He smacked your ass a handful more times, covering a wide area and making your ass light up like a Christmas tree.

Tears welled in your eyes from the pain and the pleasure. It was too much stimulation. “Please, please, fuck me. I can’t take it,” you whimpered. The words on your phone swam in your vision as your body contracted with shivers. Both from the radiating waves of heat and the burn low in your belly. 

Terry rubbed his hands across your ass and you screamed, kneeling away from his hands. Wherever he touched, your ass sang with pain. “Are you going to remember to put your bracelets on?” 

You nodded. “Yes, I swear,” you said. 

Terry shoved his fingers between your legs, plunging right up your pussy. You collapsed onto the bed, twitching. “Mhm, I didn’t give you permission to cum,” he said. 

“Daddy, pleaseeee,” you pleaded, lower belly twinging with the pain of fighting off your orgasm. 

“You can get wetter than this, baby,” he said. 

“I can’t,” you said, drool seeping into the navy covers beneath you. Your face was smashed into the bed, no way to hold yourself up while his fingers stroked your walls. The loud squelching of your pussy, wet because of him, made you clench around his fingers and moan. 

He placed his free hand on your ass, giving you the dual sensation of sweet torture and cruel relief. He moved his fingers faster, stretching you out with his long, thick fingers. You rode yourself on his fingers, throwing it back and he moaned. He smacked your ass more lightly this time, more in encouragement than anything else. 

“Please let me cum. Please let me cum,” you said, legs twitching. You couldn’t hold off any longer. 

Terry leaned down over your body, placing his lips as close to your ear as he could get it. “Nahhh,” he said slowly, a subtle rasp in his voice. You bit your lip and rode him harder, showing him that you needed more. “Gotta earn that shit.” 

You sobbed into your bed, tears streaming freely. You were about to explode. Come undone at the seams. “Daddy, please. Pleaaseee. Pleaaasseeee, ouee, pleeasseee,” you moaned, desperately riding his fingers. 

“You know what Daddy needs,” he said. 

Tears leaked freely, mixing with the drool and pooling onto the covers. Your mind turned to mush, no longer able to keep reading. Your moans were loud and near screaming. Your throat raw with the effort. Your essence flooded his fingers and he hummed in satisfaction. 

“There’s my good girl,” he purred. He suddenly flipped you over, not giving you a chance to work with him. He was too impatient, too needy, too rough as he positioned you on your back. He pushed your arms above your head, giving you a look. You planted your hands above your head and knew better to move them. 

It pushed your breasts up, giving him a total view of your chest. He groaned, eyes tracking to your pert nipples. Terry folded you in half, scooting his thighs beneath your back, holding you spread open for him. 

He placed soft kisses to your wet pussy, lips smacking from your juices. “Baby, I can’t hold it no more,” you said.

“You’re gonna hold it because Daddy told you to,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. You whimpered, whined, trying to breathe through being folded like a pretzel. 

Your toes brushed against the bed with every rocking motion from Terry as he got himself comfortable. He continued kissing your pussy, stopping to look back and stare at your pussy. His lips began to glisten with your essence. 

You groaned, a primal, possessive side of you jumping out. You marked your claim. It was your juices on him. Your essence feeding him. 

“Daddy, please,” you cried out. From this position, you saw his face perfectly. He stared at your pussy like a man possessed. Like a greedy man with the richest treasure in the world. Your heart softened just as your pussy throbbed. 

Terry smirked. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy. She miss me?” He asked. As if you hadn’t gone two and half rounds when you woke up this morning. As if he wasn’t driving you insane nearly every time you got within two feet of each other. 

“Yes, Daddy, she missed you,” you moaned. 

“Yeah? She gon’ be good and cum when I say?” He asked. He stared at you from beneath his long eyelashes framing his stormy blue eyes while his tongue rolled out of his mouth. He used the tip of his tongue to search through your soaked curls, separate your pussy lips, and flick across that little bundle of nerves. 

“Ouee, shit,” you moaned. Sweat beaded on your forehead. Your heart beat so loudly, it was a miracle he couldn’t hear it. You huffed, watching his tongue work around your clit. Feeling it was even better. His breath was hot across your pussy, making your breaths stutter in your chest.

His lips followed his tongue, going deeper, playing with the rim of your entrance before dipping his tongue inside you. You cried out, belly fluttering. You moved your hands and Terry’s eyes narrowed. 

Fresh tears leaked from your eyes, dripping down the side of your face. “Pleasseee,” you begged. 

“You’re doing so well, already,” he moaned. He sped up, licking you, eating you, devouring you as he lapped at your pussy. Fresh essence dripped out of you and he licked that up too. He moaned, burying his nose and face into your pussy. He ate like a man starved. Sloppily. Messily. 

“Oue, fuck, ouee,” you screamed.

Terry moved closer, like he was trying to shove his whole face inside of you. His plush lips wrapped around your clit and sucked. 

“Oh fuck! Terry! Terry!” You screamed. Your body began twitching. The orgasm you staved off was coming whether you wanted it to or not. Terry stopped altogether, suspending your body in the midpoint between denial and reprieve. 

Your eyes rolled lazily to him, panting, huffing, body feeling like you had been tossed into a barbeque pit. “T-T-”

Terry tilted his head, tongue flat against your clit. You throbbed and pulsed on his tongue but he didn’t move. Your body retreated from the edge in slow increments, relaxing against him. 

You blinked at him, no longer able to communicate a single thought. Terry’s eyes gleamed with sick pleasure. He hummed, moving his tongue against your clit once more. He brought you to the edge and then denied you the rush of pleasure at the last minute. He did it one more time, letting you relax and then bringing you back to the precipice. 

Your belly cramped so bad. Your mouth stopped working. You couldn’t do anything but pathetically moan as he ate his fill. Your toes brushed against the bed again as he leaned back far enough.

“She too tired now?” He asked.

You shook your head. Furthest thing from it. Terry smirked. “You nice and dumb for me, baby?” He asked. He gave you teasing little licks. You hissed and moaned, eyes aching from how hard you closed them from the torture. 

“Answer me when I’m talking to you,” Terry said, smacking your ass for good measure. It woke you from the fog long enough to nod. 

“Yes, Big Daddy,” you said. 

Terry grinned and then relented, giving in and eating you with a renewed fervor. “You can cum now, baby,” he moaned into your pussy. His tongue and lips teased your clit. His fingers dipped back inside your entrance, coaxing that sweet, sweet orgasm out of you.

You screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Or hell, maybe you joined them. Lights burst behind your eyelids as you came with so much force, you couldn’t breathe. Your pussy ached and throbbed, thighs shaking against Terry’s face as he teased you throughout the whole ride. 

He slowed down as he sensed that you were coming down, drawing out his teasing licks and kisses to your pussy. He pulled back and your essence dripped from his face. He looked like he went swimming in your pussy. His entire jaw was covered, shiny and wet. You wish you could take a picture of him like this.

A long spit chain connected you to him and he moaned, ending on a hiss. “That’s a good fuckin’ pussy,” he huffed as he regained his own breathing. “Turn that ass over.”

Terry lowered you to the bed while he hopped off. He made quick work of his clothes, his huffs and puffs the only indication of how badly he was rushing. You were just a noodle, watching him reveal inches of his bronze skin, the veins in his biceps, the tattoos on his arms.

You traced the tattoos more times than you could count, lips twitching with the urge to do so now. His thighs were equally delicious. As big as tree trunks, a light dusting of hair. And that ass. He turned to the side briefly so he could free his long legs from his underwear and sweats. 

“You are so damn pretty,” you mumbled. 

Terry chuckled. You didn’t think he heard you. “That’s my line,” he said. “And I’m pretty sure I told you what you need to be doing.” 

You couldn’t flip over fast enough, giggling. He’d just bent you over and ate you so well, your leg was still wobbly and shaky. Yet you yearned for more. Yearned for his body surrounding you, protecting you, caging you in his embrace. You were greedy. Needing, wanting, craving more. 

Terry descended onto the bed, roughly grabbing your hips and sliding inside with a savage thrust. 

“Oueeee, SHIT, Daddy!” You screamed. He slid out and then slid back in, coating his long dick with your essence. 

“Cream this shit,” he moaned, sliding inside faster. His massive hands gripped your hips and pulled you onto his punishing dick, ramming into you. “Made for me. You were made for me, weren’t you?” He asked.

“Yes, Daddy, I was made for you,” you moaned. He stretched you beautifully, slamming into you just as rough as you wanted. As you needed. 

“Just a pretty, tight hole for me to abuse whenever I want?” He asked.

You sobbed, tears gathering in your eyes once more. He hit that magical spot inside of you, the spot only he could reach. No other man, not even your toys, could hit that spot with such precision. With accuracy. He was just as much made for you. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you moaned, voice muffled by the covers. The bed dipped as Terry leaned over, planting a fist beside your head to hold up his weight. He used his other hand to grab a handful of braids and yank, baring your throat to him. 

“I wish you could see how creamy you are. Pretty little ring on my dick. So nice and wet,” he cooed into your ear. He pulled your head back so that he could kiss you. His face smelled like you. You moaned and clenched around his dick. He hissed and then growled in your ear. 

“Filling me so deep, Daddy,” you moaned. “So fuckin’ deep, ohmygoood.”

Terry chuckled. He shifted his hips and drove in deeper, possibly down to his base, as he fucked you into the mattress. Your hands stretched out in front of you, gripping onto the covers just trying to meet his thrusts. 

“Untie me, Daddy. Let me feel you,” you begged. 

Terry responded by kissing you, tongue licking your lips. You opened your mouth and played with his tongue. His beautiful, amazing tongue that was capable of the sweetest words and the filthiest things. 

“You don’t know how to behave when you’re free,” he said against your cheek. 

“I’ll behave, I promise,” you whispered. 

Terry moaned, dick throbbing inside you. “I want to believe you,” he said. 

He kept up his brutal, savage thrusts, digging into you and making your belly clench. “Pleasse, Daddy. I want to feel you,” you moaned. 

“All you need to do is feel this dick, baby. Feel how much you mean to me. How much I want to take care of you,” he said.

