#those are my real glasses but not my real hair

[d-z20]

One Last Drink (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You're out for casual drinks with your friend Agatha, who you may or may not find extremely attractive—it's too bad she doesn't like you like that. She convinces you to stay for another round but this drink sends you over the edge and Agatha has to help you home

- OR -

Agatha spikes your drink and then fucks you in your bed like the good friend she is

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dub/non-con, smut, Dark Agatha, alcohol, drugging/drink spiking, thigh riding (A doing), fingering (R recv),

Words: 2.7k

A/N: Just to repeat: this fic contains drink-spiking and non-con smut so if that is something that triggers you, please do not read. Requested Fic

AO3 | Master List

The hum of conversation and clinking glasses fills the air, mingling with the faint melody of a piano drifting from a corner of the dimly lit bar. You and Agatha have claimed your usual spot—a small, worn booth tucked away near the back, where the shadows seem to linger longer than they should. It always feels a little darker here, but it doesn’t matter when you’re with her. Agatha’s presence has a way of consuming everything else.

She sits across from you, an effortless vision of elegance. The soft glow from the overhead lamp catches the curve of her cheekbone and illuminates the knowing smirk tugging at her lips. She nurses a glass of red wine, swirling it lazily in her hand as her eyes fix on you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle. Agatha always has this way of looking at you—like she knows more than she lets on. Like she knows you inside and out.

“You’re quiet tonight, doll,” she says, her voice a velvety thread winding its way around your mind. “You alright over there?”

You tear your gaze from the half-empty cocktail in your hand, giving her a crooked smile. “Yeah, just… thinking. You always make me pick my poison, and somehow I still end up blacking out by the end of the night.”

Her smirk widens, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face before she takes a slow sip of her wine. “You’ve got the tolerance of a baby bunny, darling. Not my fault you can’t keep up.”

You roll your eyes, chuckling as you lean back in the booth. “You’re probably right. But it’s weird—it only happens when we come here. What do they put in these drinks?”

The comment is light, a joke meant to tease, but Agatha’s smile sharpens at the edges. She tilts her head, her gaze slipping down to your drink and lingering there for just a beat too long. “Oh, honey,” she teases, leaning closer, allowing you to see down her top. “They’re just making sure you have a good time.”

Your breath hitches, the heat of her proximity sending a shiver down your spine. You’ve always found Agatha attractive, but it’s a secret you keep buried deep. There’s no way she feels the same; her flirty nature is just who she is. It’s not real. It can’t be.

You laugh, shaking your head as you lift your glass for another sip. “Well, here’s to waking up in one piece tomorrow.”

Agatha’s lips quirk as she raises her glass in a mock toast, her eyes never leaving yours. “I’ll drink to that,” she says smoothly, her tone carrying an edge of amusement. But as you glance away to scan the bar, her gaze darkens ever so slightly, her smile fading as she mutters something low under her breath—something just out of earshot.

—

“Alright,” you say, setting your glass down with a thud. “I think I’m done for the night. I should head back.”

Agatha’s lips curve into a sly smile, and she reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Not so fast, doll. Just one more round—my treat. What do you say?”

You hesitate, your resolve already wavering under the weight of her gaze. It’s those eyes, dark and piercing, that seem to strip you bare every time they meet yours.

“Fine,” you relent, trying to sound casual. “But just one more.”

Agatha’s smile widens, and she gives your cheek a playful pat. “That’s my girl. Sit tight.”

You watch her glide to the bar, her movements unhurried, deliberate, and far too mesmerising. The way her hips sway under the dim lights makes your breath hitch, and you curse yourself silently for the hundredth time that night. This is agony. Agatha isn’t just beautiful; she’s magnetic, commanding the attention of anyone with the misfortune to look her way—including you.

You drag a hand through your hair, a quiet groan slipping past your lips. What are you even doing? Agatha is your friend. Your friend. The idea of being anything more is a fantasy you let linger too long after nights like these. She couldn’t possibly know how she makes your pulse race or how the heat of her gaze seems to settle between your thighs. And even if she did know, why would it matter? Women like her don’t look at you like that.

By the time she returns, her signature smirk is firmly in place, two glasses in hand. She sets one down in front of you with a deliberate slowness that has your heart skipping a beat. As the amber liquid swirls in the glass, you think you catch the faint remnants of something dissolving at the bottom, but the hazy glow of the bar lights and the alcohol coursing through you make it easy to dismiss.

