#the number only gets bigger by the day
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overcoming my embarrasment and posting all of these
the character in the last three images is NOT my oc; sadao belongs to @inkspottie !
my sebastian (and sadao) art folder is currently sitting at 184 files im what the kids call 'cooked'
#inkspottie im so sorry i have drawn sadao 72 seperate times#the number only gets bigger by the day#ms paint#pressure#roblox pressure#pressure roblox#sebastian pressure#sebastian solace#sadao takahide#pressure oc#NOT MY OC#oc x canon#fuck this stupid crocodile life bro#DO NOT ask me about sadao i will never shut up#new year/christmas treat for all of you ig lmao
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“requiem for methuselah” crazy ass episode for many reasons. Kirk is being fully insane, like I don’t actually think, even controlling for how quickly and easily and readily he seems to fall in love with anybody at the slightest encouragement, that he’d go that bonkers for that android woman he just met while everyone on the ship was this close to dying, but that’s neither here nor there, because in the background you’ve got an equally but much more subtly insane episode for Spock, who extremely uncharacteristically admits to experiencing an emotion (or nearly experiencing, whatever) and that emotion is ENVY of all things. And then spends the rest of the episode warning Kirk away from this new love interest (something that doesn’t usually happen, even when Kirk has very inadvisable love interests) and is, in the end, the person who accurately identifies that Rayna’s competing love for Kirk and Flint is ultimately what overwhelms and destroys her with the most killer line in maybe history???
And then to wrap it up we get an equally uncharacteristic sort of denouement scene (TOS loooves to cut an episode off right after the actual climax, leaving little time for falling action or character reflection, or to stick a sitcom-y button on the end where the gang all smiles and laughs at their misadventures and everything resets to zero, which is not a criticism, it’s just the style of that era of tv, honestly) where Kirk is literally miserable over Rayna’s death (again, kind of unusual for a lot of his love interests, he tends to be able to move on pretty quickly) and Spock goes to see him and he falls asleep right in front of Spock (also odd) and then when Bones comes in to give the final word on Flint, Spock waves him off from waking the Captain (tender) and Bones gives him that awful speech about how it’s sadder that Spock can’t even imagine the love Kirk felt for this random android woman than it is that Kirk lost her in the first place (debatable but also rude) and how his great tragedy is that he can’t love at all like they can and how all he wishes is that Kirk could forget about all of this and move on. AND THEN, to have Bones leave and Spock go over to Kirk and very gently, tenderly, reluctantly touch him and put his hand to his forehead and tell him to forget and HAVE THAT BE THE END OF THE EPISODE??? What am I supposed to do with that??
#‘the joys of love made her human. the agonies of love destroyed her’ hUH. What a cool line.#hope it doesn’t become some sort of…thesis statement for you or something SPOCK#listen my number one beef with the way they write bones is that they just make him completely mischaracterize everything to suit the plot#this man is not an idiot he KNOWS Spock has emotions and just suppresses them#you’re going to tell me he’s been on that ship with Spock for years and thinks he feels no love whatsoever for anyone???#like even after what happened in the empath and in that episode where McCoy thought he was dying#he knows Spock loves people!!! COME ON#does he really just mean romantic love?? that’s so boring WRITE HIM BETTER#also they’re banking a lot on people remembering what the Vulcan mind meld is for that last bit#like I know it comes up a lot but…this is 1968 or whatever. They don’t have this shit on dvd to rewatch#you’re counting on really dedicated fan memory here or on people catching reruns#because otherwise it just looks like Spock waiting to be alone to touch Kirk as tenderly as possible and pray he forgets this woman#truly what’s going on#anyway I kind of hated this episode#like quite frankly there was too much going on#are androids people? would Kirk fall in love that hard that quickly and choose it over the safety of his crew?#why wasnt the illness ravaging the crew a bigger deal??#they didn’t even get into WHY flint was immortal#he was just a regular human and apparently the ONLY one who was granted immortality by the earth’s atmosphere#leaving aside the very creepy and very early born sexy yesterday trope going on throughout#but it was a really good Spock episode if you just….dont look at anything else….#the writer for this one also did Day of the Dove and Mirror Mirror which explains a LOT#two other episodes that are interesting for the character dynamics but really chaotic plot wise#anyway imagine saying to Spock’s face that he has no idea what love can drive a man to do#one has to laugh#tos#star trek#as always…. I’m sorry that I’m Like This
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i genuinely cannot stand being around ppl who have to take their anger out on others . i'm so sick of always having to act like the bigger person to my Older brother while he can just tornado around my entire life & belongings & relationships without warrant all over smthing that had absolutely nothing to do with you or anyone, rlly.
#but HE runs and tells on ME?#i was just going to let shit blow over#lock myself away as fucking alwys like when we were little and he would cuss up a fucking storm#screaming crying and throwing the shit i bought over being unable to beat a game he plays every fucking day#set on fucking Easy mode#and hes hitting a bat into the door or wrecking my shit in my room or fucking. yelling abt me to the fuckin dog#and in the 'dog's voice' making the animal agree with him bcs im? acting crazy#over a fcking video game that u cant even tell him to turn off or at least stop fucking screaming and wailing or else it'll just set it off#sooner#when dad did it he was fcking drunk and i was illegitimate#it's like i cant even fcking escape fcking hell.#hiding all my bad grades in math bcs i couldnt read a stupid fking number right bcs i didnt want ppl screaming at me#for causing even more trouble than they already have to deal with and just living as dumb bcs it costs less#ill get over it ill try harder#i always have to be the bigger fucking man and im so fucking tired of it#but how are u supposed to cut off someone youve been assigned caretaker as b4 u were even born#im so fucking exhausted#anyways so yea. im pretty sensitive to tone so if i seem like a baby to smthing i apologize#i rlly just. cant stand sme things sometimes#i love getting told i never felt like a friend to my other siblings not only bcs of our massive age gap but also theyre legitimate and#i dont drink or smoke so apparently we cant hang without them always checking the time on their phones#while im taking them out to smthing they like like it's so fun i fcking love it here#anyways yea. love zero comprehension or compassion. love it. loving my life
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Okay okay so. Thinking.
I've mapped out how I want to pay off my credit cards, which means I'll only be getting new stuff pretty sporadically, which means I need to appreciate the zero cost things in my life, like:
- the 2.5 foot tall stack of unread books I have
- the violin I might finally actually pick up again
- the 500+ drawing prompts I've been hoarding
- the list of anime I still need to watch
- the 3000+ songs in my watch later playlist
- the stickers I've been neglecting to cut
- yarn??? I have a lot of yarn
- all the pink fabric leftover from moth cosplay
- the candles and incense I also already have
In short, time to actually use the stuff that I have 😭
#though. i do want one more candle. they're putting minty smells in the winter ones and it smells cold#i need a cold smelling candle that is warm and on fire i just need that very strange contrast#but yeah!! will spend a little testing out acrylic charms but for the most part#we're gonna hang out at home for a while and express gratitude or whatever lmao#okay but i think it will actually be nice to start getting through all those books skjfkdkd#and to watch the bigger name anime to actually see them lmao; saw a lot at the con i recognized but hadn't actually watched#and also my music!! all my music bc i am clinically insane about music; miku playlist advancement...#this isn't even touching on the games i have now ksjfkf if either of you are reading this 👀 i still wanna get yall something#and I'm planning the exact day i wanna do it 😤#but yeah I'm thinking it over and am like. oh boy time for self improvement skjdkfkf#also finances will get easier bc im not ubering all over and I'm not seeing docs for my stomach now that the ulcer has been resolved#i made back half of what i spent getting the car in only 4 months and that feels good to see#it's still gonna be some hard work but we're gonna make it; I'm also highballing one of the cards#the hotel put a damages hold on my card and my math factors that in; they said that money would go back to me in 5 or so#business days so that'll be a little less to be concerned with; I'll still try to pay what numbers i found though#do it faster and do it better and idk what the fuck I'll do with the cards bc. 30% apr...........#idk i could get groceries with them and then pay them off? take that credit score you'll just eat that shit up won't you..#surprisingly my credit score hasn't taken any super ugly hits from this and i aim to keep it that way lmao#anyways. that's a lot of words to say that i want to actually use my stuff lmao#shai speaks
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A piece about survivors guilt.
This comic isn't perfect. I started it back in October 2023, and every time I picked up my pen, I wept.
I bring this to you today, on 9/11, in hopes that you reflect on this day a little differently than how most Americans would. Let it move you to continue to boycott, protest and challenge your family, friends and colleagues. You have a bigger impact than you would believe.
Thank you for reading this with an open heart.
From the river to the sea...
I'd like to bring to attention the fact that the figures depicted above are a gross undercount of the actual number of deaths. I scoured the internet high and low to source my findings and not a single one could break down the devastation that befell an individual ethnicity. Instead, they lumped a bunch of ethnicities together, provided a general timeline, and called it a day, reinforcing the sheer scale of dehumanization propagated in the west. The only consistency between all the articles I looked up was the 4.5 to 4.7 million figure I've included above, and even then, they were all published by western media news outlets... the very same that have been so unreliable and complicit in the genocide of Palestinians today. So I have to take everything they say with a grain of salt.
We are not just numbers.
All of us have ambitions and desires and lives worth living.
With that said, this is your friendly reminder to:
Donate an e-sim
Donate to PCRF to provide Palestinian children aid
Donate to Pious Projects to provide woman with feminine hygiene kits
Donate to CareForGaza to provide food to displaced families in Gaza either through their Gofundme or their paypal
Donate to any of the vetted gofundme campaigns on GazaFunds to help Palestinians trying to flee Gaza.
And if you or someone you know sees or experiences a hate crime and can afford it, SUE. This is a more effective use of your money than most realise. The reason zionists act with impunity is because of the normalization of white supremacy and oppression of ethnic minorities. Challenging that in any capacity tells them that there are consequences to their actions and makes them think twice before engaging in hate crimes and helps raise all of us up against the systems currently in place that let them get away with it.
If you can't donate or spend any money, you can:
Do your daily clicks.
Boycott targeted companies on the BDS list (if you're like me and you don't want a single dollar to go towards anything supporting Israel right now, you can use Bdnaash to double check what products are okay to buy, but the BDS list is sufficient as it is a strategic attack and proven very effective thus far)
Flood your representatives emails and voicemails with how you won't be voting for them unless their politics align with an immediate ceasefire in Gaza.
Attend a protest, be LOUD.
Challenge your circle of friends, family and colleagues with conversations about Palestine. (THIS IS THE MOST UNDERRATED AND MOST EFFECTIVE THING YOU CAN DO)
and if you're really up to, be disruptive in any capacity that you can think of towards major corporations benefiting from this onslaught. (i.e. halting military manufacturers from production + shipments, sticking boycott stickers on products at your market etc)
And finally, if your country wasn't mentioned in the above excerpt, it was no deliberate omission on my part and I encourage you to come forward and tell your story about the suffering of your people so that this may be a learning opportunity for everyone.
You are seen.
You are not alone.
Thank you again if you've read this far.
From the river to the sea...
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i can’t remember if i told tumblr about this already but whateva. i’m still thinking abt the dude who was hitting on me so hard this morning on my way to class. and i’m still thinking abt the hinge comment i got this morning that said smth like “you’re the kind of woman men used to go to war for, and id be first in line” like damn what was in the air that was making men NEED me
#only solidified my idea that i’m actually suuuper toxic tho lmfao#bc i CONSIDERED giving the dude this morning my phone number or my snap (eugh) or whatever#but i was like hmmm no i won’t because i’ll just get bored and ghost him within a few days anyway#id rather just bask in the massive ego stroke than actually get to know this guy more#he was lowkey genuinely gorgeous tho but yknow. i just like flirting i don’t like relationships#and regarding the hinge comment; i’m toxic for THAT bc i have my hinge neighborhood set to madrid#bc when i was studying abroad i got like 12x as many likes every day bc it’s a bigger city#and the dudes there are hotter than they are here (on average)#i never actually like anyone/match with anyone on hinge anymore bc i just want to get all of the likes#and not actually engage with anyone LMFAO#but i think the most toxic thing of all is the fact that i Recognize that i’m a toxic person#(esp regarding my ghosting addiction)#and yet i don’t change anything about myself. bc i don’t care bc i think it’s more fun this way ;)#thinking abt those things that are like ‘if you’re ever convinced you’re a bad person just remember that bad ppl don’t realize/don’t care#if they’re bad or not’#and it’s like oh lol you mean me? you mean exactly how i feel abt it? lmfao sickness 🤙🤙🤙🤙#again. it’s just way more fun and comfortable for me this way#and my narcissism gets a real kick out of it too LOLL
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The mattress company I worked for the first time no longer exists. It was long ago eaten and assimilated by a bigger company. But when I started it was an incredibly intense five weeks of training. I was told I was extremely lucky to be selected, and I was. From a pool of a hundred applicants only fifteen of us made the cut to entering the training program.
The course covered how to talk to customers, how to ask open ended questions, how to close a sale, and product knowledge. I learned a lot, and truthfully my greatest takeaway was a lot of social scripts that I could use in other areas of my life.
We also had a midterm exam and a final. Both included a roleplay element with a trainer and a written portion. They told us when we started that the course was challenging but it was still a shock to come in after the midterm and realize half the class had failed.
I was named valedictorian of training- a dubious honor as it meant I’d done the best in the class, but popular lore had it that valedictorians struggled the most on the sales floor. Lo, I struggled.
Not because I wasn’t good. I was. But because my manager set out to systematically destroy my self esteem. Every sale, every interaction I had was scrutinized and criticized.
If I sold a bed with protectors, moveable base, and pillows he’d ask why I hadn’t managed to sell pillow protectors too. His first trainee had thrived on being challenged and he’d never bothered to learn a different way to coach.
It was wretched. My performance started strong but nosedived after a few weeks with him. My trainer, a man I loathed for stonewalling me in my interview, came in to inform me I was on new hire probation. If I couldn’t get my sales numbers up I’d be let go.
His actual phrasing was, “When you have a bandaid do you like to rip it off or pull it slowly?”
Since it was eminently obvious why he was visiting and because I thought it was condescending I sweetly informed him that I liked to soak my bandaids in hot water so they come off on their own.
He was briefly startled at this derailing but then got on with the bad news. I signed some forms stating that I understood my job was in peril.
I went home furious. I thought long and hard about why I wasn’t succeeding and how frustrated I was with my manager. I came in the next day and my anger had crystallized into a cold sharp edge.
My manager opened his mouth to address the probation and I snapped, “Just leave me alone. Go in the back if I have a sale. If you must address a serious issue then you will give me praise on two things I did right and present it as a compliment sandwich. Otherwise just say good job and shut up. Your constant nitpicking just makes me anxious and I do worse. Back off.” Belated and begrudging I added, “Please.”
He raised his eyebrows in dim surprise but I’d gauged him well. He backed off. Dutifully he’d meander into the back when I had a sale and praised me when I closed it. I resented knowing it was only because I’d demanded complimented but they still boosted me up. My numbers skyrocketed, I landed my first split king sale, and I exited probation with flying colors.
The trainer came back in to congratulate my manager for turning things around. To my gratification he gave me credit for setting him straight and said I’d taught him a different way to lead. My manager would often genuinely praise that moment when I’d stood up to him, impressed with my stubborn refusal to fail and my insight into what would help.
My biggest takeaway from the whole thing was just that people need positive reinforcement to succeed. Praise people for doing a good job. If you’re ever in a position where you need to criticize someone put it in a compliment sandwich instead of just saying the negative.
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✎. he’s nice. well, that’s what everyone’s been telling you.
tags. fem!reader, mild dubcon, possessive and obsessive behavior, simon is an excon, non-linear narrative for future chapters [18+ only]
part one | part two
He’s always been a little obsessed with pretty things, even as a child.
It only makes sense that the habit would follow him into adulthood.
He sees you once while he’s walking by the bus stop. A timid thing wrapped up in an oversized sweater and parka coat, not looking up from the little book in your lap until the bus stops before you and takes you away.
The next time he sees you, he makes sure to come a few minutes earlier, lighting a cigarette and keeping his distance while he watches you read the same book from the day before. Simon knows it’s you, the girl from the letters, even if it’s a big city. It has to be—his pretty, lonely, silly girl.
He thinks about walking up to you just to make sure, but he doesn’t really need to. The address on the envelope brought him here, and you’re the only one he’s seen wearing a university sweater in this neighborhood.
But when he hesitates too long, a boy starts talking to you, and he watches you smile at somebody else.
Simon runs his thumb over his bottom lip and takes a deep breath to fill his chest with the soothing feeling of menthol and the burning taste of nicotine, trying to relax his white-knuckle grip on his steering wheel.
You’ll learn, he thinks, when the bus drives off, and the boy doesn’t follow you on. He’s a patient man—it’s possibly one of his finer qualities.
He lets his car idle as he climbs out before crushing his cigarette bud underneath his shoe, straightening his black tie, and crossing the street. The boy sees him and freezes, but Simon can only laugh, wiping blood off his cheek several seconds later.
You’ll learn.
He’s nice.
Well, that’s what everyone’s been telling you. But nice, you've learned, can mean any number of things: a nice laugh, a nice house, a nice job, et cetera.
But how he holds himself—tall, broad, and dangerous—hardly screams nice.
It’s funny because you don’t remember seeing him around the office before—the company, including IT, occupies only four floors in the building.
Someone tells you he’s a friend of a friend. This initially sounds odd until Rose, the office gossip, says he’s someone rich who helps fund the company's social events. Hence, the crisp suit and the wide berth of space you’d give someone who wields their smile like a weapon.
You quickly look away twice when you find that smile aimed at you, heat traveling up to your hairline at an alarming rate.
It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s not your type.
“Enjoying the party?”
You nearly jump out of your skin at the deep voice so close to your ear. Careful not to spill your drink, you turn your head to find him smiling down at you with a sharp curl of his mouth.
Then he’s in front of you, eyes dark and crinkling in the corners.
“Uh, yeah. It’s not bad, though,” you squeak nervously when you realize you haven’t answered him. “It’s different from what I’m used to.”
He raises an amused brow. “Oh? And what might that be?”
He’s intimidating up close, and you take a small sip of your drink to ease your nerves. “Well, no kegs or trashy music playing, and boys with egos bigger than the room.”
The man lets out a low chuckle as he considers your honest reply, and you swear you see something ripple across his features, but when you blink, it’s gone. “I suppose that differs from top-shelf liquor and live bands, huh? Which is better?”
You shrug. “Well, it depends on who you ask.”
“I’m asking you.”
“Honest answer?”
He nods.
“Neither. I don’t really care for parties.”
“Then it’s quite unfortunate that you found yourself at one tonight.” He seems privately amused, in on a joke you have no part of. Then he says, “You want to get out of here?”
“I probably shouldn’t follow a stranger home,” you tell him bashfully.
“That’s very responsible of you. Then how about I get you a drink? There’s a hotel across the street, and the bar’s not shit.”
You bite your lip, and his big, warm hand is on the small of your back before you say anything. It must’ve been written all over your face like he knew you would say yes.
He’s ever the gentleman, unlike most boys your age. Though, perhaps that’s the difference. He isn’t a boy—nothing about him can hardly be described as such. This fact becomes a bit overwhelming and more evident once he has you on your back, thighs nearly up to your ears, and held in place by a firm, intricately tattooed forearm.
His smile—almost too sharp to be nice—makes your chest do this silly thing when he says, “Let’s play a game.”
You whisper into the night air. “What kind of game?”