Each thrust felt like it was going straight to your heart. There was no way you were still flooding his dick. Still making it easier for him to glide and thrust and stroke so far inside you, you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. 

“Fuck me so good. So well,” you moaned. 

Terry gripped your hips and then pulled you down harder, faster, rougher. You yelped and squealed, stretched out on the bed, trying to escape. Terry yanked you back, fingers digging into your skin harder. 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” you moaned. Your thighs trembled from trying to hold yourself up from his hold. He kept you in place, filling you, fucking you good and deep. Your eyes rolled back into your head. But still, your body propelled you forward. Both because of his thrusts and because you just couldn’t take any more. All the edging from earlier had you spent. 

“Sit that ass up,” he panted, breaths falling across your damp back. 

“C-Can’t,” you stuttered. 

Terry grunted and pulled you by the hair until you were on your knees. He sat on his haunches, continuing to pound inside you. 

“You keep telling me what you can’t do. But all this time you been takin’ this dick and doing what Daddy tell you to. Do you know how proud I am of you? So pretty when you listen,” he moaned. 

“Fuck, Daddy, please,” you moaned. 

Terry grabbed your arms and pulled it until the cuffs went over his head. It made you thrust out your chest and he grabbed your titties, playing with your sensitive nipples. He pinched and plucked as he fucked you, kissing your neck and biting your shoulder. 

Your pussy made smacking noises on his dick, sounding thick and creamy. You moans mingled in the room, mixing with the pound of the headboard against the wall. You were constantly getting little dents in it from the force of your lovemaking. It was too much. You tried to sit on his lap but he grunted.  “Mhm,” he said, pulling you into a kneeling position one more time. 

“If I gotta stand you up one more time, you ain’t gon’ like it,” he snapped. 

You whimpered and whined but concentrated on holding yourself up. His dick slammed into your walls while he kissed your neck. One hand gripped your titty and squeezed while his other hand searched lower, rubbing two fingers against your pussy. 

You screamed out, unable to hold off this one. It gobbled you up with the force of it. Tearing you down to your roots, breaking you down to your center, to the very last atom that makes you you. You cried out, shaking, twitching. 

Your vision turned black and your right ear rung with a tinny bell as you came and came in rolling waves. One triggered another for an extended orgasm, body jerking uncontrollably. 

“Cum so pretty,” he said. “You ready for this nut?” 

You could only manage a nod as he rolled his shoulders and moaned in your ear while he came, unloading a thick load of cum inside of you. 

There was no more air in your lungs enough to moan. You could only sigh as he warmed you up from the inside, soaking your walls with his cum. Nothing leaked out as he continued to stroke into you.

Your body arched as he stilled, buried to the hilt. He kissed your neck, your cheek, your jaw. He brought the fingers he used to play with your clit up to your mouth and bid you to suck. 

“Taste that?” He asked.

You nodded. Too spent, too tired, to fucked out to do anything else but yawn. Terry chuckled, and slipped out. His cum leaked out with him, sliding down your leg and dripping onto the bed. 

“Sleepy,” you mumbled.

“I know, baby. But let’s run you a bath first and I’ll change these sheets,” he said. He lowered your arms from his neck and then laid you on your side. He gave you a kiss on your forehead. 

“Don’t let me catch you without your bracelets again,” he said.

“Yes, Big Daddy,” you yawned, stretching out onto the bed to await his tender, loving aftercare.

WHEW. If you need more like I do, here ya gooo! The Secret Terry Richmond Files

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[traveler-at-heart]

The Doctor's In - Part 5

Wanda Maximoff x Doctor!R

Summary: The evolution of your relationship with Wanda. Includes some smut.

Always late. You’ve learned the lesson, so you don’t even bother with the coffee, because it’s cold by the time you leave the house.

Of course, you didn’t have time to do groceries either so you’re stuck with an almost rotten banana.

As you leave the house, Wanda opens up the door of her own home, calling for the twins.

You smile, while she signals for you to walk over.

“Hey, beautiful” you say, admiring her outfit. You know she has a meeting with her editor. “All ready for today?”

“Yeah, it’s just the kids are late. Boys, come on” she turns back to you, smiling. “Here. I packed you lunch”

“How did you know I have nothing edible?” you swoon, taking the brown paper bag, and leaning to kiss her. She hums against your lips and you feel her little smile. “You’re out of this world, Miss Maximoff”

Wanda wants to prolong the contact, but hears the kids stomping down the stairs and you break apart. Yes, you’ve spent more time with them, basically whenever you’re off work. But there hasn’t been the awkward “what are we” talk and the subsequent chat of how to tell Billy and Tommy. If there’s anything to tell, that is.

“Hey, Y/N” Billy says, throwing his bagpack in the trunk of the car.

“Are you coming for dinner tonight? We just defeated Rypto!” Tommy says excitedly.

“I have to work for the next day and a half, but after that, sure”

The boys nod, disappointed and Wanda rolls her eyes.

“I’m a little jealous of how much they like you. Seems like I’m their second favorite person now” she says in a low voice, your eyes traveling to her lips.

“You are my favorite person, in case that helps” you admit, making her blush.

“Have a good day” Wanda says, and you nod, wanting nothing more than to kiss her.

“Text you later” you promise, squeezing her hand and walking to your own car, hoping your shift goes by soon, eager to have Wanda in your arms again.

The day starts normal enough. It’s more paperwork than consults or any emergency, but you still make your rounds and review the pending discharged patients.

For once, you get to have lunch at a decent time, eager to eat whatever it is Wanda made for you.

There’s a chicken sandwich, from yesterday’s leftovers of that heavenly paprikash dish she made, a couple of cookies and a note.

“Have a nice day. XOXO - W”

“Where’d you get those cookies?” Darcy says, approaching you. Holding the container close to your chest, you growl at her. “No, bad Cujo!”

In spite of your best efforts, she snatches one of the cookies.

“These are fantastic cookies”

“Wanda made them”

“Oh, did Mommy pack you lunch?” Darcy says in a fake baby voice and you glare.

“Keep that up and I’m not sharing any more cookies, Lewis”

“I was kidding. I love you, friend” she bats her eyelashes, sitting next to you. “So, is the sex better than the baked goods?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t done it yet” you admit, avoiding her eyes.

“Because…”

“Because the kids are always around or I’m too tired… I don’t know. We’re just spending time together and seeing where it goes”

“And how does that make you feel?” Darcy says, reaching for another cookie.

“It’s fine… but I guess it’s all new to me. I dated in college, but ever since I started working here all I do is be at the hospital… and be with people from the hospital”

“And now you’re in this potential relationship, where she has two kids. Talk about going from 0 to 100” Darcy pats your back and you nod. “It’s gonna be fine, Y/N. All you have to do is talk it out”

“Thanks, Darcy. Here, you earned half of the last cookie”

“Half? That was solid advice” she mumbles, chewing on it.

You laugh, promising you’ll share more cookies the next time Wanda makes some. She leaves to supervise a resident doing an appy, and you go back to the ER.

“Help! Someone!” you see a paramedic with blood all over his shirt.

“Drax, what’s wrong?”

“Peter was turning around the corner, after dropping someone off and a car crashed against the ambulance”

“Ok, let’s go. Bishop, you’re with me. Page Chief Fury” you ask a nurse, the young resident following you closely.

As soon as you turn around the block, you spot the ambulance and make out Quill’s body, hanging upside down.

“Bring stretchers for the other driver and his passenger” you tell Kate. With a sigh, you kneel next to the ambulance, crawling between broken glass. You notice a sharp pain in your elbow, but lean forward until you’re touching Quill’s neck, looking for a pulse.

As soon as you touch him, he jolts awake, screaming.

“Ah, Jesus, Quill” you curse, hitting your head against the dashboard.

“What happened?” he looks around, disoriented.

“Someone crashed into you. Do you feel anything strange?”

“I can’t feel my legs” he says, looking at you. You gulp, not knowing what to say.

Peter is your friend, even if you only see each other at work. He’s the guy that shares his snacks, that cracks a joke when you’re down just to make you laugh. A man that you’ve known for three years, and now you have to tell him he might not make it.

“What do we got?” Fury shows up on the other side.

“Just hanging” Quill jokes, but you can’t bring yourself to even smile. “I can’t breath, there’s pressure in my chest”

“Hold on tight, the firemen are on their way to get you out” Fury asks, signaling for you to meet him around the ambulance while Kate takes his vitals.

“What do you think?”

“It’s not good” you admit in a low voice. “He can’t feel his legs, but I also can’t see anything below his chest. I don’t know what will happen if we move him, Chief”

“But if we don’t…”

“He’s going to die”

“Let’s take care of the pressure on his chest first”

“Should we page cardio?”

“If you can handle it, go ahead. Quill works with you, he trusts you”

You nod, running back to the hospital to get everything you need to treat Quill’s cardiac tamponade. By the time you’re back, Kate is trying to keep him awake.

“He has low blood pressure”

“Come on, Quill, stay with me” you ask, preparing everything. You unbutton his shirt, gloved fingers trying to sense the exact spot to extract the liquid on his chest. It takes you a moment because he is upside down, but you get it and pull the syringe, filling up with dark fluid.

You and Kate sigh with relief as Quill gasps for air, opening his eyes.

“Did I die for a second?” he says, coughing. “Doc, I need you to tell something to Gamora”

“Quill, tell her yourself when you’re out of here” you try to ignore the request, avoiding the conversation.

“Just tell her to look on my old cassettes, please. She needs to know I did get a ring”

A ring. Fuck. You lock eyes and nod.

“Firemen are here” Kate says, waving at the men.

“Clint Barton” the man introduces himself, assessing the mess around Quill. “We’ll do everything we can to help him” he promises, and you nod.

As they begin to work, you go back next to Quill, trying to distract him.

“Got any music?”

“Sure” you pull out your phone, handing it over so he can play whatever he wants.

Come and get your love starts playing and you both sing. Three more songs pass before Barton lets you know they are ready to release him.

“Bishop and Drax, ready with the stretcher” you say, the other paramedic getting ready to drag Peter’s body out as soon as he can.

"Hold on. Promise me you'll tell her" Quill says again and you nod.