Agatha slides into the booth beside you, closer than necessary, her thigh brushing against yours and staying there. “Cheers, sweetheart,” she says, her voice dripping with amusement. She raises her glass, her piercing gaze locking with yours as the corners of her mouth curl into a devilish smile.

“Cheers,” you manage, clinking your glass against hers. You take a sip, the liquor’s burn sliding down your throat and pooling in your stomach like molten heat. You lean into her just a little, the warmth of her body grounding you as the room begins to feel a bit fuzzier from the alcohol.

“Y/N,” Agatha drawls, her voice thick with a teasing edge. “Are you getting tipsy on me now?” She reaches up, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. The touch lingers longer than it should, her dark eyes gleaming with something you can’t name. “Poor thing. You really can’t handle your alcohol, can you?”

You laugh weakly, the sound catching in your throat as the warmth in your chest grows into a pleasant haze. “I can handle it,” you protest, though your slurred words betray you. You slump slightly against her, your cheek brushing her shoulder, and her hand comes to rest on your arm, steadying you.

She mock-coos at you, her voice dripping with a patronising sweetness that makes your stomach flutter. “Oh, honey,” she says with a soft laugh. “You’re so cute like this. Don’t worry—I’ll take care of you.”

The promise in her tone sends a thrill through you, but you quickly bury it beneath another sip of your drink, hoping more alcohol will drown out the thoughts swirling in your mind. She doesn’t mean it the way you want her to. She could never.

—

When you finally leave the bar, the cool night air is a welcome relief against your flushed skin. Agatha’s arm is around your waist, steadying you as you stumble slightly on the uneven sidewalk. You can feel the strength in her grip, her fingers brushing against the bare skin of your hip where your shirt has ridden up.

“I’ve got you,” she teases, her breath warm against your temple. “You’re safe with me.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you mumble, embarrassed. “I’m fine.”

Agatha chuckles, a dark, velvety sound that makes your stomach flip. “Oh, sweetheart, I insist. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone in this state—there are some real creeps in the world.”

Her tone is light, but there’s something else beneath it, something darker that you can’t quite place. You glance up at her, but her expression is unreadable; her eyes are fixed ahead as she half-carries you toward your apartment.

When you reach your door, Agatha helps you inside, her touch lingering just a moment too long as she steadies you against the wall. You watch her through half-lidded eyes as she moves around your small living room, turning off the lights and drawing the curtains.

“Alright, darling,” she says, turning back to you with a gentle smile. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You open your mouth to protest, but the words die on your lips as she steps closer, her hands resting on your hips. She guides you toward your bedroom, her touch firm yet gentle, and you can’t help but lean into her.

“You’re too good to me,” you utter, your words slurring slightly.

Agatha’s lips quirk up in a smirk. “You deserve it, doll.”

She helps you sit on the edge of your bed, her hands lingering on your arms as she crouches in front of you. Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world seems to tilt, the air between you thick and heavy.

When you sway slightly, still perched on the edge of your bed, Agatha’s hands steady you again, her touch warm but searing, her fingers curling gently around your arms. Her smile softens into something almost tender, her sharp eyes roaming over your flushed face.

“Let’s get you comfortable, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her voice low, dripping with something you can’t quite place.

Before you can respond—as if you even have the strength—her hands are already at the hem of your shirt. Her fingers brush your bare skin as she lifts it over your head, the cool air against your torso making you shiver. You blink sluggishly, caught in the haze of exhaustion and alcohol, watching her through heavy eyes as she kneels in front of you, utterly unhurried.

“I can do it myself," you protest weakly, barely able to form words.

She silences you with a chuckle, her dark curls brushing against your thighs as she leans forward slightly. “Hush, darling. Let me take care of you.”

Her hands work deftly, undoing the button of your jeans and tugging them down your legs, her nails grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver again. She hums softly, a pleased sound in the back of her throat, as she folds your clothes neatly and sets them aside. You start to question why she always seems so at ease, so practiced, but the thought slips away like water through your fingers when her gaze meets yours again—steady and smouldering.

“You’re absolutely gorgeous,” she murmurs, her lips curling into that familiar smirk. But there’s something darker behind it now, something that sends a tingle racing down your spine.

