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novulen · 9 months ago

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ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ : the jjk men n the ‘gifts’ they’d give u for valentines 💌!

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛꜱ/ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ : 18+ (mdni), smut, oral (male receiving), cum!!, throat fucking, somewhat rough sex, toys, overstimulating, slight BDSM (Geto), (doll, baby, good girl) used to address reader, overall filthy☺️

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ : Toji, Nanami, Gojo, n Geto

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓. ೋ

On the day of valentines, Toji gifts you roses, and perhaps whatever you’ve been talking about–believe it or not, he does listen when you ramble on and on about the little mini skirts you want, but for a sole purpose.

“Take it all–mhm, give me a lil’ show too, yeah?” Toji mumbles, watching as you take most, if not all, of his girthy cock down your little throat. A big hand of his slides down to your ass, admiring the little patterns and the light pink color of your mini skirt, especially eyeing the way the material covers little to nothing, revealing the thong kept underneath. “Fuck,” he groans, taking a handfull of your ass in his hands, feeling himself get impossibly harder simply by how soft all of you feels.

“T-Tojhi..” you murmur, mouth too full of cock to speak, and your pathetic little sounds come out muffled. Yet, amused, Toji grins. “No need for speaking, doll, jus’ keep sucking,”

And you do. but, when he cums down your throat, with such a huge load of hot seed in your mouth, you can’t help but cry out as your mouth’s filled with warmth.

“‘S too m–,” you sob, pleading for a chance of relieving your lungs from breathlessness though Toji is ruthless, still thrusting up into your mouth even as your manicured nails dig into the flesh of his muscular thighs.

“Mm-hm, but y’r gonna swallow it all, aren’t ya?” he hums, a noise of deep satisfaction booming from his own throat as you nod obediently, not wasting a second in swallowing all of his cum, as impossible as you deemed it from the moment he came.

And after such a satisfactory session, Toji can’t help but pull you close to him, skin to skin in the moment. “I should buy you more mini skirts, eh, what’d ya say?”

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊. ೋ

Wholeheartedly will go all out. Gets you things you’d talked about ages ago–so much so that you yourself sometimes forget you’d spoken of such–dresses, purses, skirts, lingerie.

“Kento,” you mewl, unable to bear through the incessant shocks of ecstasy rocking through your body with each of his thrusts. You reach out for him, hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders, and hold on for dear life.

The beautiful set of red lingerie he’d bought for you is almost no more, ripped to shreds the moment you’d walked out the bathroom. It’s as if something that isn’t your husband has taken you, given the way he’s somewhat mercilessly fucking into your cunt, groaning deliciously vulgar words in your ear.

“So–hah–so fucking beautiful,” Nanami grunts, planting his forehead, sticky with perspiration, to yours lovingly. You moan as the feeling of him takes over your whole body, his scent, his breath hot against your skin, and his deep groans all prove to be too much–too much at the same time, at the very least.

He’s soon spilling himself inside you, moaning praises and everlasting statements of love into your ear, and you’re not far behind him. “Oh–god,” you whimper, womb filling to the hilt with your husband’s cum, and you can't think of a better way to end such a day.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒. ೋ

Like Nanami, although he’s much more of the reckless type when buying gifts. Sometimes even gets you things you don’t want, but you find it cute nonetheless. Although, you were surprised to see a little pink vibrator at the bottom of the bag he’d given you.

The more he presses down on your clit, the more the pleasure seems to burn. And Satoru might chuckle from your reaction, but his body’s tensing, his hands are losing their patience, and his cock is hardening in his pants.

“‘Toru, t-take it away, I can’t–,” you attempt to plead, closing your legs around the hand that’s keeping the toy flush to your pussy, but he refuses, shaking his head with a sly grin. Satoru only hushes you, and for trying to clamp down on his arm, he ups the power of the vibrator.

“C’mon, baby. ‘S just a lil’ stimulation, yeah? I’ll put my cock in ya soon.” he breaths, breath hot against your pulse point as he leans in to place kisses. Your back arches up from the sheets, sensitive nipples rubbing against the black fabric of his compression shirt, the added stimulation causing your third orgasm of the day to crash over you.

“See? Good girl.” he praises, finally gracing you the relief you’ve been begging of him, removing the toy from your clit, slick and other fluids dribbling from you. “Now you get to have me.”

But, even when he says those words as if it's some blessing, you, on the other hand, can’t find it in you to give him another. Knowing Satoru, and his inhuman sex drive, you’ll perhaps be here until night.

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒. ೋ

Knows what you want but will try to ask you (at least somewhat sneakily) days beforehand. Always gets you the perfect amount of things–though this time, he’s given you more than you bargained for.

“Hm–you wanna touch me?” Suguru grins, greedy eyes raking over your body, soft and malleable in his hold. You’re on your fours, head pushed into the pillows, and as if that’s not enough, Suguru thought to tie your hands behind your back.

It’s almost malicious the way he chuckles–he can’t admit seeing this desperate side of his bratty girlfriend has brought out something in him.

“Please.” you mumble against the mountain of pillows he's pushed your face into, saliva dribbling down your cheeks onto the satin sheets. But, your pleas fall on deaf ears, given that Suguru’s in his own world.

Each of his pounding thrusts sends you jolting forwards, the only thing keeping you down being the strong hands planted firmly to your hips. He leans down, exhales fanning by your ear, as his hands simultaneously slide up to take a handful of your hair, pulling your head back just enough for you to wince in stinging pain.

“Isn’t this what you wanted, baby? Don’t tell me you’re backing down now.” he mumbles into your skin, tongue darting out to lick a line up to your ears. Once he figures that he’s shut you up, he hums in approval.

“Good. Lay there and take all of me.”

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vampiefemme · 8 months ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞! ** 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: modern au; ellie moves to a big city to escape the past. she goes to her first lesbian bar, where she meets you.

cw: porn with…a whisper of plot; alcohol use, fingering (e!receiving), strap-on sex, bottom!ellie, slightly sub!ellie, she’s whiny here

Ellie’s never been to a lesbian bar.

It’s surreal - banners of colorful pride flags are strung across the room, some of which she can’t even identify. Distressed and faded posters are plastered on the stone walls, advertising drag shows and queer punk bands with names like The Cranky Dykes and T-Girl Social. Nearly every patron is tatted or pierced, and there’s more platform boots and fishnet clothing than Ellie’s ever seen in one place before. Before she’d moved to the city, Ellie had lit up with excitement at the thought of visiting a lesbian bar. But now, in her worn Harley Davidson tee and a pair of jeans with unintentional rips at the knees, she feels very much out of her depth.

Steeling her nerves, she internally reminds herself that this is exactly why she’d moved in the first place - she needed new experiences. She needed unfamiliarity. What she’d left back in Texas was her normal, and she planned to build a new normal here. One that was the antithesis of everything she’d known before.

The bar isn’t completely packed, but she does need to push past dancing, sweaty bodies, girls sucking on each other’s faces, and chatting cliques to get to the edge of the bar, where more clusters of people are calling out drink orders and thrusting wads of cash tips at the bartenders. By some miracle, an empty barstool presents itself after a drunken patron with a mohawk stumbles out of it, and Ellie swoops in to snatch it before someone else does. She sits there for a good few minutes, trying to capture a bartender’s attention, until someone shuffles up beside her and sticks a hand out to wave one over. And, of course, they notice immediately, heading over with a towel slung over their shoulder. Ellie sinks lower into her seat, cheeks burning.

“I’ll have a spicy marg,” the woman beside Ellie says, voice projecting loud enough to hear over the clamor of music and chatter. The bartender nods, then goes to step away, but the woman next to Ellie stops her, speaking with that attention-commanding voice.

“What are you having?”

The bartender’s gaze shifts to Ellie, still hunched over and beet-red in the face. She flushes impossibly redder when she looks up at the woman who’d just ordered, realizing that the question had been directed at her.

“Oh,” she blurts, posture straightening. She glances at the woman, anxiety flaring, then back at the bartender. “Um, an old fashioned. Please. Thanks.”

Just as quickly as they’d come, the bartender disappears again, off to pour precisely-measured shots and mix cocktails in shiny silver shakers. Ellie’s hands are in her lap, fiddling restlessly, when she finally forces herself to look up at the woman who’d practically had to order for her.

You smile at her when she meets your gaze. Though she’s trying to be subtle about it, you can feel the way Ellie drinks in your every feature, eyes flickering over your face, then your body. It’s obvious that she likes what she sees, because she has a hard time looking you in the eye again.

“Thanks,” she says. “I’ve been trying to order for a while.”

“So I saw,” you respond, but not unkindly. You take a moment to look her over, although you’d already done plenty of that before you’d even approached her - you had seen her from across the bar, looking forlorn, her leg bouncing beneath the edge of the bar as she tried (and failed) to order herself a drink. Her lack of confidence is what piqued your interest; it was hard to believe that someone that gorgeous wasn’t oozing arrogance and self-importance. She’s all lean muscles and shaggy hair, her forearm decorated with a sprawling fern tattoo. You could already imagine yourself running your hands through that hair, kissing the length of her sharp jawline, pulling those narrow hips up against your own.

At a lesbian bar, a hot girl who couldn’t carry herself with confidence usually meant one of two things: she’s fresh out of a breakup, or she’d never been somewhere like this. You’re determined to find out which of the two applies to her.

“What’s your name? I haven’t seen you here before.” You angle your body to face Ellie, popping your hip out as subtly as you can.

Ellie, determined to keep her eyes on your face and not the curve of your hip or the delicious sliver of cleavage peeking out of your square-neck top, peers up at you from behind her bangs. “Uh, yeah, I’ve never been. I just moved here. I’m Ellie - what’s your name?”

You tell her your name and she repeats it slowly, like she’s tasting every syllable. “Pretty.”

Your drinks arrive before you can fumble for a response.

“Spicy marg, old fashioned,” the bartender lists as they slide your drinks over the smooth wood of the bar. Ellie murmurs her thanks and you nod at the bartender before they disappear, your hand curling around the glass.

“Cheers?” You tip your drink towards Ellie. She clinks her own glass against yours and the two of you take your first sips, the bitterness of the alcohol burning its way down your throat. You feel it settle in your stomach, warm and satisfying.

“So,” you begin, licking jalapeño and lime-tinged tequila from your lips. Ellie’s eyes follow the movement for a moment before she catches herself and looks away. “Where’d you move from?”

Ellie smiles shyly. You watch her index finger trace the rim of her glass. “Texas.”

“Oh?” One of your brows lifts. “And what made you want to move here, Texas?”

“For one, I’m gay.”

“Thank you for stating the obvious.”

She lets out a little laugh, and the sound makes you want to grin - you take a sip of your margarita instead.

“I just… Couldn’t be there anymore,” she elaborates. “It wasn’t right for me. I needed to start fresh.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, letting Ellie’s words sink in. Clearly, something severe enough had happened to make her want to shed her life in Texas like an old skin. And this lesbian bar, filled with every unique kind of queer this city had to offer, was part of this new version of Ellie - the version she’d chosen to build from the ground up. You’re struck by how brave Ellie must be for that. And yeah, maybe she’d struggled to order a drink for herself, but that didn’t take away from her bravery - not when she’d willfully chosen to uproot her life, a decision most people could never follow through with.

“I’m impressed,” you say honestly. “And I hope the city gives you what you’re looking for.”

The corners of Ellie’s lips twitch, and that pretty blush fights its way onto her cheeks again. You’re about to say something when you hear the first notes of one of your favorite songs thumping through the speakers, a few other bargoers cheering to express their own excitement.

“Dance with me,” you say to Ellie, reaching forward with your free hand to grab her forearm. She looks up at you like a deer in headlights.

“I can’t dance.”

“Doesn’t matter, just follow my lead. C’mon.”

“I don’t know if—”

“Didn’t you come here to try new things?” You curl your fingers around Ellie’s wrist, and she lets you pull her to her feet. You’ve made a good point, and she doesn’t argue again - just follows you to the dancefloor, where dozens of others are already moving to the beat of the music, hips rolling, heads nodding. The lights pulsate in the vibrant colors of the rainbow, the crowd painted shades of sunset orange, hot pink, deep indigo. You sip your drink and start to dance, turning to face Ellie; she’s gaping at you, unmoving.

“Come here,” you say, having to shout over the music. Ellie steps closer to you as you move to the rhythm, hips swishing. You’re wearing a pair of flared pants that makes your ass look incredible, and after Ellie finally starts to dance along with you, you turn around to bring your backside closer to her. As if by instinct, Ellie’s arm loops around your waist - she presses her palm into the front of your pelvis, rolls her hips against your ass. You grin, wide and self-satisfied, as you lift your drink to your lips again - only to realize it’s almost gone. You make a mental note to head back to the bar after this song, but for now, you enjoy the last few drops of your margarita, revelling in the feeling of Ellie’s hand, strong on your hip, as she presses ever-closer into you from behind.

Ellie’s in awe of you.

The way you’d strolled up beside her at the bar, posture proud, buying Ellie a drink and flirting with her like it was easy, natural. The way you’d let your eyes wander over her figure, not shy at all about the lust in your gaze. The way you’d dragged her to the dancefloor and ground your ass back against her, smelling like lime and tequila and something headier, something distinctly you.

Now, after two strong drinks and several songs-worth of dancing with you, Ellie’s so turned on she feels like a live wire, sparks erupting from her every nerve.

On the dancefloor, Ellie had looped her arm around your hips, leaning in so close she could smell the liquor on your breath. You’d needed to fight down every urge to kiss her first - you weren’t even sure if she’d ever kissed another woman before, and you’d already done enough to pull her out of her shell for the night. But Ellie had leaned her forehead against yours, noses brushing, eyes fluttering shut… And your mouths had crashed together in the sort of kiss you’re going to have a very hard time forgetting.

After making out in the crowd like that for god knows how long, you’d invited Ellie back to your apartment. Which brings you to your current predicament: Ellie’s backed up against the front door, your hand under her shirt, fingers dancing over every inch of her deliciously solid abdomen. If Ellie’s inexperienced, she’s doing a fabulous job of pretending she isn’t. But you’re not sure just how innocent she is now, as she moans unabashedly into your mouth, your hand squeezing her tits over her sports bra.

“Hey,” you breathe, pulling back from the heated kiss you’d been sharing.

“Mm?” Ellie blinks at you, dazed. You want to ruin her.

“Is this okay?” You peck at her lips, then her cheek. “We don’t have to… Do anything. Not if you don’t want to.”

Ellie’s bangs are gorgeously tousled, and she looks at you like a kicked puppy - all round eyes and furrowed brows, worried you’re taking something from her. “But I… I want to.”

“You sure?”

Ellie nods.

“Have you ever been with another woman before?” Your stomach twists at the directness of your own question, but you really want to know. Need to know. A bar hookup might not be the best way for her to pop her cherry - or, at least, her gay cherry.

Then again, it’s not exactly unheard of in the community.

“Yeah. I have,” Ellie says, her hand reaching out to grab your hip.

You find yourself wanting to pry, dig deeper for more information, but there’s no real reason for it. She’s not entirely new to this. She wants you. That’s all that really matters, right?

So you take her to your bedroom, let her undress you with shaky, calloused hands, kiss her slow and sweet while she unbuttons her jeans and kicks them aside. You help each other undress until you’re both naked, and then you’re stumbling into bed, your legs straddling Ellie’s hips as you kiss down her neck, stopping to suck pretty purple bruises into the sensitive skin. Ellie makes a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper, sending another white-hot jolt of arousal through you. Your cunt is spread over her pelvis, and you grind down against her like that, letting out a pleased sound of your own.

“God, you’re so hot,” Ellie mutters, watching you roll your hips as you kiss down to her chest. She reaches for your tits, squeezes them in her palms.

“Yeah?” You smile, sharp and wolfish, down at Ellie. She looks at you like she can’t believe this is happening - like she can’t believe you’re real. “Gonna let me fuck you, Ellie?”

She moans at the obscenity of the question, nodding quickly. “Yes, god, please fuck me.”

“Mm,” you hum, “need to get you ready first, baby.”

Ellie’s breathing is ragged, her hips lifting, seeking friction. You climb down her body until you’re settled between her legs, pulling her knees apart to give yourself access to her center. She’s fucking soaked - you bite your lip at the sight of her, clit swollen and puffy, labia shining with arousal.

You start with one finger, dipping into the wetness pooled at her entrance and spreading it up to her clit, drawing sharp breaths and staggering moans from Ellie’s kiss-bitten lips. Every sound she makes has you yearning to hear more, more. You slide your middle finger into her clenching hole and groan when you feel her walls open up smoothly around the digit. She pulses around you, hot and slick. When you begin pumping your finger in and out of that tight heat, Ellie’s noises become even more drawn-out, even more frantic - you look up at her and find her eyes already on you, dark with lust, a desperate, pleading expression etched onto her face.

“You’re so fucking pretty, baby,” you coo at her, revelling in the way her pussy tightens at your words.