“3… 2…”

There’s a loud, metallic bang and then Quill’s body falls forward. It all happens in seconds and by the time you walk around the ambulance, Drax is wheeling him to the ER.

For a split second, you think he’s going to be fine because he’s consciouss, looking around.

And then his mouth is full of blood, choking sounds mixing with the noises of the hospital.

“Crash cart” you ask, starting CPR.

“Charge to 200” Fury asks, and you step aside when it’s time.

“I need a round of Epi” you say, urgency in your voice.

Charge, clear, another round.

You’re at it for ten minutes, and you can’t feel your arms, or hear anything else other than the continuous beep of the monitor. A bead of sweat rolls down your forehead, but you keep doing CPR.

Just five more minutes.

“That’s enough” Fury says, pushing you aside. “Call it”

“No, Sir”

“Doctor Y/L/N, step away from the patient” he says, his voice booming across the room. You shake your head no, and then turn to the monitor, hoping something changes.

“He was going to propose to his girlfriend. He has to make it. Come on, come on, come on” you mutter.

Fury stands next to you, a soft look on his face.

“He’s gone, Y/N. I’m sorry”

You break down, tears rolling down your face and mixing with the sweat.

Sitting on the hallway, you catch your breath, unaware of the blood dripping from your elbow until Darcy rushes to your side.

“Hey, let’s clean that up, ok?” she says, helping you up.

“What can I do?” Carol approaches, noticing how your eyes are unfocused.

“I think we should call Wanda” Darcy suggests.

“Her phone number should be on Billy’s record, I’ll go get it” Carol nods.

You don’t even react to Darcy as she cleans up the wound, or when she mentions you’ll need a few stitches. She could have done it without the anesthesia and you wouldn’t have noticed.

“Thanks” you say when she’s cleaning up, and the woman leans forward, squeezing your hand.

“Don’t mention it”

—

Wanda recognises the hospital’s number and picks up, expecting everything except Carol’s voice.

“Hello, Doctor Danvers” she says, trying to figure out what’s going on.

“Hi, Wanda. It’s about Y/N”

Carol didn’t have to tell her twice. Wanda drives from her editor’s office to the hospital in record time. She notices an ambulance and a fire truck; her heart beats faster at the sight of blood, hoping it’s not yours.

“Wanda?” a short brunette with glasses greets the woman. “Darcy Lewis, come with me”

“Is she hurt?” Wanda asks, getting more worried as Darcy leads her through the staff door.

“Only a cut in her arm. She’s just… shaken” Darcy stops at the door. “One of the paramedics died”

“I’m sorry to hear that”

“Chief Fury said she should go home, we just didn’t want her to be alone”

Darcy finally opens the door, Wanda’s heart breaking at the sight before her.

You’re sitting on the floor, head hanging in defeat between your hands. She can see your fingers threading through the loose hairs of your ponytail, something you do when you’re anxious.

“Y/N” she kneels slowly, and you look up, wiping your tears. “It’s ok. I’m here”

“I’m sorry” you say, and you’re not sure what is it you’re apologizing for.

“None of that, my love. Come on” she takes your hand, helping you up.

Before leaving the room, you take Darcy’s hand, smiling.

“Thank you, Darcy”

“Get some rest, pal” she says, as Wanda leads you back to her car.

“Let’s go home” Wanda says against your temple, kissing the spot softly.

You don’t say a word during the entire drive, looking out the window. Wanda’s car stops and with it, the radio. The silence finally snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry for the trouble, I hope I didn’t interrupt your meeting”

“It’s fine. Do you…”

“Thanks for the ride” you say, exiting the car. You’re about to walk to your house when Wanda goes after you.

“You can come over. It’s ok”

“I need to shower” you notice how dirty you feel, blood staining parts of your arms and pants.

“Take a shower in my bathroom, and I’ll lend you some clothes”

“You sure?”

“Yes, darling. Now, come on”

You allow her to guide you upstairs, stepping foot in her room for the first time. Wanda leads you to the ensuite bathroom, handing you a towel.

“I’ll leave some clothes on the bed, ok?”

All you do is nod, and she wishes there was more she could do, but she just silently retreats, giving you space.

The pressure of the water is nice and you feel infinitely better when you step out of the shower, noticing the stitches on your arm with a frown.

“Everything good?” Wanda says as you go down the steps. You nod and she tries to smile. “Did you eat anything? I could prepare something…”

Her words are interrupted by your lips. It’s a short kiss, but you hope it can speak for itself.

“Thank you” you lean your forehead against hers, eyes closed. Allowing her scent to ground you, you breathe.

“What can I do?” Wanda asks, her hands over yours.

“Can we watch tv?”

“Come here” she smiles, taking your hand. She sits on the couch, motioning for you to lay your head on her lap. You’re not really paying attention to the show, but the way she runs her fingers through your hair relaxes you, and you drift off, fast asleep.

By the time you wake up, Wanda is on top of you, her head tucked in the crook of your neck. You smile, appreciating how peaceful she looks. She must sense you staring, because she stirrs awake, yawning.

“Hi” she says, looking around. You smile, your hands going to her lower back, and something shifts inside you. You’re not thinking at all, just acting on your feelings as you take her lips in yours, your tongue asking for permission. Wanda moans and you pull her closer, one of your hands holding her in place while you kiss down her neck, unbuttoning her blouse until her bra is exposed.

“Y/N” she stutters, and you hum against her neck. Wanda forgets what she was about to say when she feels you sucking on the skin, sure that you will leave a mark. When you place your leg between hers, creating friction she gets lost again, until you speed up.

“What’s wrong?” you say, when she stands up, fixing her hair.

“The kids… uh, I should…”

“Wanda” you plead, looking sadly at her. “Did I do something?”

“No, it’s not you, I…”

“Please talk to me”

Wanda breaths, hoping what she’s about to say won’t push you away.

“I can’t… I feel too much, Y/N. If we do this, if we sleep together, there’s no turning back. Because everyday, I fall in love with you even more. And I’m scared that you’re not going to feel the same”

It’s so stupid of her, to fall in love. You never spoke about the future or expectations. She doesn’t even know if you want kids or marriage, and she comes with two children who are wonderful, but a huge committment.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, please” she starts to ramble again, misinterpreting your silence. “Maybe we should…”

You lean forward, stopping her with a kiss.

“I love you” you say against her lips. As soon as she hears the words, her eyes open.  “Everything about you, everything about the boys you raised and who are so kind and wonderful because they’re like you, Wanda”

“You… I love you too” she laughs, a tear rolling down her cheek. She feels relief, happiness, amazement. You kiss the spot where the tear is, leaning your forehead against her temple.

“All these years I’ve been alone and I didn’t realise how lonely it felt until you. I should have told you sooner, I’m sorry”

“It’s ok. I love you” she repeats over and over again, her lips against yours. You smile into the kiss, happy that she feels the same.

After a few minutes of kissing and hugging, she pulls apart, sighing.

“We need to tell the kids” she says. Well, that’s certainly not your area of expertise.

“How do you want to do it?”

“Let’s take them out for pizza and just explain everything? They’ll get distracted with the food” Wanda laughs and you nod.

“Alright. That’s a plan” you kiss her again, but your eyes drift down, her blouse still undone.

“Behave” she warns, sitting up.

“Can you blame me?” you sigh, admiring how beautiful she looks.

“Come on, let’s get the boys from soccer practice” she offers her hand and you take it, smiling.

When you leave the house, the sight of your empty driveway reminds you your car is still in the hospital. You have a promise to keep about a certain ring.

“Everything ok?” Wanda says when you stay silent.

“Yeah, I just gotta do some stuff later”

“Ok”

The boys are ecstatic when they see you climb out of the car, running towards you.

“Mom, we have a match next Friday, can Y/N come?” Tommy says as they put their bags in the trunk.

“If she doesn’t have work, sure” Wanda smiles, taking a breath. Understanding that it’s time, you stand next to her, fidgeting with your hands. “Boys, there’s something we want to tell you. Y/N and I are… together”

“How is that?” Billy tilts his head. “Like a girlfriend?”

“Yes, that would be it” Wanda nods, not knowing what else to say. You step in, kneeling so you can look at Tommy and Billy.

“Hey, kiddos. I just want you to know I love you both very much and I love your mom as well. All I want is to take care of you and make her happy. But if you feel weird about it, or you have questions just tell us, ok? Your Mom’s priority will always be you two”

The boys take a second to think and then nod, laughing when you ruffle their hair. Wanda takes your hand, leaning forward to kiss your cheek.

“Are we going to have a new baby, then?”

“What?” you turn so fast you almost lose your footing.

“Sally said that’s how babies are made and you’re holding hands right now” Tommy explains.

“Oh, that’s not how babies are made” you laugh it off, in spite of Wanda’s warning glare.

“How are babies made, then?” Billy says and you go pale.

Yeap, walked right into that one. Wanda seems to be unwilling to help, as she tried to stop you.

“Who wants pizza?” you say, the kids forgetting about their question and running to the car. “That was the most stressful moment of my life and I’m a trauma surgeon”

You collapse in Wanda’s arms, breathing out.

“Come on, drama queen” she laughs, kissing your temple. “Let’s get some food, and maybe later you can show me how babies are made?”

“Mmhm” you nod, your brain turning to mush. “Tease”

—

“Are you going to the game tomorrow?” Wanda speaks and you’re half listening, as if her words are from a distant dream.

“Sure” you say against her skin, kissing and licking the column of her neck. She holds on to your shoulders as you go down, and you feel her shake in your lap.

“Wait. I’m asking for a reason”

“Ok” you nod, breaking apart.

“Would you like to do something after the game?” Wanda says and you wonder why she’s so nervous.

“Yeah, like take them to the movies?”

“No, the boys will be at a sleepover. I meant you and me”

“Oh” you say, heart beating faster at the implication. You’ll have the house to yourselves for the first time since you started dating.

“I can make dinner and we’ll stay in” Wanda offers.

“You’re always making dinner, baby”

“It’s just pasta, the easiest thing in the world”

“I wouldn’t know, I’m a terrible cook” you smile against her lips. “My offer for a dinner date somewhere nice stands”

“You can bring a fancy bottle of wine and dessert” she offers.