“It’s simple. You tell me yes or no.”
Your brows furrow, unsure of the rules of the game. “But—”
The slap against your cunt isn’t harsh, but it’s the suddenness of it, how no one has ever thought to touch you like that, is what makes you squeak and tremble underneath him—the rings on his fingers sharpening the sting—trying to scurry up the bed, but hindered by his iron grip.
“Yes or no?”
“Y-yes.”
“There’s a girl,” and then his fingertips drop down to where you're slippery-wet and sensitive, moving in hard, tight circles until you're clenching down on a curse between your teeth. "Messy little cunt."
It's too much, you think when he plugs two fingers (feeling like three of your own) into your pussy. The muscles in his shoulders roll as he shoves his fingers in and out, batting your hands away when you try to get him to slow down. Too much, too—
“It’s not. I want you to cum like this,” he says, teasing, nudging your clit with his thumb and swirling it in tight spit-slick circles; you have no choice but to chase that bright light feeling until you cum, sticky and sweaty.
Just like he promised you would, your orgasm is a shivery thing, molten heat, incandescent, settling in your veins until it pours out of you like liquid wax against the scratchy hotel sheets, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, his fingers curl up and press into where you’re soft and tender.
He smiles. “This is fun, isn’t it, love?”
“I can’t,” you whimper, not exactly answering him. “No more, please.”
His eyes, already pupil-fat, go dark at hearing you beg, nostrils flaring. Please, the key for the small amount of mercy he grants you as he replaces his fingers with his mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to your clit and lightly sucking it into his mouth. His lips are just there, and then they’re gone.
“Say it again.”
Your response is a wet little hiccup at the back of your throat. “W-what?”
“Beg me.”
“Please.”
“Again,” he says one more time.
“Please, please, please…”
It’s all you can think to say, strung between that dreamy space and reality, that you don’t even notice him flipping you onto your tummy with ease, not until the light in the room is blotted out as he leans over you. He wraps a hand into the scruff of your neck and presses your face into the bed, the other tucked under your hips to keep them at the right angle—held down with nowhere to go.
He leaves biting open-mouthed kisses across your shoulders and the back of your neck—Simon—he manages to tell you his name from one little bruise to the next. Somewhere between the buzz in your ears, you hear him telling you that he wants you to moan it for him, nice and loud.
The haze clears a little, however, at the metal clink of a belt and the sound of a zipper coming undone before you feel his cock prodding you open—raw, without a condom.
“There you go. Lay there, and just—just give me what I fucking want,” Simon rasps as if you could actually move with his hands pinning you in place.
There are many things you should feel: scared of his words, trapped by the rings digging into tender flesh, by his thighs forcefully pushing yours apart. The red flags look more like flashing lights at this point.
Instead, you feel wanted—your walls tighten around his cock, fluttering, pulling him deeper inside, letting him turn you inside out. A small smile buried into the pillow.
#simon ghost x reader#simon riley smut#simon riley imagine#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost x you#ghost x reader#ghost imagine#ghost smut#cod smut#cod imagine#cod fic#cod x reader#mw2 smut#mw2 x reader#mw2 imagine#.things i write
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A Not So Secret Secret pt.2
Kang Dae-ho x pregnant! Reader
Summary: Still trapped in the games, you depend on Dae-ho for comfort and protection as you face the games, sickness, and constant fear.
Warnings: Reader is replacing number 222 but has no correlation with 333, Reader is pregnant, mentions of killing and stuff like that, might be slightly inaccurate, Not proofread.
wc: 3.2k
a/n: This took along time please enjoy!!
Pt.1
You wake up. Now your third day of being in the squid games.
As the speaker goes off telling everyone that its morning time you sit up, groaning softly as your neck is aching from using Dae-ho's arm as a pillow the whole night. Your group around you wakes up as well, everyone looking dazed as they still find it hard to process the situation they are in.
Everyone in the game lines up and gets their breakfast, a piece of bread and some milk.
"what kind of breakfast is this" you think to yourself, your hunger really getting to you.
Despite the disappointment of bread for breakfast, you go and sit where your group would usually sit, waiting for everyone in the group to join as well.
You sit there, mindlessly eating your bread until Dae-ho comes and sits next to you.
"Hi baby how are you feeling?' he asks, giving you a small smile.
You just pout. "hungry.."
He frowns before giving you his bread.
"Nooo its fine..." You try to protest, knowing its not gonna get you anywhere.
He smiles "We've been through this already, I'm fine" He reassures you.
You frown and take the bread. You feel so useless, just eating peoples food even though it was offered to you.
"ahh.. actually it's fine really.. you need to eat..." you say as you hand the food back to him, your thoughts getting the best of you.
He looks at you softly before trying to negotiate. "How about we split it? You know what you have right now is not enough for you at all.."
You give in, to hungry to say no, "ok.." You smile as he gives you half his bread, though your piece is much bigger than his.
By now the rest of the group has joined you guys and all of you are just talking about whatever comes to mind, The next game, escaping, the fight that might take place tonight, and stuff like that.
Suddenly, the room starts spinning, and a wave of nausea hits you. You feel your head spin, and before you can react, you quickly push yourself up and speed-walk to the bathroom, trying to keep your balance. Dae-ho calls your name, but you don’t respond, too focused on getting to the bathroom. Once inside, you rush into a stall and throw up everything you just ate. Afterward, you sit on the cold bathroom floor, your back against the stall, too weak to move. The nausea lingers, and you just close your eyes, wishing for it to pass.
"it must just be morning sickness.." you thought to yourself.
Even though you've only experienced it a few times, the games seem to be making it lot worse, most likely due to the amount of stress you're under.
You must've been in there for awhile as the voice on the speaker sounds once again. "please follow the guards to your next game."
You quickly get up, flushing the toilet and running out of the bathroom back over to your group.
Dae-ho looks panicked before he spots you. "Are you ok???" he asks worriedly.
You nod, panting from running so fast. "I just felt a little sick that's all."
The group exchanges worried glances, their faces filled with concern, though there isn't much they can do.
You step into the colorful room with stairs and begin to climb, but each step feels heavier. You struggle a bit, the stairs feeling like a mountain to your exhausted and sick body, and they only get harder as you go. Halfway up, you lose your footing and stumble, nearly falling backward.
Luckily for you Dae-ho was right behind you and quickly put his hands on your waist, steadying you.
"are you ok??" he asks, worry in this voice. "Do you need me to carry you?"
"N-no I got it.. I'm alright.." You regain your balance and continue walking up the stairs.
Dae-ho stays close behind you on high alert just incase you stumble again.
As you guys get to the next game you take in your surroundings. The room has a red circle platform with horses in the middle. A multitude of colorful doors are placed on the walls of the room and the ceiling is almost like one of a carnival tent with white and red stripes on it.
"this game is called mingle." The speaker says.
"Ohh.. we used to play something like this when I was younger, but you would have to get in groups by hugging" Jung-bae says to the group.
You feel a bit more relieved as he says that. At least someone knows what they are doing.
The speaker goes off a again. "all players will stand on the platform and as it spins. When the music stops a random number will be called out. You will have to form groups of that number and go into one of the rooms before the timer is up or you will be eliminated."
After the announcement your group immediately starts talking about what to do.
Dae-ho turns to you. "No matter what just stay with me.. ok?"
You nod, not even wanting to think about the two of you getting separated in a place like this.
Your group manages to get somewhat of a plan before the game starts, the platform starting to spin as some children's song plays.
You tightly grip onto Dae-ho's hand, wanting to insure you guys won't be separated and as you do so the platform abruptly stops.
"ten" the speaker says as a 30 second timer shows up.
Your group of five desperately searches for another group of five but only finds one of four. Suddenly, number 120, a member of the group of four runs off and grabs a random girl.
"we have ten now! Go to room 44! The green door!" she calls out.
All ten of you quickly run into the room, the doors locking soon behind you. Your hand never leaving Dae-ho's.
The ten of you all breathe heavily as the sound of gun shots and people begging for their lives are heard outside of the room.
You lean back against the wall, exhausted and scared. Your hands are shaking like crazy and it catches Dae-ho's attention. His thumb gently caresses the back of your hand, trying to comfort you the best he can in the moment. Then, the random lady starts yelling.
“You’re alive because of me!” She exclaims before turning to Gi-hun, giving him a creepy look. “It seems there’s a reason you’ve survived longer than you were supposed to.” She says as she smirks.
The lady then turns to you and just stares at you creepily for a bit, Dae-ho keeping a close eye on her to make sure she doesn’t try anything.
Then, to your luck, doors unlock and all of you walk out. You cringe as you step in a pile of blood on the floor, but at this point you're pretty used to it.
Everyone gets back on the platform and then, it starts to spin, the song ringing loudly in your ears. Your heart feels like it's gonna beat out of your chest but you try to focus on the game as best as you can.
The platform stops once again. "four" the speaker says.
You all look at each other. There are five of you. You need four.
Gi-hun speaks up, not afraid to sacrifice himself. "you four go-"
"No, go ahead guys." Young-il cuts him off, already walking away, not giving any room for protest.
Gi-hun just stands there before getting dragged away by Jung-bae.
"we have no choice come on!" Jung-bae exclaims to all of you.
You all quickly run into a greyish purplish room. But Gi-hun hesitate to close the door as he's looking for Young-il.
The timer starts to get it it's last seconds before Gi-hun finally closes the door.
More gunshots are heard outside but you don't care at this point, You're just grateful you're alive.
The door soon unlock and everyone repeats the same process.
The platform starts to spin and you stumble a bit. Dae-ho quickly stables you, still holding onto your hand.
you squeeze his hand tighter as the platform stops.
"three" The speaker says.
"you three go- me and Young-il will find one more person!" Gi-hun says urgently.
You, Dae-ho, and Jung-bae waste no time running into one of the empty rooms.
Suddenly a random guy runs into your guys' room and you being the only girl and the weakest, he grabs you and try's to drag you out.
Dae-ho and Jung-bae both react at the same time. Dae-ho gently pushes you behind him as Him and Jung-bae shove the guy out of the room.
You breathe heavily, trying to figure out what just happened before Dae-ho turns around and bends down to your level.
"are you ok?" He asks, eyeing you everywhere for any sort of injury.
You just nod breathlessly and lean against him, putting your head against his chest as the door locks. He gently puts his arms around you, kissing your head softly.
"thank you guys" you say to the two boys with as much gratefulness as possible.
"of course" Jung-bae nods as he breathes heavily.
The doors soon unlock and Dae-ho lets go of you, taking your hand again as the three of you walk out of the room and reunite with the rest of your group.
You all look at each other relieved everyone survived before getting on the platform for what felt like the tenth time.
The song began once again as the platform spun slowly.
"Six" the speaker called out as the spinning stopped.
Your group turns to the group of four that went with a few games ago. You can't exactly tell what they are saying as everyone is yelling. They agree on something and you feel Dae-ho start running somewhere with you and the group of four following behind. He opens a door but the room already has people in it. The people in the room slammed the door shut before the same player from a few games ago, 120, started yelling. "Over here! This room is empty! hurry!"
All five of you started running towards the door and you all got inside on time except number 095 had fallen. 120 tried to go and save her but was shoved back in by some guy and before she could do anything, the doors shut and locked.
You had no idea what was happening all you saw was the young girls eyes from the rectangle hole in the door.
"unnie..." She said, fear in her voice.
"young-mi!" Player 120 exclaimed as she ran to the door, trying her absolute hardest to open it, but there was nothing she could do, the young girl had been shot.
Player 120 immediately went over to player 333, the guy who had stopped her from saving Young-mi, and started yelling at him.
Player 333 snapped back. "If you would've saved her you would all be dead right now! I'm the reason all of you are alive! Am I wrong?!"
You hesitantly spoke up. "He's right..."
Dae-ho soon followed after you, also agreeing.
Player 120 just stayed quiet as the door unlocked and everyone sorrowfully walked out of the room.
You all got back on the platform and Jung-bae turned to Gi-hun.
"what do you think it will be this time?" Jung-bae asked.
"two" Young-il asnwered.
Everyone in the group looked at him with worry. "why?" Jung-bae questioned.
"There are 126 people left, and there are 50 rooms. The rest will be killed." Young-il answered as the platform abruptly stopped again.
"two" the speaker called out.
You had no time to think before Dae-ho grabbed your hand and started running with you to a room.
While you were running some guy without a teammate shoved you and you fell to the floor, your arm going right into your stomach.
Dae-ho reacted quickly, immediately grabbing the guy and punching him before shoving him to give himself some more time to grab you.
You feel yourself being quickly lifted up off the floor and being carried into a room.
Dae-ho sets you down on the floor, the door locking as he looks you over frantically. "baby?? are you ok???"
All you can do is whimper, you had hit your head pretty hard when you fell and your arm had also went right into your stomach.
"Can you talk to me??" He grabs your face softly and makes you look at him.
"my head hurts" you say quietly.
Dae-hos face lights up, happy you can atleast talk, but he still looks very concerned. "yeah? Did you hit it?" he asks with worry in his voice.
You nod as the doors unlock.
He looks at the door before look back at you "can you walk?'
You nod, knowing its probably a lie but you get up nonetheless, slightly stumbling.
Dae-ho puts an arm around your waist. "lean on me baby.." He orders sofly.
You do just that, depending on him to hold you up as the both of you walk out of the door and reunite with your group.
Gi-hun sees the state you're in and looks visibly worried. "are you ok y/n?"
You nod, too out of it to speak.
Gi-hun, not believing you looks at Dae-ho, hoping he'll provide an answer.
Dae-ho just gives him an unsure look and shrugs as they walk out of the game room.
Dae-ho carefully helps you navigate your way down the stairs. "are you sure you don't want me to carry you?"
You nod, not wanting to be a burden on him. "I'm alright Dae.."
He sighs and nods as the two of you make your way down the stairs into the main area.
Your group sat in their usual area while you got some rest. They discussed the vote that would be taking place soon and how they only need seven players to change from O to X to be able to go home.
As the voice form the speaker calls out that the vote is starting, Dae-ho goes over to the sleeping area and softly wakes you up.
You groan softly "Do I have to..."
Dae-ho looks at you softly "yes.. we are voting now.."
You whine and sit up, on the verge of tears as you just want to sleep and go home.
Dae-ho sees this and frowns. "I know baby I'm sorry.." He says as he helps you up.
*time skip to vote*
You all have finished voting and it was 49 X and O 50. There was one person left to vote. Young-il. But he looked very suspicious. You crossed your fingers as Dae-ho put his head in your shoulder, not being able to watch.
*beep*
The buzzer went off and Young-il had voted for X. It was a tie. Everyone from your group sighed in relief. The guard's announced that since it was a tie there would be another vote tomorrow.
A bit after the vote everyone lined up for dinner. Your group sat back in their spot and you just sat in bed and ate. Dae-ho decided to give you some space as your mood wasn't good and he didn't wanna bother you.
As you ate in your bed you could here people yelling and you see Dae-ho in the middle of it. Confused you stand up and try to go over to him but the old lady grabs your wrist, stopping you.
"Please don't get involved..." She says softly.
You sigh and just sit next to her. "what are they fighting over.."
"We were trying to get some of the people that voted for O to vote for X but they just got offended.." She explains.
You just sigh and realize you've eaten all your kimbap.
"Did you eat enough?" The old lady asks softly.
You smile at her. "ya.. this was probably one of the most filling meals since we've got here.."
You and her have a small conversation before Dae-ho comes back over, looking pretty pissed.
"what happened?" you ask him.
He looks at you, his expression softening. "It's nothing baby don't worry about it." he said, not wanting to stress you out anymore.
As your group sat there and talked you ended up falling asleep, using Dae-ho's shoulder as a pillow while he had his arm around your waist, his hand resting on your lap.
You woke up to the sound of the speaker saying players had been eliminated. Confused, you looked at the group. "what happened?"
Gi-hun looked at you and replied. "there must've been a fight."
And he was right. The people on O team soon started saying that X tried to fight them first and the people on the X team saying that O tried to fight them first.
You cuddle closer to Dae-ho, not liking the situation you're in currently. He rubs your side softly as he watches the commotion that is currently going on. While everything is happening, Gi-hun takes the opportunity to tell everyone there is gonna be a fight tonight as how they are all gonna hide until its over and stuff.
You, on the other hand are freaking out, scared for your life, and your baby's. You cuddle into Dae-ho more as he listens to Gi-hun talk and you silently cry. When Dae-ho pulls away to go to the sleeping area, he sees your face.
"hey baby whats wrong are you ok??" He asks worriedly.
"I'm scared..." you admit.
"hey.. look at me.." He makes you look at him. "You know I would never let anything happen to you.. I would protect you with my life..."
You continue crying softly. "But the baby- what if- earlier when I fell my arm hit my stomach really hard so I don't even know if it's ok.."
Dae-ho looks concerned and puts his hand on your bump gently. "Does it hurt at all?" He asks.
"N-not right now but it hurt a lot before-" you stutter.
"Hey.. breathe.. You and the baby will be ok..And I will do everything I possibly can too ensure that.. I promise.." He says softly, now holding your face again.
Your nerves calm down a lot.. You trust him with your life.. you always have so why would he lie now? he would'nt.
He smiles at you and wipes your tears before softly kissing you. You kiss back and it just feels like everything you were scared of before doesn't matter anymore.
Your kiss was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a voice over the speaker, announcing that it was time for bed, followed by the lights flicking off. The abruptness of it snapped you both back to reality, and for a moment, you just sat there, a little dazed. The atmosphere shifted as the intimate moment faded into something more serious. You exchanged a glance with Dae-ho, and without a word, you both made your way toward the sleeping area, the mood now quiet as the both of you sat with the rest of the group and waited for the fight to start like Gi-hun said.
As you all settled in, you felt Dae-ho's arm slip around you, pulling you close. Seeking comfort, you cuddled into him, letting the warmth and safety of his embrace ease your worries. You grew so comfortable, the tension fading, and for a moment, you forgot that danger could be just around the corner. With Dae-ho by your side, you felt secure enough to drift off to sleep, knowing he would protect you. And soon the world outside fading into the background.
a/n: And once again I suck at making endings. but I hope you guys enjoyed! I don't know if ill make a part three unless you guys really want it. But if I did make one I would have to wait till Season 3 comes out or just make up my own ending. what ever you guys prefer!
#dae ho x reader#daeho#daeho x reader#kang daeho#squid game x reader#kang dae ho#kang daeho x reader#x reader#kang dae ho x reader#dae-ho x reader
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october's end.
[joel miller x f!reader]. summary: a filthy halloween night with your dad's best friend, joel miller. [you get him to briefly wear a ghostface mask. enjoy]. warnings: 18+ mdni. age gap. alcohol. au. begging. cream pie. dirty talk. dom!joel. fingering. jealous!joel. language. masked!joel. no outbreak. no use of 'y/n'. praising. smut. use of 'good girl'. use of 'slut'. unprotected piv. word count: [about] 3,800. a/n: hi! debut, written for @mermaidgirl30's halloween writing challenge. cover by me, divider by @saradika. @saradika-graphics. <3
Everything’s bigger in Texas, including Halloween. Your childhood neighborhood is locally televised each October’s end, due to every home’s enthusiastic participation. There’s an annual stoppage of traffic for the singular evening’s festivities, permitting only costumed bodies to roam the gated community’s residential roads.
Branches draped in gauzy webs. Yards engulfed in artificial fog. A beloved holiday tradition, predating the tailend of the seventies, when Dad and Joel were elementary aged and wielding pillowcases of candies. Now, they’re fifty-somethings, bemoaning mutual back pain and cursing pesky lawn decorations.