“I–nngh, fuck–I need…” She trails off, jaw clenching.

You fake-pout at her, puff out your lower lip in faux sympathy. “What is it? What do you need?”

“Need more,” Ellie pants out.

“I can give you more, sweetheart,” you reassure her, “all you had to do was ask.”

So, you give her more. You slip another finger inside of her, press the heel of your hand against the sensitive nub of her clit; your fingers curl upwards in the warmth of her cunt, finding that spongy, sensitive spot that’ll make her see stars. She whines - actually fucking whines, high-pitched and desperate, as if to say yes, right there.

“Shit, oh my god…” Ellie’s hands are clutching the sheets, knuckles blanched. “‘M so close.”

You don’t let up, and it only takes a few more moments of your careful ministrations before Ellie’s falling apart, a mess of jolting hips, strangled gasps, and a rush of wetness. You watch her come undone, wishing you could committ the sight to memory. After, you lick your fingers clean.

While Ellie’s spent and recovering from the height of her orgasm, you shuffle to the side of the bed to reach for your nightstand. You roll open the drawer, rummage around, and return to Ellie’s side with a tiny bottle of lube and your strap, the harness made of powder pink fabric. The brunette sighs contentedly when you lean over to kiss her, swiping her sweat-damp bangs away from her forehead.

“You taste so good, did you know that?” You press another kiss to the corner of Ellie’s lips, feeling the way they twitch into a smile.

“I really doubt it,” Ellie says.

You scoff. “Don’t doubt my taste.”

“Mm, okay. Fine. I believe you.”

Fighting your own smile, you move back to sit on your heels, cheeks heating when you notice Ellie’s eyes roaming over your naked body.

“Need something?”

Ellie nods, then sits up and pulls you in for another kiss, her hand on the back of your neck. “I want you to really fuck me now.”

“Oh yeah?” You grin at her, your hands making their way to her tits and smoothing over her pebbled nipples. “Think you should learn some manners, Ellie. How about please?”

Her expression goes soft - eyes rounding, mouth pursing.

“Please,” she says, and her voice is so sweet, it might rot your teeth. “Please fuck me.”

And who are you to deny her what she needs?

As it turns out, Ellie’s pussy was made to take strap. She’s leaned over, face down in one of your pillows, her ass propped up perfectly to give you access to her cunt. Still soaked from her last orgasm, she hardly needs any lube, the strap pushing into her all the way to the hilt without any resistance; she keens when you’re fully seated inside of her, a sound that makes your own pussy throb with need. Every noise she makes is pure heaven - you wish you could record them all, listen to them when you’re in bed at night with your hand between your thighs.

“Fuuuuck,” Ellie cries out when you hit that sweet spot with the tip of the strap, her head shifting to lean on one side, allowing you to see the look on her face - the roll of her eyes, the way her lips part to let out each of her gasps and moans.

“How’s that feel, princess?” You ask as you pound into her from behind; you admire the way her back arches deeper, like she’s encouraging you to fuck into her further and further.

“S-so good,” Ellie stutters weakly.

“Yeah? Doing so good for me, baby,” you pant. Every slam of your hips against Ellie’s ass makes her grunt, a pleased little sound, short and needy.

That tiny grunt turns into an impatient whine when you pull out of her entirely, a lewd, wet noise accompanying the motion.

“Why’d you stop?” Ellie asks, voice small. She cranes her neck to look back at you and the expression on her face is absolutely pathetic.

You give her ass a playful smack, admiring the way it recoils from the contact of your palm. “Want you to flip over. I need to see you come again, you looked so pretty the first time.”

She does as instructed - she’s already so good at following directions, you’ve learned. When Ellie’s on her back, her face, neck, and chest tinged red with equal parts arousal and exertion, you lean in and whisper praises to her, lining the strap up to her entrance and pushing into her again.

“Hold your legs up, sweetheart,” you instruct, pushing her thighs up until they’re folded against her body. She nods, panting, and lifts her hands up to hold her legs in place. You slip deeper into her like this; Ellie goes cross-eyed, lips pursed into a pretty “o” shape as you fuck her senseless. It doesn’t take much longer for her to get close again, and when her legs begin to shake with the effort of holding them up for you, you tell her to relax.

“Play with your clit, hm? I want you to come.”

Ellie nods. “Y-yeah, I can do that. For you.”

“Just for me?” You grin.

“Mm, just for you.”

Her hand shakes as she brings it between her legs, drawing sloppy circles over her clit with her fingers. You keep fucking her, hips snapping restlessly, every lewd squelch of her cunt making you gush wetter and wetter. But as desperate as you are to come, you’re more focused on Ellie - the way she bites her lip, her entire body tense with her impending orgasm. She warns you before she finally tips over the edge: an endless chant of right there, I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me come, oh my god…

You’re not sure how long you lie there on top of Ellie, still buried inside her, before her breathing finally rights itself again. You spend that time kissing all over her face and running your hands through her auburn hair, untangling a few knotted locks in the process. You’re both covered in a thin layer of sweat, bodies glistening, but neither of you seems to mind. Content to lie there together, you rest until Ellie pulls you in for a kiss - one that turns needy and sloppy not long after.

“Can I taste you?” Ellie asks between kisses, her lips shiny with saliva. She says it with such hope, like she’s not sure what you’ll say. But you’re still drenched between your legs, inner thighs sticky with it.

“There’s nothing I want more right now,” you confess.

So Ellie finds a place between your legs, mouth latching to your clit like it’s muscle memory. You curl a fist into her hair and guide her every move, murmuring instructions, which she follows like the good girl she is. The night continues that way - all whispered pleas and tremoring orgasms, tangled limbs and slick-coated fingers, until the two of you finally doze off, wrapped in each other’s warmth.

And Ellie thinks she’s made a good decision, moving here. Trying something new.

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canihaveacalmtime · 1 month ago

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"Liam.. I thought- we- we are friends...?"

"We were friends, (Y/N). I'm just bored of you and you are of no help for me, really."

You and Liam were best friends since primary cause instead of ignoring him for his stuttering, you actually held out a hand and help him get over it bit by bit.

When Liam finally got rid of his stuttering in the first year of highschool, you were so happy for him, even felt proud. He begin having more friends, become more mature and handsome, his popularity even hit the peak after he participant in the school's talent show as a singer.

But as time goes by, you took noticed of his behaviors and actions towards you. From a gentle guy you once know, he became more harsh and occasionally lash out at you when you try to ask him to have a conversation.

It seems like the Liam you once known was not your Liam anymore, he's everybody's Liam except for you.

But you were there, you were there for him everytime he make a progress, reach a milestone and succeed a goal he wanted to achieve. You were there, on the stadium, in the crowd, by the guests lane, always watching and look out for your once to be best friend.

All of that for a sentence that would haunt you for the rest of your life, rip apart your most painful old wound that no amount of comfort can heal. That day, at the park you two would always hang out when you were little, Liam, out of all people was the one who cut the string that tied the two of you for over 10 years.

"Maybe I should've listened to the others when they said you were fucking useless. And now that I can confirm it myself, yeah, you're fucking worthless, (Y/N)."

--------------------------

Yandere ex best friend, after graduated from college, succeed in the economic field and become a very famous CEO, a man of every women's dream and the man that all the other men fighting to be one day. He's hardworking, a true gentleman and a man of words, he make impressions not create disappointments. To colleagues, he's the boss that every office workers wished to have, to business partners, he shines like a true leader that leads all the cooperations to succeed.

Yandere ex best friend despite in all of his glory, hides his dark and painful past with his savior, the person he suppose to return the favor to, not to hurt them or be a bastard to. But he did, he hurt you and over all became a rude jerk to you just because he's so greedy for all the glory attention he got back then that he wanted to get rid of a dirty stain like you. He's wrong, he knew now but when he tried to turn around, you were no longer there and for the past 3 years, finding you seems like an impossible task, like you just vanish, completely vanished without a trace to track.

Yandere ex best friend suddenly got news from the workers whispers that one of his company's small agency recently hired a new secretary that boosted that agency value up so much that even the workers needed to talk about it so after dismissed all the fuss going on, Liam decided to just check it out himself.

Yandere ex best friend were just shocked and baffled by the fact that you were that secretary everyone was fussing over about, while you have a really warm look for everyone in the agency, the moment he stepped inside the place, it seems like you just put on a completely new face to greet him. Its not a annoyed face or a furious face, your expression was juts cold to say at best and even a hint of uncomfortable, fear at worst. He understands why you have those expressions directly towards him but he couldn't not notice how his heart stings whenever you look at him with those lifeless (eye color) orbs.

Yandere ex best friend immediately order the agency's director to let him have you as his personal secretary and become his right hand. Of course, when the news got out, all the workers there were just shock but it's a negative shock, they were finally have another hidden gem as their colleague just for the highest tier to came and take them away again.

--------

"Sir Liam Rigus, we understand that we are holding a hidden gem but you can not take them away out of thin air...!"

Your boss argue, his face is showing various kinds of emotions right now, you might seems normal but inside, you are just another disaster, all the negative thoughts and emotions together making you want to break down but don't dare to. You can not show your weakness to your enemy, the CEO of your company, the hand holding your agency on a hair string.

"Unfortunately director Ron, my words will go as planned, no argue."

And just like that, you were taken away from your new home without your consent and begin forced to work somewhere else, a new environment where you not even sure if anyone there gonna take a good impression of you or not. You can only pray.

--------

Yandere ex best friend ordered his personal guards to escort you and bring your belongings into his penthouse as this is where you're gonna be working from now on. With your new room next to his, work in his private office and have to share every meals with him, to you, this is a living nightmare no more no less.

Yandere ex best friend loves how your hand feels whenever you hand him the daily paperworks and random documents, he feels so content just by staring at you while you're working, the best thing for him is, you're just too focus on your work to even notice a pair of love sick yellow eyes looking at you.

Yandere ex best friend always bring you to your room whenever you passed out on your work table or accidentally fall asleep when you're talking to him about work stuffs. After tucking you in your bed, he would always leave a few kisses here and there, even check your body if you're eating well lately or not, sometimes he would just sits by your bed and stares into your cute sleeping face or some rare occasions, he'd even climb onto the bed to sleep with you. He doesn't worry about getting caught because he knows well you're a real deep sleeper, he has been watching you much and long enough to know everything, once you're asleep, you won't even know an earthquake is happening so how'd you know if he has done something more than just stare or touch?

Yandere ex best friend was having a super terrible day and you took noticed of that so you tried to not bother him at all with the paperworks despite struggling with it so bad. A maid happened to bake some sweets, you also remember that he always consume sweet food whenever he stressed out, so you give in and decided to bring him a plate of cookies but you didn't expect it to turn out so badly.

--------

"CAN YOU LEAVE ME ALONE!? AREN'T YOU USELESS ENOUGH ALREADY!?"

Was all that you heard before the plate of cookies on your hands fell to the ground, shattered into pieces as the sound echos through the quiet office room. You felt as if all of your abusive memories came rushing back into your very soul as your hearing turns into loud voices speaking negatives into your head one by one more and more. You don't know, you don't feel anything, you don't event know when did you ran back into your room, lock the door tight or how panicked the maids were when you ran down the hallway with blood all over your bare legs or how horrified Liam was when he snap into his senses as he tried to catch you stop running but all he can do and is doing now is banging on the door, try to break in and stop you from hurting yourself even more.

"(Y/N)!!! Please open the door!!! Please, I'm sorry!!! (Y/N)!!!!!"

Everything turns into a blurred out vision.

The next time you opened your eyes, you found yourself on the hospital bed with your legs unable to move. Your doctor told you that due to the amount of blood lost from your legs and how damaged it was from the accident, you're completely lost your walking forever and now even have to rely on someone to take care of you. For the first time in so long, you thought about finding 'freedom' again but before you can even grab any sharp objects, Liam walks in, his eyes completely lock in on you.

"Are you happy?"

You ask him, giving him a hopeless smile with your lifeless eyes as tears begin falling down your face continuously.

"You must be so hapoy to see me like this- I bet you couldn't wait for this day to come- surely y-"

you can only laugh lightly

"(Y/N)."

He crouched down onto the hospital floor as he hold your face tenderly in his hands, wiping away any tear falling down and look straight in your eyes.

"I swear that from now on, I'll be responsible for you and for what I've done, you can just rely on me only from now on and I'm sorry."

As he awaits for your answer as you can only laugh lightly in a dying tone as if mocking him that what he's trying to do is so stupid and time wasting.

But he never go back on his words as for the next days, weeks, months then years, he really do as he said, taking care of you from A to Z without even complaining one bit but there's one thing he forbid you to do is work, he has enough to take care of you and he doesn't want you to overwork yourself anymore, he only needs you to relax and do whatever you want, of course, with a maid or a guard nearby to watch you 24/7.

After 2 years, you begin open up to him again, you begin talking to him again and slowly, you and him just turn into the pair of best friends like how you two were back in the days but some times, in the back of your head, a voice would scream out to you, telling you that you need to escape, run away from him but how far can you even go with this condition anyway so you dismissed that voice even though that voice is yours itself.

-------------------------------

Liam hugs you close to him as you let out soft snoring, deep asleep. He gives you a love smile and he plays with your hair.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for a night like this to come, darling."

He traces his finger across your closed eyes then your nose and your lips. They all so delicate to him as if he's holding a flower in his arms.

"You know... when we found you unconscious in your bedroom after the broke down that door, it was a perfect opportunity for me to finally tied you here with me forever even though I felt like I should just kill myself when I realized I hurt you."

Liam put his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling your comfort smell while kissing your bare shoulder.

"Your injuries weren't that servere to be honest, I knew you can recover with that amount of injuries but then you will have the chance to escape, to get away from me, leave me and abandon me again. I can't let that happen..! You know."

He then reach up to give you a deep kiss in the lips, as he parts away, he can see your cheeks turn pink from the lack of oxygen but you still deep asleep despite that.

"So I may have interfered with making you... lost your ability to walk. I didn't mean to hurt you with that- it just! Just... I wanted to keep you here but now you're here, 'you' are back also, so I can not be happier."

He laughs out a rather happy but maniac laughter as he watch his darling like admiring a gorgeous painting.

"I love you, (Y/N) and I'll make sure you know that, sooner or later."

----------------------------------------------

#calmwrites #yandere #yandere drabble #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x gn reader #gn reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere best friend #yandere tendencies #angst

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monstersholygrail · 2 months ago

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Hello!

God, I love the idea of werebirds/the bird colony!

What if the dance instructor did end up making a nest with all the nesting material they gave them (however/where ever they’d do that)? What would the colony think?

What if the colony got together and used their dance knowledge to create some sort of mating dance for the instructor? Teasing the instructor with their ruffling, colorful feathers in a mesmerizing display.

I need more of them lmao

Hope you have a great day/night💜💜

When word got around the all male Bird Hybrid Colony that you had made a nest in your office out of the materials they had gotten for you, loud fierce chirps rang throughout the studio. The bird hybrids wings flapping erratically at your acceptance of them.

Your building a nest they provided you in such a private place had to mean that you were finally agreeing to their mating offers. Their feathers ruffled and they all preened at the thought of claiming you as a mate should by fucking into you with abandon and filling you to the brim with cum till you’re growing their eggs inside of you.

But they knew they had to do something special, something really over the top in order to make sure you were ready for them to breed you till you were so fucked out you couldn’t see straight. What better way to do that than a mating dance?

They’d all show you just how much they had learned under your seductive and arousing teachings. Together they created the most powerful mating dance for you that anyone had ever seen.

It was an offer that was impossible to refuse and their minds couldn’t help but imagine the way your thick thighs would spread for them. Your pussy glistening with arousal. They can practically taste how good your fat cunt will be when they finally get their wings and hands on you.

Their eagerness to please you both in dance and by filling all your holes till you can’t take it anymore is clear in their burning gaze. The next week at dance class is filled with a crackling tension. Their feathers successfully hiding their hard cocks, tips red, angry, and dribbling pre cum with their mate so close.

When you heard your class had a surprise for you, you were immediately intrigued. The fact that they’re wanted to dance for you already turning you on as your panties flood with arousal. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by the bird hybrids as your scent perfumed the air.

It only spurned them on and made them more desperate to dance for you and sink themselves inside your wet heat. Their feathers ruffled out, showcasing them all so that you can see just how lovely of mates they’ll be as the dance starts.

The colony begins dancing as one large machine, their colorful feathers spinning and mixing to create a truly brilliant show. You’re in awe as you watch it, a mix of moves you’ve taught them combined of more traditional mating dances. Their biology combining with what they’ve learned. Almost like you’re a part of them now. You squirm in place, thighs rubbing together, needy for some type of friction.

By now as you watch them you’re sure you’ve soaked through your panties, your skin unbearably hot with need. It’s not even the dance itself that’s getting you so hot and bothered but the fact that even with their attraction to you they still pay attention to the actual work. Their passion for you mingling with their passion for dance. And it has you wanting to take them all here and now.