“I can think of a few things for dessert” you blurt out, eyes going down her body.

The way her eyes darken tells you she got the hint, so you change positions, you on top of her as she giggles.

“I love you” you kiss her, but your pager interrupts you. “And I have to go”

“You sure you have to go?” she asks, her legs around your waist. You’re questioning your choices when the pager goes off again. “Ok, never mind”

“Sorry, love” you kiss her before standing up, admiring how beautiful she looks with those kiss swollen lips.

As soon as you arrive at the hospital, you’re running around between patients and emergencies.

“Hey, pal. No lunch today?” Darcy says when you meet at the cafeteria.

“No, had to leave in a rush” you carry your tray to a nearby table, sitting with your friend.

“Did you tell Peter’s girlfriend?” she asks.

“At the funeral, yeah. Figured it might be better if she had her friends and sister around for support” you sigh, still shaken about what happened earlier in the week.

It was the worst feeling, being in the ER and seeing an ambulance arrive, thinking Quill might come down and tell you a joke or ask about your day, only to remember he was gone.

“Thank you for calling Wanda, by the way”

“Carol did” Darcy says and you choke on your soda, making her laugh. “Don’t worry, they were both playing nice”

“Right, well, I’ll thank her later”

“We want cookies, and by we, I mean me” she demands.

“I’ll see what I can do” you say, eating your burger with a smile. The minute Wanda knows Darcy loves her baked goods she’ll never stop sending her some, that’s how amazing she is.

After eating, Darcy and you find an on-call room to chill, each one in a bed.

Wanda: I’m at the mall.

Y/N: What are you getting, baby?

Wanda: Stuff

Wanda: Which one is better? Red or white?

You frown, not knowing if she’s refering to something in particular. And then she sends two pictures of lingerie sets, making you drop your phone in your face.

“Ew, are you sexting?” Darcy says, laughing as you rub the spot where your phone hit you.

“No. Gotta prep for surgery” you say, leaving in a hurry.

“Freak!” she shouts as you close the door.

Y/N: Both are… wow.

Y/N: But red. Definitely red.

You’re eager to get a reply, but you have a surgery to do.

While in the OR, you briefly forget about your conversation, teaching Kate how to do the procedure.

“Whose phone is ringing?” you say, after several notifications.

“That’s yours, Doc”

“Oh, sorry everyone” you laugh. “Kate, can you check what it is?”

The woman nods, reading from the previews in the lock screen.

“It says “Just got it”, a couple of pictures, and can’t wait for you to…”

“Aaah, that’s enough. Thank you, Doctor Bishop” you say, blushing. “Come back so you can watch the next part of the procedure”

When you finally get to see the photos she sent you’re about to call a crash cart for yourself.

You keep staring at the pictures revealing just a little bit of the top of the set on Wanda’s body.

This is the best day of your life.

You’re even tempted to just meet her at the soccer game and take her back to your car.

But, when the time comes, you behave, parking around the field and waving at the boys, who are warming up.

“Hey, you made it…” Wanda greets, looking adorable with a baseball cap and her hair lose. You don’t let her finish, crashing your lips against hers, hands on her waist.

“Tease” you say with a smile and she laughs.

“Come on, let’s sit over here”

She points to a bench that is under the shade of a tree. Most of the crowd in the field are other moms, cheering for their children.

“Wow, Tommy’s really fast” you say, watching as the kid sprints to get the ball. “Come on!”

You lift Wanda in the air as he scores a goal, yelling like he just won the World Cup.

“Did you see that? He was amazing! Two kids were after him and he managed to get past their defense” you say, standing up and approaching the edge of the field. Wanda laughs at how invested you become in the game, shouting your suggestions to the kids or cheering them on when they get the ball.

Coach Hill notices the new face among the crowd, appreciating the level of committment. Unlike other parents, you seem to know a thing or two about the sport.

As the game is about to end, one kid kicks the ball a little too hard, bouncing on another boy’s head. Everyone gasps and you run to the field.

“Hey, it’s ok” you calm him down as he touches the place where the ball hit him. “What’s your name?”

“Will”

“Will, hi. I’m Y/N”

“Excuse me” a woman kneels next to you. “That’s my son”

“Can I check him? I’m a doctor” you say, trying to ease her nerves.

“Ok”

You nod, helping him up and walking to the bleachers. Kneeling to be at eye level, you check his pupils, and ask him to follow your finger.

“Will, what day is today?”

“Friday”

“Can you repeat after me? Today is a sunny day”

“Today is a sunny day” he says without difficulty.

“And what are you gonna ask your mom for dinner? Because I’m pretty sure she’ll get you anything you want right now”

“McDonald’s!”

You laugh, standing up and turning to his mother.

“He’s fine, just ice the place where he got hit. If he’s nauseous or dizzy, take him to the doctor as soon as possible”

“Thank you so much…”

“Y/N” you offer your hand, and she takes it, making the contact last a little longer.

“Y/N. Could I have your phone number? Just in case I have questions” she says, hand going to squeeze your forearm.

“Sharon, I’m so happy Will is ok” Wanda comes to the rescue, her hand around your arm. “Lucky for you my girlfriend was here”

You smile at the word girlfriend, feeling like a teenager.

“Oh, you two?” Sharon says, gaping. Wanda smiles, but there’s a dangerous glint in her eyes. “Right! I should take Will home, he needs to rest”

“Ok, you do that. Feel better, sweetheart” Wanda waves at the boy, and then turns to you. “I hate Sharon”

“Don’t be jealous”

“I’m not!” she says too quickly for your liking. You smile and she rolls her eyes. “I have to find the boys, don’t get into more trouble”

“I won’t” you promise, smiling because Wanda is in fact, very jealous. You’re watching her walk away -and admiring how good she looks in a pair of jeans- when someone speaks behind you.

“Very impressive. I’m Coach Hill” the woman introduces herself and you give her your name. “Nice to see some new faces here. Especially people who know the game”

“Oh, I just watch the Women’s World Cup, that’s all”

“It’s better than the men’s” Maria says and you laugh, agreeing. “Would you be interested in helping out? Most parents just want to bring food to fundraising events, but it would be nice to have an assistant coach who also knows first aid”

You blink a few times, watching as Wanda approaches, walking behind Maria.

“Oh, well…”

“We could talk it over dinner”

Too late. Wanda tilts her head in that way that makes her look so dangerous (and hot)

“Y/N works so many hours, I’m not sure she has the bandwith. I can barely get her to myself most days, right baby?” she kisses your cheek, making you blush.

“Yeah, long hours at the hospital”

“My offer stands” the coach says, not backing out from a challenge. You wait until she’s away to turn to Wanda.

“Babe, I didn’t do anything! I promise I was just standing here…”

“There’s something you should know about me” Wanda interrupts, whispering hotly against your ear. “I don’t like to share”

“I…” you stutter when she looks into your eyes. Wanda holds your chin with her thumb and index finger.

“Is that understood?”

“Y-yes”

“Good girl” she smiles, kissing you, her tongue swiping across your bottom lip.

You have a dumb expression as she walks to her car.

“See you at home” she says, making sure everyone in the parking lot hears her.

You blush as Sharon eyes you with a smirk, and you sprint to your car before anyone else gets any crazy ideas. 

When you get home, Wanda is helping the kids set up their overnight bags while they shower.

“Can you drive them to their friend’s house? I have to do a couple of things here. You can take my car”

“Sure. I’ll shower and come back”

To your surprise, they’re both excited about the sleepover. You vividly remember hating those and your mom had to pick you up in the middle of the night more than once.

“Be good, ok? I’ll come get you tomorrow” Wanda asks. You check your phone for the address, noticing it’s a short distance.

“Are you and mom having a sleepover too?” Billy says and you smile.

“Yeah, we’ll probably watch movies and eat lots of candy” you joke, trying not to think about Wanda in lingerie. Not while you’re driving her children and your brain can malfunction in the middle of the road.

“I hope she doesn’t get sad because we’re gone” Tommy says as you wait for their friend to open up the door.

“I’ll take care of her for you. You just worry about having fun”

“Ok” they both nod, and you raise your hands for a high five.

On the way back, you get the wine and some tiramisu from a nice bakery downtown, thinking Wanda might appreciate the time alone to finish her errands.

After stopping at the gas station to fill up her tank, you head back, parking in her driveway and taking the stuff you bought inside.

“I’m back” you say, but are met with silence as you close the door. “Wanda?”

Slightly worried, you go up the stairs, making sure she knows you’re coming.

“Go ahead” she says as you knock on her door.

“Hey, you ok?” you say, stopping as soon as you take in the view before you.

Wanda, sitting at the edge of her bed, wearing the lingerie set she showed you before. The bed has rose petals scattered, and there are some candles lighting up the room.

“Is this too much? I just wanted it to be special” she says, standing up. You take a step forward, and the only thing you can do is kneel, admiring every inch of skin on display.

Wanda gasps, anticipation building up as she watches you run your hands up and down her thighs.

“I knew I was gonna have the best meal of my life tonight” you say, kissing her legs. She holds your shoulders as her knees shake, squeezing harder when your nose nudges her center, eager to taste her.

“Bed” is her only command and you nod, lifting her up in your arms and carrying her the short distance. You try to set her down gently, but she pulls you roughly as soon as her back hits the mattress.

When Wanda moves further down, she groans.

“Ouch, ouch, my ass”

“Your ass is great, baby”

“No” she protests, and you don’t know if she’s laughing or crying. “I have a thorn in my butt. I guess I didn’t remove all of them from the roses”

“Turn around” you ask, inspecting every inch of her delicious behind. “Ah, here it is. This will hurt a bit”

“Son of a bitch” Wanda says as you pull it out. You hold back a laugh, but can’t help yourself when she screams into a pillow. Annoyed at your mood, she throws it blindly behind her, completely missing.

“Babe, it’s ok. Just lay on your stomach for a bit and the pain will pass soon”

“I wanted this to be romantic. There’s nothing romantic about a thorny butt”

“Well, I don’t mind the view” you admit, enjoying how the position is accentuating the curve of her lower back, and the skimpy underwear allows you to admire her ass.