Heat rises to your face as you try to look away, but her hand cups your cheek, guiding your gaze back to her. The room feels impossibly warm as she leans closer, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s soft at first. But then she presses harder, her tongue slipping past your lips with a confidence that leaves you breathless.

You can’t think, can’t do anything but let her guide you as she kisses her way down your neck, her lips and teeth grazing over the sensitive skin there. “I’ll make you feel so good, doll,” she whispers against your collarbone, her voice a dark promise that makes your pulse quicken. “I always do.”

The words don’t quite register—blurred and hazy—but you can’t focus on anything except the way her lips trail lower, her hands bracing your thighs to part them slightly. She presses you back against the bed, her weight a gentle but undeniable force as she crawls over you.

Agatha straddles your thigh, and you can feel the heat of her arousal even through the thick fabric of her pants. You gasp softly, the sound catching in your throat when her lips close around your nipple. Her tongue flicks over the sensitive bud, teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper, your body arching instinctively into her touch.

“Shh, that’s it, darling,” her voice vibrates against your skin as her fingers trail lower. Her hand slides over your stomach, then further, her touch maddeningly slow as she brushes against the edge of your underwear. “Let me take care of everything. You trust me, don’t you?”

Her words melt into you, warm and liquid, as her fingers slip beneath the fabric, her touch firm but teasing. She drags her lips from your chest, her gaze catching yours as she smirks again, her expression dark and knowing. 

You couldn’t stop her even if you wanted to.

And somewhere, in the fog of your mind, you feel the faintest flicker of familiarity—of déjà vu, as if you’ve been here before, like this, with her. But before you can grasp the thought, it disappears, swallowed by the sensations overtaking you.

“That’s it,” Agatha purrs, her hand moving in deliberate, measured strokes as she leans in to kiss you again, her lips claiming yours with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt. “You’re mine, sweet girl. Always have been.”

Agatha’s fingers dip lower, teasing for a moment before sliding inside you with a deliberate push. You gasp, your body tensing briefly before melting into her touch. Her other hand grips your thigh, urging you to press up against her as she grinds herself down on your leg. The raw desperation in her movements sends shivers through you; her rhythm measured but insistent.

“Fuck, you’re so responsive,” she groans, her voice dripping with amusement and hunger. Her hips roll against your thigh, breath hitching as she finds her rhythm. The friction between her and your skin sends a flood of heat pooling in your stomach, the coil tightening with every slow, deliberate movement.

You whimper as her fingers thrust inside you, brushing against that spot that makes your toes curl and your breath catch. “A-Agatha…” you breathe, your voice trembling with need.

“Hm?” she hums, her lips quirking into a smirk as her pace quickens. She presses her forehead to yours, her breaths coming in shallow, ragged bursts. “You gonna come for me, sweet girl? I can feel how close you are.”

You nod helplessly, your nails digging into the sheets as waves of pleasure build higher and higher, your thighs trembling beneath her. The noises spilling from your lips are shameless, needy, and only seem to spur her on.

Agatha’s own moans fill the air, low and breathy, her hips grinding harder against your thigh as her fingers work you with precision. “You make it so damn difficult,” she huffs through her moans, her voice tinged with frustration. “If you’d just make a goddamn move when you’re sober, I wouldn’t have to go through all this trouble to make you feel good.”

Her words barely register in your haze, too intoxicated to make sense of anything, your mind too clouded by the overwhelming sensation of her touch, the push and pull of pleasure that threatens to undo you. Her hand grips your thigh harder, anchoring herself as her movements grow more frantic and desperate.

The coil in your stomach snaps, and you cry out, your body arching as the climax crashes over you in waves. Agatha follows moments later, her hips jerking as a guttural moan escapes her lips, her body trembling against yours.

She doesn’t stop right away, her fingers and hips moving through the aftershocks, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re both breathless and spent. Slowly, she stills, her lips brushing over your damp skin as she catches her breath.

Agatha climbs off you with a satisfied smirk, the weight of her absence both a relief and a strange ache. “Stay put, darling,” she mocks softly; you’re too drugged up to move anyway. Then she disappears into the bathroom.

You barely register the sound of water running before she returns, a damp cloth in one hand and a glass of water and some aspirin in the other. She cleans you with practiced care, her touch gentle but efficient, before setting the glass and aspirin on the bedside table.