As if being able to read your thoughts, the bird hybrids descend onto you. A part of the routine as they pull you into the middle of them. Hands touching every part of your body. You gasp as claws tease at your skin while others rip your clothes to shreds, leaving you naked before them.

A moment later they bring you down in the nest you lovingly made for them that they got from your office. Beautiful cocks of all shapes and sizes nudge at the openings of each of your holes. With your mind hazy with lust you let yourself give in, opening wide for them to push inside you. You moan lowly at the delicious stretch of your mouth, hands, cunt, and bottom. Every inch of you filled with them.

The music from their dance stops at one point but your bird hybrids are nowhere near done with you. Furiously fucking into you as if they’ve gone completely savage. Only knowing for certain that you need their cum.

Your moans and their chirps of pleasure echo against the walls as they slam themselves inside of you. Your body on fire as every inch of you is being stimulated with more pleasure than you’ve ever known.

They pass you around from hybrid to hybrid and you quickly lose track. Their forms becoming a blur of color and ecstasy as they fill with you cock after cock, the colony seemingly endless. You’re feeling so much of everything all at once and it’s overwhelming but in the past way possible as you try and meet all of their thrusts at once.

You cum countless times, your body shaking with the sensations overtaking you. You swear you black out for a moment only to wake up coming again, a strangled cry falling past your lips as a fresh wave of pleasure washes over you.

Your bird hybrids eventually get their fill of you, knowing their plump human needs a break. They slip out of you only once you’re fucked full of cum and limp on the floor, too tired to move let alone lift a limb.

So they take care of your every need, cleaning you up, whispering words of love and affection for you their mate, and cuddling up to you after. You nuzzle into their furry bodies, finding so much comfort in their embrace that you fall asleep in a matter of seconds.

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monster-fluffery · 3 months ago

Text

Body Exploration with Merfolk(18+)

We’re so similar, yet so different. There’s so much to explore.

GN! Merperson x GN! Reader

NSFW WARNING!! MINORS DNI!!

(Sensual touching and sexual situations! Praise/Worship)

Some Backstory..

The first time you saw your partner, you were almost certain they would swallow you whole. They had dark eyes, sharp claws, and even sharper teeth. Their find were strong and they were muscular from swimming against the tides in the ocean. You, as a human, knew merfolk as dangerous and ruthless creatures who would rip sailors off their ships and drown them out of malice. Though, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of admiration as you saw the monster. This monster was strangely beautiful to you.

The two of you were fascinated by one another.. and fascination became infatuation.

The Now

Yourself and your partner were tucked away safely in a secluded cave. You were propped up on a boulder that had been wedged into the ground against the tide. Your partner waded in front of you in the icy ocean waters. You couldn’t help but notice the way they eyed your legs, aimlessly tracing their fingers up and down the soft skin of your limb.

“You’re so soft,” they whispered.

Your hand reached out, fingers grazing one of the fins on the side of their head. Immediately it flared outward, appearing bigger as if to show off the color. This reaction confused and amused you. It almost reminded you of a peacock trying to show off for its mate. A smile graced your lips as you raised an eyebrow at the sea creature in front of you.

“And you’re.. responsive,” you couldn’t help but tease them.

Their fins retracted, now appearing smaller rather than bigger. Hey folded together and drooped downward. This expressed their embarrassment as you pointed out just how much they responded to your touch. They knew very well how much they loved you, how much their body loved you. It was impossible to hide their feelings when their own fins and heart would betray them.

“Fins are sensitive, dearest.” They responded.

“In what way?”

They were quiet after you asked that. You swore the spines on their back even drooped down from their usual strong position. They sank down into the water, which now covered them up to their chin. It was obvious that they were nervous to tell you what that sensation meant to someone of their kind… though that was enough of a hint to you. You knew their body language very well.

“Oh.. it felt really good, didn’t it?”

“It’s impossible to hide things from you.”

“Consider it a good thing… Come here.”

After a small moment of hesitation, they rose up from the water. Droplets slid down their paled grayish flesh as they revealed themselves to you. Your hands reached out, fingertips grazing the edges of their gills. The rising and falling of their breathing stopped, as if your touch startled them. But, they reached out themselves. Their hands found your hips, enveloping them in their palms. Their thumbs brushed against the dips of your hips, causing a warm puff of air to leave your lips.

Both of you knew where this was going. That was more than exhilarating.

You shifted closer to the water, submerging your legs up to your knees as your arms wrapped around your partner’s neck. Their grip on your hips became tighter, pulling you closer against themselves. Though, their hands wandered up your sides, over your ribs, and up your chest. They felt every dip and curve as if wanting to memorize every single detail of your body. They relished in your breathy gasps and sighs. You were eager, your scent grew heavy with arousal. The more their hands explored, the warmer your skin became.

This didn’t stop your exploration, however. If anything, this only fueled your desire to learn what made your partner tick. Your hands ran down the length of their sides, moving from the gills on their neck to the ones on their ribs. Your fingers traced the indentations, feeling the breaths pull in then breathe out. A chill ran up your spine as their back arched into your touch. Their tightening grip told you all you needed to know. It was a silent plea.

Don’t stop. It begged.

You wouldn’t stop. Neither of you would stop. Before you knew it, you were waist down in the water. Your legs had wrapped around the sea creature’s waist. Their scales pressed against you as they used the boulder to press your back against. Their head dipped down, lips meeting your neck. They inhaled deeply, taking in your scent. They could smell just how excited you were to be in this predicament. It excited them more than they thought they could ever be. Kisses reigned down on your neck, particularly your pulse point. I hey could feel your heart raising against your skin. It amazed them how quick your heart could beat.

Your head tilted back, your hands running along their back now. Up and down. The line up and down their spine was covered in sharp talons. Spines that were sharp and dangerous, a natural defense, your hands only grazed them gently. You could feel how sharp they were from only a moment’s touch. A hiss escaped their throat and their hand suddenly gripped your wrists.

“You’ll cut yourself.. Your kind is fragile, my heart.”

A whine bubbled up in your throat, but you refused to release it. Their hands continued to move, now sliding down your wrist and along the inside of your arm. Your partner seemed fascinated by the curve of your arms and how goosebumps rose on your soft skin. Their clawed finger tips trailed up and down, traveling along the skin that made you shiver. Then, they pulled your wrist to their lips, kisses descending down your arm. This caused your breath to hitch and your cheeks to flare. Such a simple touch sent your heart racing. You swore you could pass out at any moment.

Once their head made it to the shoulder, their chin tucked into the crevice between said shoulder and your neck. Their hand revealed the length of your arm until their massive hand swallowed yours in their palm. Their fingers squeezed the indents between each digit, appreciating the lack of webbing that they never understood about your anatomy. They were amazed by you; just like you were amazed by them.

“I always thought human’s fragile bodies were weak… yet I can’t help but find yours beautiful.” They spoke.

They moved forwards, pressing their weight down against you. You back pressed harder into the rock behind you, causing you to gasp slightly. You knew what they wanted. Their lips met your heart beat, traveling down your chest. They left a trail of kisses all the way down to your belly, where they kissed your navel as their fingers counted your ribs, tracing over each one in a tantalizing slow way. They worshipped your body were ease and care. Every kiss and caress solidified their love for you.

“Most of you feels familiar… but, here is where we differ,”

Their lips hovered over the spot between your thighs, causing heat to spread all throughout your body, yet it pooled in your belly. Your body was shaking, fingers digging into the boulder behind you. Their tongue slid out from their mouth, leaving a slow and experimental lick to those ‘oh so different’ parts of you. Ecstasy clouded your mind and all you could think of is how you wanted more of them. You wanted, no, needed them touch to you. You were theirs and they were yours.

“Please..”

“I know, my heart. This is something we must explore.. hang tight for me, won’t you?”

There was a brief moment of pause, tension rising as your patience wore thin.

“It’s only just begun..”

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silent-stories · 5 months ago

Text

𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Summary: lying in bed with jj, you see the bruises on his stomach.

"You know that you snore?" You ask the boy lying in your bed, next to you, one arm under the pillow and the other thrown lazily around your waist.

That morning, it's hot in your room, but it's not the unbearable hot of the days that makes you want to rip off your skin and find a place with free air conditioning, but the heat that makes you want to stay in bed late before having a cold coffee and go for a walk by the sea with your favorite person.

The sun's rays filter through the open window and in the distance you can hear the ocean waves crashing against the reef.

A soft chuckle escapes JJ's parted lips as a pair of ocean-colored eyes meet yours. "Good morning to you too." His voice is husky but his tone is clearly amused, his hair messy.

It is indeed, a good day, when you wake up in your bed with him next to you but that would be too cheesy to say so early in the morning.

You can't help but smile and before you know it he has you pushed against him and his lips are on yours.

He always tastes like weed, alcohol and the sea.

As he wrap his arm around your waist, the sheet slides off his body, revealing his bare chest and your gaze falls on the bruises on his rib cage, like it did the night before. This time, however, you can't help but observe the dark blue and purple marks on his skin for more than a few seconds.

He looks at you for a moment after breaking the kiss, noticing what caught your attention and with a huff, he drops onto the bed next to you. The matress springs make a slight creak.

"Don't." He says.

"What?"

"Don't look at me like that. I'm fine." His eyes are fixed on the ceiling.

You slowly reach out, your fingertips grazing his stomach, delicately tracing the soft outlines of the bruises there.

"I fell, I-"

"Yeah. I know" You want to be mad because he persists in not opening up to you but the look into his eyes lost in the void stops you every time.

You both know you're lying and you both know the other is doing the same.

"You know you can stay here right? Whenever you want."

Your tone is soft as you ask that, turning towards him, resting your elbow on the mattress and settling your head on your hand, looking at his profile: the shape of his lips, the blue of his eyes in the sunlight streaming through the window, a few strands of blonde hair falling on his forehead.

"If... you have any kind of problem, you're welcome here. Any time of the day or night, Jay. You know that, right?"

You only realize you're still tracing imaginary patterns on his skin when you feel his fingers meet yours, his hand on his stomach to find yours and lace your fingers together.

When he finally turns his head towards you, there's a slight smile on his lips and it's not his usual sarcastic smirk or the grin he shows to John B when he is talking about Sarah or when he manages to escape from a cop. It's softer, more sincere.

"I know."

You stare into his clear eyes for a moment and decide to believe him.

You sigh, “okay.”

You don't know how much your offer means to him, you don't know that every other girl he's laid in bed with in the past never cared about a busted lip or a scratch on an arm unless it was ruining his pretty face.

You don't know that if he had been any other girl that morning he wouldn't have stayed in your bed but would have left before the sun even rose.

With you it was different. You cared. And for the first time, he cared too.

Your room wasn't like his house or even like the chateau. It was becoming his favorite place so quickly that it almost amazed him.

And you were becoming his favorite person, but that didn't surprise him that much.

It was getting impossible not to love the sound of your laughter and the way you could reassure him with a simple touch.

"Thank you." He whispers.

You smile and reach out to brush the blonde hair out of his eyes.

His hand was still holding yours.

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction

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clockwayswrites · 1 year ago

Text

Both Ways at Once Part 5

WC: 1766, Masterpost CW: discussions of death, vague mentions of child trafficking and rape

Danny leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He breathed in slowly through his nose, counting. He couldn’t let loose. They didn’t know. John said they didn’t know and Danny trusted John. Not with everything, he knew too much to trust John with everything, but he trusted John with this. The other wouldn’t have done this if he had known.

The gloved hand on his shoulder shifted, sliding to wrap around the back of Danny’s neck and give a little squeeze. It should have felt suffocating. It was grounding. Danny could already feel himself settling and responding to resonate back with Red Hood.

That was dangerous to have that resonance.

“Pomp,” John said. His shoes squeaked as he leaned forward. “Talk to me, Pomp, what did I miss?”

That right there was one of the reasons Danny trusted John, he would step up when he fucked up.

Danny sighed and opened his eyes. “He’s— he was a halfa, John.”

John paled. The color drained out of his face and left him a splotchy grey. His voice was strangled as he insisted, “Halfas are just a myth.”

“Rare, very rare, but not a myth. Think about it John. You said that the Red Hood from before was alive, but you know I’m right, the one here is a protector spirit. He died, John.”

“Red Hood is still alive, he has a heart beat,” Superman insisted.

“I’m still not talking to you,” Danny hissed, not taking his eyes off John. “Constantine. He was a halfa. I don’t know what they are anymore. This one is more ghost than human. I assume that the other one is more human than ghost. But put them back together and they would be perfectly balanced and you’ve been keeping them apart.”

John slumped back, rubbing at his face. “Bloody fucking hell…”

“The other half has been unwell, hasn’t he? Maybe just fatigued, but I bet he’s in pain too. His focus keeps wandering maybe. He’s listless.” Danny finally glanced away from John and over to the trio. Batman was, as always, almost impossible to read, but Danny felt sure Batman was tense. He might even be worried.

He wasn’t even looking at Danny but instead at Red Hood, who Danny was sure was avoiding Batman’s gaze. Even still, Red Hood’s fingers were trembling against the back Danny’s neck.

Danny reached up and took the gloved hand, hooking their fingers together.

“Constantine,” Batman growled, but the word sounded broken, under the bite.

John glanced from Batman to Danny and back again. “If Nightingale says that Red Hood is, was, a halfa, then he was. Nightingale’s the psychopomp, the dead is his realm more than any living I’ve ever met and, hell, more than most people who are dead.”

“And what is a halfa?” Wonder Woman asked, still the calm voice of reason.

“Rare,” Danny bit back, showing his teeth. He made himself take a breath and regulate his tone. “Someone who is half living, half ghost. They are a balance between life and death. If no one knew that Red Hood was part ghost, there’s a chance he wasn’t fully formed before, but I can assure you he’s a protector spirit now, no matter if he’s still alive. It’s also likely why the spell did this. There were already two halves to split. The human who was the living and the ghost who was the death.”

Wonder leaned forward in her seat. “You seem certain that the other half is sick.”

“They have to be— it’s a part of themselves that was ripped out and that leaves a wound. I suspect that because the other one must have more of the human side, he’s suffering more of the human affects of the separation while Red Hood is suffering more of the ghostly affects.”

“And your recommendation?” Wonder Woman asked.

“They need to be together. They need to be together and the place where they’re together needs to be Red Hood’s haunt.”

“His haunt?”

“Likely where he resided before. Or it would be where he patrolled if those are different areas. It would be somewhere emotionally important to him no mater what. As I’ve said, he’s a protector spirit so it should be obvious where his haunt is considering his role as a vigilante.”

“Crime Alley,” Red Hood rasped from behind Danny. his fingers squeezed tighter around Danny’s for a moment.

Danny’s arm was getting sore holding itself up like that, but he wasn’t going to take the comfort away from Red Hood or even deprive himself of that grounding point. It would be too easy for him to lose his temper here and really give the Justice League something to be afraid of.

“Crime Alley then,” he said. He had no reason to doubt what Red Hood was said. A ghost knew their own haunt. “We have to get him back to Crime Alley and they need to be together. I assume you have a place there?”

“No,” Batman said, though he didn’t shift. Wonder Woman placed her hand on his arm again.

“We’re concerned about there being a reaction of some sort should they meet,” she explained. “Constantine said that it might be possible.”

Constantine grumbled under his breath and ducked his head with a little shrug.

“If we didn’t know what was going on, sure, that’s a fair enough worry, but we do and I’m telling you that they need to be together until either they’re back together as one or until they fully settle into two separate people.”

“No.” It was Superman who protested this time.

“You don’t have a choice if you don’t want to torture and kill one or both of them,” Danny said, resisting the urge to bare his fangs at the boy scout again. “They need to go to Crime Alley.”

“He’s dangerous. If he is just the Red Hood half of the personality, which you’ve basically confirmed—“

“I have not. I’ve explained how they were physically split. It has affected how their split in motivation only because motivation is what a ghost is, but I would have to speak with both of them to learn how they are mentally and emotionally split.”

Superman just frowned in a disappointed uncle sort of way, as Danny talked and then continued on like Danny hadn’t even said anything. “Then he’s even more dangerous. We cannot simply let someone like Red Hood go. We have to think about everyone’s safety in this matter, especially civilians.”

“I thought you weren’t killers?” Danny threw back at them, saccharine sweet in his delivery.

It made Superman’s frown deepen, though Wonder Woman actually looked a bit amused.

“We aren’t,” the Big Blue said.

“If you try and keep him here you are. I’m telling you right here and right now that if you do not let him go back to Crime Alley then you are signing his death warrant. You might try to claim that he died in jail, but you’ll still be the cause of it. But that’s how you kill, isn’t it?”

“Nightingale,” John warned under his breath, twitching like he wanted to reach out and touch Danny, maybe to hold him back.