“You’re just trying to make me feel better” she mumbles against the duvet.

“Is that such a bad thing?” you ask, hovering over her, kissing behind her ear, down her neck and the space between her shoulders.

“I suppose not” she admits, holding back a moan.

“Let me take care of you, baby” you say, kissing and licking your way down her body. As you go further down, you kiss the inside of her thighs, around her center and anywhere but the place she needs the most.

Wanda enjoys a little too much the anticipation, her position keeping her from watching your next move. She grabs another pillow, hoping to squeeze it hard enough to keep her from screaming.

“Don’t hold back” you tsk, pushing her underwear aside and moaning at the view in front of you. She’s so wet and ready and how you wished you had some of the toys you enjoy using so much, just to stretch her. But for now, all you need is to taste her, so you dart your tongue out, small licks flicking the bundle of nerves until Wanda whimpers, moving her hips against your face, begging for more.

You hold her hips in place, and give in to her silent request, going deeper and licking up and down, enjoying how erratic her movements get when she’s close to the edge.

“Don’t stop” she pleads when you crawl back up, kissing her back, leaving some of her juices glistening on her beautiful skin.

“Baby, I want to ask you something” you whisper in her ear. “Do you ever touch yourself?”

“I…” she tries to create some friction with her legs.

“Answer me”

“Yes”

“Do you use any toys?” you ask, one of your hands traveling to her center, rubbing gently.

“Yes” she says, this time a little out of breath.

“Want to use one right now?”

“I just want you” she pleads, burying her face between her arms, flushed and taken aback by her own desire.

“You’re doing so good for me. If it’s too much just tell me, promise?”

“Mhm” she nods, her breathing getting faster as she feels your hands pulling down her underwear, the cold air hitting her pussy.

“God, you’re so hot” you say, your thumb going down to gently tease her clit, suspecting Wanda was too sensitive.

After a few minutes of massaging her clit, she begins to sigh and moan, moving her hips. It doesn’t take long for her to ask exactly what she wants.

“More, please”

“Is this ok?” you say, teasing her entrance with one of your fingers. Wanda doesn’t answer, moaning and panting instead. “Lift your legs a little bit for me, can you do that?”

Wanda nods, spreading her legs and leaning on her knees so her ass is slightly elevated. You lay on your back, allowing her to straddle your face and leaving enough room to finger her.

“You taste amazing” you say, pulling her down so she’s almost sitting on your face. You hear Wanda moan, but you’re too focused on the slick that’s dripping down her cunt and all over your chin.

When you feel like she’s ready, you begin to massage her clit, while two of your fingers are swallowed by her pussy. She’s tight, but seems to enjoy it, moaning loudly when you move inside of her.

“Yes, fuck, please keep going” Wanda says, moving her hips faster.

“Look at you, so full and ready. Can’t wait to fuck you with my dick” you say, getting wet at the idea.

“I’m so close” she mumbles, and you feel her pussy clenching around your fingers, making it hard for you to move.

Wanda switches positions when she moves, making you go deeper and you know you’re hitting the right spot when she cries, holding on to the duvet and crying out as she comes around your fingers and your mouth.

You keep her in place, enjoying the feeling of her cunt pulsing around your fingers. Waiting until she relaxes, you pull out, smiling as she complains.

You climb back up, laying next to her. Wanda’s eyes are closed, her breathing erratic as she comes down from her high. Once she opens her eyes, you smile.

“Hey, gorgeous”

“That was…”

“Mhm” you nod, kissing her so she can taste herself. “Told you, just let me take care of you”

“Give me a second and I can… we can do it again. You haven’t come…”

“I’m fine” you shake your head. “That was extremely hot and your pleasure is mine. Just take your time”

“I love you” she says, kissing you once again, her mind still foggy from the orgasm.

“I love you too” you smile against her lips, eager to worship every inch of her body and show her how much more she can feel.

—

Light seeps through curtains and you open your eyes, looking around. Wanda’s scent is in the sheets, the pillows and the air around you.

Sadly, she’s missing from the bed and you stretch, ready to look for her and talk her into coming back.

Your button up shirt is nowhere to be found, so you take the tank top that was discared the night before and go down the stairs.

The sight that greets you is heavenly.

Wanda is humming along a Sinatra song, pouring some pancake mix in a pan. What makes it so special is how she’s wearing your shirt, that is obviously too big on her.

You’re not sure if she’s wearing panties underneath that, but you’re eager to find out.

“You scared me” she laughs when she feels you against her back.

“And you weren’t in bed when I woke up” you say, kissing her neck.

“I wanted to surprise you with breakfast”

“I am hungry” you mutter against her skin, moving her hair aside to get better access.

“Oh” she says, leaning against you. You make her walk back all the way to the kitchen counter, switching your bodies so she’s in front of you.

As you kiss her lips, your hand goes down her body, checking that she is in fact wearing underwear.

“Mmm, you’re overdressed” you say, pulling them down.

“What are you doing?” Wanda stutters, feeling your fingers teasing softly against her entrance.

“Want me to stop?”

“No. I just don’t want the pancakes to burn” she moans and stutters as you gather some of her slick in your digits.

“I better hurry, then” you say, kneeling before her.

Not wasting any time, you start eating her out like it’s your last meal, tongue flattening against her pussy. Wanda pulls your hair, riding your face and reaching back to hold herself steady against the counter.

“You’re just so fucking delicious” you say, desperate to feel more, placing one of her legs over your shoulder to get better access.  As you dive in again, Wanda holds on to your shoulders and pulls your hair, too lost in her pleasure. Your tongue moves in circles around her clit, and you let her ride your face as her orgasm approaches, until Wanda is moaning and panting, finishing with a whine.

“So good for me” you say, standing up and holding her in your arms as she leans against you, her legs unsteady after coming so hard. “All good, baby?”

“More than good” she says, her head lifting to look into your eyes, and you share a lazy kiss, Wanda moaning as she tastes herself. “I love you”

“Love you too” you say, kissing her nose.

“Still hungry?”

“I could definitely have some of those delicious pancakes”

“Coming right up” she says, walking back to the stove. You look at the sway of her hips and spank her, unable to help yourself.

“Amazing” you sigh after the first bite.

“Did you sleep ok?”

“Yeah, I can sleep anywhere and nothing will wake me up, except the sound of my pager. It’s like a Pavlovian response”

“Glad to hear that” she smiles, and you decide to tease her a little bit.

“Yeah, I guess it’s a good thing because you snore”

“I do not”

“Babe, you do” you laugh, and Wanda glares at you. “It’s ok, I think it’s adorable”

She rolls her eyes, and changes the subject. After breakfast, you both go to pick up the twins, and they’re telling you everything they did.

“I hope you didn’t stay up too late” Wanda says.

“We didn’t. But Adam was so loud, he snores. Like you do, Mama” Billy says and you have to hold back your laughter.

“See? I told you you snore” you say when she pinches your arm.

“How do you know my mom snores?” Tommy says, and you blush, the smug gring leaving your face.

“Yeah, Y/N, how do you know?” Wanda says, giggling when you look back at the twins, eager to change the subject.

“We should go to the movies today!”

“Yeah” they agree.

“Well played” Wanda nods, finally getting back home. “Hey, get your bags” she says as the kids try to sneak back home. “That’s more like it”

Billy plops dow on the couch while Tommy greets every piece of furniture. Wanda leans against the doorframe, enjoying the bit and you join her, kissing her temple.

“It’s nice to be home” he says, laying next to his brother.

“Yeah. It is” you agree, looking at Wanda with complete adoration.

You’re both home.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Taiwan has one show, but that's all they need

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

April 2024 Wk 1

Ongoing Series - Thai

Two Worlds (Thurs IQIYI) ep 4 of 10 - I don’t say this often but I LOVE this love triangle. The longing gazes = chef's kiss. I like that we are finally getting flashbacks to Tai’s side of the love affaire. This show remains highly engaging. So pleased for MaxNat.  

Deep Night (Thurs iQiyi) ep 5 of 8 - More lesbians! Yay! Meanwhile, when our leads make up they make out! (Yes I’m proud of myself.) I think this might be BLs first rooftop sex scene. We’ve reached new heights, BLabies. (Yes I’m proud of that too.) Anygay, basically a soap opera at this point, I'm not thrilled but I don’t mind.

"Do you apologize for being straight?"

City of Stars (Fri iQIYI) ep 10 of 12 - It was lovely. Very well done celebrity leaving the closet ep. Nice ensemble work too. Next week is doom! As expected. 

Only Boo! (Sun YouTube) ep 1 of 12 - New main couple for GMMTV in an idol romance about a boy who dances good and a food stand vendor. It’s fine but overly very pulp feeling for something from GMMTV. I'm a little concerned.

1000 Years Old (Thurs iQIYI) ep 8 of 12 - meh.

To Be Continued (Sat C3 Thailand grey) ep 7 of 8 - Never turned up on my usual sites. So will have to wait until next week. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Unknown (Taiwan Tues YouTube & Viki) ep 7 of 11 - Qian was, indeed, the one who couldn’t let go. This show is fucking fantastic. It's the best thing I'm watching right now by a mile.

Jazz for Two (Korea Gaga/grey) eps 3-8fin - The bully and the blue-haired drummer side pairing were great. I hated the father. Hated him so much. Our main tsundere seme was a bit too tsundere for me. I was v annoyed by the time he finally softened. I'm amused by all the ways they finagled boys kissin-but-not-kissing in the first half of this show. 2024's "pan around the back of the head" has now become a "dipping of the brolly." We did, however, eventually get an okay kiss.

Honestly?

This was basically what I wanted from Given and didn’t get. So I’m pleased. The music still wasn't great, but you can skip those bits. A solid enemies to lovers BL, where the sins of brothers' past haunts the present. Great optics, decent chemistry, and a tidy script even if tsundere characterization went a bit extreme in some cases. 8/10 RECOMMENDED trigger for suicide

Love is Better the Second Time Around AKA Koi wo Suru nara Nidome ga Joto (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 5 of 6 - We got the past betrayal in detail and it was decently bad. Bitterness understood. Too soon to live together! The BL U-Haul strikes again. I do like their weird curry passive aggressive argument. This is an interesting show. Do I LOVE it? No. But I think I like it.