“Here,” Joel gruffs, while individually sliding Dad two Reese’s pumpkins, from across the kitchen’s counter. “Protein break. ‘S four grams.”
Dad swipes them both up, before confirming that statement by thumbing one’s wrapper, “That ain’t bad.”
You’re quietly laughing at their supposed refueling, while stooping behind the fridge’s door and scanning the moistened shelves. There. A seasonal beer, from your favorite brewery in Austin. It’s comfortably predictable, returning home for Halloween; From Dad purchasing your favorite autumnal ales, to Joel Miller’s ruggedness.
You properly right yourself. Then, using your waist, nudge the appliance’s door shut, “Dad, where’s your bottle opener?”
Dad’s phone abruptly drones, reverberating against granite and interrupting your question; He grimaces at the caller’s illuminated identity.
You guess, “Ghostface?”
Dad laughs, before emphasizing, “Worse. My neediest client.” He abandons his barstool, continuing, “Actin’ like buildin’ up in Waco makes ‘er Joanna Gaines.” Dad apologetically nods toward you, “Joel. Will ‘ya?”
Joel’s scruffy chin tips upwards, directing you, “C’mere.”
Something’s brewing, once Dad vacates the vicinity. Your forced proximity to Joel is newly palpable; Tonight’s different. You’re obedient, in approaching him. Joel doesn’t stop staring. The bottle’s neck is being strangled, under your dominant hand. You can’t completely ward off an image of taking him into your palm.
Your minimal passage to his barstool seemed slow-motioned, almost. You’re not sure. Time’s just apparently lengthier, under Joel’s browned gaze.
Joel grunts, fingering his carabiner of keys, attempting to sift out his bottle opener keychain, “You playin’ Michael Meyers, ‘gain? ‘Round one night, only?”
You amusedly scoff, “Keepin’ track?”
Joel shrugs, “Eight days, in eight years.”
You’re genuinely surprised that Joel’s noted your absence. Maybe, Dad revealed that specific number, correlating to your sparse appearances in Austin; Well, it could’ve been that Dad mentioned to Joel about how since your high school’s graduation, you’ve only managed to visit home yearly. That’s just basic math. Right?
You stammer, “Uh huh. ‘S my favorite holiday.”
Joel hums, before abruptly wrapping his calloused palm around the entirety of your hand and the beer bottle’s width, “Hm. ‘N that your favorite beer?”
You’re momentarily silent, muted by Joel’s warmth. A sizable hand, roughened from decades of hard labor. The tips of his delectably thick fingers begin tightening at your wrist, securing his hold as he’s standing himself up.
Even fully seated, Joel’s intimidating in size. Him standing toe-to-toe with you? That’s another story. His construction boots are weathered and worn; They would be comically large, in comparison to your measly-sized sneakers, but nothing’s funny about Joel Miller’s body mere inches from yours.
You reply by mustering an eager nod; And, whether that’s in response to Joel’s prior question pertaining your liking of the beer, or merely an approval of his nearness to you? You haven’t decided.
Joel rasps, “Anythin’ else?” He’s pulling your combined hands downward, to his waist. The carabiner’s remained attached to his belt’s loop, “That ‘ya favor?”
You’re struggling to think of something witty to retort. Because, the frayed seam of Joel’s zipper is right there. He’s deftly notching the bottle’s cap inside of the opener’s teeth; The beer crisply hisses, releasing any contained pressure.
Joel whispers, “What, darlin’? Bat got your tongue?”
You defeatedly laugh, “Somethin’ like that.”
He grins, carefully releasing you, “Taste it.”
You harshly gulp, “S–Sorry? Oh, right. T–The beer.”
Joel agrees, “That’s right.” Then, darkly teases, “Y’know, that pretty mind ‘a yours is boundin’ for the gutter.”
He crosses his arms against his broad chest, the canvas fabric of his Carhartt jacket drawing taut. Joel’s now cocking his head, sending his gaze along the pathway from the glass vessel that you’re feebly holding, to the lower lip that you’re inadvertently biting; Daring you.
You’re feignedly bold, “Meet ‘ya there.”
You drink, even if it’s primarily to keep yourself from further stuttering. At first, it’s an adequate enough distraction; The alcohol’s frigid in temperature, soothing to the high-strung tendons of your throat, from the inside-out. Then, you’re curiously drawn to Joel’s own gulping throat, and that transient composure of yours is gone.
Joel’s devotedly watching you, his glare heady and sensual. His Adam’s apple jerks, moving atop the clenched muscles and corded veins of his neck. You’re somewhat tipping back, gathering your final mouthful, for now; You’ve drained three-fourths of it, by the time that you’ve halted your sipping.
Then, Joel’s thumb darts out, before smoothing against your glistening mouth. He drawls, “Got it lookin’ real good. Let’s see.”
You’re only narrowly audible, “Oh? Joel.”
Joel’s tongue, deliciously large and scrubbed pink, strokes his finger. He groans, “Mm. Ain’t sure. Need ‘t sample it from the source.”
You inwardly whimper, “Yeah?”
You’re foolishly tempted to extend him the ambered bottle itself, because surely Joel Miller, your dad’s best friend, would identify that as the ‘source’. Not your parted, wanting lips. Like Joel’s read your hesitant mind, he reassuringly pins your hands behind your back, easily dismissing the beer; A singular hand of his own, dwarfing the pair of your wrists.
Joel’s ghosting your lips, “Yeah.”
For good measure, Joel lightly moans, sucking his dampened digit. Humming around the pumpkin spiced suds, lapping up any residual taste from his finger. Arms restrained, spine straightened; Your chest’s rising urgently.
Joel’s own chest, delicately hairy below his threadbare t-shirt, is an odd inch away. A desperate heat’s begun permeating your lower abdomen; Achingly unfurling, taking up residency in your cunt.
Of course, it’s then that Dad’s barrelling over, having withdrawn from his nearby office, “Sorry ‘bout that, kid. Get ‘er open?”
You’re coughing out, “Y–Yep.” Then, “Thanks, Joel.”
Dropping your wrists, Joel winks, “Oh. ‘M pleasure.”
Your incriminating closeness to Joel goes unrecognized by Dad; Seeing as, Joel’s wide shoulders completely obscure you from view.
Dad sighs, “Gee, there ain’t no escapin’ this shiplap.”
Joel immediately laughs, casually reclaiming his prior barstool. The jarring segue from Joel’s flirting with you, to his joking with Dad, is absolutely disorientating. You’re fidgeting, repeatedly and silently tapping your foot. You can’t do Joel here; You’ll settle for doing last-minute Halloween preparations.
You blurt, “Goin’ to start organizin’ the candy. ‘S all in the garage, Dad?”
Dad assuredly nods, “Sure is. ‘Cept these.” He chuckles, gathering the forgotten wrappers from his earlier ‘protein break’ with Joel.
You remind him, “Don’t forget to refill the fog tanks.”
Dad, who seemingly had forgotten, regretfully snaps his fingers, “What would I do without ‘ya?” He’s bragging to Joel, “Look at ‘er.”
Joel agreeably nods. Eyeing you, “Good girl.”
Because, Dad and Joel are career contractors, who are simultaneously life-long friends and next-door neighbors, it’s only right that they’ve done an elaborate, joint Halloween for three decades; Locally dubbed the ‘Construction Fright’.
A (questionably) age-appropriate spread of horror, featuring thrifted tools that bludgeon and dismember an assortment of plastic skeletons. Hard hats, faux-bloodied and stabbed with rusted nails. Construction tape, riddled in spiderwebs.
A half-dozen, battered wheelbarrows, brimming with chocolate candies; Three brown ones, carrying Hershey’s, Rolo, and Tootsie Roll. Three orange ones, containing every imaginable variant of Reese’s.
You’ve already been working for nearly an hour; Arranging the color-coordinated barrows of candy. You’re jamming the recycling bin’s lid shut, overtop the cardboard and plastic wrappings of king-sized bars, when the entry door’s opened.
Dad’s entering the garage, “Sun’s settin’ soon, kid. ‘Oughta get dressed.” He lazily squeezes you in an impromptu side-hug, “Thanks, for helpin’.”
You breathily sigh, “Mhm. Oh, I need ‘t light the Jack-O-Lanterns.”
Joel appears, insisting, “Go on, darlin’. I’ll get ‘em sweatin’ for ‘ya.”
You’re thinking, ‘That’s ridiculously slutty of him to say’, when Joel continues, this time addressing Dad, “Hey. Phone’s ringin’ over ‘gain.”
Dad sighs, “Got ‘t be kiddin’ me.” Then, grumbles, “Sure hopin’ it’s Ghostface.” He grins, lightly pinching your elbow.
You giggle, “C’mon. She can’t be that bad.”
Dad shrugs, smiling before swiftly jogging up the garage’s concrete steps; When Dad’s fully retreated inside, and the door’s naturally swung shut, Joel doesn’t waste any time pinning your body against it.
Joel whispers, “Bet ‘ya find that this pussy’s wet ‘f me, when you’re undressin’ it.” His jeaned, muscular thigh’s nudging your legs ajar.
You airily groan, “P–Please. Fuckin’ kiss me.”
Joel grins, wedging his ample thigh’s sturdy surface against your beating cunt. He kisses you; Joel Miller fuckin’ kisses you. He’s grabbing your face, thumbing your cheekbones. His lengthy fingers, scraping your skull.
His tongue’s deeply delving, eagerly exploring your mouth’s every crevasse. You can’t breathe efficiently or think coherently. Everything’s Joel. His graying beard, raking your chin; A woodsy scent, like that of the hardware store’s lumber aisles, exuding from his clothing.
You’re moaning, “Ngh.” Then, ripping at the silvery hair that’s curling against the nape of his sun-freckled neck, “More.”
Joel’s grunting, “Fuck. Need ‘t stop.” He can’t stop, and sucks your bottom lip, once more. Then, “H–Hear ‘im? He’s gainin’ on us.”
Sure enough, Dad’s approaching. It’s damn-near impossible to quit rutting along Joel’s denimed, upper leg. You’re whining, “Need ‘ya.”
Joel’s panting, “T–Tonight, darlin’.” He arousingly whispers, “All night. When the porch light’s out, sneak over.” Then, darker and deeper, “Repeat it.”
You repeat, “Tonight. When the porch light’s out, sneak over.”
You’re admittedly distracted, during the evening’s trick-or-treating segment. You understand that nothing’s allowed to appear awry around Dad, but Joel’s playing casual too well. You shouldn’t overthink, but it’s torturous; That he’s apparently unaffected. Drinking with Dad and Tommy. Never really staring at you.
Joel’s (conveniently) costumed as himself every Halloween, but himself during working hours; A leathered tool belt, cinching his tender waist. A backwards Filson hat, tamping his unkempt curls. His dirtiest ‘white’ t-shirt; The neckline’s absurdly tattered and torn, an array of holes displaying his body’s coarse hair.
Midland’s country cover of ‘Wicked Game’ is emitting from neighboring speakers. You can’t resist likening the song’s drumming pattern to your own heart’s pulsating rhythm; Yearning for Joel’s attention. Then, Dad’s whistling for your attention.
Dad’s pointing, “Look, kid. Your ‘ol boyfriend, Nick. He’s fuckin’ Ghostface.” Dad humorously roars, standing, “See ‘im? H–Hold on.”
You’re avidly protesting, but Dad’s already approaching Nick, who’s not wearing, but holding his hooded mask; Fingers cupping the elongated, rubbery chin. There’s nothing inherently wrong about him; He (morally) should be your holiday hook-up, not your dad’s best friend. It’s too bad.
Joel snipes, “Dick?”
You tut, “It’s Nick.”
Joel’s feigning understanding, “Oh, Prick.”
You’re unsure what’s initiated this potent sexual tension, but it’s consumed your every thought this Halloween; While, Joel’s every word is loaded. His irritated sarcasm’s gunned your way. Any bickering’s uncommon, for the pair of you. You’re hoping that Tommy’s too busy proffering candy to notice.
Dad’s returned, towing Nick, “Weren’t we just talkin’ ‘bout him, kid? So funny.” Dad, and his dorky penchant for inside-jokes.
Nick cluelessly smiles, “Hi, you.”
You politely reply, “Hi, yourself.”
Nick’s extending his hand, summoning you from your designated seat, “Got ‘t see this costume.” Then, he’s declaring you, “Stunning.”
You’re incredulously laughing, “They’re bloodied overalls.”
Nick grins, persisting, “Love ‘em. Also, this apron’s awesome.” He’s thumbing your accessory’s front, tracing the logo, “Carhartt girl, huh?”
You’re aiming to get under Joel’s skin with, “Scream girl, too.” You inspect Nick’s black robe, feeling his arm’s draping sleeve.
Oh, Joel Miller’s jealous. He’s rolling his earthy-toned eyes; Aggressively peeling his beer’s damp label, while instigating Dad, “Hearin’ this?”
Dad’s indifferent, shrugging. He’s always approved of Nick for you; He’s Texan, and plays Minor League Baseball. That’ll do it.
Nick’s pleading, “Let’s please walk ‘round, sweep the neighborhood?”
Joel snarks, “Hell. Reckon he’s recruitin’ for Neighborhood Watch?”
Nick’s nervously smiling, having not heard Joel’s dig, but surely hearing Dad and Tommy’s abrupt snickering.
You kindly respond, “Let’s. Love seein’ the decorations.”
It’s nine-thirty. Your street’s grown habitually sparse; Toddlers, having resigned to stringent bedtimes. Teens, having retreated to erupting parties.
You decipher Joel’s looming silhouette; His rocking chair’s creaking, upon the dimmed porch’s planks. A gleaming tumbler of (presumably) whiskey is resting against his crossed leg, the glass winking at you.
Joel’s dragging his index finger’s edge against his groomed mustache, thumbing his angrily tightened jaw. He rasps, “Ain’t walk ‘ya home?”
You’re ascending his porch’s tread, “Didn’t need that. Told ‘im so.” Then, untying your apron’s chaotic knot, “Uncross your leg, Joel.”
Joel’s pleasingly pliant; He warns, “That’s the only order that I’m takin’ tonight.” His lap’s deliciously spreading, “Get ‘t drawin’ the blinds.”
The anticipation’s wetting you. You’re immediately scampering along the porch’s perimeter, rolling down every privacy blind; Joel’s patiently swigging his auburn liquor. You whimper, “A–Anythin’ else?”
Joel’s rolling the wick of his adjacent kerosene lantern; Thrusting his opened lap, scrounging his Zippo lighter from an anterior pant pocket. His hand’s arousingly veined, while flicking the lighter’s flint wheel.
He belatedly replies, “Drop your apron. Undo your overalls.”
You’ve dropped the apron, and something’s spilling out from the largest pocket; Joel’s deeply exhaling, “Explain that.”
The lamp’s emitting faint light, fire illuminating his hardening expression. He’s so scarily sexy. You’re inching nearer, but Joel hoists his palm, stopping you.
You embarrassedly gulp, “N–Nick’s mask. Asked me ‘t hold it. He never wore it.”
Joel’s impatient, waving, “And?”
You’re tentatively unhooking your denimed straps, gently uttering, “W–Would ‘ya? Wear it?”
Joel’s mildly surprised, “Oh?” Deciding, “Bring it here. On your knees.”
You instantly kneel, before gathering up the discarded disguise using your teeth. You’re crawling to Joel, crossing the porch’s dully-lit surface. The bib upon your overalls undone; The garment’s buckling loops clinking.
Joel involuntarily moans, “Ngh. Dirty fuckin’ girl.” His index finger’s pumping from his balled up fist, signaling you.
Your pussy’s thumping, because of his commanding, curling digit. You’re itching to suck it. You need anything of Joel’s inside of you.
You’ve gradually reached Joel; You’re being caged in-between his lengthy legs. Joel forcibly pinches your face, removing the mask from your bite’s grasp. The item’s resultantly spat, against his abutted groin.
He’s astonished at the filthy sight, rustling, “How ‘bout that.” You’re resting on your haunches, while Joel praises, “Good girl.”
Joel’s abruptly leaning downward, before hungrily lifting your body’s entirety along his own. He’s immediately kissing you, sinking against the rocking chair’s curved spine; The porch’s cedar ground sighs, creakily duetting with Joel’s groans.
You’re practically siphoning the remnant whiskey from his tongue’s cushioned pad; Your mouth’s rabidly sucking, while your waist’s desperately grinding.
Joel’s bypassing your denimed, disoriented trousers; His palm’s greedily grasping your back’s arched column. His remaining arm, ladling your ass. Then, Joel’s effortlessly hauling your goosebumped figure upward; The rocking chair’s momentum being an assistant. The mask’s wedged in-between your upright bodies.
Joel breathes, “T–The lamp. Hang tight.” You’re licking Joel’s partially bearded throat; He’s briefly hunching, responsibly lowering the wick, consequently extinguishing the flame. Your quartet of limbs, wrapping his flexing torso.
You’re whispering, “You’re so big and strong, Joel.”
He amusedly sighs, “Yeah?” Promising, “Ain’t seen nothin’.”
Then, Joel’s roughly stamping your body against the front door’s exterior; His bulge swelling, pinning your pussy. The entry knob’s blindly twisted. Joel’s heavy-footed steps are reverberated, crunching his home’s metallic threshold.
First, Joel carelessly clears his entry way’s waist-heighted table. Juggling you, while his tanned arm’s sweeping everything off; A ceramic, coffee-stained mug of loose change’s completely shattered. Second, Joel harshly kicks his anterior door shut; There’s an impressive boot print, left behind.
Joel’s panting, “Tell me ‘t stop?”
You’re begging, “K–Keep goin’.”
He hums, “Hm. Need it, darlin’?” Joel’s hurriedly planting you upon the table’s cleared crest, kissing your nodding throat. Agreeing, “Yeah. You do.”
It’s dizzyingly hot; Joel gruffly ripping off your mussed overalls, easily tugging off your slip-on sneakers. He’s lobbing them across the room, away from the mess of coins and shards. You’re noticing the Ghostface mask, under his unmoving bicep.
Joel’s noticing you, “This what ‘ya want?” He’s hesitantly thumbing the mask’s gaping jaw. “Ain’t scared?”
You quietly say, “Like ‘t be scared.” You’re reaching upward, prying off his hat; His hair’s deliciously gray and tousled. “Here.”
Joel’s flinging his accessory away. Then, handing you the hooded, horror mask, “Go ‘head.” He warns, “Wearin’ it ‘till you’re comin’. Understand?”
You’re stroking his untidy hair, readying him, “Won’t be long.” You murmur, “S–Soppin’ for ‘ya.”
Joel’s grunting, “Fuck’s sake.” Kissing you, in-between threatening, “Filthy. ‘Oughta edge ‘ya. Talkin’ like that.”
He impatiently rings your wrists; You’re positioning the mask properly overhead. The draping fabric’s hitting Joel’s colossal shoulders.
Your pulse’s hammering, “Oh.”
The mask’s milky-colored expression, surveying you. Stark, against the setting of Joel’s unlighted home. His index finger’s impulsively traveling your body; Dragging over your bottom lip’s dampened flesh. Then, carnally downard, riding your throat. Fingering your jugular’s delicate divet. Hooking your undershirt’s airy collar.
Joel’s taunting, “Heart’s racin’.”
You’re anguishly rutting against his console table’s lacquered top. You need to be touched. You beg, “J–Joel. Oh, Joel.”