“No, really, it is, isn’t it? You want to to pretend that you don’t kill, that you’re better than whatever Red Hood has done, but are you really? At least he’s Honest about it. Red,” Danny said, tugging at the other’s hand so that he had to move up to stand more beside him. Danny looked up at the mask, looked through it. “You’ve killed.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because they wouldn’t stop. They never stopped. Now that they’re dead, they’ve stopped.”

“Who?”

“Poisoning drug dealers. Rapists. Abusers. Child traffickers. People who threatened my….” Red Hood reared back slightly as if surprised by what his cut off words were going to be.

“Your haunt. Your people. Those under your watch and protection,” Danny said. “See, he’s honest about it. Were all of those deaths in the right? I don’t know. But I’m not sad a rapist is dead. I’m not sad children didn’t get trafficked. Those are the sort of people we’re supposed to be against, isn’t it? Well, us small heroes. You fight bigger names these days, don’t you, Superman?”

“Alright then,” John said, standing suddenly. Red Hood twisted to put himself further between the occult detective and Danny.

Danny patted Red Hood’s arm gently. “It’s okay, John’s trying to protect me. He thinks I’m putting my foot in my mouth and making enemies. And maybe I am. But I’m not going to sit by and watch this hypocrisy. You don’t kill. That’s a damn lie.”

“We don’t.”

“You’ve checked up on ever criminal then?”

“What?” Superman asked, thrown by the sudden question.

“Every criminal you’ve fought, every mugger and back robber and goon, you’ve followed up to see how they’re doing the next day, month, year?”

Superman had that lemon sucking twist to his face again. “No?”

“So you don’t really know, do you, how many criminals walked away from you only to die of brain hemorrhaging later because you punched them into a wall. Or how many died from a complication to their lungs or spine or heart because Black Canary ruptured something with her wail or Flash fucked from contact with the Speedforce. It’s not that you haven’t killed, it’s just that you don’t know how many you’ve killed. It’s impossible to act on the scale that you do and not have killed,” Danny said with certainty.

“Nightingale, I believe you’ve made your point,” Wonder Woman said, still calm, still patient. She was different from the others. She has killed, Danny knew that; she was an Amazon. He remembered his stories from Pandora.

“Have I?” Danny asked. He let go of Red Hood as he stood to lean over onto the table. Danny could feel that snarl building up in his throat again now. The other reached out to touch him again right away. The snarl calmed a little, only a little. “Because what about when Superman has used a building as a barrier to smack an enemy into? No one was ever hurt there? No grannie ever slipped and fell as the building shook and never got up again? At least that would be an accident then, unlike punching someone to death, but don’t pretend your hands aren’t red. Don’t pretend—”

The hiss of the door opening cut Danny off.

The room feel silent.

Danny could see all the heroes tense.

From behind him a voice spoke up, “Well, aren’t you all dramatic.”

--- AN: The mysterious stranger is right! They are all dramatic. Danny was about ready to go for Superman's throat-- literally and just not figuratively. Hope you enjoyed how this all played out! I know people were waiting for Danny to let loose some. Fatigue is hitting me hard right now, so glad to have gotten this out!

Stay delightful, darlings!

I no longer tag, you can instead subscribe to the masterpost!

#dp x dc #dead on main #dead on main street #both ways at once

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jeongin-lvr · 14 days ago

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i wholeheartedly believe in freaky sunoo >< spitting onto ur dewy folds, cooing when you cry from overstimulation, using his thumb to wipe ur tears away & then using that very thumb to rub ur clit <3

I’m vibrating at high frequencies YOURE SPEAKING MY LANGUAGE ^_< tw. spit & freaky sun :1

“I know you have more in you,” Sunoo’s voice a sultry whisper as his tongue danced over your clit, slowly working the bud of nerves in endless circles. His eyes, slender and deep bronze in color, bore sharply into yours; analyzing your every minor expression. The twitch in your eyebrow, the quirk in your lip, the flutter of your eyelashes as you fought back overstimulated tears. Sunoo’s cold fingertips pressed into your thighs hard, pressing them back into the mattress. Keeping them out of his way, though they twitched and writhed against him, squirming to be freed from his hold.

“I can’t, Sun, pl-please,” You whimpered into the pillow behind your head, half-muffling your little sounds, “S’way too much! S-stop!”

Sunoo tuts. He’s not mean about it… not outwardly. Though the way his tongue rubs swirls into your heat and his drool dribbles down your puffy folds was impossibly cruel. His nose, chin, lips all covered in your sweet essence and making him feel drunk— drunk on you. He pulled back with a mere innocent smile, leaning over your nude frame, a stark contrast to his very covered form. Adorned in a baggy t-shirt and loose sweatpants, the strings of both dragging over your shivering frame. He cooed at your watery eyes, “Don’t lie to me, pretty. You can do it. I know you can because you’ve done it for me before, remember? Hm? Do you need me to remind you?” Your hands balled into fists on his chest, tugging helplessly at the fabric as more tears of overdosing pleasure warmed you. “N-no, please…” Sunoo cocks his head letting dark hair cascade over his eyes, pouty lips wet with your slick. It’s funny how such an innocent looking man could be so filthy. His dirty actions making your face flush with red and drip with sweat.

“So then show me what a good girl you are by cumming for me again… okay?” His finger hooked under your chin, tilting it upward so he could study your face. His eyes narrowing, sharp nose brushing over yours. Then he was pulling back, lifting your legs up to your shoulders, a painful stretch as he spread your legs impossibly far. You watched him with lidded, droopy eyes and whispered his name; watching him gather spit in his mouth and letting it drop down onto your sensitive clit. A gasp ripped from your throat at the feel of his warm drool, making more of a mess than he already had.

“Ooh, pretty baby, look at how fucking wet this pussy is f’me,” his fingers rubbed along your heat, spreading his saliva more until the sound of his hand making contact with your pussy made a nasty wet sound, “She’s begging for my cock, huh?” He chuckled.

It was so unfair— you whined for him, begging as your hand wrapped tightly around his wrist. Your eyes spilled, no, gushed with dewy droplets of tears. His lips curled and he raised his hand— the same hand he’d used to rub your spent pussy —and used his thumb to wipe away the tears, lovingly cooing your name. His condescending tone making you all the more helplessly aroused. “Baby, don’t worry… shh, let me help,” He wiped more tears away, distracting you from how his other hand was undoing his sweats and tugging out his dick. You only realized when his tip gently nudged at your clit, then your awaiting hole. You immediately moaned, hands clasping at the collar of his t-shirt, then raking your nails to his scalp. “Sun… fuck, gentle please…”

“Baby, relax…” He took his thumb away from your eye, droplets of tears dribbling down to his palm, using that same thumb to nudge at your little clit. His dick slowly, brain-numbingly sinking into you inch by delicious inch. His breath hot as you took him perfectly. You shook, eyes fluttering, barely sentient. “Ah, look at that, pretty. So fucking gorgeous stuffed with my cock…” He was right; you could definitely take more, give him more as long as he was pulling them out of you.

#feat. sunoo .ᐟ #kim sunoo #sunoo enhypen #kim sunoo smut #enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen x reader #sunoo smut #enhypen sunoo #sunoo x reader #enha sunoo

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pricegouge · 2 months ago

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hi hello just wanted to tell you that the wellies story with gaz and price is such a delight, everything about it is *chef's kiss*

I think Price would keep the hat, though, and wear it to the bar where Reader is having her date/make up date. Because then she HAS to storm up to Price and demand it back??? HOURS of handcrafting, Gaz unhelpfully being like "the color suits him :)" Price not-so-subtly delighted at ALL of this (also he does kind of like the hat. Maybe he can convince you to make him one in a different color?)

Gaz asks you to point out your date (someone who immediately clocks as ick. Like a stock broker finance bro type?) and Gaz immediately vetoes that. That guy isn't your date anymore. He and Price are! Now, about this camera they owe you....

Price in a knit fuchsia cap got me fuckin' good. Sorry this took so long! Even more sorry I'm posting unedited, but if I look at this any longer I'll blow up so here we go

(follow up to this)

The worst part is, once you see him in it, shining like a neon sign from clear across the bar, you understand completely why they'd had to unceremoniously rip it off your head that day. Even here, surrounded as he is by the general visual noise of the city and patrons who are by no means dressed to blend in, the man sticks out like a sore thumb. (Made no better for the fact that he still stands head and shoulders above all those around him, of course, but that's beside the point.) You can only imagine how garishly you'd stood out among the stretch of that green meadow, how much you'd jeopardized not only their mission but their very lives by simply being there.

Of course, that knowledge does nothing to soothe the anger that rises within you when you see the men responsible for ruining your last (better) dating prospect waltz in on your current one as if their only new objective is to ruin your night again while wearing the handmade hat you're now realizing they'd stolen from you. (You'd thought you'd misplaced it on the bus last week. One moment it was there, the next gone. Now you wonder how you could have missed either of them sitting aboard public transportation, or how long they'd been following you to now conveniently show up in at least two of the same places you were.)

You stare daggers at the two of them. John ignores you, pink cap bobbing through the crowd as he makes his way to the bar. Kyle posts up at a booth and smirks at you openly, unabashedly. He's impossibly more attractive outside of the grease paint and twig mass. You ignore the delightful flip your belly does when he clocks the way you take in the breadth of him, how he tests the seams of his button down, and his smirk turns to the kind of smile that should require a legal registry.

"What are you looking at?"

You startle a bit when a big head floats into your field of vision, Jeremiah's frown completely obscuring the much better view you'd just been staring down. He swivels to look behind himself, head rotating like an automatic, unmanned security camera. Observing, but not seeing anything.

As far as prospects had gone, Jeremiah had been one of the least favorite matches you'd made on your little dating app; but after the failure from a few weeks past you'd been getting desperate, and his nice hair combined with his clever sales pitch tongue had eventually wooed you after enough messaging. Unfortunately, thirty seconds after meeting him in person you'd realized your initial instinct had indeed been right when he'd tried negging your outfit in the same breath he'd used to greet you at the door. He hadn't even chosen a good place to meet. With the way he dressed and spoke, you'd almost been looking forward to the novelty of some swanky bar uptown, but the pub he'd given you the name of was barely better than a hole in the wall. A dying fern stood in the corner, its only source of sustenance the light up dart board on its right, and the empty mugs surrounding it, the tacky puddle in its water pan suggesting it was a popular place to pour one's dregs out into. The sticky table felt like a fly trap, suggesting either years of buildup which had grown resistant to bleach, or a general incompetence on management's part as to how proper cleaning worked. You've no idea why you'd even stayed. Perhaps just a desire to stay out of the house. Part of you knows it's actually a desire to get laid so strong you're willing to overlook his shortcomings so long as you can clamp a hand over his mouth later and ride him until you're satisfied, but you don't want to look too closely at that part of you.

"Apologies. There's a man over there I recognize."

"Oh? Should I be worried?" His expression is genial enough when he asks, but his eyes keep something slightly colder at bay. Annoyance, perhaps. Not jealousy, you don't think. Not yet, at least. Probably hasn't actually clocked Kyle yet.

You should soothe him, you know. Coo reassurances, stutter through excuses and make up lies about just knowing them from your uni days or something. But then you remember Kyle's clever tongue, his blatant flirting. You remember John's heavy hands on you and the way they'd joked about keeping you all night. You're annoyed with them, more so when you remember how they'd left you high and dry after handing you off to the wolves back at base to tear into and question. But they're here now, have been for days, potentially, you're reminded when John ducks his head back into the booth, the subtle streaks of tinsel in the yarn you'd used glowing under the pendant light. He's got three drinks with him, sends you a casual wink when he spots you staring.

"Yes."

Jeremiah sputters. "Sorry?"

"Yes. You should be worried," you clarify casually. "Excuse me."

The boys aren't subtle about watching you as you approach, though Gaz leans into his captain's space to whisper something in his ear which makes his mustache twitch distractedly. It takes you a minute to pick your way over to them. You don't have much of a game plan beyond demanding your hat back, and hopefully garnering some insight as to why they're following you, but that doesn't explain the thrill you feel when their eyes trail you, or the way your mouth runs dry when you realize you're going to have to talk to them this time, no convenient excuse of situational silence keeping you from putting your foot in your mouth. You tell yourself you're at least not likely to drift off under one of them this time, and then suppress a heavy swallow when you realize you don't actually want that to be true. It's why your voice isn't quite as strong as you'd hoped when you approach their table, skipping formalities and demanding to know what they're doing here.

It's like they can smell your apprehension, John content to just keep smirking at you while Kyle responds with the kind of cocky voice you would hate on anyone else, but just serves to remind you how much the tone is earned when he uses it. "Can't a captain treat his favorite sergeant to a drink after work anymore?"

It's the phrasing that catches your attention, momentarily distracting you from reaching out and ripping your hat off John's head. It's too familiar to Jeremiah's own proposition for the evening, too jarring when used in relation to military work. "You've been following me," you state bluntly, wondering if it's possible they've even bugged your phones.

"Only a lot," Kyle agrees cheekily.

"Why?"

"Had to make sure you weren't going 'round telling everyone what you'd seen, petal," John grumbles, voice just as deep and dark as you remember. It's hard to hear him over the din of the pub. You tell yourself that's why you lean into him a bit when he speaks, though you turn it into a snatching motion easily enough.

"That why you stole my hat?"

John deflects you casually, turning your hand away somehow both deftly and gently. His grip changes once he has you under control, turning instead to guide you into the booth next to him. His arm finds the seat back behind you, but you stubbornly remain leaning forward, refusing to ease into him this time.

"Cap didn't steal it," Gaz corrects, eyes lingering on the captain's hand where he still grips your wrist. "I did."

It's hard to accept the fact that Kyle could ever escape your notice, but you suppose he's earned his position in life for a reason. "Right." You round on John, "So did you lose a bet?"

The captain chuckles. His thumb smoothes along the heel of your hand and then is gone, tipping the amber whiskey of his drink absently. "Won one, actually. Gaz here wanted to be the one to wear it."

"Would've looked better with my complexion," the other man reasons, batting his pretty eyes at you exaggeratedly. Far behind him, you spot your date sputtering indignantly to a waitress, the poor girl's face clearly disinterested. So much for your shoe-in. You refuse to acknowledge why that doesn't bother you as much as it would have even just five minutes ago.

"Yeah, well, if I only got to wear the things I wear better, I'd be walking around naked," John gripes goodnaturedly. "Isn't that right, flower?"

Kyle saves you from sputtering out an answer by sighing wistfully. "If only."

John smirks indulgently at him and you blink away, feeling like an outsider when you see the older man's hand disappear under the table, movement suggesting he's rubbing Kyle's leg. You try not to remember how it felt to have those heavy hands on you. "Can I get my hat back, please?"

"Well, at least you remembered your manners this time," John grumbles. You'd try snatching it off his head again just for the commentary, if you weren't becoming increasingly certain it would land you sprawled across his lap.

"Where you rushing off to anyway?" Kyle adds. He slides the third drink in front of John your way. "Drink with us."

You eye the fruity, fluorescent monstrosity before you skeptically. They don't seem the type to meet barely legal ladies out for a drink in a tiny place like this, but you can't imagine they'd had anyone else in mind when John had ordered whatever this was. "You expecting someone younger?"

John's low laugh makes his mustache twitch. "Heard once that a good rule of thumb if you don't know someone's drink order, is to try and match their outfit." He ducks his chin, looking you over from under his brow. In theory, it should seem more judgemental than appraising, but you still feel like he's assessing your outfit by removing it first.

Self consciously, you run your hand over the flowery blue dress you have on, distracting yourself from thinking too hard about what it meant that he'd bought you a drink. You suppose the color is a bit electric, but the way it fits more than makes up for its flashiness. Or at least, you'd thought it did. Now, seeing it paired with some stomach turning blue curaçao concoction, you feel much less certain about that. "You heard wrong. Besides, I can't stay. I'm on a date," you sniff. You probably shouldn't drink anything handed to you by men you knew were stalking you anyway.

Kyle shrugs agreeably, swapping your drink for his simple rum and coke as he asks who you're out with. You eye it warily, but spot the smudge of Kyle's own lips on the edge so you figure it's safe enough to drink, though you make a point of wiping it off, sneering at Kyle when he laughs at you.

"Stock broker Jeremiah," you recite, trying to keep the jeer from your tone. You motion back behind yourself. "Over there."

"Stock broker?" John repeats, voice so thick the words fall from his lips like smoke. You think you spot a smirk hidden in his chops.

"That your type, luv?"

"Not particularly," you admit. "But he'll have to do, seeing as the last one didn't take too kindly to being stood up."

Kyle tuts, tone too amused to be sympathetic. "Didn't believe you'd been laid up?"

"Should've had him call us, flower. We could've vouched for you," John suggests. Somehow, you know introducing these two to any prospective partners would be a terrible idea.

Still, it sounds amusing.