On a not-really-related note: adoption, including adult adoption, is actually pretty common in Japan (comparatively). It's often tied to business scionism.

My Strawberry Film (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 8fin - It all turned out to be a tragic GL in the end. Not BL = not my problem. No rating. I will forget its existence right about… now. 

Love is like a Cat (Korea Mon Viki) eps 1-2 of 12 - Okay, weirdly kinky with the head scratching. Not much has happened and I’m not wild about what has. 

It's done, ready to binge, but I suck

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps

It's airing but...

We Are (Weds GMMTV iQIYI) ep 1 of 16 - University ensemble BL featuring PondPhuwin, WinnySatang, AouBoom, MarcPawinPoon - basically the good kind of messy gay friendship group (so more My Engineer and less Only Friends). Looks a bit like the Kiss series but everyone is queer. I'm IN but I need my other computer and I'm traveling as usual. So I'll get caught up next week and probably won't regularly be able to watch this one.

Graduation Countdown (Taiwan YouTube) - It's too much for me to keep up with 2 minute verticals, I don't have that kind of TikTok endurance training.

A Secretly Love (Thai Sat WeTV grey) 10 eps - Completed. Worth watching?

Lady Boy Friends (Thai WeTV grey) 16 eps - reminds me a bit too much of Diary of Tootsies only high school. Not my thing. DNF unless it turns a corner and is truly amazing.

Kiseki Chapter 2 (Sun iQIYI) 6 eps - It’s so boring DNFed at 2.

Close Friend Season 3: Soju Bomb! (Weds iQIYI) 6 - The problem with situational comedy BL is it must be situational, comedic and a BL. This show gets 1 of 3 claims correct. 33% is not a passing grade. Dropped at 3.

In the news

Takumi-kun Series 6: Nagai Nagai Monogatari is getting the undeserved honor of Furritsubs. Follow them for details. Tip 'em if you like 'em. (Will I watch it? Oh, probably. Damn it.)

Then Next Prince turned out to be a trailer only. Word on the webs is we will be lucky if we get it this year. It’s BL Princess Diaries. Jimmy has a new pairing (that boy from Night Dream) which is... interesting. All in all, this show does not look good. Pretty but not good.

Next Week Looks Like This:

4/11 Gray Shelter AKA Gray Currents (Korea ????) 4 eps - SooHyuk is only just surviving and reunites with YoonDae, an old friend. They end up living together. One of the leads is played by Choco of Choco Milk Shake.

4/12 Living With Him AKA Kare no Iru Seikatsu (Japan Gaga) 10 eps - Kindly Ryota goes off to uni only to find his new roommate is his childhood bestie, Kazuhito. Kazuhito doesn’t have a girlfriend and Ryota tries to help him figure out why, they fall in love along the way. Same director as Old Fashion Cupcake.

Still to Come in April

4/18 At 25:00, in Alaska AKA 25 Ji, Akasaka de (Japan Gaga) 10 eps - Yuki lands his first starring role in a BL drama alongside superstar Asami (previously his senior at uni). Said superstar suggests they form a sham relationship until filming concludes. As they actually begin to fall in love, the spotlight begins to burn. I think I've seen this before (joke) and also the trailer doesn't inspire confidence.

4/26 My Stand-In (Thai iQIYI) 12 eps - adaptation of Chinese novel "Professional Body Double" by Shui Qiang Cheng. Stars Up (Lovely Writer) and Poom (Bake Me Please) directed by the same team as KP (not a recommendation IMHO - my biggest criticism of that show was the clashing directing styles). This one looks well complicated, lemme try: Joe is a stuntman for famous actor Tong. Joe falls in love with Ming but Ming sees Joe as nothing more than a Tong-replacement. After learning this horrible truth, Joe dies. Joe then wakes up in the body of another man also named Joe. He manages to rebuild the same life as before—with the same people eventually re-meeting Ming. Ming wants Joe back but Joe doesn't understand why. But Ming seems to know what's going on and wants to give him some kind of explanation.

I'm exhausted just trying to describe the plot.

Knock-Knock Boys (Thai WeTV) - 4 college friends conspire to help their friend lose his virginity. Familiar faces like Seng (yes, Billy's previous partner) and Best, news here.

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

NOTE: It looks like one of my personal favorites of last year Unintentional Love Story is getting a spin off!

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

See City of Stars & Unknown.

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are too much work.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire

If ya wanna be tagged each week leave a comment and I will add you to the template. Easy peesy.

[theemporium]

click 'here' to unlock the other boyfriends!

.

It was a well-known fact that Lando Norris was an affectionate guy. 

He couldn’t help himself, it was just something that came so naturally to him. From throwing himself onto his team after a podium finish to wrapping people in tight hugs, from tilting his head towards fans in photos to slumping against people in between long meetings when he needed a few moments to doze off. 

It was like his energy just thrived off of touch. He liked being around people, he liked being able to show them his appreciation and love because he was never really good with words. He liked being able to show the important people in his life what they meant to him—actions showing more than words and all that jazz. 

And he was pretty affectionate with his friends too, that was nothing new. 

But with you? Yeah, nobody was believing for a damn second that anything between you and Lando was just platonic.

You didn’t get it at first. You didn’t think he treated you any differently to how he did with his other friends. He hugged you the same way, threw his arm over you the same way, tugged you close the same way. He would lean his body against yours when he laughed a little too hard and his head would drop on your lap during movie nights, humming when you would scratch his scalp. 

But he did that with other people too. You weren’t anything special.

Except you were—it just took both you and Lando a stupidly long time to see what everyone else saw for months. And even once you spotted it, it wasn’t something you were rushing to tell the world. You wanted something to just be yours for a little bit—your little secret. 

You genuinely didn’t think people would even notice a shift in your relationship. You didn’t even think you acted all that differently from the months you and Lando were just friends, other than the bonus of making out with him at movie nights. 

“It’s been a while, chat. I’ve missed this.” 

Lando watched as the comments rolled in, filling up his screen so fast that he barely had time to catch more than a few words from each comment. And it was the truth. Streaming had become such a stress relief and easy pass-time in between race weekends. It was something simple and fun for him to do, to feel connected to the people who support him. In a weird way, it made him feel useful during his time off when there were no meetings to attend or data to review. 

It was something to do between training sessions.

“Hm, my plans? Mate, I just got off a triple header. My plans include moving as little as possible,” Lando said with an easy smile on his face, making no move to pick a game to play. There was no rush. “Although, I did invite—”

“Where’s my favourite P2 dickhead?!” 

His grin widened. “There she is.”

Lando turned in his chair, waiting a few moments as he listened to you drop your stuff by the door before you made your way into the room he was currently sitting in. You barrelled in, your smile almost as wide as his before you noticed the set up he had.

“You really invited me over while you were streaming?” You snorted, shaking your head but you didn’t have any complaints as you moved to sit on a couch near his desk. 

“No,” Lando whined as he reached out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he tugged you towards him. “I haven’t seen you in three weeks, it’s cruel to sit on the other side of the room.”

“Well, where else am I meant to sit?” You teased. “I keep telling you to get another chair in—-oh.”

You tried to hide your own surprise when Lando pulled you down onto his lap. It wasn’t the first time he had ever done it, and you highly doubted it would be the last, but he had never done it with so many people watching. 

He didn’t settle until his arms were wrapped around you, your body pressed against his before he practically nuzzled his face against your shoulder. “Better.”

Your face felt warm. “Someone’s clingy.” 

“I haven’t seen my best friend in three weeks,” Lando huffed, his brows furrowed together as though he was reliving the last three weeks. Between the races, training and media chaos, he barely had any time to himself—let alone time to talk to you. “Sue me.”

“Oh, he’s sassy and clingy,” you teased but didn’t say much else as you shifted until you were sideways on his lap, giving him a clear view of his screen. Your arm wound around his shoulder, your fingers twirling the curls at the nape of his neck. 

user: friends my ass, look at them!!

user: they are so cute!!

user: are they dating??

user: MY OTP!!!! 

user: clingy lando is the best lando

user: they are literal couple goals 

user: they are my fav ship 

Lando’s eyes scanned over the comments before he snorted, though there was something quite smug in his expression. “Ship? Like friendship? Aw, thanks.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re a fucking menace, Norris.”

“Language,” he teasingly scolded, lightly pinching your hip just out of view of the camera but the squeal you let out in response told the viewers enough. “Gotta keep it kid-friendly in here. Max is probably watching from home. We can’t scar the poor kid.”

max fewtrell: too late for that, mate

You shook your head, lips pressed together to hold back your laughs. You shifted in the seat, like you were ready to stand up but his arms tightened around you.

Lando’s face softened. “Where are you going? Stay here.”

“I was gonna go make something,” you said with a soft laugh. “God knows you’ve probably not eaten a proper meal since you got back.”

“Eh,” he grumbled but he didn’t relent his grip on you. “It’s fine, we can order something. Just stay here.”

“I’ll only be in the other room,” you attempted but the boy wasn’t having it.

“No, I prefer you here,” Lando said, squeezing your body to punctuate his point. “And the chat missed you too. It would be rude if you left.”

“This can’t be comfy for you,” you murmured, your voice a little softer in hopes the microphone wouldn’t pick it up.

But Lando just grinned at you—that wide, huge grin that took over his face and made his eyes crinkle and sent a flurry of butterflies through your stomach. 

“You’re exactly where I want you, baby.” 

And you couldn’t help but smile back. 

user: BABY??????

user: OH MY GOD IT’S CONFIRMED 

user: THIS IS SO KEWBFJWEKFBWE

max fewtrell: you’re such a fucking idiot 

max fewtrell: but happy for you guys<3

.

[yandere-sins]

Wriothesley didn't smile much.