Joel’s eerily tilting his head, “Pussy’s racin’ like that, too?” Whispering, “Ain’t it?”
You’re deliriously horny, “Yes.”
He’s humming, “Hm. Shirt’s got ‘t go, first.” His unoccupied hand’s rummaging his hind pocket, while, “Reckon that my knife’ll work?”
You’re pleading, “C–Cut it off.”
Then, Joel’s brandishing his utility knife. The blade’s expertly flicked outward. He urges, “Try ‘t hold still.”
Joel Miller’s carving your fucking shirt; His blade’s blunt edge skimming your sternum. He’s effortlessly halved it, forging an impromptu vest. He’s instantaneously shoving the garment overtop your rigid shoulders.
The knife’s frigid handle brushes your tapered nipple; Joel’s awaiting permission, hovering your underwear’s waistline. You’re nodding, kneading his large shoulders. His finger’s hitching the material, before his blade’s cutting it.
Snipping the remaining side, Joel grunts, “Cunt need stuffin’?” He’s pocketing your saturated underwear and his retracted knife, “I know it’s wet ‘nough to take two fingers.”
You’ve been fantasizing about Joel entering you all Halloween. And, finally; He does. He’s groaning, “S–Swallowin’ both of ‘em. ‘Jus like that?”
Your angling head’s hitting the paneled wall. You’re obscenely squelching around his battering digits. You belatedly respond, “JoelJoelJoelJoel.”
Joel’s roughened wrist’s repeatedly rubbing your beating clit. You’re clenching speechlessly around him, innately meeting every re-entry. Your spine’s warming; Your stomach’s taut.
Your arousal’s watering his driving hand; His palm’s pooling. Joel’s incessantly steady. Praising, “Comin’ up. Doin’ good.”
You’re gasping, “There. Oh, right there.”
The instant that you’re coming, Joel’s yanking off his hindering mask. His beard’s patchy and sweaty. He grins, “Man ‘a my word.”
Then, Joel’s amused mouth’s pounding upon your own; He’s desperately inhaling your breaking moans. Licking your teeth’s underside.
You’re abundantly squirting, as Joel’s uncorking your cunt. Your spotting vision’s correcting leisurely. You’re languidly sighing; Breathing deeply.
He’s genuinely insane for drinking you from his cupped palm. Then, Joel’s mouthing his soggy fingers; Hitting knuckle. You’re blurting, “Need ‘t fuck.”
Joel’s arching his aging brow; Rasping, “Ask nicely.” Then, he’s towing your body overtop his broad shoulder. Spanking you, “Greedy fuckin’ girl.”
You’re nakedly suspended, Joel’s bicep rippling below your ass. He’s entering his living room; Carefully placing you across his cognac-colored sectional. You’re propping upon the chaise’s leathered cushions. You whine, “Please, Joel.”
Joel’s tutting, “Better’n that.”
You supply, “Pretty please?”
He’s gradually moving nearer; His denim-clad shins, butting the couch’s edge. Joel’s unhurriedly thumbing his belt’s loop, painfully prolonging his removing it. You’re wetting and writhing against his furniture’s fabric.
Joel’s unimpressed, “C’mon.”
Shedding his accessory; Working his zipper. His acting arm’s so freckled, tanned, veined. Joel’s yanking his t-shirt overhead, before subsequently revealing an appetizing, softened tummy. His happy trail’s graying and wiry.
You’re begging, “Joel. Please.”
He’s winking, “Good ‘nough.”
Every sound’s tantalizing; Joel’s boots and pants, thumping across the carpet. His bare, bulky thigh’s abruptly rubbing against your naked pussy; Then, Joel’s mirroring your body’s horizontal position. Mounting you.
Your arousal’s drenching his underwear’s front; His length’s largely tenting the humid material, “Beggin’ like that. Fuckin’ slut.”
You’re involuntarily panting, when Joel’s finally and fully undressed. His cock’s deliciously girthy. The tip’s engorged, reddened and seeping; Erecting far beyond his belly’s button.
You’re whimpering, “PleasePleasePlease.”
Joel grins, “Cunt’s quiverin’. Feelin’ that?”
You desperately nod, “Need you ‘t feel it.”
Joel’s immediately pistoning his fleshy waist; His cock’s knocking your cervix’s wall. His rough thrusting’s fastly inching your bodies upward, until your head’s rearing the sofa’s supple tailend.
He whispers, “Warm ‘nough?”
You gasp, “C–Cock’s perfect.”
Joel’s inaudibly responding; Ramming your hand, palming your pelvis. You’re feeling his cock, below your abdomen’s exterior. He’s interlocking your fingers; His own swallowing yours; Pressing. You’re practically tracing his bulbous, twitching tip.
He’s praising, “Takin’ me well.”
Joel’s bottoming-out, pounding steadily; His bloated, weighty balls welting your taint. Your clit’s puffing, from his pubic bone’s rhythmic route. Dementedly fucking you. You’re moaning, “Ah. F–Fuck.”
He murmurs, “Cunt’s gulpin’ me.” Joel’s hooking your knee’s underside, before lugging it overtop his broad shoulder’s slope, “Needy fuckin’ hole.”
You’re stammering, “Ngh. M–Mm. RightThereRightThere.”
Then, Joel’s angling deeper, differently; Laying his body’s robust weight against your languid, vertical leg. Your foot’s achingly surpassing your head. His chest hair’s graying and saturated; Scraping you.
Your pussy’s overwhelmingly spasming. Joel’s messily tonguing your nipple’s peak; His mustache’s prickling the sensitive skin. You’re tugging at his hair’s curling strands, “J–Joel. Close.”
Joel’s echoing your prior words, “Meet ‘ya there.”
You’re shockingly surprised, that Joel’s remembered the momentary retort; Your faux-bold response and pumpkin spiced alcohol. That’s it. You’re blindly coming. His cock’s densely brimming your contracting hole; Hammering you.
Your pussy’s pornographically sloshing. Joel whimpers, “A–’Atta girl. Drenchin’ it.” Then, “Comin’ inside. ‘M snipped. Yeah?”
You’re immediately kissing him. Palming his beard’s rugged stubble. Sucking his tongue’s pink pores; Tasting your arousal’s heady flavoring.
His climaxing moan’s roaring down your throat; Cum rapidly spurting, coating your cunt. You’re rubbing his rolling eye’s crinkled grooves. His forehead’s tanned and wrinkled. Joel’s especially gorgeous, while cumming hard.
You’re pouring, when Joel’s unplugging you. He’s breathlessly cursing, “Fuckin’ hot.” Standing, “Gettin’ towels. Need anythin’ else? Water?”
You’re beginning to respond, when Joel’s unexpectedly bending; Kissing you. You smile, tapping your bottom lip, “What’s that for?”
Joel’s embarrassedly pointing, toward the nearby microwave’s blinking clock. He explains, “Ten thirty-one on October thirty-first. ‘Dunno. Good luck? Make ‘a wish or somethin’.”
You’re actually dumbfounded, “Oh? You’re absurdly cute.”
Joel frowns, “Ain’t allowed ‘t call me that. ‘Specially while leakin’ my seed.” He’s nakedly turning, preparing to walk, “Water?”
You’re pulling Joel’s hand, “Wait. Want ‘t hear your wish.”
He gulps, “That… You’ll be visitin’ home on Thanksgivin’.”
#dbf!joel#dbf!joel miller#joel miller#joel miller age gap#joel miller imagine#joel miller one shot#joel miller smut#joel miller x fem!reader#joel miller x reader#joel tlou#joel x reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal smut#smut#Jamie's Halloween Writing Challenge
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MANIFESTO OF A DOER
1. If you find something that you want to change, you have two options. One, is to talk about the change you are going to make. Or, two, stop talking. And begin.
2. Avoid easy deadlines. Deadlines serve you best when they are short, hard and, at first glance, impossible. Urgency gets things done.
3. Follow through. On the big things. On the small things. Create a habit of always following through. As habits go, it's a good one to have.
4. Focus on the task. If you are doing something that isn't pushing the task forward, that is called a distraction. Distractions are plentiful. But remember, distractions stop you from doing.
5. Obstacles will come your way. Guaranteed. Think of them as a gift. They will make you stronger. They will make you more creative. Rather than break you, they will define you.
6. Ideas change things. But ideas by themselves change nothing. An idea needs effort to make it happen. Do the work.
7. Leverage your energy. You can't increase the number of hours in a day, but you can multiply your effort. Understand the power of the influencers: The few influence the many. Find your multiplier. The person, the company, the organisations who can acclerarate the change you want to make.
8. What you are doing is hard, but not impossible. Practice optimism.
9. What is the priority today? Ask yourself this every day. It's your job to keep the main thing the main thing.
10. The energy available to get this done is directly proportional to how much it matters to you. Only commit to things that matter.
11. Perfection comes over time. Not at the beginning. Start where you are. But start.
12. Sprint. Rest. Sprint. Rest. Human's get more done in bursts followed by rest. Getting things done isn't about who does the longest hours, but who does the smartest hours.
13. 80% of your time is spent on things that you are not good at. 20% of your time is spent on the things you are very good at. In order to get more done, flip that.
14. Teams multiply change. Teams with a clear purpose, and a clear sense of the change they can make, get the most done.
15. Keep your energy for pushing forward. The past is done. Things out of your control cannot be changed. Energy spent being angry, jealous, or cynical is negative energy. Stay positive.
16. Make a plan. Then accept it can and will change. Making something happen is about being nimble and adaptable.
17. Say no. And say it often. As David Allen says: "You can do anything, but not everything." Protect your time.
18. Making things happen is fun. Making things happen that matter with a team as crazy as you are, is the best fun of all.
19. Little actions repeated relentlessly result in big change. Don't underestimate the importance of 'small' multiplied by 'often'.
20. Make a pact with failure early on. Respect it. But don't fear it. If it occupies your mind whilst doing, it can stop you from winning. Free your mind.
21. Even though you are busy, make time to help others who are at the start of their journey. Give back. It will help you.
22. All teams want to be part of history. Have something big that you want to change. This is bigger than you. You're purpose multiplies the teams stubbornness to get this thing done.
23. if you are going to make change happen, make it a good one. This planet needs as many friends as it can get.
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Hi, I’m making a post because something very serious happened in Korea and I’m hoping as many people are alarmed at this.
Deepfake photos have been made and sold on telegram (an anonymous chatting app), and almost 220,000 users were identified for being in Korea. About 70% of those were teenagers, and a list of schools (including colleges) that had victims within the chatrooms in the past couple of years was posted.
My school was on the list and it has been identified that two of my close friends were direct victims.
So that’s why I’m making this post. It’s a little bit of a rant and it’s mostly my anger getting the best of me.
Waking up, finding girls BEGGING their friends to take down photos from their instagram profile, the terror we felt when we found out men were hacking into privated accounts to take revenge, watching my friend breakdown as she tells me that she’s being investigated because her face was deepfaked into pornographic content - can you imagine that? Because that was me two days ago.
Korea, as a whole, is extremely lenient on their criminals - especially sexual offenders and minors - and it’s TOO LENIENT on men.
This situation is not being reported as much as it needs to be, and I’m trying to grasp onto straws by alerting people that know my stupid account on how fucked up this country is.
Men are making friends-only stories saying shit like ‘Why are y’all concerned? Y’all are ugly af’ (this is a real post i had the pleasure of seeing), and people in general have this fucked up view on AI generated content saying shit like “Isn’t this better than actually getting assaulted?”, and it makes me sick to my stomach.
I have to go to school. I have to walk around campus with the fear that maybe, just maybe, the man I walked past just now has seen a deepfaked photo of my friends. The perpetrator’s aren’t limited to simply the number of accounts within the group chat - what if they passed their phones? What if they texted the photos to each other after making them on the telegram? Our school has a big dormitory - what happens within those walls FILLED with men?? The more I have to think about it, the more sick it makes me.
I am not being the most informative and rambling more than anything. But my excuse is that there aren’t many reports and credible sources talking about this. So I’m going off on my personal experience as much as possible.
Please, people - especially women - be fucking warned about this situation. My country is one of the biggest perpetrators, but that doesn’t mean this deepfake issue isn’t (already) worldwide. It’s gonna get bigger, it’s gonna get more dangerous, and it should be making you sick to your stomach.
I hope all victims, including including my friends, get the justice they deserve.
Please, stay safe.
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MINE ft. Yeji
yeji x male reader smut
9k words
it's a follow up to... NURSE
“You’re unbelievable!”
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
“You’re going to make me go insane!”
“That good, am I?”
“I swear one of these days—”
“I know, I know, I feel the same—”
“—I am seriously going to kill you!”
“Uh, shit, I’m out of jokes with that one.”
“Good, because I am Not. Fucking. Joking.”
Yeji’s well and truly pissed—rightfully so, mind you (you really fucked up this time), and for the first time ever there may really be no clever quip or line that can get you out of this one.
But of course, that won’t stop you from trying.
“Look around! This isn’t a fucking joke!”
She’s glaring at you, the kind of furious that could melt steel with her gaze alone, eyes narrowed into sharp slits that slice through your bullshit like a hot knife.
And so, you blink first, balking under Yeji’s glare, and decide to take her advice and look away, look around at your surroundings—at the many, many reasons Yeji is justifiably upset.
For one, there’s your current location—a hospital room, not a good look. Then, there’s the cast around your arm and bandages on your head—not the worse of injuries, but again, when you couple it with the IV snaking its way up your arm, and the morbid beeping of a heart rate monitor filling the silence, it really does not make you out to be the most intact of individuals.
Finally, there’s Yeji, her eyes verging on tears and her hands balled into fists, clutching the fabric of your hospital gown and looking like she’s ready to tear the room apart.
Add them all together: a hospital room, a handsome but seriously injured boyfriend, with his devastated girlfriend wracked with worry besides him… it doesn’t paint the best of pictures.
But yet, before you can stop yourself, another attempt at lightening the mood: “You should see the other guy.”
There it is! A crack in Yeji’s armour, a flicker of something other than righteous fury on her face—eyes widen slightly, lips part just a smidge—a ghost of a smile, perhaps?
But it’s gone before you can confirm its existence—Yeji’s façade is maintained and all you get is a minuscule quirk of her eyebrow.
“The other guy was a car,” she says through gritted teeth.
“And now that car is being turned into scrap and I get to be in the presence of the most beautiful girl in all of Korea.”
“I hate you,” she replies, lovingly (you hope).
“Most beautiful girl in all of Asia?” You’re almost there, you can see it on her face.
“Still hate you.” An ease in tension—a slight drop of her shoulders, a relaxing of her grip.
“The world?”
A sigh, a frown slowly turning upwards, success! — “You’re an idiot.”
“I’m your idiot,” you add, and that gets you a smile—a real, genuine, heart-stopping smile that lights up the room more than any fluorescent bulb could ever dream of.
“What am I going to do with you?” She’s shaking her head, letting you have your little victory.
“What would I do without you?” You ask, and she's rolling her eyes—nothing she hasn't heard you say before. “Certainly wouldn’t get to stay in a room this nice.”
Yeji blushes, her cheeks taking on the same shade of the excessive number of roses decorating your bedside. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Seriously, Yeji?” You say, and echo back to her, “look around.”
It’s Yeji’s turn to act coy—as if it’s perfectly normal for a hospital room to come with a flat-screen TV, designer furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of the city.
The room is closer to a luxury suite than a recovery ward—bigger than your apartment, even—and there’s a voice in the back of your head telling you to maybe risk another injury so you can maybe extend your stay even longer, especially if it means getting to have Yeji fuss over you like this.
“I might have called in a favour or two,” Yeji admits. “But they said this was the only room available!”
“Yeji, this is too much,” you say, but she’s already ignoring you, waving her hand dismissively.
“It’s nothing,” she says, rising off the bed and leaving you to your own devices, satisfied that you’ve been properly scolded.
But, you know better. While Yeji is like this with everyone she cares about—always giving, always putting others first—with you she gets especially intense with her caring, and as much as she’d probably deny it otherwise, you know that she’s more than a little smug at the sight of you laid up in this fancy hospital room, with nothing to do but let her pamper you.
“Sure, sure,” you say, but you can easily imagine her on the phone with every hospital in a fifty-kilometre radius, pulling strings left and right, leaning on the right people to get what she wants.
It’s just who Yeji is—no half measures, above and beyond in every aspect.
“I should unpack,” Yeji decides, retrieving a ridiculously oversized bag from the corner of your suite.
“Unpack?” You ask, but your question falls on deaf ears.
“I was halfway across the world when I heard what happened.” Yeji's clicking her tongue with annoyance as she struggles with the zipper for the bag. “Two days before I could get a flight out!”
“You didn’t have to rush—” you start to say, but Yeji whips her head around, a clear warning not to finish the very stupid sentence you’re about to complete.
“I didn’t have time to pack everything, just grabbed what I could from our place—” (your place, technically) “—and came straight here.”
Yeji instantly sets about your room, making sure that there isn’t a corner that hasn't been touched by her: your favourite tea brewing, the last book you were reading, a Bluetooth speaker playing her ‘songs to remind you of me’ playlist; every single thing you could possibly need to feel better.
It’s not even what she’s doing as she completes her takeover of your hospital room, it’s how she’s doing it.
She’s in her normal everyday uniform: one of your flannel shirts over a tank top that just so happens to ride up just right, showing off her toned midriff as she reaches to hang a change of clothes for you in the wardrobe. Then there’s the snug, tight yoga pants moulded to her curves that stretch over her unbearably firm ass every time she needs to bend over and take something else out from her bag.
It’s all too perfect to be accidental, and you start to get conspiratorial, like perhaps this innocent act of care is just a torturous reminder of your what you can’t have while you’re all laid up and injured.
She is dressed normally. But normal, everyday clothes for anyone else on someone like Yeji, with her body—all sleek muscles and tight lines—is absolutely devastating.
Yeji works fast, a tornado of love and care clad in a dangerous pair of leggings, and in minutes she’s done, adding a finishing touch by spraying her perfume around the room, overpowering the sterile hospital scent with the sweet, floral notes that are uniquely hers—this is her space now, anyway.
Finally, she stops at the foot of your hospital bed, picking up your medical chart, reading it like she understands it all (actually, knowing Yeji, she probably got her medical degree on the way to the hospital just in case she deemed the doctors and nurses weren't doing a good enough job and she decided to take over).
“Hm,” is Yeji’s summary of your current condition. It’s cute, seeing her stare at the clipboard with a focus she usually reserves for the stage. “Eating well, no signs of deterioration in fine motor skills, very responsive, and very… friendly?”
You raise an eyebrow. “They wrote that down?”
“Attending physician: Dr. Park Yoona, Nurses: Roh Ji Yun, Jeon Jeong ah, Bae Hye Jin,” Yeji starts to read out the list of names—female names—and you start to hear the nails being hammered into your coffin, “Nurse Kim Ji Won—seriously, like the actress? All women. Hm.”
“Really, I hadn’t noticed!” Maybe feigning ignorance would increase your chances of survival. “You’d think in this day and age there’d be more male nurses now though, right?”
“Hm,” it’s that noise again. “I’m glad to hear that while I was worried sick about you, desperately trying to get over here, you’ve been well taken care of. Must be nice surrounded by all these cute women in their little nurse outfits.”
“Oh, please,” you test a deflection, “they’re just doing their jobs.”
Yeji’s eyes bore into you. “One of these nurses dots her ‘I’s with love hearts.”
You can only sigh at your impending doom. It’s been a good life.
“Who do these women think they are?”