You shrug, wishing you had a beer bottle to peer the label off of. "Jeremiah makes good money," you offer, the only thing you can really remember from Jeremiah's profile. John hums, lower than the din of the room. Kyle's face is too blank, the same strict discipline he used with his cheek glued to his rifle. Briefly, you're back under John, the din of the surrounding crowd swallowed up by your twin heartbeats. Your eyes flick between the two, take in the tight control of their expressions. It would probably fool most, but you've spent your fair share of time studying the minutiae of faces, the way muscles twitch under stimuli no matter how properly trained the model. Even dead tissue will contract when properly motivated. "He's just bought me a new camera, in fact."

Gaz scoffs. John's eyes narrow. The two exchange sidelong glances and you sip your drink. You'd believed John when he'd said he'd replace your camera, but after being split up at base he'd never located you again and no one had been very forthcoming with information as to how you could contact your new friends to collect. A week after the incident, a cheap, basic camera and a base model macro lens had appeared on your step, the packaging cold and impersonal, shipped direct from the warehouse. No new boots ever came. The camera hadn't been anywhere near as nice as the one you'd lost, but it wasn't like there was a calling card you could air your grievances to so you'd cut your losses and just thanked whoever was listening that you'd even made it out of that valley alive. Now, however, watching the men who'd promised to take care of everything have their pride bruised by some asshole in a button up too expensive to deign resting his silken elbows on the dirty table of the bar he'd decided you were fit for, the weeks of frustration almost seemed worth it. And so what if it wasn't true anyway?

"Excuse me."

Your date's sudden appearance nearly makes you jump out of your skin, the prospect of introducing him to these men suddenly far less appealing when John rumbles, "Don't think I will."

Jeremiah sneers at him before turning to you. "I'm heading out. Don't think this -," he motions between the two of you, lets his finger swirl around the table to include the boys when the motion peters out, "- is for me. Have a good one, yeah?"

"Oh, um, okay. Sor-."

John stops you. "Don't apologize to him, petal. It's him there owes you one."

"And why would I need to apologize?"

"Existing?" Kyle suggests.

"Wasting her time?" John tacks on.

"Insulting my dress," you decide.

Kyle's tsk noise draws your attention. When you look, he's got those exaggeratedly huge eyes darting between you and your date. "When it fits you like that?" he clarifies, making you blush.

"Right wanker," John agrees. His voice is still playful, but the look he's leveling Jeremiah with is anything but.

"It's - it's -. It's blue!" your date sputters, waving at you as if your offense should be obvious.

John leans close, mustache tickling your ear. "Sounds like a man who can't appreciate a good pair of obnoxiously yellow wellies."

"You threw my wellies in the creek," you counter, too amused to muster much anger.

"Bought you new ones," Kyle offers and you narrow your eyes at him because, following you or not, there's no way they could know -.

"What size?"

Kyle just grins. "On the first date?"

"On our first date," Jeremiah reminds you.

You ignore them both, rounding on John. "And you ripped off my hat!" To illustrate your point, you attempt to snatch it back again, but the captain ducks it just as easily as he did the first time.

"I'll give it back when you make me a new one."

"Wait, I stole it fair and square," Kyle counters. John doesn't dodge him as easily, the silver streaks of his dark, mussed hair catching the light just like your yarn did. He doesn't even bother trying to snatch it back, watching with fond eyes as Kyle replaces his hat with your own. He'd been right, he does wear it better.

"If I make you one too, will you give it back?"

"Fat chance," the sergeant scoffs, and with an expert toss, he saucers his own hat onto your head, grinning like a fool when you let John tug it more firmly on.

A scoff behind you draws their attention. John glares over your shoulder again, but Kyle just waves, cheeky enough to elicit another humorless laugh. Byt the time you turn around, your date's already on his way. You're not particularly upset by it, figuring even if… whatever this is… doesn't pan out to anything, at least you'll have spent the evening in better company than originally planned.

The boys are both staring at you when you look back. You don't bother acting disappointed, though you know there's a version of this evening that sees you spitting mad, being soothed and gentled like a finicky horse with big hands and hushed tones. As appealing as it sounds, you'd rather spend your time actually talking, making up for your first meeting with them when you couldn't do much beyond gripe about your position, or whine about being bored. So instead you shrug, and the boy's smirks turn leery, and you suppress a shiver when Kyle leans across the table toward you, voice low when he asks what kind of camera 'the suit' bought you.

You panic in your response a bit, all higher end models you've had your eyes on for weeks fleeing your brain. Instead you tell them about the cheap thing you'd received in the mail and John scoffs.

"Got you something much better," he promises, pulling his phone from one of his many pockets and flicking through it. When he turns it toward you, an email confirmation tells him his package has been delivered, the details of the order showing the next model up from the very one he'd thrown in the brook. The description of the lens is cut off at the bottom, but you've no doubt you'll be happy enough when you see the pricing details. "You'll forgive the delay, of course. Man's gotta do some research, after all."

You'd even forgive the wellies continuing to go unreplaced, though in your excitement you forget to express that. "Of course. Of course! Thank you so much, John!" You're still gushing gratitudes when you slip out of the booth, turning to excuse yourself so quickly you even forget to snatch your hat back.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To go get -?" You stall, taking in their confused - even slightly miffed - expressions. "Look, if that package sits on my stoop too long, my neighbors will -."

Kyle laughs, crooks his finger at you. It's embarrassing how quickly you oblige, slipping right back into your seat just because his eyes are too warm and inviting to disappoint.

John's voice is much closer than you remember it being before you'd stood, the low rumble in his chest a physical thing you feel against your shoulder when he leans close. "No need to worry, petal. It's back at mine. Safe as houses."

"Didn't have your address," Kyle winks.

It's weird, the way you can laugh at jokes about being followed. You decide not to think about it too much. "Sounds more like an elaborate plot to get me back at yours."

"Well, we're unused to not getting our mark," John confesses, "had to have another shot at it."

Kyle's cheeky when he responds, his boyish grin enough to have you settling against John before you even know what you're about. "For the record, I never did take a shot the first time."

#asks #the wellyboot incident #pricegaz x reader

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threepandas · 4 months ago

Text

Bad End: The Nunnery

The Queen's portrait was a magnificent thing. A masterpiece of light and color, detail and delicate symbolism. She was immortalized. Forever in the prime in her life. The height of her beauty. Regal and magnificent as the day the King first saw her.

She was gazing to the left, face cool, and too those who might not know her? She might even seem cold. But, according to her? She had been a WRECK. Terribly nervous that she would trip or embarrass herself. She had been, after all, new to this country. Still uncertain. Standing before a VERY important figure in both the social and political circles of her new home.

So she defaulted to her "princess mask" as she called it.

Focused on her maid.

It? Was one of many such stories the Queen has told me. Over tea. On walks in her garden. Practicing etiquette or dancing. At meals. The King often joining in fondly. Reminiscing about those earnest and awkward early days in their marriage. Assuring me that my own will be just as warm and lovely.

But...

I know it will not.

Otome games. Oh, otome games. Why did I ever love you? What could I have done to anger you so? That you would cast me in to a role such as this? The woman to be scorned. Who must dedicate her life, work and work and WORK... only to have it all ripped away. Have everything she's ever known stolen by some upstart. One with no training, no support, no IDEA of what she's doing.

Who will lead everyone and everything to disaster, RUIN, with her careless tounge and unthinking ways.

Too Rule is not a GAME.

It is a SACRIFICE.

The crown not some trinket you wear just to match your DRESS! The crown prince some man you marry for mere LOVE! If love comes, you are blessed. Lucky. But the reality is? You sit on a chair that bleeds you dry. Beneath a crown of suffering. Asked to make impossible choices. Blamed for things beyond your control. Expected to live, bleed, then die there.

With some gods damned DIGNITY.

Can she do that? CAN SHE? Your pretty, flower brained, indecisive child of a lover? The one who is so "different" and so "carefree"? Who's lives has she held in her hands? What futures? Does she even KNOW who our current trade partners are? What the tax on sheep's wool is?

For that matter...

Where were YOU?

No. My husband to be? Will never marry me. I know there will be no happy ending here. And... and it hurts. Because dispite KNOWING my "role"? My destiny? Time moves slowly. Day by day. And I have a schedule to keep. A part I must play.

Unlike my Cannon counterpart, I am not haughty. Nor am I cruel. I behave as best I can, for a young lady of my station. Dignity, compassion, but with leadership. I am being trained, after all, to be the future Queen.

I play with my young brother-in-laws. Rolling balls in the flower garden. Clapping games. Listening to them practicing their reading. And as they grow, practicing their swords. I attend my lessons. Attend the rare party. Barely see my birth parents, who were only too happy to all but sell me off for power.

And my fiance?

Can barely tolerate me.

Cruel "jokes" and mud. Only getting angrier when I do not shriek and howl like the upset child he expected I would be. The more he gets punished for trying to torment me, the worse a witch I apparently am. Clearly, having planned it all. His poor mother is distraught. His father furious with his tutors. Who is allowing this behavior, they wonder? It is certainly not them.

But they can not be everywhere. So instead, I am brought where they can supervise. I do not mind. Find quite joy in how the Queen plays with my hair instead of her fan. How the King will pick me up, when I was small enough, to place me on his lap and show me his work. Then sets aside a chair, so we may "work together" as though my lesson's work could ever rival his own in importance.

They had wanted a daughter.

Love their sons.

But...and here they always trail off. The weight of something heavy and unsaid passing between them. The King hand usually warm, cradling, on my head. They do not want to say it. Worry me so young. Or worse, traumatize me.

After all... the King's family has a nasty paternal lineage trait, in which boys tend to try and kill the competition. Be it their siblings, parent's, or sons. They don't... share well. It had been flavor text in the game. For the "only kind to me" type prince.

Daughters however? Generally normal. Tend to take after their mothers.

The King had widely been known to want twenty and maybe a prince... if he HAD too.

They got several prince's instead. Worse, it had nearly killed her Grace to give birth to them. After that? The King refused to try again. Turned his hopes to his future daughters-in-law instead. It... it was beyond what I could have ever dreamed.

It was WARM. Dream like.

Gentle.

They radiated the sort of strength and dignity that made you WANT to listen. To lean into them and be protected. Sitting with the Queen in her parlor, side by side, as I leaned against her? Cradled against soft fabric and rich dyes. Her unique perfume delicately filling the air like tendrils of mist in a dream, the scent of tea and the melodic hum of her voice as she talked. It was like a beautiful trance sometimes.

Or when the King took me riding on his massive beast of a warhorse, just because he knew I loved the scared up old menace. I had to sit practically in his lap, side saddle, because the old grouch was a gremlin who wouldn't behave otherwise. But WOULD let me pet them with enough bribes.

I... I tried to be a good child.

A daughter they could think fondly off.

And... and I knew it would HURT. It would HURT so, so fucking bad. Not to lose my ASS of a fiance. No, he was a fool. But... but to lose the closest thing I had to parents in this world. I... I didn't want to go...

But.

BUT!

If I must? Then I would be well trained. Have a spotless reputation and dignity befit a royal. His Majesty could no doubt help me find a new engagement befitting my station. And I doubted her Grace would just toss me aside. I... I hoped.

When the Protagonist came? It was every nightmare I'd ever had. Endless scandal and horrifying indignity. Even my political rivals, my social foes, were grimacing. Were taking me aside to "freshen my make up" so I wouldn't have to see my intended behaving so... unforgivably.

Just fornicate in public, why don't you?

Can't be any LESS subtle.

I held the fiancee of the heir to Minister of Defense, a lovely girl I had known but not well, as she wept. The son of the prime minister's fiancee stared, grim faced, into the distance. She had come from several nations away as part of an alliance. I offered her my guest rooms. Whatever she should need.

Things spiraled.

They played out their happly little love story. Acting as fluttering children as their actions caused chaos and destruction all around them. She refused to choose. Somehow her father allowed this. I kept myself in the public eye, knowing better then to hide, for all that I desperately wished too. It payed off.

Someone tried to frame me. Spread terrible rumors about henious acts. To bad that everyone had SEEN me suffering with dignity and grace, in public where they could watch me.

It seems I was not the only one to reincarnate.

Why could not just be happy? Fall "in love" and steal one live from one soul? Was your greed so great? Did it really anger you that much? That I would not play along?

It certainly angered His Majesty, the rumors. They were unforgivable, according to Her Grace. But... BUT, sadly, the girl was pregnant. And the idiot was their son. The other idiots their allies foolish, foolish offspring. What could be done?

Simple.

Send them to His Majesty's brother.

It was, after all, tradition to spread out after coming of age. What with the whole "I want you dead" tendency that ran in their family. All the better so as to not step on metaphorical toes, as it were. And the King? Had one surviving (for now) brother. The high priest of the High Northern Temple. Good and remote.

Perfect for banishment and a life of reflection.

That, however, left me I reminded them. I was met with matching smiles. Adopted or marry the next youngest prince! Obviously. Ah. I see. But wouldn't that be-?

The queen takes me arm, tucking it in hers, and tells me not to worry about it. Leads me towards the gardens. Have I seen the new flowers they've just ordered? They are quite lovely. I had not. I let myself be distracted. Lean my head against the Queens shoulder as we walk. And finally... relax.

I'm safe.

The Queen smiles. We are joined by the King, his expression warm. I feel at peace. Protected. Treasured. I love them so much. A warm and perfect family. I'm glad I don't have to leave. I say as much and they laugh, hugging me.

"Oh, of COURSE Darling! We would NEVER let you go!"

"That's right, my dearest. You're here forever."

#threepandas #yandere #yandere x reader #reader insert #yanblr #yandere otome isekai #yandere otome #yanderecore #platonic yandere #yandere parents #royal yandere #bad end the nunnery #bad end the nunnery au #ask related story #unaware reader #yanderes good at what they do

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wonryllis · 9 months ago

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AGENT HEESEUNG ★ LITTLE BIT DANGEROUS BABY, THAT'S HOW I WANT IT.

惹き付ける 𓈃 ﹙where,﹚ agent red gets distracted on a mission.

001 ꗃ. agent heeseung headcanons 640 words! warning MDNI NSFW; mentions of fingering crdt! of edit @hypenwons on tiktok LIB?

"stop staring at her," jay's voice rings in heeseung's earpiece.

"what?" he's too lost in thoughts like? dude you got a national level mission to do where's your mind at?

less than two hours ago he was in prehaps THE MOST secret facility in the country going over plans of an undercover search that he was SPECIFICALLY CHOSEN for

and here he is now leaning against the countertop of the bar with a fancy drink in hand

surely it wasn't alcoholic, he can't afford to be intoxicated in the slightest bit, right?

"olive green knit crop and black pants, you're staring," the venom and warning in jay's voice bites back from the control room

heeseung takes a sip of his mocktail and sighs there's no way literally no way, jay's gotta be kidding

"i'm not staring," this has to be a joke because why is jay not kidding, it's been fifteen minutes and his eyes just keep following you and your every move

from the way your mouth shapes as you laugh amidst the crowd of your friends(he assumes) to the way your lips touch the glass of vodka to the way your hips sway as you scurry to the dance floor

"you are, agent red," how your body moves to the music and the little peaks of skin that show and how it just seems to glisten under the disco lights.

"shut it, you have a mission to focus on," with the high tech glasses on, he can see the remnants of the liquid shining on your lips each time you drink a glass.

he can not help but be drawn to those beautiful colored lips

in fact your whole existence is quite literally making him go crazy, his thoughts running to such places that he absolutely should not be thinking about on a mission for fucks sake

if he were to just walk over and kiss you right now he wonders what you'd taste like, vodka? tequila? flavored cocktails? sweet and addicting? BINGO!

"yeah whatever," heeseung chugs in his drink and puts the glass back on the counter, zeroing in on you one last time.

"what? what did you just say heeseung-" rip jay. we'll miss you dearly

BEFORE HE TAKES OUT HIS EARPIECE AND GLASSES TURNING THEM OFF AND SHOVING INTO HIS SUIT POCKETS KSJHKKS

in the blink of an eye he's right behind you, slyly putting his hands on your waist as he joins you on the crowded dance floor standing impossibly close kshjsjd

and like an incubus bends to whisper in your ear, voice husky and tempting. he knows how to charm his way * - *

"you wanna dance together, pretty?" (died.)

the entire time his hands roam everywhere and anywhere caressing your curves shamelessly (if that's not heeseung)

it doesn't take long though for him to initiate a kiss, isn't that what he dropped his mission for?

but god forbid how wrecked he was about to be,, for the moment his lips touched yours, lee heeseung knew

HE WAS DAMN SURE INTOXICATED (can you hear me screaming?)

sucking and biting on your lips wasn't enough for him he just wanted more, so much more 👀

"does it feel good baby?" he can not stop staring at your face as his hand moves between your legs. fingers inside you with the thumb circling against your clit and the other hand around your neck holding you in a light choke

the way you suck in a breath, bite on your lips whinning to hold in a loud moan, the sounds going straight down against his tight pants and how your hooded eyes keep looking at him in a sultry daze.