“Agatha…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. But the words catch in your throat as she cups your cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over your skin.

“Hush, darling,” she says softly, her voice almost a whisper. “Just rest.”

You nod, your head still feeling floaty, letting her pull the comforter over you. As your eyes flutter shut, you feel her fingers brush against your hair, her touch gentle yet possessive.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” she purrs, her voice carrying a dark undertone that sends a shiver down your spine.

And then she’s gone, the door clicking softly shut behind her, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the lingering scent of her perfume.

Outside your apartment, Agatha adjusts her coat, her smirk widening as she descends the stairs. She knows you won’t remember a thing by morning—you never do; she always makes sure of that.

-----

Yes, reader wants to be fucked by Agatha but drunk (and drugged) people cannot consent. That is why I marked it as non-con rather than just dub-con

Not that you needed reminding but please don't do this in the real world, folks it is very much illegal and just a dick move in general

-----

Taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @lostbutlovely33

[comingyourlugubriousness]

"Like a shooting star, I will go the distance I will search the world, I will face its harms I don't care how far, I can go the distance 'Til I find my hero's welcome waiting in your arms" Lore and extras under the cut!

I finally caught up and finished the ENG chapter 7 in my game! Yippie!

It's part of me and @bunnwich canon that Yume and their brothers end up being in Lilia's dream for what feels like a loooong time. Time in dreams is percived differently, than the actually two days that passed in real time. So to Yume, the Ramshackle gang, and Sebek and Silver, could have very well spent what felt like a month in Lilia's war flashback. So at the end when they finally end up in Idia's dream their so happy to see him! And well you can't be in war flashback without learning new things. I imagine Yume and their brothers really hone into their skill sets and learn new ones. Yume learning more tacticians skills, learning survival skils, and I just think learning how to shoot a crossbow would be sick. Enhancing it with a few simple tips they had learned from Idia making bean day weapons, like adding a scope. They scrounge armour from fallen Silver Owls and broken armour donated from the fae soldiers. Meanwhile, I imagine Yuuta gets super good at making potions and poisons as well as shooting a longbow; coating their arrows with magics and poisions to fight dream soilders. Yuuhi learns more defense tactics and how to use melee weapons. I actually did a little sketch of how I imagine Yume's armour would look.

Yume's hair gets longer and their glasses frame breaks, so they have to convert them to goggles. Yume isn't strong so they have to rely on tricks, hiding, and sneak attacks to defeat Silver Owl soilders. Their future sight gives them an edge to in planning in prep. They also rely on a ghillie suit/cloak they make with Yuuta to stay hidden. Those are the suits that help you blend in with your enviornment. Example:

For comradery they based the hood of their cloak to look like a bear, helping them almost be a part of the more animal themed fae soilders. I imagine inbetween the canon events and stuff their theorizing about Malleus's dream magic and what to do to fix it; they are also making notes like crazy and occasionally drawing their beautiful boyfriened Idia to cope and acting like their actually in war writing letters lol. (Their so dramatic ) I imagine one day one the soilders see it and says something to them in their fae language. Sebek translates an its. "He says the drawing of your wife is beautiful." And Yume thinks its so fucking funny, but also its one of their first nice things the soldiers have said to them so they just role with it. Anyway its just this meme:

[vantedaes]

cry, cry, cry

pairing: nanami kento x f!reader tags: porn with little plot, dacryphilia (or an attempt at it at least) soft dom nanami, slight breathplay, fingering, alcohol use, body fluids mentions, unprotected sex, manhandling, slight objectivization, passing out, hair pulling, pussy spanking, slight breeding kink, reader does not talk but because of the context no because she can't. NO PROOFREAD. an: English is not my first language, there might be mistakes that would be addressed,,, someday, for now I just want this to be posted it has been sitting on my drafts like forever. Inspired by this tiktok of my lovely bbh

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT +18 ONLY!!!

!Husband Kento was not a stranger to being enraged when working overtime, however, he didn't make a habit of taking that rage home, where his lovely wife was waiting for him. Unfortunately for him, today was one of those days he couldn´t stop the bubbling wrath when returning home after insufferable overtime hours cleaning everyone´s messes.