You switch up your strategy, trying another angle: “They’re medical professionals, Yeji, not strippers.”
“Right, medical professionals,” Yeji echoes, her tone thick with sarcasm, before she suddenly switches up, putting on her sweetest, and most uncomfortable, baby voice. “Oh no, such a big, strong man that needs help. Tell me where it hurts so I can rub it better for you!”
“Stop, stop,” you protest, as much as you would like her to rub it better, you still have your pride. “I barely even talk to them—they just do their check-ups and leave. I can’t even remember what they look like, they’re probably all just plain, old ladies.”
You regret the words as soon as you say them (you really should’ve seen this coming), because before you can get any further into your pitiful defence, the door to your room swings open, and in struts a young, cheery, bouncy woman.
“Is my favourite patient ready for another check-up?” You're already cringing at the nurse’s question—her voice a squeak that’s far too high-pitched and far too cute for a hospital. If anything, she looks like an actress playing the role of a nurse, in some bad movie where they clearly casted for looks over believability.
Yeji’s eyes widen at the sight of the new, endowed occupant of the room, and she reads the name on the nurse’s tag, pinned firmly over a set of scrubs that’s a few sizes too small, and you’re immediately reminded of her earlier threat to kill you with surprising clarity.
“Kim Ji Won,” Yeji reads out loud, before suddenly remembering herself, lowering a baseball cap over her eyes and slipping on a surgical mask, hiding her face from view. She turns away, pretending to fuss with the flowers on your bedside table.
“Oh!” The nurse exclaims, and you’re starting to feel the walls of what was once a luxurious hospital room start to close in. “I didn’t realise you had a guest,” she says, as light and cheerful as ever, “is she perhaps your… sister?”
Oh God, Yeji might really kill you after this. “No, no, no, she’s my—”
But Nurse JI Won ploughs onwards, having the gall (or lack of a sense of self-preservation) to turn to Yeji, and chat away. “Your brother has been the perfect patient! Me and all the other nurses just can’t get enough of him! He’s such a charmer!”
Yep. Definitely dying. It’s been a good life.
“Oh, oops!” Ji Won giggles, as she somehow drops the clipboard she was holding, sending papers scattering across the floor. “I’m so silly, give me a second to get it together!”
“No, no, it’s okay you don’t need to—” you try, but by now you should know better, “—bend over and pick it up.”
She’s already turned away from you, pointing her ass up and straight into the air, performatively picking up the pages one by one, taking her time so you can commit to memory the exact colour of the lacy thong peeking out of her pants.
It’s so blatant that you’re almost impressed, but compared to the practiced ease of your girlfriend, it’s a pale imitation. Still, your mind can’t resist making the comparison, even though there’s no ass in the world that can hold a candle to Yeji’s cheeks wrapped in sheer nylon.
Look at you, all loyal and shit—even in the face of all temptation, you’re still a committed boyfriend, through and through.
If only Yeji, who is now evaluating you with a glare as hot as a thousand suns, could know that your mind is filled with thoughts of just her… even as you're staring at Nurse Ji Won’s ass.
You’re dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.
“Aha, got it!” Ji Won is back on her feet, jumping with a cheer that suggests that maybe she could use a little more support, whilst completely immune to the sudden drop in temperature in the room. Yeji might as well be a ghost to her, the nurse looks only at you, scanning your body, searching for any new injuries that may have popped up since your last check-up.
If only she knew to just come back in an hour.
“It says here it’s about time to take out your IV!” Ji Won sunnily declares.
Consent isn’t a word that seems to exist in this nurse’s vocabulary, and she takes the opportunity to lean real close over you, pressing her ample chest against your side, making sure you get the full feel of her curves as she reaches across to the stand.
Of course, you don’t look—that would be insane. Instead your eyes are on Yeji, who’s definitely not looking at the nurse. No, she’s still boring a hole right through your skull, her hands holding a shredded flower, her knuckles turning white.
“Okay, that’s all done!” Ji Won chirps, and mercifully removes her breasts from your shoulder. “Hey, why are you acting all shy? You’re usually so much friendlier!”
“Oh?” Yeji makes a noise for the first time, and it terrifies you.
But again, the nurse pretends like she doesn’t even exist. “Let me check your heartbeat… And—”
“I’m sure it’s all fine and you can leave now, right—” You try a last-ditch effort to save this poor nurse’s life, but she’s clearly not taking the hint.
“Perfect as always, Mr. Metronome!” She says, writing down on her clipboard, clearly not noticing the seconds of her remaining lifespan ticking away. “We always talk about how you must work out so much to have a heart rate so low and consistent, I mean, obviously you do—look at you!”
You file her comments away as yet another reason your life is about to end, and try to push on, “so—I’m all good, right?”
“Of course you are,” Ji Won replies, turning the volume right up on the flirtiness, and her eyes flicker over to Yeji before she winks at you. “But I’ll just double-check everything before I go.”
“No, I think that’s enough!” Yeji breaks the conversation with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, and the poor nurse jumps from the sternness of her voice. “You said he’s fine, he said he’s tired, and so that means you can leave now!”
“Oh, he’s tired? Does he need extra pillows, or is there anything I can do to make him more comfortable?”
But Yeji already has her out the door, practically dragging the girl out of the room by her collar of her scrubs. “He’s fine!”
The door slams behind the nurse, but not before you hear her giggle, “Hey, you look familiar!”
An icy silence fills the room once the nurse is gone, thick and tense. Yeji doesn’t move for several beats, it’s eerie the way she just stands there, staring at the closed door of your hospital room.
Something clicks in her head, though, and she locks the door, turning back to you, seemingly having made a final decision on your fate.
“So…” you throw out a feeler, trying your best to move straight past, well, everything. “How’s the tour going?”
“Is she perhaps your sister?” Yeji’s voice jumps an octave, a perfect imitation of the high-pitched squeak that had just left the room. She turns to you, throwing the cap off her head and tearing the mask off her face. “Vomit.”
“I have no idea what that nurse was talking about,” you say, immediately making a case to plead your innocence.
“So gross!” Her words are dripping with pure disgust, but at least it isn’t directed at you (for now, anyway). “That’s it! We’re moving hospitals!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down.”
“What is it with girls like that? Oh, you must work out a lot, I mean obviously you do!” Yeji continues her eerily uncanny impersonation. “Seriously, you’re an adult and you’re doing baby talk? ‘Perfect as always Mr. Metronome!”
“She’s just being nice, probably didn’t mean anything at all,” it’s a very weak argument you’re making, the only way the nurse could make her intentions more obvious were if she was wearing a bright neon sign that flashed ‘please fuck me!’.
“Bitch. Shameless! Hitting on my boyfriend in front of me. Acting so cute, so helpless—oops! I dropped my clipboard!” Yeji’s pouting now, fluttering her lashes, mimicking every blatant flirtation Nurse Ji Won had thrown your way.
“Really, we’re doing caricatures now?”
“Carica-what?” Yeji tilts her head to the side, and starts to sway her way over to you, her hips swinging from side to side with an exaggerated bounce. She’s playing it up to a T, making sure to sway, shake, to jiggle with each step she takes. “What does that word even mean? It’s such a big word. You must be really smart.”
Yeji settles into the role of the pretty, ditzy nurse far too easily, and her eyes tell you that she’s enjoying it far too much. For now though, you play along, clearing your throat and putting on your manliest voice—“I have been told I have a rather expansive vocabulary.”
“Wow, another big word,” Yeji’s at your bedside again, taking your hand into hers, looking up at you with wide-eyed awe. “Oh, you’re just so clever!” She giggles, as her other hand just so happens to come down on your thigh, leaving her free to squeeze and massage your muscles. “And so strong too! Do you work out?”
You grit your teeth as Yeji starts to trace her thumb in gentle circles over your skin, all the while staring up at you so innocently—she’s laying it on thick. “Sometimes…”
“I can tell…” Yeji continues, her voice trailing off as she runs her hand further up your thigh, light as a feather, but when she’s looking at you with those eyes and that smile, it’s if she’s dragging a live wire across your skin. You swallow hard, trying to keep your composure as she leans in closer, lets her top hang a little loose, lets you get a peek at the soft swell of her breasts, parts those full, pouty lips of hers, her fingers tracing the contour of your leg as she moves higher and higher and higher, until her fingertips are on your—“Unbelievable! I cannot believe that actually works on you!”
“That’s unfair!” You shout in surprise, letting go of a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. “You can’t expect me not to react when you’re doing that!”
“Uh huh, I bet!” Yeji says, clearly not buying it. “You’re not at all attracted to the helpless, innocent, bouncy little slut that leans close so you can get a good view of her fat tits?”
“I’ll have you know I’m a singular pair of tits kind of guy.”
“This bitch,” Yeji curses under her breath, throwing her hands up in frustration. She unfortunately removes her hand from your leg, and plops herself down on your bed (it’s easily big enough for two), stewing in her emotions. You watch each cross her face: concern, jealousy, disbelief, a slight hint of amusement.
“Yeji,” you say, getting her attention, snapping her out of her thoughts. “You’re my girlfriend. I’m yours. That’s that.”
She stares back at you, her eyes light up at the declaration, and she punches your arm—your healthy one, of course. “You better be.”
It’s strange, seeing Yeji like this—so raw, so visibly affected by someone else’s attention on you. You’ve always thought of her as so strong, so confident, but there’s something in her possessiveness over you that is making you think about things that should definitely not happen in a hospital.
Fuck it, injuries be damned, without another word, you stretch forward and grab her by the waist, your good hand wrapping around her firmly, pulling her closer to you. She gasps, but doesn’t resist, no, she leans into your touch, her body melting into yours as if it’s been starved for affection.
You hold her tight, letting her settle into your embrace, and can only laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation you’re in. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be taking care of me, you’re really not helping my blood pressure right now.”
“I’m still mad at you,” Yeji murmurs into your chest, but there’s no venom in her voice. Instead, it’s filled with something else entirely—something softer, more vulnerable. Her body relaxes against you, and you feel the tension in the room start to dissipate.
“Let’s not pretend that you weren’t enjoying acting like a helpless, little slut, Yeji,” you accuse, and Yeji’s cheeks flush a deeper shade of red. “I know you.”
“It’s your fault,” Yeji says, still hiding her face in your chest. “You and your ridiculous sexy nurse fantasy.”
“It’s a classic,” you shrug, before making an executive decision. “And this time, we actually have the right setting for it.”
Yeji looks around the room, shyly biting her lip. Again, all an act, she’s far too perceptive to not have the same thought on the forefront of her mind. “Here?”
“I saw you lock the door.” You catch the smirk that flashes across Yeji’s face. “Your mind is as filthy as mine, Yeji, I’m just better at vocalising it.”
“You think you can read my mind?”
“You know I can.” You lean in, your mouth finding hers in a soft kiss to prove your point—you didn’t need to ask to know that this is what she’s been after the whole time. Your lips find her forehead, “I can read your mind”—a kiss on her cheek—“your body”—and a whisper in her ear— “your pussy.”
You know you’re right by the hitch in Yeji’s breathing, how she leans into your touch, and when she straddles you without a second thought. Her thighs squeeze down against yours, the fabric of her yoga pants sliding against your hospital gown. She’s all soft curves and heat as she settles herself over you, her hands pressing down on your chest to keep herself steady.
“That nurse really riled you up, didn’t she?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Yeji steals another kiss from you, a moan muffled against your mouth. But yet, there’s the slight grind of hips—slow, deliberate friction, unbearable by design. “I’m just here to take care of my helpless boyfriend.”
“Yoga pants, Yeji. Again,” you say. “I saw it all. How you just so happened to need to stretch, or bend over, or lean just right,” you tease, even though it’s getting harder and harder to get your words out by the second. “You’re just as bad as her, only you’re way better at it.”
You kiss her again, this time with more urgency, the type of kiss you’ve been dying to give her since she first walked into the room, your tongue slipping into her mouth and tasting minty sweetness on her breath.
“And you look way fucking hotter than her when you do it, too.”
A smug smile plays on Yeji's lips as she's kissing you again. “I am the most beautiful woman in Korea.”
“The world,” you correct her.
“Goes without saying,” she finished. “’Extremely hot girlfriend’, if I remember correctly?”
“On fucking fire,” you summarise, and reach out to touch her, needing to feel her, but Yeji stops you placing your hand back on the bed.
She gives you a stern look, and shakes her head. “No, no, no. You’re the patient here, remember? You’re not allowed to do anything,” she says, her voice a mix of playfulness and authority. Yeji leans in closer, her breath hot against your ear. “You have to let the slutty nurse take care of you.”
You see it again—that switch—and Yeji gets more adventurous, cutting off your breath as she drags her hand down, sliding it under your thin hospital gown, walking her fingers back up your thigh. She stops just shy of your hardened cock, her eyes never leaving yours, revelling in your neediness for her, your want, before finally she takes a hold of you, her grip firm and tight and sure.
There’s heat in her palm, and she pulls a moan out of you and into her mouth as she starts to slowly stroke. It’s the softness of her hand against the growing stiffness of your shaft, her fingertips grazing your skin—you know you should be more careful, more considerate of where you are, but with Yeji’s touch, all rational thought is lost.
“I bet none of those bitch nurses could make you feel like this.” Yeji’s touch is a masterpiece of precision and passion, each movement calculated, practiced, she’s right—she’s the only one who knows how to touch you in just the perfect way to make you ache. Her fingers dance along your shaft, her grip tightening and loosening in a rhythm that only she can hear.
“I don’t even know who you’re talking about.” You groan, playing dumb, your mind filled with nothing but Yeji’s body on top of you, her fingers wrapped around you. “What other women?”
Yeji’s eyes narrow, but she can’t hold back her smile. “Good answer,” she whispers, rewarding you by moving faster now, each stroke deeper, more deliberate, reading your every reaction to the way she pumps you, timing her fingers with your stuttering breaths.
She likes—loves—taking care of you, making you feel good, there’s a thrill in it for her, knowing that she’s the one who can make you this vulnerable, this desperate. Her hand moves with confidence, her strokes become more insistent, her gaze hungrier, and she leans forward, pressing herself into your chest, letting you feel the softness of her breasts, the stiffness of her nipples through the flimsy fabric of her top.
“Does this feel good, honey?” She asks, like she doesn’t already know the answer, like she can’t feel your hips bucking up to meet her touch. "Do you like it when I take care of you?"
You nod, unable to form words, unable to do anything but keep your eyes on Yeji and marvel at just how fucking hot she is on top of you as she strokes you. Her hair falls in soft waves around her face, tickling your neck and cheeks, and her eyes—those piercing, all-knowing eyes—affixed to yours, holding you hostage.
“God, I love this cock,” Yeji murmurs between kisses against your cheek, your jaw, your neck, “so big, so hard… All mine…” She’s so satisfied, so happy with herself—with your cock—her constant praise as much for her as it is for you. “Fuck, look how big you’re getting for me, barely fits in my hand.”
“God, Yeji,” you gasp, struggling to keep together, to keep from losing yourself in the palm of her hand, as each of her strokes, each of her words, keep coming, stroking your cock, your ego, fucking with you completely. “I’m getting close—”
“Not yet.” Yeji lets you go, leaving you panting, your tortured cock standing tall and missing her attention.
Before you can even mount a protest, she’s sliding up your body, stretching above your head to grab the hospital bed remote, smothering you with the soft mounds of her breasts as she does so. You groan into her, forced to feel the weight of her pressing down on you, the warmth of her skin against yours, teasing you in a way that’s both infuriating and heavenly.
With a click, the bed whirs into action, reclining back until you're flat on your back, staring directly up at her. She kneels over your head, and there’s the outline of her pussy through the fabric of her leggings, all swollen and damp and begging for your tongue.
She doesn’t have to look to know she has your undivided attention—she's pulling her shirt and her top over her head, setting her breasts, ripe and full, bouncing free from their confinement. No bra today (of course she didn’t, what would be the fucking point?) and you get a full view of those perfect tits, her dark, pebbled nipples already stiff for you.
“It’s your turn to take care of me.”
Yeji lowers herself onto your waiting mouth, lets out a noise that’s so needy, so fucking greedy, as your lips meet her heat for the first time in what feels like an eternity.
“Fuuuuuuck…”
You kiss, lick, nibble at her, tease her, groan into her thighs, as she urges herself against you, making you breathe in the scent of her sex, so immediately wet for you.
It’s not nearly enough for either of you—you need to feel her against your lips, your tongue. You move your hand up her thigh and towards her hip, digging your fingers into her waistband. But Yeji stops you again, and says the four most pleasant words in any language. “Just fucking rip them.”
There’s no hesitation—she lifts her hips off your face, you snake your hand between her legs, take one end of the fabric between your fingers, and another in your teeth: one quick, sharp yank, and you tear. The nylon gives way with a satisfying rip, and Yeji shivers above you as the cool air hits her full, puffy, exposed cunt.
“Mmmph, yesssss,” Yeji hisses as you pull her back down onto your lips, shuddering as you kiss that lovely crease where her thigh meets her pelvis, her pleasure vibrating through your own skull. She quivers, shifts, needy for your lips on her naked pussy, and she pleads, “stop teasing… I need it…”
You smile against her skin, your breath ghosting over her pussy, making her squirm. "What's the magic word?"
"Now," Yeji says, her voice firm, her thighs so magnificently tense. "The magic word is now."
With that, you give her a long lick, starting from the very bottom of her pussy and moving upward, tasting every millimetre of her juicy cunt, tracing the entire length of her slit, ending with an indulgent flick of her clit.
“Fuuuuuuuuck,” Yeji cries out, shivering, falling apart as your tongue finds that sweet spot, her thighs tightening around your neck. Her hands come down to either side of your head, her fingers tangling in your hair, holding you in place as she starts to rock back and forth, setting her own rhythm, matching her hips with the pace of your tongue. “God, you’re so fucking good at that, always so fucking good at that.”
She’s whining, so, so desperate, so pleading, and you’re eager as you taste her, explore her, will her to come apart in your mouth. You’re taking generous licks, tongue dancing around her clit, teasing it, testing her full vocal range as she cries out your name
“Oh, please, please baby, fucking please.” She’s getting wetter and wetter, coating your tongue, your lips, your chin. “I missed this,” she gasps, grinding herself against your tongue, all desperation and utter awe. “Missed you making me feel so fucking good.”
You look up, up at her as she rides your face, she’s so fucking breathtaking. Her body tensing around you and on top of you—so tight, so firm—chiselled abs honed by decades of dancing, that gorgeous curve of her waist leading up to her perky, petite tits, so lovely, bouncing with every gasp she takes.
"I'm so wet for you, honey, so fucking wet," Yeji whimpers, “you always make me so fucking wet—I can’t—ah!”
A sharp inhale, you suck her clit into your mouth, flicking your tongue against the sensitive nub. She’s moaning so fucking loud, so unrestrained, echoing through the hospital room and down the hallways, loud enough to let every nurse on the floor know exactly how fucking good it feels to be on top of you. Her hips jerk, she can’t control her own body now, and you know she’s getting closer and closer, determined to ride your tongue right to the end.
Just looking at her is all it takes for you—seeing her so damn horny, so satisfied sets you on edge, needing something, anything to take your cock and match her euphoria.
“Do you want me to help you out, baby?” Yeji’s reading your mind. You groan and affirmative into the folds of her cunt, and in an instant, you go from being smothered by her juices to being faced with the full, perfect tautness of her ass.
She makes it look so easy, so graceful, lifting herself off your face and spinning around to this new position—face down, ass up.