WAY TOO INTOXICATED to realize you're the one he was supposed to find info on, and you have him exactly how you planned to, wrapped around your finger.

so, enemies to ?

TAGLIST. ( open ) @s00buwu @luvyev @pockyyasii @nctislifue

#enhypen imagines #k-labels #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen heeseung imagines #enhypen headcanons #enhypen hyung line #enhypen heeseung smut #heeseung smut #enhypen scenarios

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cuubism · 11 months ago

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By the time half of his nine a.m. class called out sick with migraines, Hob knew something was seriously wrong.

He himself hadn’t even slept at all the night before. It wasn’t impossible for that to happen, despite the fact he was dating The King of Dreams, Lord of Sleep, etc, because Dream refused to outright control Hob’s sleep—which Hob thought was admirably restrained of him, actually. When Hob had asked why Dream wasn’t particular about it as he was about so many other things, Dream had said that ‘the mind’s independent exploration of the unconscious is crucial to mental functioning.’ So Hob being kept up by work or mundane worries was always possible, if rare given the natural effects of his proximity to Dream.

But something about sitting up in bed that night, sleepless, nagged at his mind. He hadn’t seen Dream that day, either. Hob was a little… touchy about risks to Dream, a little hyper-attentive to hints of occult wrongdoing or broad disruptions to sleep. He’d failed to help Dream once. He wouldn’t again.

So it was already prickling at the back of his mind before he opened his laptop that morning to dozens of emails of students calling out sick. Hob himself had been spared any migraines, but all the messages dropped like stones in his stomach. Dream. It must be. Was he captured? Hurt? Did someone summon him again?

He had just sent an email cancelling class and was halfway to the door, not knowing where he was about to charge off to but doing it anyway, when Matthew landed hard on the windowsill and started pecking at the glass.

Hob rushed back over, heart jumping in his throat, dropping his bag. So it was Dream. Something was wrong.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded as he wrenched open the window and Matthew tumbled in. “What happened? Where’s Dream?”

Matthew stumbled onto the side table, flapping ragged wings. A couple of loose feathers shook out. “So he’s not here? Shit, dude, I was hoping—”

“Matthew. What happened.”

“We got attacked.” Matthew shuddered. “Boss fought ‘em off, but now I can’t find him anywhere.”

“You can’t find him in the Dreaming?” Hob tried not to let this come out hysterically, but he didn’t entirely succeed.

“The place is fucked— look, if he’s not here, you should just come back with me.” He flapped up and landed on Hob’s shoulder, claws piercing his jumper. “I think I can maybe— yep—”

The world swirled around them in a million colors, flashes of unfathomable places and sounds, and then they were stumbling dizzily into the throne room—or what was left of it.

“Shit, get back!”

Matthew hauled Hob backwards by the collar of his jumper before Hob could go tumbling into a crack— no, a void in the marble floor. It went straight down into infinity, dizzying and unreal. Heart jumping in his throat, he stumbled backward, nearly tripping. Then sucked in a deep breath and looked up and around.

The crevasse he’d nearly fallen into wasn’t the only crack in the throne room floor. The entire castle, the fabric of the Dreaming itself, was rent in concentric circles, a spiraling pattern where the rock and sky had been pulled apart from itself and nothing showed through. Slices in reality—or rather in dreams—where it cracked open into the fundamental void of the universe.

Hob look away from it, horrified, a fierce headache brewing behind his eyes. He kept his gaze trained on the intact sections of the castle.

“Place is fucked,” Matthew repeated—a massive understatement—landing again on Hob’s shoulder, well away from the crevasse. “Watch those gaps. That’s raw nothingness, it’s usually outside the Dreaming.”

“Wasn’t planning on going in them.” Hob walked carefully across the intact portion of the floor, wincing at the gouges ripping open the throne room. If the Dreaming looked like this, then Dream probably did, too. Or something like. “Tell me what happened exactly?”

“Okay, so, according to Luce, a billion years ago, these ancient beings attacked the Dreaming, and—”

——

How

dare

they?

Fools. Arrogant fools. To think that because the Dreaming was newly remade that the Dream Lord was weak. To return.

When last their paths had crossed, he had torn their leader’s spine from its back. He wore its skull still as a symbol, a warning. And yet they dared to return and challenge him again.

He had shown them. They had dug their talons in, held tight with sharp teeth, but he had strong jaws, too. He had ripped them out: root, stem, bone, cell, torn them apart, disintegrated them, shredded them just as they had asked for. It had taken much out of him. But he had shown them.

Now…

Where…

was he?

“Dream?”

Somewhere in the Dreaming…

“Hey, love. Can you hear me?”

…he had been looking for something… respite… he had not found it, quite. He had gone through a dream of burning flowers… through a nightmare of sweet lovemaking… no, that was… not right…

“Dream.”

Hands on him. The gashes torn through him where starlight leaked. Hob had made this place. A dream version of the safest place that Dream knew.

“I can hear you,” Dream murmured. Opened his eyes. The rug on Hob’s living room floor greeted him. Hob’s knees, just in his line of sight, where he was kneeling. Hob’s hands on his shoulder. He was bleeding there, and elsewhere.

Hob touched Dream’s cheek. “Took me ages to find you.”

“You made this place,” Dream said, finding Hob’s knee with a shaky hand and squeezing it.

“Did I?” Hob looked up and around. “It’s just my flat.”

“A place where we spend much time, even in dreams.” He groaned as Hob helped him sit up, leaning him against the couch. The ancient ones were destroyed, cast like so much dust out of the Dreaming, but the damage they had inflicted remained. Including on Dream’s own form.

“I tried to find your dreams,” he said, leaning his head back against the couch, already tired, “after.” He had known that Hob’s mind was a place where he might recuperate from the strain of fighting those terrible creatures, and that Hob, unlike most humans, was familiar enough with the Dreaming not to buckle under the shock of what he saw. “But you were not sleeping.”

Hob studied him with concern. “I wasn’t the only one.”

Dream stiffened. Bad enough, the damage to the Dreaming. “Have I inflicted much harm on the Waking world?”

“No, love, I think they’ll be okay. Once you are. Will you be? The throne room was, well— nightmarish.”

“I will repair it,” Dream said. He was relieved the damage had not spread too far into the Waking, though he would have to examine it himself—Hob would not be able to see the full scope. But Waking world effects were much harder for Dream to fix. And to think that he might have harmed his dreamers…

“And what about you?” Hob asked. He cupped Dream’s face in his hand. Dream still felt inestimably tired. But he had to get back to the core of the Dreaming, not this tiny corner crafted by Hob, no matter how comforting it was, or how much he might wish he could stay, just for a moment longer.

“This is not the first time the Dreaming has been attacked,” he told Hob. “I have repelled them before, and I did so again now. The damage was greater last time, in fact.”

“This may surprise you, but that’s not comforting to me,” Hob said.

“The Dreaming will not fall,” Dream repeated. “You need not worry.” He wouldn’t let it happen again. Not after that first attack, so long ago. Not after his recent absence had done so much damage.

“And what about you?” Hob repeated.

Dream knew what Hob wanted from him, but to leave to the Waking now and indulge himself in proper ‘rest and recovery’ as Hob might deem it was not an option for him. He could not leave the Dreaming in such a precarious state, no matter the effects upon himself.

He stood up, bracing himself on the couch. Hob followed him, alarmed. Dream swayed, then caught his balance and stood tall. The gouges torn through him from the monsters’ claws caught on his shirt and coat, and he winced, despite himself.

“I will not fall, either,” he told Hob. “You needn’t worry.”

Hob sighed, mouth tilting in disappointment, but didn’t tell him off. He traced his fingertips over one of the deep cuts in Dream’s coat, where a claw mark curved over his shoulder, dark blood caught in the edges of the fabric.

“I have rested here for some time already,” Dream told him. Though it had not been a wholly conscious decision to do so.

“Sure,” said Hob. Dream braced himself to again be told that he must rest. Instead, Hob tilted Dream’s head down, and kissed his forehead.

“Lover of mine,” Dream murmured, wrapping his hands lightly around Hob’s wrists. “I am sorry to worry you.”

“Let me come with you?” Hob said, but Dream shook his head.

“Matthew should not have brought you to the palace, it is not safe for dreamers. Nor even for Matthew. When I have mended the borders of unreality, then you can visit there again. I thank you—” he tilted his head at the image of the flat around them “—for your hospitality.”

“Your hospitality,” said Hob. He took Dream’s hands and squeezed them. “Be safe.”

Dream kissed Hob’s cheek, and whispered, with a curl of his power, “Wake, Hob.”

Then he was alone, and so he traveled, painfully, back to the center of his realm.

——

It rent Dream’s heart to see the Dreaming in such a state, flayed, shredded to ribbons. But the active danger had passed. This now was the cleanup after a storm, and his efforts, at least, would improve things, instead of merely staunching the flow of blood.

Carefully, deftly, as a surgeon with a needle, Dream mended the gouges in the Dreaming. Careful not to tug on the raw edges and split them again. The void retreated to its proper space beyond the walls. The Dreaming groaned in pain to be drawn back in from its chaotic spiral, but Dream made it hold. It must hold.

Soon the crevasses shrank to mere cracks in the marble, and the sky into careful patchwork of blue and clouds. Dream’s head ached, like the migraines the attack had given to some of his dreamers. He finally allowed himself to stop, to sink down to the throne room floor and press his forehead to the cold stone. It offered some relief.

He felt when Matthew reentered the Dreaming, and then the flutter of his wings as he landed beside him. To keep him away from the dangers of the fragmented Dreaming, Dream had sent him to survey the damage in the Waking world, and then, when he was finished, to appease Hob with his presence and assure him of Dream’s continued ability to stand upright.

“Uh, boss?” said Matthew, bobbing beside him, tilting his head to catch Dream’s eye.

Dream looked at him out of the corner of his eye, head still pressed to the floor. “Yes?”

“You good?”

“Yes, Matthew.”

Matthew fluttered his wings, and looked up and around at the throne room. “Place looks better?”

“The bulk of the damage is mended,” said Dream.

“Great,” said Matthew. “Well. If you’re done having floor time here, Hob would really like to see you. Like really. ‘Practically threw me out a window to check on you’ really.”

“He worries,” said Dream, with fondness.

“I wonder why,” said Matthew. Dream did not call out his insolence. This time.

He did push himself back up to sitting, then, more slowly than he would have liked, climbed to his feet. “I will call on him. Will you do a brief survey of the borderlands to check for lingering damage? Then, please rest.”

Matthew gave him a look that should not have been possible for a bird, but which Dream understood to be pointing out his own hypocrisy. But Dream did not address it, instead pulling forth a pinch of his sand, and traveling to the Waking.

——

Hob was fucking fretting like he’d rarely fretted before. He was also realizing how common an occurrence this had become since dating the King of Dreams. Fucker. Hob was going to go gray, immortal body aside.

But he would readily admit that he did also admire Dream’s dedication to his realm. Dream would not be Dream if he abandoned the Dreaming in a state—and what a state it had been—for his own needs. That was the person Hob had fallen in love with, a person whose sense of responsibility was as serious as his creations were whimsical. And love him Hob did.

He was still awake, late that night, waiting in hopes that Dream would finish his repairs and return to assure Hob of his well-being, or, luck willing, to rest a while. Waiting. Hob was good at waiting.

And his patience, his tolerance, paid off, for around four in the morning, Dream appeared in Hob’s flat by way of a cloud of sparkling sand. He looked at Hob, still sitting up on the couch, legs stretched out, reading a book. His exhaustion was evident in how long it took him to manage to say, “You are still awake.”

“Yup,” said Hob, setting aside the book. Relieved beyond measure to see him whole. Dream was even still on his feet, though looked decidedly like it would be better for him not to be.

Without further words Dream stumbled over to him, coat and shoes vanishing as he went, and curled up in his lap. He tucked his head under Hob’s chin. Buried his cold hands under Hob’s jumper.

Hob kissed the top of his head, and pulled the blanket down off the back of the couch to drape over him, wrapped his arms tight around his back. “You fixed everything, then?” he said, voice hushed in the night hour. But it was too late to ask questions, for the King of Dreams was already asleep.

#dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #my writing

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syneilesis · 11 months ago

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[fic] if only for a moment

if only for a moment

Love and Deepspace | Rafayel (Qi Yu) x Main-Character!Reader | T | 3.6k words | ao3 link (with correct formatting)

Rafayel waits. And waits. And waits.

A/N: Another LaD fic!! This time it's Rafayel. Several elements of this fic are inspired by and loosely based on his story anecdotes and bond story, plus that Deep Sea card line backdrop. So more spoilers in this one, I'm afraid. I think you need to be aware of them in order to follow the flow of the fic. But if not, here's what you need to know: basically Rafayel accepts a visiting professorship at the University of Linkon to reunite with the MC/you. And the prose poetry interspersed are loosely situated in the Deep Sea card lineup setting (you can search in YouTube for the scenes. This one is a brief glimpse of the scene). That princess/knight(??) dynamic is yum yum.

If possible, please read the version on AO3. I formatted the prose poems there as if they're really prose poetry, so I'd appreciate it if you check that out. (Though there isn't too much difference between the formatting here and there, I did make the effort of coding a little 🥺)

Anyhoo, hope you enjoy, and I am sO STOKED FOR THE OFFICIAL RELEASE. rip my wallet 💸😭

JUST LOOK AT THIS MAN AND BELIEVE

There’s a type of berry in a distant land that produces a rare shade of ink that matches the color of your eyes. It takes a hundred of them to create the right hue and volume for the art that he wants to make. It comes to him in a dream: endless desert, then fireworks of verdant sparks that coalesce into stem, leaf, and, finally, fruit. Rafayel remembers that land, so much different from the iridescent blue of ocean underwater, and the acrid gold of the barren desert. His mouth filled with the succulent sweetness of the dream, the lingering sandpaper roughness of the berries on his fingers. He already knows the name of the artwork even before he’s begun—Waiting, Missing. The ache in his bones gaining form, an intangible thing taking flesh.

Under the ocean surface, time is muted, a deafening thickness that surrounds you with its ambiguity. On land, however, it is linear, and fast, and in a matter of blinks, Rafayel’s visiting professorship nearly wraps up.

He’s only glimpsed you once or twice. Thrice at most. The university is big, but not big enough to warrant a dearth of fateful encounters. The first time he saw you it was at a coffee shop: walking along with your friends outside, your voice mellifluous and festive wafting through the trellis of the café entrance. You were talking about him—well, about Lemuria to be specific, but these days any talk of Lemuria inevitably draws in his name.

He’s committed your schedule to memory, and yet it just seems impossible to capture a moment with you. Even just a brush of shoulders, or of sleeves—an asymptote of contact. Just navigating around your orbit, but never truly meeting.

What would it be like—finally talking to you? You in front of him, face to face? Rafayel imagines the ache of waiting fading into the background until it’s completely gone. He yearns for that feeling, the release of it. A conclusion—or maybe even a beginning.

i. take my hand, he told you under the glow of the lustrous moon, the only source of light that contoured the secretive valleys of his face. i want to show your highness something. there was a country, he said, beyond the undulating monochrome of the desert, blanketed by lush trees and shrubberies and flowers that buildings were made in betwixt and around them—a nation of trailing and winding architecture, a marriage of the natural and the manmade. you wanted to ask why he’d planned on taking you there, and the only answer you got was a curt turn of his head and the profile of a masked man layered by shadows and distance. it would have been nice, you thought, if the moon poured light upon his hooded gaze.

Eventually he begins to frequent the café. Twice a week at first—he doesn’t want to come off strong right away, of course—and then making his way up until he’s hanging out there more than his own studio. He schedules his visits around your classes, always during the ones when the probability of you dropping by the café is high and he can ‘coincidentally’ be around the same area. It’s gotten to a point that Thomas calls him out on it, and nags at him to focus more on his painting. The next exhibit is immediately after his visiting professorship after all.

“From where I’m standing,” Thomas says, “you’re not painting at all.”

Rafayel ignores him.

Five minutes later, he says, “Not painting is part of the painting process.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, but he leaves him to it.

At the café, Rafayel attracts curious looks. A few attempt to approach him, but he pretends not to see them. They linger around the periphery, like moths to flame.

And then something happens: the entrance door chimes, and you swan into the coffee shop, earphones and denim overall skirt, the kind of rosy-cheeked image Rafayel finds on teen magazines, wide-eyed and earnest. You fall in line and order when it’s your turn, and your eyes sweep across the packed café searching for a vacant seat until they finally land on him.

Rafayel’s heart stumbles.

Up close, the baby fat on your cheeks still gives you the appearance of being younger than you actually look. You turn a polite smile his way, and his heart stutters again—but this time it is taken as a warning.