Occasionally, he felt his features being torn into a grimace of faux pleasantry, his eyes as cold as the sea that his prison lay beneath while he bared his teeth to pretend a mood he wasn't in. People liked it when he appeared friendly before them; he felt nothing. Only the most perceptive amongst them would have noticed his smiles never reaching his eyes. And those few knew better than to run their mouths. There simply wasn't much to smile about when he kept himself busy by dealing with the problems and conflicts that kept rising around him. No matter how hard he worked, he always woke to a new day of challenges. It was how he wanted it, as it allowed him to forget the memories he didn't want to ponder.

And though Meropide forged unique relationships amongst its prisoners, the same couldn't be said about Wriothesley.

Even respected and, occasionally, admired by others, his life was more lonesome than it would seem to some. Good company was hard to come by when he spent all his time below the surface, running his prison and enjoying tea in his office with only his own thoughts to listen to. Every day was bittered by the uncertainty of the future he never thought he'd live to see. That same bitterness robbed him of genuine smiles to decorate his face with.

That was until you came along.

If he was the gasoline keeping the machines working, you were the match setting them ablaze. If he was the hot water to make his tea, you were the sugar sweetening his day. There was no friendly banter to have with you, no matter how little Wriothesley cared for the cold shoulder and snarky rejections you gave him every time he sought you out. And yet, the thought of seeing you again was enough to put a spring in his step, his lips parting in a grin more becoming of a little boy than a grown man.

Undoubtedly, you'd be there, in his office, sorting through his paperwork or glowering at the tea cups as you counted down the seconds the leaves needed to seep. You were meticulous like that, although Wriothesley would have drunk straight-up poison if you had served it. He knew you would welcome him with a sigh and your attention diverted towards other matters than him—you liked the credit coupons way too much that this work earned you. It was a privileged position, and you sought after any work Wriothesley handed you, even if you harbored no other feelings but indifference for the 'Duke'.

But how could he not adore you?

It had been a while since Wriothesley felt as alive as he did when he met you. You might have turned down any offer to join him for a meal (on his dime, mind you) or to give you a paid day off. Still, the way you fretted over a minor, completely irrelevant mistake you made was too adorable to send you away. He loved your serious ways, loved your hardworking mindset. He kept replaying your focused expression and grimaces in his head, chuckling into the darkness while he laid in bed at night.

There was no particular reason his heart chose you. Or perhaps his heart chose you, which made the reason special? But either way, he watched you over the edge of the report he should have been reviewing. Watched your hand guiding the feather over the paper you were working on, wishing you'd come over and hold his hand instead.

Wriothesley observed how you furrowed your brows tensely, wondering if you'd let him massage the tension away. He caught the way you nibbled at your lips, wishing he'd be able to have a taste of them instead. Working with you was torture. Torture he enjoyed a little too much.

"You're going to stare a hole through that paper, your grace," you noted, not even looking up at him as you spoke. You two weren't on the best terms since you still hated him after he thwarted your plans to escape the prison. But the way you called him by the respectful title he didn't care about didn't send a shiver down his spine because of the vitriol you spat it with. The grin curling the corners of his lips was evidence of that, but Wriothesley quickly hid it behind his hand, clearing his throat.

He went to grab his cup of tea, but it was already empty. The sinking feeling of disappointment curled in his stomach as he realized what this meant.

"It's past your work hours," he reminded you, secretly hoping you'd not care. It was past his work hours, too, but he'd rather sit in silence with you, working, than at home with only the memory to keep him company.

"You're right," you noted, no indications of your next move from the sound of your voice. Would you stay? Would you leave? You kept scribbling the itemization he had you create, and a glimmer of hope lit his world up. That was, until you set down the feather, gathered your documents, and created order on your table that Wriothesley had squeezed into his pretty crowded office.

Before you could say anything, he had gotten up, standing even before you did. "I will see you out," he explained as you glared at him, knowing fully well that with his gaze so strangely fixated on you, his reaction was not normal. And it wasn't, not when it made his heart beat incredibly fast, Wriothesley hoping you couldn't hear it break out of his ribcage the closer he got to you.

"My, someone's in a hurry," you commented snidely, and Wriothesley's grin jerked back into place. "Are you invited on a date or something...?"

"Depends," he started, quickly catching his composure after the initial surprise over your question. Was it jealousy, perhaps? A man could dream. "Are you free tonight?"

Taking a quick step forward, he stopped you in your tracks, coming to a halt in front of you. You two stared at each other in silence, displeasure written over your face that was just inches away from his. Your breath caressed him, swirls of your scent fogging his mind. Wriothesley could have leaned forward, abused this situation in ways unbecoming of his position. Risking it all just to brush his lips against yours. But his heart might have burst into a million pieces had he done so. Instead, he stood and waited, hoping for you to be the first to break the charade of your hatred. Give him the signals he so desperately hoped for.

Maybe it was all false after all. Perhaps you felt even just the smallest piece of love for him, too.

But instead, you rolled your eyes as you pushed past him, gesturing for him to go down the stairs first. He was your superior, after all, although he would rather squeeze up next to you than walk before you. Even if his heart clenched with your simple and justified rejection, it was unthinkable he'd miss out on the chance to walk beside you and watch you like a hawk until the very end.

"Funny," you finally replied, and it brought the heat to his face as you complimented him. Wriothesley was not trying to be funny by asking you out—again—but he'd take what he could. "But I fear I'm too busy for that. I'd rather get out of this prison faster than waste my time."

The laugh that escaped him was one he had practiced for years, barely distinguishable from a real one. It covered the hurt of your rejection and the fear of losing you. Inside this prison, he had the power to keep you by his side. But outside of it? His reach didn't go much further than these walls.

"You're very optimistic about your time here. How refreshing."

It was rare that you smiled in his presence. In fact, Wriothesley seemed to cause your mood to sour with the whisper of his name alone. So when it was your turn to grin, he noticed it immediately. He watched your lips curl in awe as if you were bestowing him with a blessing rather than your pity.

"It's already been a year, your grace. And don't try to tell me my behavior wasn't anything but perfect. I don't think my sentence will be much longer than what I've been given after the escape."

Time slowed as you moved forward, passing Wriothesley as his steps halted. You noticed quickly when his shoulder stopped bumping into yours, standing still at the bottom of the staircase before turning around.

"Don't tell me you thought I'd always be here."

Of course, he didn't. He knew your time would come. But not so soon... had it really been a year already?

"I'm glad for you," he mumbled, more out of reflex than from his heart. Wriothesley only ever strived to have his prisoners redeem themselves, but did that really mean he had to let you go? "Your hard work will be missed."

"I'm sure," you replied, turning back to the door before heaving open the heavy metal as he trudged after you slowly. The news hit him like a fist to his face, breaking, shattering. But it was his heart that received the blow. Perhaps in all this time, he enjoyed himself a little too much by your side, the end of your sentence seemingly so far away. And now that you were slipping out of his grasp, the panic began to fester—feelings he could not control.

"As always," you suddenly chimed up, and although his eyes didn't stray from you, Wriothesley noticed you two were no longer alone, activating the false persona you liked to display in front of strangers. It always made him feel special that you didn't put it up before him, but right now, he wished the conversation wouldn't be interrupted. That he had time to convince you to stay here. With him.

"It was a pleasure working with you, your grace. I look forward to our next meeting. Don't let me keep you!"

And with a smile and a wave, you bounced off to enjoy your evening. Away from him. Happy without him.

Wriothesley could barely pull himself together to greet the prisoner who walked up to him. The man tried to get his attention, but Wriothesley watched you disappear into the crowd even long after you were gone.

"Your grace!" the man suddenly yelled right next to his ear, and although it was not as angelic and beautiful as what came from your lips, it tore him right out of his thoughts.

"That person," the man mumbled, pointing the way you left and indicating he was talking about you. He leaned in closer to whisper, and Wriothesley curled his hands into fists, holding back from punching him after he dared mention you. "There's something I have to tell you about."

"Sure," Wriothesley said, wincing at his own soundless answer. He couldn't help the annoyance that someone knew something about you that he didn't. But he'd listen and learn.

"To say it frankly, they've not been conducting themselves properly. Many of us have suffered from their actions, and now that they will be released, I think we should speak up about their misdeeds."

Oh, Wriothesley thought, the tension falling off him. He raised his hand to pat the man's back, inviting him inside his office. Wriothesley couldn't pretend not to be happy, a gentle smile creeping over his face. It was a little less fake than any other smile he had given the countless prisoners around here, but the real ones were still only reserved for you. "These are some serious accusations. How about we take your statement inside?"

He sent the man inside, looking back into the crowd aimlessly for the sight of you before he shut the door. You were somewhere out there, still thinking you'd get to go home soon. Wriothesley smiled. Unless there was a reason as to why you'd need to stay.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

"It's good to see you again."

It was impossible to wipe away the big smile off his face as you stood before him, frowning deeply.

"I'm really, truly sorry that your sentence has been prolonged. But alas, it will be nice to work by your side once again."

He watched with the greatest satisfaction as you bit your lip, the thought of kissing you right on the mark popping into his head again. However, fear crossed his features as he noticed you didn't stop, even as it started to bleed. Wriothesley wondered how your blood tasted before he focused back on the situation at hand. He knew you had to hold back every inch of your being to not scream and cry and shout at him, although he would have liked to be given a reason to shut you up—any way necessary.

You knew fully well he was the one signing your final sentence. Buying and selling illegal goods didn't warrant another five years of imprisonment. But your conduct had been too good to push for the ten years Wriothesley wanted—believe him, he fought hard for justice that day. Even Neuvillette was surprised that Wriothesley was so intensely interested in your redemption. However, the Ludex still went against the pleading of an old yet desperate and needy friend and just gave you five.

It was disappointing, but Wriothesley didn't plan on letting the time he had been given go to waste.

Picking up his cup, he held it out to you, giving you a gentle, reassuring smile that reflected nothing of the malice he had to harbor to get you to stay. After all, he was delighted, thoroughly pleased even. The day had only just begun and his mood was already through the roof just having you back in his office again.

"Cup of tea?" he asked innocently. Your eyes dropped to the cup, a hint of uncertainty about why he was treating you so kindly even though you misstepped again.