A second later and your wishes are granted—your cock, so heavy with need, standing neglected and alone is met by Yeji’s soft, warm lips, kissing the very tip of you, tasting the drops of pre-cum that’s already leaking out of you.
“Let me make you feel better,” is all Yeji says—just one light kiss, a whisper into your cock, and she dives onto you, swallowing your cock whole. It’s far too much, far too quickly, you’re out of breath and ready to tap out as her warm, wet mouth envelopes your whole rod in one, smooth suck.
Her tongue swirls around you, her teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, she takes you deeper and deeper, until you’re buried down her throat. You throb inside her, her throat muscles contracting back around you, and you can’t help but thrust up into her mouth, seeking more, needing more.
“Yeji!” You cry out her name on reflex as she takes you in, her hands digging into your thighs as she works her mouth up and down, bobbing, taking you deep and noisily, smacking her lips, sloshing her tongue. Whatever pain you had lingering from your arm, your head, or your ribs, it’s all forgotten—there’s only Yeji, and her exquisite lips, doing everything she can to wring every drop of pleasure out from your body.
It's too much, too intense, and you’ve been on the edge since she first grabbed a hold on you. This can’t end now, not when she’s sucking you so hard, practically worshipping your cock. You need a distraction—pull her hips back, gently, firmly, push that beautiful ass back into your face and indulge in her again.
“Mmmph—!” Yeji moans into you as your tongue meets her cunt, the sound reverberating down your shaft and right into your brain.
And now it’s a competition—you push through her pussy with her tongue, feel her walls tightening around you. She’s pushing back into you, grinding down on you, making sure you get the full flavour of her cunt, her ass, every inch of her on your taste buds.
She’s more frantic now, moving faster, sloppier on your cock as you push her closer and closer to climax. Her tongue slides against you, her cheeks hollow out around you, she drools and dribbles down your shaft—it’s messy and wet and absolutely fucking amazing.
But you can’t let her win, not this time. You double down on your efforts, suctioning your lips over her clit and start rapidly flicking your tongue, setting a relentless pace that you know will make her crumble. She tries her best to keep up, to keep going, but she’s a mess of sucking and moaning and quivering all over your face and on your cock.
Yeji works her tongue, her lips, her mouth—she makes sure you know it’s all yours. But then, after taking you all the way to the back of her throat, your cock pops out of her mouth with a wet smack, and she lets out a cry of pure, unbridled ecstasy. “Fuck, I can’t, I can’t, I’m gonna—FUCK!”
She collapses, bent over and prone, only her ass rocking and grinding against your face as she utterly, completely falls apart, ruined by just your tongue, ruined by the orgasm you’re giving her.
“So good—God—fuck—keep going, keep going, keep going!” Yeji’s voice is a chant, a prayer that you’re more than happy to answer. She’s shaking, her pussy pulsing against your face as you lick and suck at her clit, clouding your mind with the heady mix of sweetness and desire that has you hooked. She’s lost, given up and given over to you now, her moans becoming screams—“your tongue, your fucking tongue—gah!”
Her body geos rigid, locking up as she hits that wonderful peak—but you’re not ready to stop. You keep licking, keep pushing through wave after wave of pleasure that crash over her, not giving a second of rest. Her juices flood your mouth and you swallow greedily, drinking her in like it’s the only medicine you need.
“Fuck—fuck—fuck—fucking making me feel so good—God!”
Nothing fucking matters, all you know is Yeij’s cunt is on your tongue and her ass is in your face, and your only job is to keep licking her to her core, until she finally goes slack, crumbling on top of you.
She stays like that, her legs shaking like she’s just run a marathon, her nipples squashed against your chest, her gasps hot and ragged against your thigh. You can feel the staccato of her heart, and you hold her close, massaging her lower back as she does her best to catch her breath.
And yet, there you are, still throbbing, still so fucking hard and delirious with your need for her touch.
There’s no point in hiding it, she’s so close you can feel her breath on your cock, your close enough to poke her eye out with how hard you are.
“Someone’s feeling left out,” she says, as if she’s not entirely to blame. “Is that for me?”
“You know it is,” you respond, far weaker, more pleading than you intended.
A gentle, torturous kiss against your thigh, and you’re just about ready to explode in her face. “Then I guess as your dutiful, loving, girlfriend, I better do something about it.”
It’s so easy for her—one moment she’s exhausted, out of breath on top of you, the next she’s fully recovered, back on top and mounting you, facing you as she smears the tip of your cock with her wetness.
You try to sit up, eager to get straight to it, straight to fucking her like you need to, but her hands are on your shoulders and she’s pushing you back down.
“Lie down, baby,” she hushes you, pressing you down onto the mattress. “Just enjoy this.”
Her eyes narrow as she drinks in the sight of you, bursting with anticipation as she lowers her pussy onto your cock. It’s a special kind of torment, one that makes your hips buck involuntarily, so impatient to feel her warmth again.
But she takes her sweet time, and it’s only when she’s close enough, she bends down, mouth hovering over yours. Your eyes drift shut, and you wait for that soft contact of her lips, but it doesn’t come.
Instead, she whispers, "I've got you," and you feel the warm, velvety embrace of her cunt as she takes you in, inch by agonising inch.
Fully seated, her walls close around you, and that’s when she kisses you hard, her tongue pushing past your lips and into your mouth with the same aching hunger of her cunt around your cock.
She tastes so damn good, feels incredible—it’s been too long, and you want nothing but to grab her, hold her and slam her hips down onto yours and drive deeper into her, but your body won’t cooperate.
You can only lay there as she starts to move, her hips rocking back and forth, slowly, intentionally, having you seeing stars. And then, just when you think you can’t take it anymore, she lifts herself up off your cock, and in one swift motion, sinks herself straight back down, whispering “holy fuck yesss” against your lips.
She needs time to get used to you, used to your cock filling her whole again. “This fucking cock,” she bites your lip as she rides you, “always so big, always so perfect.”
Yeji has to take it slow, has to let her pussy stretch around you, adjust to you, before she can start to ride you, to fuck you like she really wants to. And she does want to—wants to claim you, erase any doubt about who is the one person that can fuck you like you deserve to be—so, so much.
Each movement down the length of your cock is faster than the one before, each moan into your mouth hotter, each clench of her cunt around yours so much tighter, until she’s fucking you in earnest—harder, faster.
“So thick, so, so, riiiiight,” Yeji groans.“I’ve missed this, needed this.”
She’s riding you like she’s been waiting for this forever, like this might be the last time, bouncing her ass up and down, her eyes hooded with lust, her hair a wild mess around her flushed face, her nipples swinging every time your hips meet.
“When you get better, honey, I need you to fuck me real hard,” Yeji whispers in your ear, her breath hot and tickling, thick with lust, her tight cunt milking you, keeping you on the edge of insanity. “But I’ll take care of you for now, I’ll take care of this cock—fuck I love it—I love you—I love that you’re mine.”
“You’re mine too, Yeji,” you groan back to her.
“That’s right—I belong to you and you belong to me,” Yeji punctuates her point with a hard slam of her cunt down onto your cock. "You're My. Fucking. Boyfriend."
She’s getting faster and faster now, picking up her pace, like she needs to prove something, to herself, to you, to the entire fucking hospital.
“Those other bitches can’t ride you like I do—can’t fuck you like I do,” Yeji’s panting, each word fucked out of her, coming out like a proud battle cry. She’s right, you’re sure of it—no one else can make you feel this way, no one else can take you, claim you like she can. She’s lost in it now, lost in the heat and the friction, her whole body consumed by a burning desire to show you just how good she is at this.
Yeji leans back, sitting upright, giving herself better leverage to bounce on your cock, giving you a better view of her body—all perfectly sculpted edges and soft curves—and those fucking perky tits. They’re stunning, just like the rest of her, and you reach for them on instinct, cupping the soft mounds, feeling the weight of them in your palm. Her nipples are so hard, erect, begging for your touch, and you don’t want to disappoint—could never—so you pinch and twist them, watching her face contort with pleasure, feeling her pussy tighten around you as she cries out.
“No one can take this big fucking cock like I can—down my throat, in my cunt.” It’s a declaration—loud and proud, for every single person in the hospital to know.
“Jealous?” You grunt out the word, hoarse, rough. “Thinking about me fucking other woman like I fuck you? Making them scream—making them cum as hard as I’m about to make you?”
You can see the twist in Yeji’s face, how her pupils dilate as your words sink in. There’s a war playing out on her face, jealousy and desire, the mere thought of you fucking other woman making her pussy spasm around you. “Oh, fuck you! You would ruin them, honey, they wouldn’t be able to take you. Or is that what you want to hear? Some cute bitch screaming: ‘oh baby, oh please, oh daddy, I can’t take it—I can’t take this big fucking cock!’”
There’s truth in the mockery, and there’s a dark thrill in Yeji’s jealousy. But now’s not the time for anything (or anyone) else but her—you’re too close, too far gone, your cock throbbing with the need to spill into her.
“Only I can take it, it’s mine, mine, mine.” She’s soaking you, so needy, so deep, so fucking filthy as she whines over your cock. “You better keep fucking me—only me—or I will make your life hell.”
“Show me then,” you challenge her, and you can see something flash across her eyes—something primal, something rough.
“I’m yours,” she declares again, riding you in a way that can only be described as pure art, her whole body moving in perfect harmony with a singular goal—to be absolutely wrecked by your cock. “All yours, nobody else’s. And you’re mine.”
It takes one hard pump into her tight, sweaty body and she’s falling into you, her body pressed on top of you, her forehead pressed against yours. It’s electric, the connection between your bodies, a jolt of pleasure surging through your cock and her cunt until all that matters is the feel of her fucking you like her life depends on it.
It’s love at every thrust, every gasp and moan. Nothing but Yeji on top of you, her soft skin pressed against you, her heartbeat racing against yours, her wetness coating your cock like a silk glove. Not just pleasure, you’re claiming each other—she’s whispering it in your ear, whispering your name like a promise, a declaration of war against anyone who would dare to come between you.
“Fuuuck.” Yeji bites down on your shoulder, digs her nails in your skin, squeezes her pussy around you like a vice. “I’m gonna do it again,” she mewls, “this cock—your beautiful cock—is gonna make me cum all over again.”
She’s chasing that precious feeling, desperate for it, her hips moving in erratic circles, determined to bring you with her. You can feel it too, the beginnings rising from the base of your cock, the tension in your balls. You want to hold on, to make this last, but at this point it’s like trying to hold back a tidal wave.
“Give—fuck—give me more!” Yeji’s eyes are squeezed shut; her mouth open in a silent scream as she grinds down on you, her body trembling with the effort to keep her balance. You can see the tension in every line of her body, how her abs clench, her toes curl. It's like watching a live wire, and you're the one holding the current. "Nobody can fuck me like you do—fuck—nobody can take you like I can!"
You wrap your arm around her shoulder, holding her tight, wrenching control from her, making her prove her words with every forceful thrust. You’re going to be in pain later, but fuck all that—Yeji’s so wet, so tight, so fucking hot—she’s a force of nature, and you’re just the lucky fuck that gets to be in the eye of the storm.
“You’re going to cum in me, now, okay? I’m going to cum so fucking hard and then you’re going to cum right inside me.” Yeji’s completely given herself over to you, letting you fuck her, use her, she’s all yours anyway. “Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck!”
And then she’s there, her cunt gripping you like a fist, her walls pulsing and quivering around you. Yeji’s eyes fly open, her gaze locks onto yours, and she’s cumming hard.
Her orgasm rips through her body, she’s choking your cock with pussy, muscles tightening and release in a painful rhythm, and all she can do is shake and cry out every filthy word she knows, every sweet noise she can make as she spills and creams and comes apart on top of you.
“It’s too much,” Yeji’s barely holding on, panting incessantly, “too-fucking-much—too-fucking-much!”
The way she looks, the way she fucks, the way she cums—it’s a thing of beauty, an absolute fucking honour to witness—every twitch, every shiver, every gasp that falls from her swollen lips. Her nails pierce your skin, her teeth threaten to draw blood, her eyes wide and wild as her climax crashes over her.
“Please-please-fucking-please!”
But she doesn’t stop. If anything, she’s becoming more insistent, more urgent, fucking back against you again, her hips moving in a blur, taking you like a woman possessed. She’s pleading for you, pleading for you to give in, to let go, to follow her into bliss. Yeji’s a woman on a mission—to make you feel her, to make you fill her and you realise that maybe this isn’t just about jealousy anymore—it’s about making you know in every fibre of your being that your cum belongs in her cunt and her cunt only.
"Give it to me," Yeji demands, “I need you to—please—fuck—cum in me!”
Every word’s a trigger, sending you spiralling over the edge. It’s been building for an eternity now, an unbearable pressure needing to find a home in Yeji’s scorching, sopping wet pussy.
“Kiss me—I need you to—need to taste—fuck—please—kiss me now!”
There’s nothing left to do but obey, bringing your hand to the back of her neck and pulling her down into a fierce, bruising kiss. Your mouths crash together, your tongues dance and entangle, your teeth clash, and all the while Yeji’s clenching around you, cunt contracting in an effort to keep you still, keep you together.
“Fill me.”
A final, triumphant spear into her and your gone—releasing, spurting your cum deep inside her—so hard, so hot, so intense, emptying everything, all of you, every last drop into her greedy pussy.
“Yesssssss—this—this is what I needed.” Yeji hums a satisfied note into your collarbone, so full, so complete, so content. She’s still slowly rocking her hips back and forth, still pulsing around you, milking you dry. “I feel so…full.”
She dissolves into a puddle in your arms, nuzzling her head into the crook of your neck. Your hand finds its way to her back, tracing gentle circles, rubbing away the tension that’s been built up, the strain she’s put her body through.
She’s warm, she's so alive, and you can feel her heart beating against your chest, a stilted, hurried rhythm that's gradually slowing down. You kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her neck, anywhere you can reach without having to strain yourself. It’s a gentle reassurance, making sure that for all the fucking and the filthiness, she knows that no matter what happens, you’re there to make sure she’s okay.
Yeji whispers an “I love you,” her words like a balm to your soul. “I really, really, fucking love you, you know?”
“I know, Yeji,” you say, low enough for only her to hear. “I really, really, fucking love you too.”
There’s still the embers of your shared climax resonating through your bodies, the come down from an epic high that’s left the two of you a tangled mess of limbs and hospital sheets. You both lay there, Yeji’s pussy still spasming around your cock, your cum and her juices dribbling down and pooling between your bodies.
“I was really worried about you.” Yeji whispers, vulnerable. The admission hangs in the air above you, a stark reminder of the fear and insecurity that’s been simmering just beneath the surface. “When they called me, I thought—I—I fucking hated that feeling.”
“I’m sorry,” you say. It’s all there is left to say.
“And I am really pissed about these nurses,” Yeji adds with a deadly seriousness, that only makes you smile. “I’m moving you to another hospital as soon as I can.”
“We just might have to after this,” you murmur, stroking her hair as you catch your breath. “No way they didn’t hear any of that.”
“Good.” Yeji declares, a little too intensely, too smugly.
You look down at her and can’t help but chuckle. “Well aren’t you all happy and copacetic now?”
Yeji looks back at you, pauses, and then grins. “Copa-what-tic?”
You can only roll your eyes. “Copacetic.”
“Wow,” Yeji starts, her voice back up an octave, laced with sickly sweetness. “Such a big, complicated word. You’re so smart.”
“Uh huh.”
“And these muscles too! Look at you all pumped and sweaty. Have you been working out?” Yeji teases, her cheeks still flushed a bright pink shade. She reaches down to give your bicep a gentle squeeze, mouthing an exaggerated ‘wow’ in amazement of its size.
“I did just finish a pretty intense workout. Might’ve even got another concussion from having my brains fucked out.”
“In that case, as your nurse it’s my responsibility to get you good and clean.” Yeji’s kissing you again, soft and slow. “Come on now, let me give you a good, nice scrub.”
“Is this going to be a reciprocal thing, you wash my back, I wash yours?”
“Why don’t you come with me and find out?” Yeji slides off your cock, peeling herself off your sticky body, and lifts herself up and off the bed.
You watch as she stretches, her body a glorious mess of grace and sweat and cum, and for a moment you’re just in awe of her. She’s glowing, and she’s not even trying.
“Aren’t you going to join me?” Yeji winks, already sauntering away from you and towards the bathroom, her hips swaying, her ass calling for you with each perfect bounce. “It’s time for some serious physical therapy. Nurse’s orders.”
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[THIS IS GONNA BE HARSH
No way you're not assuming things in your favor and expecting your desires please, make it make sense.
I'm going to speak for all bloggers because I know some of them are tired and scared to say it. But don't come to me asking how to manifest, for the love of fucking God, READ READ FUCKING READ.
No way we are going to 2025 and your ass still asking how to manifest this and that.
Assume and let it BE, that's it. What do you want me to tell you? Jump five times and roll or something? There's literally nothing else to do.
Not only that, but those anonymous asking if the Law of assumption is real? Like, until this day, bro, get a fucking grip. Jesus Christ.
You're going post by post trying to find something that will click for you and not even applying it. You're wasting your time. I'm not saying you can't read posts or whatever, but if you're not applying it, then you're wasting your time.
It's annoying, yes it is. When are you going to decide enough is enough? Because me and other bloggers can make posts every single day, but at the end of the day, it's you. It's literally you. It's your choice.
Enough is enough.
we are literally going to 2025, enough is enough. Stop with the bullshit. You know why you don't have your desires right now, you know it, and I don't have to tell you.
Someone can spread a rumor about somebody without proof, and you will believe it.
There have been many times in your life where you assume things without proof. Yes, there have, and you probably don't even remember, and it manifested itself in the 3D.
Why are you waiting for the blogger to come back? Are they your God? Stop the glaze, please. It's getting too far to the point where you see those bloggers bigger than you.
They manifested a big house, so can you?? They're not special, I promise you.
They manifested appearance change, so can you. They manifested being able to shift every time they want, so can you.
You can talk to those bloggers in real life, and you will realize they're just regular people. They're not that special, I'm not that special.
It's really not that serious.
Because of the likes they get on their posts, it makes you think that they're bigger. They're just numbers. Knock it out.
Now, let me get real with y'all. There's no such thing as unrealistic or big desires. You're the one labeling it as unrealistic or big desires.
Do you really think that the 3D says something like, "oh no, I can't reflect that, it's too unrealistic and big"?
Do you really think that the 3D looks at your desires and says that? Think about it for a sec. Now, YOU tell me, do you really think that the 3D thinks that?
Or is it just you labeling them as big and unrealistic? You see how you're always the one who assumes things???
I KNOW, SURPRISINGLY RIGHT? Well, it shouldn't be a surprise to you. You should already know that.
I don’t want ANY ANON coming in my asks asking me dumb ass fucking questions when you can just get your ass to read and try to actually understand
It’s actually really easy to understand if I’m being fr
There’s many bloggers who literally breaks it down in the most EASIEST WAY to understand
So stop with the excuses.
Stop trying to look for motivation especially shifters Omds
Im gonna write another post on this im not done yet call me mean wtv idc it had to be said loa bloggers ARE TIREDD
And I also think that’s why the loa community is kinda dying.
#law of assumption#manifesting#how to manifest#manifestation#affirm and persist#dream life#self concept#instant manifestation#desired reality#manifest#shifting community#loassumption#reality shifting#loa success#shifting blog#master manifestor#void state#shifting motivation#black shifters#loa
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✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ And I wouldn't marry me, either part 2
You were Azriel's mate, but it took losing you three times for him to realise.