“Hi,” you say, tentative. Any hint of recognition absent. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

ii. you're counting the steps of your inevitable parting. you're at the edge of the desert, far away from your home and its familiar scents, oriented towards a direction that promised a future sad memory, the gentle warmth of his hand, the downward denial of his gaze. this longing that grew out of your bones, aching during cold, aching during heat, aching when he looked at you with such tenderness he had to hide it through the sharp tug of your joined hands, the long strides that opened up a lonely distance. intimacy was dangerous, knowing was dangerous, the bowels of his heart like a solitary flower on a high peak. what would you do to such loneliness?

Memory isn't always an infallible thing. The human brain cannot hang on to every moment of your life, though Rafayel wishes it were so. But still—to think that you would forget him, and it hasn’t even been a century. You were like a phantom thief stealing his heart in the night—no recourse, no resolution.

To wait is to be in agony, the burn of yearning locked within the heart. Rafayel has been waiting for a long time, and the only memory scorched in his heart is fire, the blaze and its blinding, all-consuming want.

What would you do to such want?

You have a blurry childhood, Rafayel discovers. After the first Wanderer descended on Earth, the incident strummed your memories like a stringed instrument that tired of the same chord, over and over. It had bothered you at first—not being in control of your own memories—but eventually you had learned to live with it.

“Grandma and Caleb—my childhood friend—helped me through the process,” you tell him, stirring your iced mocha with its straw. “I owe them a lot.”

Eyes cast down, but still the melancholy shadows remain in your expression. Rafayel folds his arms on the table, and leans closer.

Around them only a few people occupy the coffee shop at this time. How fortunate for Rafayel to catch you during your break while every other student is trapped in class lectures.

“There’s no use in dwelling upon what's already happened. Even sharks have to give up when their prey escapes. When you remember, it will be all the more joyous, no?”

The smile you give him is crooked, disbelieving.

“If I remember.”

“You’ll remember.” Because there’s no other choice, for you and for him. Rafayel cannot bear being shelved in the history of your smile and happiness. Waiting can only be endurable if there’s an endpoint.

In his studio, Rafayel begins his next painting.

iii. the berries tasted sweet, with an edge of sourness that clung to the bottom of the tongue. it had the exact shade of your eyes, a detail that rafayel brought up the moment he plucked it from the shrub. raising it to align with your eyes, comparing them with his artist's meticulous gaze. maybe when this is all over, i'll go back here again to extract ink from these berries, and paint a portrait of your highness using these to color your eyes. he never showed you any of his paintings, merely mentioned them in passing, and you constructed a dream of him from the throwaway words that left his covered lips. i'm not used to sitting for so long, you reminded him, and he glanced at you, then at the berry between his fingers. my memory is enough, then handed you the fruit.

In the few weeks of meeting with you Rafayel forgets that his visiting professorship is ending soon and he has to give out his last lecture. Thomas had asked him what his topic would be. At that point Rafayel had no answer. But now he has.

“I’ve been hearing you talk about Lemuria every now and then with your friends.” He props his cheek on his hand, tilting his head slightly and giving you a charming smile. “Interested?”

You blink. “How did you know?”

“Oh, I’ve seen you a couple of times here, and I happened to hear your friends chat about my lecture. Your points were almost accurate, I’m in awe.”

“The visiting professor—that’s you?!”

Rafayel pauses, the slosh of his drink nearly spilling on his frozen hand.

“You didn’t know?”

Sheepish, you say, “Honestly, I didn’t make the connection. Is that why plenty of people have been glaring at me as of late?”

He releases a frustrated sigh, eyes rolling heavenward.

“In any case, my final lecture is on Friday next week. It’s titled “Memory and Meaning in Lemurian Art”. Why don’t you drop by and listen, and you can tell me what you think afterwards.”

You retrieve your bullet journal to check your schedule. It’s colorful, filled with stickers and doodles that Rafayel finds endearing. Then the excited moue on your face drops into a frown, and Rafayel can foresee the next words that will come out of your downturned lips.

“I’m sorry,” you say guiltily, “but I have a major test that day, and I need to get a high score in order to pass the course.”

Rafayel exhales, long and weary, but ultimately shrugs off the apology. “What a shame, but I forgive you. Just don’t fail your exam or else my magnanimity would be all for nothing.”

He calls Thomas that night.

“I’ll disappear for a while once the professorship is over.”

“Hey, wait, what do you me—”

“You’ll be happy to know that this is for my next painting.”

A beat. “Okay … but for how long?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Then he hangs up.

He’s trying, he really does. The lecture ends to a resounding applause, and it’s mechanical how he answers the questions posed by the audience. But he’s trying, he’s trying. There’s no specter of you in the sea of faces in the auditorium. You’re at the other end of the university compound, sweating your way through your exam. He genuinely hopes you’d pass, for your sake.

Thomas had booked his flight to another country, where he’ll traverse to a land that he’d visited many times in his dreams and had woken up with a filmy, sweet-sour tang at the roof of his mouth. He’ll leave the morning after the closing dinner party the faculty has prepared for him. There isn’t time to pack much, and no time to tell you goodbye.

Rafayel guesses that it’s only fair: how would you feel waiting for him at that café, the chair across you empty, only the sunlight pooling from the window as your companion?

iv. parting, somebody once said, is such a sweet sorrow. much like those berries in that ever-green nation, a lingering sourness remained underneath, the sting of it reminding you every now and then. he was already mourned for even before he left. tell me what it's like—the ocean. he was elusive, untouchable in his grief. you'd heard through whispers, the story of his migration, the drowning before the drying, the unwanted journey. grief brought him to you and grief would steal him away from you, you knew, down to the cells of your body and the hopelessness in your blood. —and yet. and yet you wanted to have a taste of it, anyway.

The ever-green land is no longer green, or lush, or alive. Time corroded it into memory, sepia-faded, wizened. Past. The berries he’s searching for don’t grow here anymore. Everything here is empty, barren, helplessly so.

Rafayel hasn’t accounted for such development, but he should have known. Disappointment stings at his chest, and bitterly he turns away and stays at the next town over. At a family-run restaurant situated near the outskirts, he looks over the wide windows, across the highway road, beyond the jagged horizon. The painting won’t be finished, then. Another tragedy, pressed flat next to the forgetting, to the waiting, and his home.

The chef personally serves him his order and, after a shuffle of hesitation, brings up a question.

“Young man, you came from the direction of the old country, yeah?”

Rafayel meets his inquisitive gaze. “Yes, why?”

“It’s been a while since we had someone visiting that place. There’s nothing in there anymore, it’s been that way for years. Why did you go there?”

Rafayel is reluctant to say, but at the guileless set of the older man’s face, he concedes.

“I was looking for berries. The ones native there. They produce a shade that I need for my painting.”

At the mention of the fruit, the chef’s expression lights up. “Oh! I see, I see. You’re in luck, son. We grow them here at the farm. Plenty of those for everyone. How about I give you some? It’s rare meeting someone who still remembers the old country, it’s almost fate. How many did you say you need?”

Fate. Just like the time of your first meeting, as if the universe had gifted you to him. Just like the time of your parting, of your forgetting, of his waiting. Fate as a connection from you to him, red and burning brightly.

He doesn’t want to seem eager, but he knows he’s failed from the way the chef toothily grins at him.

“A hundred or so.”

The chef falters at that, jerking slightly back. But he accepts it with a nod, an avuncular smile making its way across his kind, powdery features.

“That sure is a huge number, but I think we can work something out.”

His painting takes a month to complete, inclusive of the time spent making the ink from the acquired berries. Sometimes, Thomas watches him paint, quiet in the background. His stays usually don’t last—a quick flash that Rafayel nearly misses, or deliberately ignores. But during the final stages of the painting process, Thomas hands him the exhibit details.

“I’m just thankful you’re on time for this one.” He sighs, relieved, then leaves.

Alone, Rafayel creates. Brushstroke after careful brushstroke, each varying by pressure and angle. He lets each layer of paint dry before moving onto the next. The berry ink—the color of your eyes—the solely different element of this painting. Center, central. The focal point. The beating heart. The years and years of waiting and longing. The form and the flesh. Alive.

This, too, is an endpoint.

v. can i see your face, just this once? your hands grazed his mask like a ghost wanting to touch. rafayel stayed still beneath your desirous fingers, observing, waiting, his own fingers twitching towards his dagger. even in the parting he could not let go of this distance. hopeless, hopeless. your highness would get nothing out of seeing my face. he's wrong, his eyes never left your face, and he's wrong. he didn't stop you from your grasping of his mask, and him—finally—bare and beautiful yet a little sad. you're wrong, you said, tracing his slightly parted lips with a trembling finger, you're wrong. it is everything to me.

The gallery is packed. No surprise there. It’s almost boring, in a way. Waiting, Missing hangs at the farthest hall in the floor, special and intimate as it should be. Thomas knows him well; otherwise, Rafayel would have whined at him to hell and back just so he could be granted this demand that is in reality a mandate.

He’s hiding from the throngs of journalists and art critics alike and sequesters himself in a corner that has a clear view of the painting. Loosening his collar and tie, Rafayel breathes and closes his eyes, leans tiredly against the wall. A few more minutes, and he’ll slink out of the building, reputation be damned.

He melts into the shadows whenever somebody passes by. He has neither time nor energy interacting with people today. Watching them through half-mast eyes, Rafayel stays in his secret place and studies with weightless detachment the people looking at the painting.

He’s made a bet with himself about the opinions of his followers and admirers. Who thinks what and why. It makes for great entertainment. The last time, a fresh-faced critic praised Rafayel’s technique as “innovative and a soul-rending reflection of the prodigy’s character.” He had laughed and laughed for hours until he couldn’t breathe any longer.

Another walks by, and before Rafayel retreats further into the corner, he glimpses a familiar gait and a familiar face.

His heartbeat races. He’s never told you that he’s holding an exhibit today. After the professorship Rafayel failed to maintain communication with you, convincing himself that it’s for the best that he protect you from afar that day onwards. It didn’t help that he had to leave as well. At the same time, you never made an effort of reaching out, and Rafayel thought that it was back to square one again, that waiting, that yearning.

But here you are right now, elegantly dressed, like someone gliding out of a dream. Rafayel swallows, his hands shake. You do not have someone else with you, and your eyes are brightly focused on Waiting, Missing, and for a fleeting moment your expression flickers into longing, strange and old and battered and sad, that it compels Rafayel to take a step forward—to you.

“Hey.”

The curious look vanishes; left no traces in your delighted face, as if it wasn’t there in the first place. “Rafayel!” you exclaim. “Long time no see! Congratulations on the exhibit; these are all beautiful.”

Outwardly he smirks, belying the torrential emotions he’s currently going through. He cants his head a little, works his charm on you. “Impressed? No need to hold back your compliments.”

Laughter, prismatic and crystalline. “Yes, yes. Especially this one—Waiting, Missing. What an interesting title. At the center, what paint did you use?”

Ah. Rafayel inhales before answering. “It’s actually ink. I had to make it from a hundred berries. It was a tedious process, but I wouldn’t use anything else. It has to be this, you see.”

“Whoa, no wonder you’d been radio silent all this time. You were creating this masterpiece.”

He hums, afraid that, if he speaks, he’d reveal too much.

“Well …” You throw a playful glance at him. “Shouldn’t we celebrate your success?”

His breath catches. “I—”

Before he manages to finish the sentence, a journalist calls out to him and that summons plenty more, swarming him with no chance of escape. It pushes you out of his peripheral vision, and Rafayel wants to shout your name, but you smile and gesture at him to entertain them first. You mouth, I’ll be back, and wander around other paintings some more.

When he finally succeeds in shaking the journalists off, he seeks you out and stumbles upon you near the exit, where there’s fewer people to pile on him.

“Excellent,” he says, sidling up beside you. You turn to him and smile, and there’s that lightning-flash of something again. For one unbelievably surreal instant, Rafayel thinks that despite your hazy memories, maybe you’d been waiting for him all this time, too.

And that thought emboldens him, moving closer and closer until your bodies almost touch. An asymptote of contact. But this time, he has mustered the courage to close that unbridgeable gap.

Rafayel offers you his hand. “Let’s get out of here?”

You stare at his hand then at his face, his eyes, and a meaningful moment stretches between you and him. But even before the idea of retracting enters his mind, you grab his hand joyfully, grinning ear to ear. His heart warms, full with everything.

You squeeze his hand, ready to go. “Lead the way, then!”

vi. a kiss is a greeting and a goodbye, and rafayel tasted of ferocious tides even if you'd seen them only in dreams. his eyes closed, as though savoring his last moments with you, guarded till the bitter end. would that i could ask you to stay—with me. but he shook his head—a final rejection. maybe in another life. there was nobody to watch you cry, in the after.

Rafayel is working on a new painting—a portrait this time. The model squirms on his couch, obvious about the discomfort of posing for too long. He huffs a laugh to himself, hidden by the canvas strategically placed between them.

“I heard that,” you grumble.

“Shush, you’re breaking my concentration.”

“If that already breaks your focus then I pity the rest of the art community.” A beat, then: “Is it done?”

“Patience, my dear muse. You need endure it a little more.”

“Hmph, fine. But after this you’re treating me to an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

“All right, all right.” He shakes his head, fond. “My muse, so demanding.”

Something sweet touches the edge of his tongue, succulent with a hint of tartness. Like longing. Except now, it’s layered with something new and exciting. Something like a new beginning.

In the far distance, the sea murmurs, lit fire by the setting sun.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #lad rafayel #lad qi yu #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace qi yu #fic #my fic #rafayel x reader #qi yu x reader #lad rafayel x reader #lad qi yu x reader #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace spoilers #it's near midnight again i shall now sleep

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joocomics · 24 days ago

Text

be nice to your favorite ghostface

day 20 — mask kink w/ gaon ⌞⌗ kinktober ⌝

𓂃⠀𓈒 ghostface!jiseok x fem!reader

genre: smut — mdni! wc: 4.3k

summary: the roommate of your best friend's boyfriend hears you gushing over Billy Loomis so he decides to turn one of your dirtiest fantasies into reality

contains: sub!reader, hard dom!jiseok, roleplay, mask kink, (consensual) unprotected sex, knife play, voice kink (jiseok uses voice changer device in the beginning), light fear play, degradation kink, begging, oral sex (m/f), face fucking, name calling (slut/whore), pet names, breath play, choking, dirty talk, overstimulation (f!rec), spit kink

[ kinktober masterlist | general masterlist ]

You shut the front door of your apartment complex and head towards the stairs. You just had dinner with friends, a much needed girls night, and now you're eager to get cosy in your bed with a binge worthy show.

This year you want to celebrate Halloween away from crowds, and the idea of entering your quiet home with all the snacks you bought on your way here has never excited you more.

You make out chatter coming from the upper floor. A group of kids are trick-or-treating and you hurry to hide the plastic bag with the goodies, but you quickly realise you only have the pockets of your jacket which are already holding your wallet, your cellphone and a lip balm.

Unfortunately, you'll have to part with some of the candy bars and you just have to accept it.

To your surprise though, the children just run past you without even acknowledging your existence. They almost push you down the stairs, too excited and overwhelmed to comprehend their surroundings or watch where they're going in their colorful costumes. Their earsplitting hollering fades away as they reach the exit and you - the front door of your home. The building turns completly silent again except the sounds of your footsteps.

“Look who’s finally back.” A disturbing voice calls out behind you. “I was waiting for you.”

“Shit!” You yelp, bumping into the wall. “Who the—“

Your startled eyes meet a dark figure in a full Ghostface costume.

He's standing still as he places a finger in front of his hidden face and you obey - you don't utter another word. Instead, you silently observe the slow motions of his one hand holding a small white device.

He’s wearing black gloves just like the real Ghostface, and he changes his voice with the help of that small white device... just like the real Ghostface.

As real as that character can get.

“You’re supposed to scream later on when I rip your chest open, baby.”

The distorted voice sends more chills across your body and you feel yourself shivering in your dress despite the jacket on your shoulders.

“Who… who are you?” You focus your gaze upon the black and white mask in front of you.

Ghostface tilts his head to one side; you can’t tell if he’s picking his next words or if he’s offended that you don’t recognise his true identity.

With no rush in his actions he lifts the device again, asking:

“Who do you want me to be?”

His twisted tone comes out calm, arousing your curiosity with each question.

“Jooyeon, if this is one of your pranks again, I…”

“Jooyeon is not here.” The fearsome figure cuts you off. This time his words echo louder with slight frustration.

His black boots take a step forward, and you make a step back.

“You’re not gonna run away from me, are you Y/N?”

Hearing your name attached to his question brings a certain sense of relief. It’s somebody you know.

Not that it’s impossible for this to be a complete stranger who’s been stalking you for months and has finally decided to play his sick tricks on you. With social media nowadays…

He continues to get closer with the same slow pace and it seems that the fact you stopped moving at all pleases him.

“That’s right, you wouldn’t dare.” At once he stops, keeping the white device close to his face. “Hot and smart, I like it.”

He notices you’re concentrating on his silhouette. Your back is pressed against the wall, your eyes - focused and captivating, keep analysing every one of his moves.