"On it," you mumbled, taking the cup from his hand, your fingers brushing over his, feeling much too soft for such a bad criminal as you were. But before he could imagine those fingers wrapped into his hair and clothes in an intense make-out session, you shocked him as you whispered, "Thank you, your grace," as if to thank him for not kicking you out from this job that definitely benefitted you. You were still snide, still angry you had to do it in the first place. But apparently, a part of you recognized his innocence as goodwill. At least, he could make himself believe that besides the perceived snark.

Off you went to brew some tea, standing barely ten meters from him. But at least with your back turned, you missed the heat spreading over Wriothesley's face, into the tip of his ears and across his cheeks. And even when you turned back, the hand clasped over his mouth didn't give away the genuine smile of adoration he couldn't seem to wipe off his face. Wriothesley would enjoy the time spent with you, day after day, waiting for you to make another mishap so you'd have a reason to stay with him forever. Otherwise, Wriothesley was sure he'd find another way to keep you all to himself.

But for now, he'd start by making you smile at him first.

[artinvain]

Sevika's reaction to her girlfriend cumming untouched from eating her out AAAAA pulling out my hair bangin on the walls I'm so normal for her I have nothing else to say I'm just vibrating at unimaginable speeds

fuuuckk thank u - been watching the bear so in keeping with that — we have chef!sevika

angst, fluff, smut, degradation, dom!sevika, oral (sevika receiving) after care, drugs (weed).

being a chef at one of piltover’s five star restaurants could kill sevika. sure she was strong physically, and she could hide her pain, but in the kitchen she was vulnerable. in the kitchen she was young again, clinging to her mother’s legs as she baked this thing or the other.

so when the head chef had told her that she had disappointed him with her fucking choux? to say she was devastated was an understatement. how did she fuck up a pastry she’s been making since she started culinary school almost a decade ago.

he went in on her, about her ethic — “you gave yourself too much to do again, you do not delegate and that does not work in our kitchen’s brigade.”

jesus christ he was worse than usual today. she tried to focus on folding in her pastry, thinking about; the eggs she had going low over vinegar, the last meal review — there were bones in a bake and she had shit on jinx for overlooking something so simple. and yet here she was, fucking up a choux. she could feel bile in her throat.

“Yes, chef,” sevika replied, restarting her batter and taking a deep breath,

“and when was the last time you did quick checks?”

“twenty three minutes go, chef,”

“for this event? for brunch sevika are you incompetent now?” he asks slamming his hand down on the hard metal of her island, “do you not know how quickly breakfast foods go? you need checks every ten chef,”

“yes, chef,”

“but here you are doing a choux a second time, something so simple you could do it asleep,”

“sorry chef,” sevika says, she couldn’t explain herself even if she wanted to. there was no conversation with silco — he talks and sevika listens, learns and adapts.

“we’re wasting piltover resources on undercity scum for charity we do not pay for fucking incompetence,” silco says so loudly the kitchen goes quiet for a moment. sevika can’t hear or see anything anymore. can’t hear silco asking her how she got into this industry, why she thought she was good enough. told her that she would never be good enough.

“are you fucking mute?” silco asks.

“no chef,” sevika says void of emotion.

“they chose you, despite my protestations. yes you are creative - but you have no work ethic” chef silco rounds her station,

“I’ll do better chef,” sevika says starting to pipe her choux, these were perfect.

“and here you are, disappointing me, as expected. but what do I know, right?”

there are people glancing nervously, they liked sevika, they were a family when silco wasn’t around and spent months trying to convince her that they loved her, regardless of where she came from which was “pretty fucking cool” according to them. they had finally started to get her to believe that she wasn’t a good chef she was great, one of the best — all that work undone in a moment.

sevika spent hours after her shift fucking up the punching bag at the gym, by the time she’s home — she’d cried for over an hour in the gym shower and now she was kind of just pissed. she didn’t want to feel small or afraid. she was a good chef — inside she knew that. she made a mistake and she couldn’t afford any inconsistency, it gave her heart palpitations. she wanted to be respected, revered, praised and when she enters your shared home she knows you’ll give yourself over to her in that way, you always do.

when she crawls into your bed, you put down your book and start to scratch through her damp hair and kiss her forehead, you can tell from the look on her face. “bad day?” you ask gently as she pulls you over her lap to straddle her lap. she rubs her hands over your thighs, grunting when you roll your hips and she smacks your ass. you’re stunning, sitting above her in her sweater, it’s falling off your shoulder and she feels your neck is too clean so she sits up to lick and kiss and suck on your neck so she can hear your pretty moans.

“promise, I’ll make it better,” you yelp and your breath hitches when she smacks your ass. you pull her face toward hers and kiss her feverently, licking into her mouth and moaning as she sucks on your tongue.

she pants into your mouth, her arms around her, guiding you to grind down on her. kisses you, her lips tasting and biting and sucking yours.

“get on your knees for me baby,” sevika pants, watching you kneel between her legs, moaning when you arch your back. you bend down so you’re nuzzling her mound, your ass on display for her. and she’s got a wet spot on her boxers, “yeah,” sev moans — “boxers off” she pants as you kiss her through her underwear, instead - teasing sucking and moaning around her clit.

“get them off, now sweetpea or you won’t cum for a week,” sevika nods “good girl,” when you scramble your remove her underwear and she whimpers when you face her cunt, warm and leaking as your dip your fingers through her lips, the soft hair of her mound against your cheek.

“please,” you gasp out, near burying your face between her legs but tittering on the edge - waiting for permission.

“I don’t know if you deserve it,” she tuts, a hand in your hair, tugging gently and keeping your head away from her pussy — all she wants it so suffocate you with her cunt but god did she love to hear you beg. “tell me you want me, beg to eat me out,”

“want to make you feel good sevika, please I need it, makes me feel good tasting you,”

“fuck you’re pathetic, so needy for my cunt aren’t you,”

you moans and kiss and suck her inner thighs,

“need to see you cum. please you take such good care of me — of everything, want you to feel good,” you whimper as sevika whispers out praise, “what a pretty slut I have — so needy just to get me off.”

sevika guides your face towards her cunt and — “come on be a good, dumb little fuck toy and eat my pussy baby,” you whine, your hips sharply meeting the bed, your body going weak as you taste her. her soft, wet pussy lips rubbing on your cheeks as you lick into her, going to suck on her clit after running your tongue up and down her slit, tasting her sweet and tart cunt.

“god, yeah good — jus like that,” she’s already on edge, so pent up, her back is tightening when you moan around her, she looks down and sees that you’re rutting against the bed, grinding on the sheets between your thighs as you eat her. “fuck, so riled up huh? you need this as much as I do - don’t you honey? yeah, christ just like that,” she groans when you dip your tongue into her leaking hole.

“fuck you’re such a slut, getting off on making me feel good — so needy for me,” she moans, cupping the back of your head and holding you to her as you start to suck and roll your tongue against the underside of her clit. “fuck lemme - let me fuck y-your face just a little baby,” she huffs “stick your tongue out for me, wanna use your mouth just a little,” sevika moans loudly as you whimper around her clit and she starts to buck her hips against your face.

sevika groans, her hips near lifting off the bed as she grips your head and guides your mouth, bobbing your head as you suck on her clit, moaning at the sounds of you slurping at her, whimpering against her.

“so good baby,” sevika moans “so good letting me use you like this, my perfect girl,” she whimpers you shift up a little bit, her thighs resting on your shoulders. you twitch, your thighs twisting together as you salivate on her pussy, pulling her close the feeling of the soft sheets on your clit, your lacy panties rubbing your swollen nub. your head is dizzy, her taste leaking into your mouth you swallow gratefully and moan, your hips twitching.

“oh my god, loot at you, actually fucking getting off, shit baby, you’re the prettiest slut I’m so lucky to have you,” she moans and you whine your nails biting into her thighs, you look up at sevika meeting her hooded eyes, “I love you baby,” she moans and your eyes roll back in your head as you cum.

seeing you cum all from eating her out, the feeling your you licking and sucking her cunt, your tongue rolling against her as she controls your movements, controls your pleasure. fuck, she’s cumming — holding your head in place she’s riding your face, hot white pleasure warming her body.

“f-fingers, fingers!” she whines when you sink two fingers into her and curl until you’re rubbing the perfect spot, fucking into her until she’s squirting, wetting your face and leaking down onto the sheets, you’re moaning and sucking at her clit and drinking all her pussy offers until she’s pushing your head away from oversensitivity, moaning when you resist her and keep fucking your fingers into her, sucking gently on her clit.

“fucking brat, shit, mm’gonna — keep -“ she’s fucking drunk on pleasure, her hands solely resting on your head as you fuck her into another orgasm.

when she comes down and you let off her clit, gently slipping your fingers from her and crawling up to have her bury her head between your tits and brush her hair away from her face.

“fuck thank you,” she sighs, pulling you in close and wrapping her arms around you, “I love taking care of you vika,” you say, kissing her face with sticky lips and then kissing her mouth.

“need to clean you up, maybe we take a bath and you can tell me about today?” you ask gently and sevika nods, you run the bath and fetch her when the water is hot and soapy. she can feel her muscles relax, smell the lavender and eucalyptus essential oils and,

“did you put the cbd oils in here?” she asks and you slide in, getting between her thighs - your legs on either side of her hips.

“yes, and I brought a joint,” you say as if it’s obvious, she smiles and kisses you, and puffs on it,

“I fucking hate silco,” she groans and fills to air around you with her exhale,

“I’m gonna kill him,” you say, “he terrorises you,”

“today i fucked up a choux and he called me undercity scum,” she sighs, she can only laugh about it now, but you’re enraged.

“what the fuck?” you say, trying to stand but sevika tugs you down by your arm, “no, I’m calling the resturant he can’t talk to you like that,” you say, “you’re not scum, you’re the best person I know,” you say sternly and sevika smiles at your protective nature.

“I know, because you remind me every day,” she pulls you closer and stuff the joint head in your mouth, “there, pacify yourself, I’m fine,” she grunts and kisses your cheek.

🤲🏼🏷️ @archangeldyke-all @sexysapphicshopowner @sevsbaby @iamaboringrattat @lavendersgirl @bimboprincezz @opropheticsoul @ariariarr