[thank you for the love on part one, I’m so happy Azriel is getting the love he deserves!!!! This is another long one, another 6k. But I’ve learnt a new love for writing about him and i have so many ideas. This is a continuation and final part, part one here. Enjoy]
warnings: references to sexual assault and references to suicide. nothing explicit but please don't read if this is sensitive to you.
The third time Azriel almost lost you, he was pretty sure he lost a part of himself.
They'd all gone into battle, knowing that Hybern had the numbers to match and the advantage. But they'd all gone to fight in spite of that.
It had took some time for you to get the boys to agree to let you fight- you'd trained and grew up with all three of them but this was fighting on another scale. Although, if they were going, there really wasn't much they could say to get you to stay.
You were clad in Illyrian leathers just like them, armed with weapons and power.
The first battle was over quicker than you'd anticipated. Hybern soldiers surrendered, Tarquin drowned them on land. You'd suffered little, only falling on bed exhausted by the end of the day. Sadly, you were sharing a tent with Cassian and Azriel. It was like you were young again, all sleeping in the same room. It was a habit you'd done when you were young- all looking out and protecting each other.
The only difference was that Cassian snored as he got older.
But the next battle was worse.
It was bigger than last. Hybern's forces had doubled, seemingly at of nowhere, cutting their forces apart.
It was chaos, everywhere. Every corner there was fighting and bleeding and dying. There was pain all around you. Pain you felt like it was your own.
You used all your power, as much as you could to kill and protect. From the corner of your eyes you could see Azriel fight. Your Azriel, weaving in and out of people. Your mate. He was alive. And that was all you cared about.
But you didn't realise how much you'd been pushing herself and draining your power. Every time you stopped, you swayed on your feet, stumbling.
One of Hyberns men came for you as you were crouched and you barley blocked with your sword, rolling onto your back and slashing his arm off.
Not before he landed a sword in your thigh.
It had been deep burning and you yelled, yanking it out. Even with the wound, you kept fighting and fighting your way through until you saw a blaze of red and a familiar cry.
Cassian.
He'd been run through.
It was easy to push past exhaustion and winnow to his side, killing the man who'd been near him and any others that had been close enough. You fall to your knees next to him. 'Cassian, you prick.'
'You kiss your mate with that mouth,' he gasped. He was the only one who knew about Az and the bond. The only one you'd allow to make jokes.
You look down to his wound and gaged. Mother above, his guts were hanging out. 'No, no, no, come on, big guy, you have to stand.'
He groaned. 'Yea, don't think I can do that, sweetheart,' his eyes, lulled back.
You slap him in the face. Perhaps you wouldn't have felt guilt if it weren't for the way his eyes widened. 'You know I hate being called that.'
He laughed as his stomach and all its contents heaved out. Ignoring the pain in you, you hold his stomach, keeping him together. 'I promised Nesta i'd look after her,' he said. 'Please look after her.'
'Do it yourself,' you groaned.
Finally, Azriel came to your side and picked Cassian up like it was nothing, flying him to the tents. If only you still had your wings, you could have done it, saved him quicker.
Then, you were thrown back into the battle. Covered in his blood and yours, you fought through them all, slashing and killing like it was nothing. Like you had no reason to bat an eyelash at anything happening.
Eventually, it ended, but you couldn't even concentrate on who won or how much you'd lost. Your head ached, your leg was tied up in a bloody bandage ripped from your clothes. But none of that mattered.
Cassian was in bed, healing slowly. But he would live, everyone could tell. Especially with the way he picked fights. He argued with Rhys about throwing himself into danger, him and Nesta appeared to be having words with their eyes. Even Mor and Feyre argued. You were the only one silent with Azriel in the back. Too exhausted to even open your mouth.
That night, you tied up your wounds and fell asleep without changing.
It only got worse.
Elain- Feyre's sister and the most precious- was stolen from Hybern. You had only agreed to go and save her with a few selected others because your mate was in that few selective others.
It hadn't escaped your notice how he looked at her, was watchful over her like he once was with you. You saw the tick in his jaw at the news she was gone. You knew that this was the reason you hadn't told him. Knowing that he deserved someone like her, better than you. Kind and hopeful. You weren't. So the only thing you could do was watch your mate find love in someone else.
And you'd do it grudgingly but happy for him.
Azriel had took of with her. You and your high lady fought, fought through ash arrows and everything.
'You should get out of her, y/n,' said Feyre.
You groaned as an arrow skimmed your shoulder. Another had already got your hip. 'If you try to order me out of here, i'll be really pissed off at you.'
'I don't care if it gets you out!' she snapped, arguing like a real sister would.
'Yea, well- I was never one to listen to Rhys either.'
And Azriel was gone. Everything was fine.
You and Feyre ran, ran even as Tamlin defended you, ran until-
An arrow hit you in the back, straight to one of your old wing scars.
You tumbled, rolling on the ground as it broke and imbedded in your back. You screamed, in spite of yourself.
'You have to fly,' someone was telling you. Or saying it in general, frankly you had no idea what was going on. 'You have to take her.'
You rolled onto your stomach, groaning and trying to get yourself up. There was blood running down your arm, how did that get there?
'Y'n.'
You groaned, 'Azriel. I can't fly.'
'I know, I know- i've got you.' He picked you up, arm under your legs and around your shoulders.
'Elian, Azriel-'
'Feyre has her,' he told you. He sounded angry. Or afraid. Somehow his emotions were very easy to mix up.
'Feyre isn't strong enough.'
'She'll have to be.'
'You should take them, Elian-'
'I don't give a fuck about Elian right now, y'n.'
Just like that, he took off with you in his arms and your blood raining down on the camp of Hybern. You could barley hear anything over the wind... but you could feel it.
Something had tugged painfully at the bond, throwing you into a scream. Something had happened to Azriel. You twisted in his arms, finding gashing claw marks in his back from one of the hounds that had chased them down. His face was bleached white in pain, his hold on you tight.
Glancing around, you could just see Feyre in a blur of people.
'Azriel-' you gasped. He was in pain, so much pain.
He didn't say anything, just squeezed you tighter and looking ahead, barking orders as Feyre flew for the first time in need, in desperation. You remembered what that was like, trusting your life in them. But Azriel's wings, they were bleeding out. You remembered the pain. You'd go through it every day to spare him a minute of it.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
You and Azriel landed back in the camp in a blur of pain.
Even with him leaving a trail of blood, he managed to set you down like you were porcelain. You didn't cry out. You didn't yell for help. You threw his arm over your shoulder and supported him.
Nesta and Rhys rushed to Feyre.
You hated your brother for a long moment.
Elain wondered over, chained but whole.
Azriel moved from you, checking on Elian. You only managed to watch them as she kissed his cheek.
The pain came to you then. Your head, shoulder, back. You turned from the crowd of family. Elain moved to hug her sister, Rhys stayed at Feyre's side.
Thesan, someone you barley knew as more than a healer, came to you first but you pushed him away, pushed him to Azriel. 'His wings. Heal him, or i'll rip you to pieces.'
He didn't have to be told twice.
You stumbled your way to camp, to your little tent. You didn't share it with Cassian anymore as he was still healing and Azriel would be a while- needing healing of your own.
You collapsed on the bed, promising to look after yourself- just after your nap.
You were so fast asleep you didn’t even hear Azriel come in and sigh at the sight of you…
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Azriel was fighting when it happened. Specifically, when it snapped.
Mate. Mate. Mate.
No, he wasn't completely healed. But he had to fight. He wouldn't push himself, he knew that would be stupid. But he wouldn't watch as everyone fought. As you fought. He'd hardly seen you. He knew your back would be in pain. He knew you'd be in pain and you were still fighting, so far from him and out of reach.
He was thinking of you when it snapped.
Mate. Mate. Mate.
His soul sang it, his heart rose with it.
His shadows whispered it.
Mate. Mate. Mate.
y/n.
And the first thing he felt over the bond wasn't happiness or love. It was pain. It was death.
Mate. Mate. Mate.
In spite of the pain in his wings, how he'd been told not to fly, he did. He jumped into the skies, soaring over armies and dead to find you. He followed that pain, he followed the bond until he found you.
You, lying in your own blood. Again.
He fell next to you, his power eradicating anywhere near you. They dissovled, the ground cracked under him and his syphons shone in raw power.
'y/n?' he held your body, shaking you. Blood, so much. A sword had torn through your gut. 'Don't do this to me.'
Mate. Mate. Mate.
You cough, a thin stream of blood rolling from your lips. 'Azriel?'
'You're mine,' it was the first thing he could bring himself to say. 'You're my mate. Y/n. You have to hold on, ok? I'm gonna-gonna get you to safety.'
Something like a laugh escaped you, your body wracking with it. 'Of course, finally snaps for you as i'm dying.'
Snaps for you. Mate. Mate.
She knows, his shadows sung. She's known.
Azriel called out to Rhys in every way he could. 'We're gonna be fine. We're gonna be mates, y/n. You have to live, you understand?'
'Not really.' your eyes flutter shut.
'No!' he yelled, shaking you again.
'What's happened?' Rhysand landed next to him, blanking when he saw you in Azriel's arms, bleeding to death. How many times did this have to happen? How many times would you throw yourself into danger?
'She's my mate,' Azriel repeated. He tested it out loud, speaking it to the mother. How cruel was she? to give him this then try to take her away. Well, the mother wouldn't get that chance. Azriel would fight her if she tried to lay a hand on your life.
'What?' said Rhys.
'My mate,' he all but growled as Rhys got closer.
He put a hand on the back of Azriels neck, a hand on your head. 'We have to save her, Az.' he knew all about mating of course, knew that Azriel wanted nobody around her. But this was too save her. 'She's my sister too, the last sister I have. I care about her to.'
Azriel wanted to throw a thousand insults his way but refrained. If not because he was high lord, but also because you were dying.
They got you to safety, Azriel carrying you through to a tent.
'Y/n?!' Cassian rushed over, seeing you in his brothers arms, bleeding out and unresponsive.
Azriel pushed past him, setting you down on the bed. 'Get everyone, every healer now.' He had no idea who he was trying to demand, but he couldn’t watch this, couldn’t see you in.
You were still in your bed. Behind him, Feyre rushed to her mate, wrapping her arms around his torso as your brother stared at you in muted horror.
Azriel was leaning over you, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘She’s my mate.'
'What?' Said Cassian, ‘She told you?'
Azriel felt the world stop around him. Not did you know about the bond and hadn’t told him, you’d told someone else? Cassian? His hand stilled in brushing your hair back, his shadows coaxing you instead.
Rhysand spoke what Azriel wanted to scream. 'You knew?'
'She-She told me,'
Azriel had always had an iron fist control on his emotions, as relied on to be spy master, he had to. But his patience was hanging on by a thread. You were still bleeding out and nobody had come and Cassian knew. Cassian knew about his mate before he did.
His shadows caressed you and, leaving you in the coolness of their touch, he leapt up, marching around the bed toward him.
Rhys was quicker, a hand on Azriels chest to stop him. 'Calm, brother.'
'Calm?' He seethed. 'When-how long have you known?' He shouted.
Cassian breathed out, pushing his hair back . His wings were tucked in behind him. 'She told me, before she went under the mountain.'
Even Rhysand let him go, blowing out air and throwing his arms over his head as Feyre gasped.
Azriel stumbled, a hand to his chest. His shadows were divided between him and caring for you. 'Fifty years,' he gasped.
You’d known for fifty years- possibly longer and hadn’t said a word.
He was panicking, his breath escaping him. His shadows settled uneasy around him. And the only person who was capable of calming him was laying unconscious.
Thesan burst in, knowing the injured already and working on you quickly.
Azriel almost launched at him, just for touching you. The reasonable part of him knew he needed to touch to heal, but the part that was your mate wanted him dead.
Cassian held him back, physically.
Azriel glowered at him. 'I wouldn’t touch me if i were you, brother,' he practically spat the words.
Rhysand left Feyre with a kiss on her cheek, coming to Azriel who was looking over you on the other side. 'Az, you need to rest-you’re hurt, too, remember?'
He shook his head, staring down at you. Mother above you were pale, so pale. 'I-I can’t feel anything Rhys, I can’t feel her through the bond.'
'My sister is a fighter, she’ll make it through.'
Azriel scoffed. His shadows were caressing up and down your arm. ‘Don’t pretend you’ve ever cared about her like a brother.'
Rhysand inhaled sharply. This was just fear, he told himself. 'Azriel.'
'No,' he said, his finger brushing back your hair. 'You only care about her when she’s dying and all y/n does is worship you- ever since you were children.'
Cassian tried to advance, 'Azriel, you wouldn’t be saying any of this if y/n wasn’t hurt.'
He laughed, bitterly. 'No, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t have to. I’d bite my tongue. But your sister is dying and the last time you cared was the last time she almost died- it killed her to lose her wings and you were never there! And you teach your mate to fly right in front of her!'
Rhys growled. ‘Don’t bring my mate into this!'
‘You’ve brought mine into this!' He yelled. 'Everything she does is for you. Working for you. My mate followed you down to the mountain even when you didn’t care.'
'Of course I cared.'
'Then why did she feel so alone down there!'
‘How would you know, Azriel? You weren’t there!'
'Because I know her, bond or not. And you’ve been otherwise occupied.'
Cassian moved between the two, holding them apart. 'None of this matters to y/n does it.'
Azriel blankes them all, settling next to you. He vaguely heard Cassian send Rhysand and Feyre away. He felt him longer before he felt him leave.
And then all Azriel could feel, was you.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
You felt pain first. The steady thumping of it through your body. It started in your leg, numbing it. Then, her back ached- a familiar pain you'd felt before. It sent panic through you before you realised they can't take your wings twice.
Then, it was in your gut, stinging. Just the thought of moving was hurting- aching.
There was a coldness around you, draped over like shadows. Shadows...
That's when you felt the tug that you'd neglected to feel for more than half a century.
The bond. There was finally something tied to the other end.
The shadows around you must've known you were awake as they grew frantic around you.
You opened your eyes, slowly, afraid to what you may see. Afraid to the eyes you'll have to meet.
Azriel was sat on a chair next to you, bare chested with only bandages around him. Immediately, you were at a disadvantage. He was looking at you, dark eyes pouring into yours as his hands curled around shadows.
'What happened?' you asked.
'You were run through,' he said, voice wavering.
'Oh.'
'You're my mate.'
Your eyes flickered away, staring at your tent. 'Oh.'
'That's it?' he whispered. There was some heart-break tainting his voice. 'You're not gonna say something?'
You pulled the blanket over you, daring to move to sit up. He shifted, but his shadows helped you. 'What do you want me to say, Az?'
'Why did you tell Cassian and not me?' he asked. 'Why didn't you tell me, for fifty years?'
'It's-it's not a big deal.'
'Not a big deal?' he all but seethed. 'I'd say finding your mate is a pretty big thing, y/n. It's the person to spend the rest of your life with.'
'Can we not, do this now?' you winced, as the words left your mouth.
'You're right, maybe we should wait another fifty years to bring it up when you're dying.' you've never heard him be so cruel, you'd never even argued with him before this.
'I wasn't dying,' you mumbled.
He scoffed. 'You had an infected wound in your leg that you didn't tell anyone about. An ash arrow was imbedded in your back. Imbedded! You didn't see anyone about it and then- you run into battle and get yourself stabbed.'
'I didn't get myself stabbed!' you argued, your temper rising above all other judgment. 'I didn't rush out in there, wanting to die!'
'I held you as you bled out!' he yelled, standing up from his seat. You were swinging your legs over the bed, ignoring every twinge in your body. 'Do you have any idea what that's like? Not even to hold you as you die in my arms the first time but the second. And to know this time, I was holding my mate?'
You bit down on your lip. He had to use the word with such care and love even when angry. You could feel it. For once, guessing his emotions wasn't needed as you felt it all. The taunt anger in him, the pull of anxiety and above all else, the weight of his love.
Azriel walked around you. 'Please, you have to tell me. Why didn't you say something to me? Why wouldn't you tell me you're my mate? Am I that repulsive to you?'
'What?'
He gulped.
You shook your head as he knelt in front of you, shadows pooled around the two of you, as if they were trying to hold the two of you together. You took his hands, holding them and let something like love flow down the bond. 'You are the most beautiful thing in this world. Something better than me. I wouldn't burden you with that.'
He rose his gaze to you. 'Burden me?'
'Do you think i've enjoyed lying to you?' you ask, finally finding your words. 'Do you think I've liked being your mate and never being with you? That I left you for fifty years and thought of you every moment of every day, all day long. That when I come back I wonder if you or Mor had grown closer? Or if Elian would finally tell you how much she loves you? It's been eating me alive. But it's a small price to pay.'
Azriel grasped at his words, chocking on them. 'Elian is nothing to me, nothing.'
You pushed yourself up, using his shoulder to steady yourself before you move around him. 'Why? Have you only just decided that because I’m your mate? That’s not how it should go, Azriel.'
He was following you around your tent as you slipped on armour and leathers over your night dress. ‘I want you, only you.'
'Because of the bond?'
'Because I’ve always only wanted you!'
You laugh. 'No, you haven’t.'
'If we’d talked about this maybe fifty years ago you’d know that!'
You shook your head. Perhaps a part of you didn't want to believe him and all those wasted years at your fault, but you didn't want to believe his words either. Because what did that mean? That he loved you and wanted you. But that seemed just as impossible to you. How could he want someone so wrecked who'd done nothing but run away from her feelings and does nothing to make anyone happy?
'I don't want you to feel like that,' said Azriel, approaching her. She thought she'd spoken aloud before she realised he could feel everything that was hers. She'd only ever had to shield her thoughts from her brother- and he rarely sort her thoughts. 'Please, please-' he took your shoulders, turning you around and gently resting his head on yours.
You could feel his warm breath over your lips. You almost lost all resolve, with him that close. You'd never been so close to him, close enough to touch. To kiss. To know finally what it mean to have that deep connection that everyone was meant for.
One person in the whole world to belong to.
And he was stuck with her.
'Azriel-'
'Whatever you're thinking about yourself, i've thought about me a thousand times. And ever since we were kids you've always stopped me from thinking that. You've always told me what I was worth,' he whispered. His hands were wondering down your arms, sending shivers down you. He could've been doing it on purpose, distracting you. 'Why won't you accept it for yourself?'
You gulped down every uneasy thought. 'Because you're good, Az and i'm-'
'You're everything.'
'I'm not,' you look up at him, his own face blurry from your tears unwilling to fall. 'I'm not a fighter, i'm afraid of pain. And I could never be a leader, because i'm scared of losing people. I'm terrified about it half the time. Why do you think I followed Rhys down to that stupid party that I knew I wouldn't come back from? Because he'd do the same for me? We both know he wouldn't. But what would losing him mean for you? or Cass, or Mor? I was a coward and I wanted to hide from all the pain his leaving would have caused.'
Azriel shook his head, words sinking in. You were comparing yourself, to warriors like him and Cass, to the high lord- your own brother. 'It was unbearable without you. Maybe if it was just Rhysand i'd have still been able to be spymaster, because that's what he needed. But when I realised you'd gone to, it ruined me,' he admitted. 'I didn't care what you would've wanted, because you weren't here to tell me.'
You rub at your forehead, the tension creating a pain in your already aching body.
'And to anyone who made you feel inferior or worthless, i'll kill them,' he said. It was a shine of the real Azriel. The one who made a promise and never broke it.
You smirk. 'Can't kill the high lord.'
'No,' huffed Azriel, like it was a mild inconvenience. 'But I sure can punch him in the face.'