He’s never seen you pay such close attention to anything before. When he heard you thirsting over Billy Loomis during your movie night two weekends ago he thought you were talking mainly about the actor, but looks like his friend Jooyeon was right when he said that more and more girls fantasise about being fucked by Ghostface.

You thought you were being very discreet with the way you were leaning towards your best friend in order to describe how badly you needed the killer, but he didn't miss out on even one perky smile of yours. He caught every word that came out of your lips while his eyes, too busy to stare at your streched bare legs that were softly illuminated from the screen, ignored half of the movie.

The more hours you spent at the apartment, the more parts of his mind you began to occupy - the way you speak, the way you laugh, the way you sit on his chair and cross your legs... This dirty little fantasy is just one of the many things that comes from you, and now lives permanently in his head - partly becoming a secret of his own too.

He knew he was damned the day he got introduced to you by his roommate.

“What’s that look on your pretty face?” He leans in a bit. “Want to feel my knife?”

While staying still, you let the sharp blade poke the corner of your mouth.

“Actually…” you speak up as the edge lightly traces your jaw. The thrill that shoots through your chest slows down your train of thought and the change in your voice makes you sound like you’re getting dizzy. “Can I feel your mask?”

Of course that's what has your attention.

He stills remembers the moment you said you'd let Skeet Ulrich fuck you with that freakin' mask on. “Didn't expect you to be that freaky,” he told you quietly, letting you know that he heard your confession. It seemed like you didn't really mind it that out of everyone here he's the one who caught you though.

Instead of blushing, or denying it, you just shifted to sit even closer to him.

“I know who you are.” Your lips turn up for a quick second as you get a little glimpse of his real dark brown eyes; your fingertips feel the outlines of the mask. “Jiseok.”

“Surprise, Y/N.” Jiseok exclaims with the classic Ghostface intonation.

The familiar smug laughter you’ve heard so many times slips through the mask, echoing in the hallway as you stare at him.

The adrenaline rush elevates in your veins now that you know it's him behind the costume. You haven't seen each other in a while and you try to compose yourself from the excitment you feel over the fact this is the first time you find yourself alone with him.

“Why did you sneak behind my back like that?”

“Oh, don’t tell me I scared you, pretty girl?” He coos, this time in his own deep voice that you've gotten very familiar with, but for some reason still gives you butterflies.

The knife appears in the air again, but this time it's guided towards your neck. The sudden movement makes you wince and Jiseok giggles, because he simply wants to flip your hair over your shoulder.

“Aren’t you gonna invite your favorite Ghostface for a drink?” He gestures passionately with knife in hand. “I came all the way here to pray on you.”

“You must be the most chatty Ghostface out there.” You grin as you unlock the door to your apartment. “Come in.”

Without taking off the mask, Jiseok observes around. He’s intrigued, but he’s going to ask for a tour another time.

“Who were you all dolled up in this pretty little dress for?” He asks, looking at your backless dress that’s hugging your ass perfectly. The view causes the excited tilt in his tone to slowly disappear, making his voice sound lower.

“My girlfriends,” you turn around, pleased to hear him being interested in that, “we had dinner together.”

“Where’s your costume? It's Halloween.”

“I’m not really into dressing up.” You reply as you put away your jacket. “Also, it was just a simple dinner to catch up. No partying this year for us.”

“Bummer, I thought you’re gonna be my Sidney tonight.” He gets closer and your ass bumps into the counter. As his eyes eat up the sight of your slightly exposed cleavage, the cold blade in his hand slides up your inner thigh. “Are you a virgin, Y/N?”

“No.”

He taps your skin with the knife a few times before speaking up next.

“Good.” He grins behind the hooded mask. “We can have fun together unless you want me to leave.”

You shake your head not taking your eyes off of him even for a second.

“No,” you say and your heartbeat quickens, “I think I enjoy your company, Mr. Ghostface.”

Your lips open wider when you feel three taps between your legs - each comes with a pause before the next. Right onto your panties beneath which you feel a warm sensation spreading as you breathe in deeply.

“You think? He repeats the word you chose with a certain suspicion in his tone. “I can help you make up your mind. You like being scared?”

“Why would I be scared of you?”

And as to prove that you want him your legs spread apart some more. As a result you sense the knife between them changing its direction; now it grazes the warm skin of your thigh again, gently, but sending strong shockwaves through your body.

“You don’t really know me, baby.”

He’s somewhat right about that.

You’ve never been left alone with him until now. You’ve also never maintained longer conversation than just few messages because one of you shared a relatable meme on your stories or because his roommate shared a funny group picture. But neither of you can deny it - there's something in the air every time you're in the same room. There's a heady presence of passion and it was just a matter of time for both of you to give yourselves wholly to it.

“Let me get to know you then.” You grab a handful of the black fabric of his costume.

It’s almost as if that's a sign Jiseok has been waiting for.

Before you have time to realise what he could be up to, you hear a ripping noise from below.

“No, Jiseok, no!” You protest. “Don't!” But it’s too late.

The blade cuts through your dress and you watch Jiseok’s hands ripping it off all the way to your stomach.

You loved that dress, but damn was this hot…

“You’re crying over this little dress? You’re practically walking around naked, baby.” He says condescendingly as his palm squeezes your butt cheek before going back to your clothed folds. “You’re lucky that wasn’t your skin.”

“You’re really committed to the role, Jiseok.”

He doesn’t respond to that right away.

Remaining silent, he removes one of his black gloves and tosses it on the counter behind you where he left the knife earlier.

You’re already buzzing with delight before he’s even pulled your panties to the side. When his middle finger slips into your entrance with ease your face heats up - from how nice it feels to be touched by him and from the realisation of how wet you are already.

Just from flirting with him, and you can’t even see his face.

“Seems like you’re pretty into it,” he replies at once, inviting his finger deeper; rubbing against your gummy walls and getting familiar with how tight they are. The way you accept his touch so easily floods his veins with satisfaction. “How does a good girl like you end up fantasising about freaky shit like this?”

You shrug shoulders before a small moan slips from your tongue as adrenaline rush swirls inside you in the rhythm of his bare hand.

“It turns me on.”

Before you know it, Jiseok cuts open the rest of your dress, revealing your boobs in a lace bra which he immediately gets the urge to remove next. After spinning you around, he gets rid of your underwear with one swift cut too.

He slaps your ass firmly as his other hand yanks your head back by gripping the roots of your hair. You whimper from the sudden rough touch and the sound shoots pleasure straight into his core.

“You want me all over you like this?” Jiseok hisses at your ear. His hips press against your naked behind, wanting you to feel the effects you have on him.

“Yeah, I do,” you bite your lip as his spare hand, the one still covered by a black glove, gropes one of your breasts. “I want you a lot…” You mewl, trying to imagine the way his eyes shut from the way you rub your ass against him as an invitation.

“You better be nice to your favorite Ghostface, doll,” he threatens and you can hear the twisted grin in his erotic voice, “you know what happens to girls who don’t behave as they should.”

He smacks your ass one more time and tells you to run to the bedroom.

You’re waiting on your bed when he walks in.

The black robe is gone, but the Ghostface mask is still in tact. He’s in a pair of black jeans with no shirt on and you eat up the sight of his abs on display.

One hand is bare while the other - not. The one hidden by the black glove goes around your throat as you stick out your pink tongue to wet two of his naked fingers.

“Fuck, you’ll look so hot with my dick in your mouth.” He groans as you suck all the way to his knuckles. He loves how you’re constantly staring at him as if you worship him; even after he empties your mouth and slides his hand down your figure. “I’m gonna fuck you the way you deserve it, you know that, right, doll?”

You gasp when the same two fingers that you kissed so softly enter you at the same time. Quickly and smoothly, they speed up the pace, causing your head to threaten to fall back, but Jiseok's grip doesn't allow that.

“That means Ghostface is gonna fuck you like a whore.”

Both of you start to notice squelching noises as Jiseok's fingertips continue thrusting as he keeps them deep and curled up at a nice angle. Only until they pull out and lightly slap your thigh.

The sensation arised so quickly and intense that you weren’t aware that you still haven't given an answer. The realisation hits you once the clothed fingers around your neck squeeze for the first time since they got a hold of you.

“Ah, y-yes—“ Your mouth stays open as his grip doesn’t loosen up. “Yes, fuck me however you want,” the corners of your lips curl as you breathe through your mouth, “I'd love to be Ghostface's slut.”

Jiseok chuckles with his usual boyish laughter that always sounds so erotic even behind this mask.

He fills you up again without needing to look down at the way you arch your back, greedy to have him all the way in. He feels you wetting his palm more and more as you start to clench harder around his moving knuckles.

“Desperate, aren’t we?” He smirks as your whines rise higher. In response his fingers aim deeper, - if that's even possible, - rougher to the point your thighs begin to shake soon enough. “Gonna beg for it? Will you fuckin’ beg for my cock?”

Your one hand clasps around his arm, not fighting back any of this, just having the need to hold onto something, as the coming climax makes your mind spiral.

“Yes, yes, y-yes, please, give it to me—” you chant, feeling the rush finally overflow while also stealing your ability to say anything more.

Your breathing wasn’t as restricted as it could have been, but in addition to the sudden explosion of pleasure, it still made you feel a bit woozy.

You fall on your back, but Jiseok speaks out:

“Let me see you then.” He stands up and takes off his jeans in the meantime.

“Please,” kneeling at the centre of the bed you don't waste any time to obey his wish, “please, give me your cock, I want it so bad.”

Jiseok tilts his head; clearly not approving of that attempt. But he likes the way you move closer though, like you're chasing him.

“Please, Mr. Ghostface.” You stop at once and level your face with his crotch. “I don’t want to get punished,” you blink up innocently, making a pause, “or die.”

Your hand crawls up his thigh. His boner is tempting you, it’s so vivid and appealing. Twitching ever so slightly against your palm once you touch it for the first time. Wanting more, you lower your hand and run your tongue against it, really slowly so he can feel the thrill sneaking through the cotton fabric.

“Maybe I'll spare your life if you take it down your throat.” He groans as his hand pushes your face further into his boner. The way you humm softly as his length grinds against your features makes him almost want to throw away the mask so he can kiss you, but he resists. “How does that sound to you?” He lifts your chin up and feels an instant satisfaction once you open your mouth before he’s even asked.

He tugs down the waistband of his underwear and holds the base of his cock as you attach your tongue under his leaking tip. Not only the thrill from feeling you salivating for him spreads warmth underneath his skin, but also your hazed eyes that won't stop gazing up at his masked face.

“Feels nice, baby,” he utters as you suck half of his length slowly with hollowed cheeks and lips sliding steadily. “But you won't save your life if you keep licking like a kitten.”

You breathe in deeply before pushing yourself further, but Jiseok is already placing hands on the sides of your head to help out both of you.

“There you go”, he chuckles before groaning loudly, glancing down to see you motionless and slobbering around him. “This look fits you better.”

His cock glides back before it invades your tight throat again, then again, causing it to produce muffled mewls which vibrate against him delightfully.

Although his moaning can't be heard exactly the way you want, because of the hooded mask and the way his fingers press onto your ears to keep you steady, you can still tell his deep voice sounds very captivating in such intimate state.

The longer he fucks your mouth, the higher his moans elevate until they turn into one drawned out fuck as he pulls out, leaving you gasping for air.

You sit down while coughing when you notice the swinging string of spit still connecting you to his cock. Jiseok breaks it off by laying on top of you, slowly stroking his slick length to maintain control over the rush.

If it was any other other day, he would probably have you doggy style. But it's not, so he slips into you in a missionary position, but far from a romantic one.

“Fuck, Jiseok—” you whine through hitched breaths. You don't know how every time you moan his name like that his insides swirl from pride and excitement. “God, I'm gonna cum—”

You feel like you're having a fever; like something inside you is about to explode in million pieces. Your thighs are sweating as his strong arms stay locked around your legs that are hanging over his shoulders.

Every time the head of his dick hits the desired spot as you try to keep blinking up at his mask you tense harder; more eagerly as you lose control over your voice that begins to quiver.

“You sound so pretty for me,” Jiseok mumbles under his breath. He does his best to not slow down the merciless pace of his hips so he can hear you crumble below him all over again. “Where's the magic word, huh? Can't even speak properly anymore, is that it...”

“Shit—“ you squeeze eyes, regaining composure as the knot in your tummy is seconds away from bursting. “Please,” your hands wrap around the sheets in desperation as you whisper, “please, let me cum, n-need it...”

“Gonna cum for Ghostface again, huh slut?”

He laughs after he hears your disjointed answer, but just a moment later his own groans mix pleasantly with your overwhelmed cries.

He keeps your shaking legs as still as they can be while his eyes don't want to miss a single flinch of your uncontrollable squirming.

It's such a challenge not to cum too as you hold onto him so strongly, but he endures the bittersweet pain from wanting to have his fun with you for longer. You've gotten so sensitive and by the way you smile at him like you're getting high on all of this he's positive you want to continue too.

“Told you to keep your mouth open for me, doll,” he reminds you with his voice turning more hoarse, more impatient too as he can't wait to fill it up with his arousal.

You part your lips while sensing every second of the way his restless thrusting creates that familiar knot of buzzing pleasure from the start, but way more luxurious and powerful than the previous.

“Let me see that cute tongue.” His hand moves to hug your neck the same moment your wobbly legs drop around his lower body. He wants to apply some force to hear your whimpers break as you cum around him one more time. “Yea, told you to do as I say, baby, didn't I? What if I grab my knife and fuck you with the handle instead? Would you like that?!”

“No,” you manage to respond as your dazed eyes, half-shut, roam around the close view of the unsettling mask, “your dick, p-please—” you were going to say something more than that, but the hand in black restricts more of your oxygen as you reach yet another unbelievable peak.

The moment Jiseok sees your eyes roll back, he lets go of your throat to let you take a needed breath while clenching around him like never before. His hips push into you almost leisurely now with the little amount of force he has left as you come down from the new high.

You’re both panting together; you from several intense orgasms, he - from all the energy he released on you, and from how little he needs in order to cum.

You're still processing it all when out of the blue Jiseok takes off the Ghostface mask and throws it on the floor.

For the first time tonight you see his face and your excited heart skips a beat.

You see his skin glistening from sweat, his black hair falling messily and sticking to his wet forehead. He quickly runs fingers through it to push his bangs away as he settles between your open legs.

Once he locks eyes with you, he doesn’t let go of that contact and neither do you.

His flat tongue licks up your folds slowly, earning a taste of the mixture you created from your own fluids, and you don’t know what was the last straw for your mind to shut off completely - his sparkling gaze lingering on your face or his mouth burying itself further into you. The tip of his tongue sneaks into your stretched entrance that’s still pulsing for him, eager to taste more of your sweet juices.

You moan softly at the gentle motions that toy with your sensitivity seconds before his lips detach.

“Fuck, this pussy just can’t get enough,” he murmurs against your warm flesh before sucking sensually on your swollen clit.

And oh how good his plump lips feel as he tugs on it while humming blissfully from your taste.

Your fingers go into his soft hair and pull harshly than expected which causes Jiseok to groan as he’s guiding his tongue through your slickness; slurping what he can before spitting it out onto your clit.

“Damn, baby girl, you look like you're out of your mind.” His husky whisper shoots a warm thrill through your core before he moves on his knees, watching in awe how you arch your spine at the sudden presence of his fingers.

He listens to the wet noises filling the room, blending with your heavy panting that's turning quicker as he pumps harder. He noticed which angle makes you louder, and he's fully focused on remaining there.

“I am! Fuck—” your body can't help but squrim out of your control as the burning knot starts to pulse dangerously. Jiseok's spare hand presses down your tummy while the one busy with your g-spot maintains its sharp movements. “Jiseok—”

His name follows by a silent gasp and Jiseok glances up, distracted for a second by a light pain - your hand seized his arm, causing your nails to mark his skin with a reddish line from the sudden quick gesture.

The way you cry out at the ceiling makes him instantly get a hold of his twitching cock. His fist twists around it gently as he massages your vulnerable walls until the rush inside you fades down slightly.

Once your eyes meet, Jiseok quickens the hand around his length and crawls on top of you till he reaches your chest.

“I'm so thirsty,” you blink up at his hovering figure while your hands slide up his hips. The sounds of his fist are intense and lewd above you meanwhile your voice comes out delicate and tired. “For your cum, I wanna taste it so bad.”

The innocent ring in your tone is Jiseok's final breaking point.

“Give it to me.”

And as he gazes down at the way you stick out your tongue in anticipation, and at the way you tilt your chin up so his cum can freely go down your throat, he feels like he's out of his mind too.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

#kinktober #kinktober 2024 #— writing: xdinary heroes #ghostface!gaon #ghostface au #xdinary heroes smut #kwak jiseok smut #gaon smut #jiseok x reader #jiseok hard thoughts #gaon hard thoughts #gaon x reader #xdinary heroes x reader #xdh x reader #xdh smut

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