Of course, he had sent you a text beforehand letting you know that it was for the best to allow him time to cool down before talking to him, and thankfully you've been supporting and understanding as ever telling him that he shouldn´t worry and that a glass of his favorite bourbon was already served in his study.

You knew exactly that your lovely husband had an especially rough day, you could tell by the sound of the door opening an abrasive almost like the FBI was breaking into your house, you could hear from your shared room the loud slamming of the door, so strong it made you flinch, your cat scaping your blanket running into hiding somewhere in the closet.

Closing your book you put it on your nightstand and heard how the heavy steps of your husband made their way to your home, you could listen to the rustling of his clothing and another slam of what you could guess was his suitcase, oh he was real upset, Not long after that you hear him opening the door of his study. Standing up you got out of your shared room, you didn't want to bother him at all knowing he had to blow some steam so you just went to the drawing room to assess the situation, with soft steps you saw how his coat was thrown under the hanger and his suitcase a few steps from the coat, open, revealing what you could only assume was red numbers and some other reports he had to deal with, you did your best to accommodate everything in its place hearing your husband going slamming things in his office.

You knew it was better to just go to sleep and wait for him to come to bed whenever he felt like it, but, you were also curious, you´d never seen him this upset, so after getting his thing together you made your way silently to his study, almost on tiptoes, the door was wide open which made your little espionage easier. Only the light of his desk was on, you leaned in the doorframe like a child trying not to get busted when they know were being naughty, your breath caught into your throat when you saw him, his back to you pouring even more of the bourbon and gulping it in just one quick motion, his muscles evidently tense making him look even bigger, menacing even, his big hands gripping the glass and the movement of his throat working that burning alcohol down like it was nothing.

And dear lord, you could feel your pajama shorts getting soaked.

Your skin burned like it had caught on fire, you weren't unfamiliar with how insanely hot and attractive your husband was, but he was different, this was the first time you'd seen him, this, this enraged, his whole demeanor changing in a drastically form that you've never experimented and your eyes were glazing for jus the sight, your finger ticketing to help you relieve some of that tension desire building in the pit of your stomach. Your husband then sits on his chair, his strong tights expanding, and his crotch more prominent, his hair like a full mess, golden locks falling into his gorgeous face that was contorted into a hostile expression that only made you press your tights even closer to each other, you could feel yourself trembling with a raw need that was taking over every grain of your sanity.

But then in a swift motion, after struggling to take off his tie he simply opted for tearing apart the damn thing, the buttons of his shirt flying to different parts of the room, allowing his massive chest to breathe and with that sinful sight you could help but gasp. Still, in reality, it was more like a pitiful whimper that was capable of getting your very angry husband´s attention to you.

The moment your eyes connected with his dark eyes you didn´t move an inch, something like fear creeping into you, but not a fear for your life, more like a fear of a beast that found the most helpless prey on its own lair, which was accurately what was happening.

Your husband stood up and gulped the whisky quickly, licking his lips as he addressed you.

"C´me here" His voice was raspy, like going through your whole body, it made you quiver even more, made your whole being more intoxicated.

Slowly you approached him, his eyes never leaving you for a second, and you were used to Kento´s eyes on you, his attentive and longing gaze every time he looked at you, but the way he was looking at you now was something else, like drinking the sight of you, like devouring your whole image, resembling a madman that has been starved. When you got close enough you stopped, just a few centimeters separating you, he smirked cockily his lips glazed with the bourbon, and your nostrils were filled with the scent of his cologne mixed with alcohol it roamed through your figure and you find yourself inhaling it, fueling even more the heat that was about to explode inside your body. Your husband looked amused at how you were paralyzed in front of him like you were asking permission to touch him, your own husband, it was ridiculous, and yet it was what his good girl knew had to do.

"Look at you, shamelessly spying on me when I perfectly told you to give me space" His hand gripped your chin with a strength that made you part your lips in surprise "Now that you got what you wanted...you´re all shaky, angel"

You wanted to answer sure, it wasn´t your nature to stay quiet, you were always quick with a comeback but like a charm, you were just mute and so fucking needy, he, your husband, was not a man who loses his calm like ever, one year of marriage and you've never seen him this deranged.

He could hardly blame you for how pathetic you looked, it wasn't your fault that your body reacted like this.