You laughed at that and Azriel smiled. He'd cracked you.
But your amusement dropped quickly, he felt it like a penny dropping. He let go of you as you turned away, wiping at your eyes. He didn't want to see you cry, didn't want to be the one to make you upset. He only wanted to make you feel loved.
'This isn't how I wanted this to go.'
Azriel suddenly felt conscious of himself. Maybe this wasn't so much about what you felt, maybe it was more about what you felt toward him. 'You really hate the mating bond that much?'
You look over to him. 'Being your mate is my greatest honour. But I don't want you to love me just because you have to.'
'It's not that-'
'And I know you're gonna keep saying that.'
'Until you believe me,' he assured her. 'Even if I have to tell you every day until I die.'
'I can't ask you to do that.'
He smiled at you, a heart-breaking smile of love. 'You haven't.'
You open your mouth to say something, but you're interrupted by Cassain poking his head through the tent flaps. The rest of his whole body was hidden, only showing his bronze face and hair framing him. There was a sheepish smile on his lips.
Azriel huffed. 'Cassian.'
'What? It didn't sound like much love making going on.'
'Mother above,' you sighed.
'What?' whined Cassian. 'I'm just saying, didn't sound like I was interrupting anything.'
'Personally I didn't know he was capable of saying that many words,' said another voice, familiar and dull. Nesta.
You frown. 'I'm sorry, is the whole camp out there.' You storm out, without Azriel to stop you.
He let you get away, again, and now there was no way he'd get you to accept the bond until the battle was done.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
The next time you and Azriel spoke, the war was over.
Elian had stabbed Hybern, Nesta had delivered the killing blow, to the head. And your brother had died.
For those few minutes of his death you wanted Feyre weep for him as you stood paralyzed, unable to move. This was the brother you worshiped, the one you’d follow to the end of the world. Did he know that when he went where you could not follow?
Feyre had done everything she could, she begged for his life back. And when her wish was granted, you were collapsing on his other side. Tears of joy in your eyes that Rhys wiped away.
Your family, safe.
Everyone seemed happy to return to Velaris. Home. Scars were left over everyone, fears and pains. Some wore them better than others.
You'd thrown yourself into life. And avoiding Azriel. Suddenly there were many friends you'd neglected that you needed to take dinner with, or so many spontaneous Rita nights with Nesta.
And none of it escaped his notice. The steady thump of the bond still thrived inside of you, his shadows followed everywhere you went, even loitering in your room.
If he was doing it in an attempt to annoy you, then you weren't gonna break first.
After a particularly harrowing Rita's night, the only thing you wanted to do was sleep in for the rest of the day, hide away from everyone and everything. Call it your coping mechanism.
Alas, there was no peace as your curtains were thrown open, light spilling in and burning through your eyelids.
'Knock it off!' the shadows had never bothered with waking you up before- it seemed they'd picked the worst time to start.
'We need to talk,' said a voice that certainly wasn't a shadow.
Rhysand.
You groan, rolling over. 'Can't you talk to me when i'm not hungover.'
'And when would that be, sister? you're getting as bad as Nesta.'
You throw your pillow off and at him, but he dodged it easily and with a smug smile. 'I hate it when you call me that.'
'What? When I compare you to Nesta? Clean up your act then.' He stood over your bed, his arms folded over his chest.
You glare at him. 'I meant sister.' You shuffled up, brushing your hair back.
Rhysand frowned and perched himself on the edge of your bed. There was something he wasn't saying, and you watched it weight heavy on his shoulders. 'You know the last time I was in your room you were throwing glasses at me and yelling at me to get out.'
'Well, don't give me ideas.'
His lips curled into a smile of amusement before he turned solemn again. 'Do you love me, y/n?'
You hadn't expected that. Your hangover could only get worse, your head swimming with possibilities as to why he was asking. And nervous, you were nervous. Maybe you'd never said you loved him out loud but surely your actions were enough of a tell. 'You're my high lord and my brother, of course.' you shrug it off, as if it was nothing.
The shadows trailed up the bed, as if sensing your anxiety.
Rhysand glanced over at you. 'Do you think I don't love you?'
You hesitate, chewing at the skin of your gum.
'Because I do. I do love you. You're my little sister, how can I not?' he muttered. 'And I didn't know you felt like that.'
'It was just sort of... obvious,' you said. 'I was never your sister, not really. I always knew that. You'd never see me like that so, I gave up thinking you would. But you're the only family I have.'
'No, I'm not,' he denied. 'Y/n, everyone in this house loves you. They're your family. And i'm sorry- i'm so sorry if my actions have ever made you think different.'
'Why now?' you ask, eyes screwed up looking at him. 'Why are you saying all this now, what's changed?'
He shook his head, strands of his hair- the same as yours- falling over his eyes. 'You almost died, died on that battlefield and I-I wasn't the first one there. Granted, it was your mate that reached you first but I, I wasn't there quick enough.'
You meet his gaze, his purple eyes sad in a way you'd only ever seen under the mountain. 'You died.'
'And as I was dying one of my deepest regrets was not calling you sister enough,' he shifted closer, taking your head in his hands as if you were a little kid. 'You are my sister. Full flesh and blood. Full love of mine. You are my family. After everything you've done for me. You were right, I needed you under there, when there was nothing good to keep me grounded, but you. My little sister.'
You were sure you were tearing up in front of him.
'You'll always be my sister.'
You laugh. 'Maybe I should get stabbed more often.'
'No,' he said seriously. 'I don't think Azriel would like that very much.'
The mention of him changed the tone in conversation, changed the very beating of your heart.
'What's going on with you two?'
'Oh, I see,' you tease, 'talk to me above sister and brotherly relations just to get in my love life. Not a good look on you high lord.'
He laughed. 'No, it's not that. I just care about the two of you, a lot. And you both deserve to be happy. And I think you'd be happiest with each other.'
You look down, twirling the rings on your fingers.
'Would it be so bad to try to love him?'
You shake your head, smiling as a tear rolls down your cheek. 'I don't even have to try. Feels like i've loved him forever.' his shadows climbed up your arm, leaving Rhysand to smile at the affection.
'You'll work it out,' said Rhys, leaning over and kissing the crown of your head.
Your door was thrown open, startling the two of you.
Azriel stood there. For his entrance, he didn't at all seem that confident when he stood in front of the two of you. His hands didn't know how to hold themselves in front of him.
Your brows rose. 'Were you listening at the door?'
'Azriel,' scolded Rhysand with a stupid grin.
'Get dressed,' he said simply to you. 'There's something you need to see.'
Without much room for argument, you kicked them both out and dressed.
You'd grudgingly let Azriel hold your hand as he led you through the woods. You'd winnowed in at an illyrian camp before he took you through it and into the woods close by.
It was the same camp you'd first met Azriel in. The oldest where you'd all become friends. You'd asked what you were doing there, but he was quiet as he led you through, helping you over roots or breaking twigs from the trees so they didn't hit you.
'Azriel, to any other girl, you leading her silently through a woods without saying anything would be a bit suspicious,' you tell him. His shadows trailed behind the two of you and his hand was secure in yours. You knew not to be scared, but you were still cautious.
'I wouldn't show any girl this,' he said.
After another half hour of walking, the two of you stumbled across a small hut. It was a tiny thing really, made out of twigs and sticks, hay and mud. It looked like something a child was capable of making.
Azriel paused in front of it. He let go of you hand and reached for the door. He was as tall as it and his wings had to tuck in tightly behind him.
Hesitantly, you followed in.
It was just as small as it looked and dirty, like it hadn't been touched in years. Cobwebs hung low (his shadows quickly tried to bat them all away for you) there was dirt and hay all over the floor. Glasses were dust filled and left around with a hundred other things. Some looked new, others old.
And yet, strangely familiar.
'I made this place,' said Azriel.
You looked back at him. He was hunched over a large box that was overflowing with things. 'You?'
'The first time my brothers picked on me, I came to these woods, working on this for days. Every time things got too much back then, i'd come here. I've been coming back for years.' he glanced at you, a sheepish look on his face. 'I've never showed anyone this before.'
You look around the place in new perspectives. The shadows settled around the place. You pictured a little Az, running here and hiding from his brothers. Did he feel alone? Did he feel un-loved? You were so enamoured by it you didn't realise he'd settled on the ground, pulling out things from his box.
'This is your glove, the one's you were wearing when we first met. You took them off to beat up some kid who was being mean to me. You didn't go back for them, you didn't even care.'
He said, pulling out a pair of red wool gloves. In spite of the hut, they were in perfect condition. Pristine. You remembered first meeting him, remembered the little soldier who'd been horrible. Those gloves wouldn't go anywhere near your hand now.
Azriel went in again. 'This is the empty glass jar of the cream you used to help my burns. Here's a book you read to me when I couldn't flip the pages myself. The notes you'd leave when you had to go back to camp. The flowers you picked for me and gave me for my birthday. Dried and stamped from every time you gave them to me.'
You stood, in shock as he kept taking things out.
'A terrible drawing I did of you when I was young. A locket of yours that broke and you never wore again. Stamps from our first theatre trip. Empty bottles from our first night together in Rita's- and Cassian's too. A letter you wrote to me when I was on a mission. A black ribbon from your hair, you used to always wear it with these things. Honestly, the amount I have in here,' and he pulled out several, of varying shades. Black, white, grey, red, dark green. All yours.
Azriel wasn't done. 'A page of annotations you did in one of Rhysand's books. A copy of your favourite poems. A coaster from the first time just you and I went to dinner. Here's some stones from when I first taught you to skim them. A quill that I used to use to write you letters. An old ring of yours is here too. Here's the first dagger you got me. It's too precious to me to be used to kill.'
Tears were falling down your cheeks as you watched him pull them all out and explain them in depth. There was more but the sight of it all was becoming blurred through your tears. The bond felt heavy and beautiful in you.
Azriel finally put the box down and fell to his knees in front of you. His hands came around the back of your thighs, holding you there as his eyes looked up into yours. 'Don't you ever think I don't love you, when I have loved you since we were eleven years old.'
You stutter on you breath. 'H-how?'
He rests his head on your stomach, looking utterly at your will and completely in love. 'How could I not?'
Slowly, as you could not move too fast, you settled down on your knees across from him. His hands moved up to your arms as yours went to his cheeks, brushing back his hair.
'It was always going to be you, wasn't it?' you mumbled. 'How could it be anyone else?'
Azriel kissed you then, finally. His lips were as soft as they'd looked, as you'd always imagined. His hands drifted to your waist, finger tips digging into to hold you close. His hands were strong, but his lips were gentle. He pulled away, only to groan in need before reaching for your lips again, harder, desperate.
His teeth bit down on your bottom lip, tongue sliding in to feel every corner of your mouth as his hands wondered around you, trying to grip onto any bit of you he could. Your arms wrapped around his neck, bringing him closer. Close enough to consume, to breath in.
You pulled back enough to catch your breath, arms still around his shoulders. 'Mother above, am I gonna make you the best meal of your life.'
But that could wait. For now, you'd settle for a dusty floor in the little house in the woods.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
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#azriel x cassian x reader#azriel x you#azriel x reader#azriel#acotar#rhysand#cassian#nesta archeron#feyre archeron#azriel x oc#azriel x elain#azriel x female!reader#azriel x original character#swifties
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"i need a curvy girl!", oscar p. - is a phrase that oscar wanted to yell to the heavens. he wanted to shake his hands in the air like a mad-man and call to a higher power that he wanted a bigger woman. he wanted a woman with curves. he wanted them like he wanted his tracks, something he can drag his fingers along and hug tightly like he did on the track.
he wanted soft stomachs, love handles, big breasts and a bigger ass. it felt like an impossible challenge! not that he hated the smaller girls he interacted with often, but he wanted a girl he can sink his teeth into. (among other things). he wanted to love you close, feel your softness under his touch. he believed that angels had round faces and soft curves, and he wanted himself a divine being.
oscar almost dropped his drink when he was at an event during the off-season. he knew there were going to be models at the event, and while they were drop dead gorgeous. oscar couldn't help but be drawn to you. lando could chat up the others. you didn't even really noticed oscar when he approached you at the bar. you were happily content with not having any attention onto you. but like a siren's song you drew the australian in. the sight of your curves in such a pretty gold dress, you should've been the center of attention. not your fellow models.
"would you like another drink?" he asked as he leaned up against the bar. he looked good in the button up he wore, the expensive watch flashed in the low light of the event. you looked up from your phone at him.
"did your friend put you up to this? if you want, amanda is over there if you want to talk to her." then turned back to your phone. you could feel your ears burn from the attention. it wasn't that you were never flirted with, you just weren't the talk of the room.
oscar looked over to see who he assumed was amanda seated on one of the red couches, she was chatting with another guy that oscar didn't recognize. not that he he cared, he looked back to you and said, "not my type." he chuckled, "the drink offer is still open, what do you say?"
-
oscar piastri liked bigger women. which was a phrase in your head as he led you back to his hotel room for the night. when he kissed you it was refreshing like flavoured water on a hot day. his arms around you were comforting like a warm blanket in the dead of winter. you loved it. he really wooed you all night, he told cheesy jokes and when you kissed him, you could see the pink in his cheeks afterwards. you were enamored by him. number eighty-one was in your room soon after you got the door open. you two kissed briefly before you got your heels off and he toed out of his own shoes.
"i love the dress." he said, "but i think it would look nicer on the floor." he helped you out of it, slowly getting your body exposed to him. he licked his lips, but stopped a moment after, "sorry, i don't want you think i only want you for your body... you're... wow." he felt heat flood in his cheeks as he took in the sight of your figure, "you must be the highest paid model at the agency, you could sell water to the ocean." he chuckled lightly and pushed back his hair.
you stood there, in nothing but white panties. you had your hands behind your back as you looked at him. it felt odd being so vulnerable, naked in front of such a handsome man. but as his mouth kept running, giving you compliment after compliment. you found him endearing. you eventually reached for him and started to unbutton the front of his shirt. "and you." you said, "are quite a handsome man." then gave him a sweet smile.
he swallowed before he took off his shirt and his undershirt. he licked his lips, "fuck, you're beautiful." then dropped his clothed to the ground. he took off his belt and felt a heat course through him. he loved it, he loved it. you took off your panties and oscar maintained eye contact with you while he pulled down his dress pants. he admired you, he was worried that he was eyeing you like a piece of meat. but you felt the farthest from it. you felt admired, adored. you knew you were beautiful, but to have someone handsome like oscar only made you smile.
both of you soon ended up in bed together. both soon nude and kissing, oscar's kisses felt good. they tasted a little bitter due to the contents of his liquor that night, but your sweeten them up with the flavoured gloss on on your lips.
he groaned into your kiss as he laid you out on the bed. when he pulled away, he admired you once more. he couldn't help it. a part of him wanted to ask to take a picture to gaze at later. but he thought asking to take nudes of you after your first meeting would be impolite. maybe he could get some clothed photos during your first date to admire on the next leg of his formula one season. you cupped his face and slowly and softly dragged your painted nails down his cheeks. his eyes fluttered shut for a moment. he said, "i know what you are... dreamlike."
you pulled him in for a kiss while his hand was spread across the side of your soft thigh. you pressed your forehead against his and smiled a little, "and you're a prince charming."
he got between your legs and beamed at you, "well, of course, only the best for a princess after all." then he shifted between your legs and propped your hips up on a pillow. he asked earlier in the night if you were on any form of birth control, the answer was yes. so he felt no regrets as he sank into your sweet cunt. he felt his stomach flip as he started to move against you. his hands on your soft hips, he felt the liquid fire of lust through his body as he rutted up against you. it felt amazing.
you looked up at him for a moment and you caught him gazing at your breasts. you reached out for him and pulled him in to your chest and let him kiss at your breasts. it made his cock twitch inside of you as he moved against you. smothered by your soft tits. he loved it. he planted his hands on either side of you on the bed for better leverage as he moved against you. he groaned against your warmed skin as he worked his cock up inside of you. it felt like heaven, you felt like an angel.
he pants were heavy, his head was swimming as he moved against you. it felt amazing, in a way that he couldn't put fully into words. he clutched onto the covers and moved faster. he kissed at your breasts, they were heavy and it made him shudder with want.
"oscar." you said.
he moved up to kiss you on your collarbones, "you feel amazing, fuck. look at you. you're so beautiful." he was happy to finally get the curvy woman of his dreams, but after a night of laughter and drinks. he think he was falling in love. he was at the very least smitten by you. after tonight he was hoping to get a first date.
you kissed him on the lips as the two of you continued to move against one another on the bed. his kisses were soft and it left you excited all over. you moaned against his lips and held onto his shoulders. the excitement bounced through the both of you. the warmth between you two as the kisses grew hungrier.
you liked oscar, not just because he was drawn to you. while he admired your body and it made you blush, you didn't feel like a notch on his belt. he was making love to you, not just a quick fuck in a hotel room. it felt intimate, warm. and you felt admired, adored, rather than just an object to fuck.
and his words only made you feel more beautiful, "i can see why you're a model. if i saw you on a billboard near the track, i'd probably not be able to focus on the race. cause an accident."
"because i'm so ugly?" you jested.
"no." he replied as he looked into your eyes, "because you're beautiful beyond words." then went in for another kiss. the pace was steady. you moved against each other like you wanted to explore each other's bodies. oscar wished he had an entire weekend with you. he'd make it up to you. you were a dream that he wasn't going to give up on, not if he wanted to be in your life just as much as you'd be in his.
"you're beautiful too, oscar." you said as you placed a hand on his chest for a moment after the kiss broke, "you must make many women very happy on your travels."
"not as happy as i want to make you." he said. it was romantic, soft in a way that left you feeling over the moon. he continued to move against you. he knew that he wasn't going to last much longer. the kisses grew heated, the lust bloomed between the two of you.
you wanted him, and he wanted you.
"oscar, please." you let out a small moan between heavy pants. he worked your body beautifully, he took you in a way that no other man could have ever. his pace wasn't bruising but it was enough for you to see stars. the kisses continued, the pleasure swelled. heaven felt in your touch as you clutched onto him.
you came soon after, your thighs clenched around his waist and you moaned into the heated kiss. it felt amazing, you nails dragged across his shoulders as the two of you continued to fuck on the bed. oscar came soon after, you both felt the heated inferno as you two worked each other's bodies through climax.
"fucking beautiful." he exhaled deeply as he slowed his pace to a stop. another kiss was laid on you before he stopped to look at you. when he pulled away from the short kiss, he chuckled.
he soon pulled out and laid out next to you with you in his arms. you were held gently and smiled against his chest. it felt nice.
"i have to go soon, i have a shoot tomorrow." you said after you came down from the sexual high. you hated to leave, but you sadly had work in the morning.
oscar only held you closer and pressed himself up against you, "i'll drive you. i at least owe you a proper date." he kissed your cheek, he enjoyed the warm, "not one for one night stands.... can i take you out."
you looked at him, admired his features before you smiled at him. a smile that lit up your entire face, too much of a smile made your face look too round-but oscar liked seeing your overjoyed- you replied, "of course... i'd love that." you felt a blush in your face at the earnest look he was giving you. he looked over the moon, and you couldn't help but fall even more for him. <3
#bunny writes#bunny drabbles#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri smut#oscar piastri#formula 1#formula one imagine#f1 x reader#formula one fanfiction#formula one smut#f1 smut#formula one#mclaren x reader#oscar piastri imagine#op81 x reader#op81 smut#op81#op81 fic#op81 imagine
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