Quivering, you tried to speak "I—"

And without any kind of warning, he grabbed your waist with a strength that made you gasp in surprise, the sound of shattering glass stealing your attention for a quick second —he really threw his glass on the floor—, but as soon as you felt your frame pressed tightly at the body of Kento your mind went to a fucking blank again, contemplating how his normally hazel color eyes were totally pitch black. His arm was like an iron band around your waist and your hands posed on his big chest trying to hold onto something, his closeness making you quiver like a leaf and you could just read in his expression how much he liked all of your wretched reactions.

"Shh...it´s alright angel" he whispered hotly upon your lips "I already know what you want"

Before you could process any of his words he took you and bent you over his desk, your hips pressed against the edge of it and all of the stuff on top of it falling down, the bottle of whiskey spilling over the wood surface where your face was now pressed against wetting your cheek and lips, you were never a fan of whiskey or any strong alcohol really but right now you welcomed it eagerly with your mouth hanging open when you felt the hot and rough hands of your husband stripping you off your pajama shorts, your cunt being met with the breeze of the room, soaked, you felt how your juices were already trailing your tights. You moaned pitifully, your hole clenching into nothing.

Nanami laughed in a vibrato that made your knees buckle, "Look at that, so fucking wet..." his fingers trailed your dampness pressing over your wet swollen lips gathering all the liquid before entering your entrance in a quick movement, you let out a high pitched moan at the sudden intermission "That´s right angel, you will take it"

He kept moving his fingers inside your cunt quickly while his other hand kept your head firmly pressed into his desk, the whisky fusing with your saliva as you kept loudly moaning, your body going into shambles quickly, Nanami was like a feral beast fucking you with his fingers letting out the hottest low grunts that were making your orgasm approach like a tidal wave in just mere seconds of his fingers inside you.

"Yes yes yes" you chanted in ecstasy your legs fully trembling as your orgasm hit you with an intensity that would almost make you fall if it wasn't for the firm hand of your husband keeping you still on the surface of his desk, a loud moaning of his name leaving your mouth.

"made a mess of my fingers angel, so needy you came so fast" his fingers leaving your leaky entrance and trailing through your cunt greedily. you were panting with the aftermath of your orgasm, the whiskey now soaking the whole table and part of your hair "Filthy, filthy girl, looking like a used whore after just taking my fingers"

He roamed a chuckle, then you heard him sucking his fingers nastily, sounding richly across the room, and in a quick moment he slapped your pussy making you scream your already shaky legs buckling and almost falling to the floor only to be grabbed by your wrists and manhandled to your position on the table.

Another smack on your pussy made you yelp, "Come on now, don't act like this cunt doesn't like it rough" You felt him pressing against your ass, fully clothed, and yet you felt the big bulge twitching against your bare cunt, soaking his pants, it was unbearable to have his cock still on his pants when you wanted it so so so bad.

However, you could only mutter pathetic whimpers, so clouded and drunk on his cock that wasn't even inside you. "Stay put" Your husband demanded and you immediately went still, excitement filling your body as you heard him unfast his belt followed by his zipper and a delicious groan as his cock was fully out

You couldn't quite see but you knew he didn't take off his pants by the way you could feel the fabric on your tights and fuck, you could come just right there again.

"I believe you know I have no intend of going soft with you tonight," He remarked while tracing his cock on your swollen lips, his precum fusing with your juices "Oh, but look at you angel... so fucked up looking like you could die if I don't give you this cock"

"I—" A slap to your asscheek cut you off to a pathetic moan, and soon you felt the hard body of your husband pressing on your back to whisper in your ear.

"I don´t want to hear anything that is not those pathetic little moans you made" His hot breath against your neck had you shivering, with his hard cock nestled between your folds you could do nothing but behave, tears escaping your eyes betraying how much you wanted it, how much you need it, Nanami trailed your neck inhaling your scent like he needed it more than air leaving wet open mouth kisses on your boiling hot skin. Despite the twitching of his cock against your folds he did nothing more than tease your skin with his hot breath on your most sensible zones, driving you into absolute madness, your hole clenching, hungry, and desperate.

His hands gripping your waist tightly, you were sure tomorrow it'll have a mark. "Nothing more than a slut for this cock hm?" he teased leaving your back, standing again he took your jaw turning your face to him, when you looked at his handsome face his eyes looked like a deep endless void of how black and dilated they were, not a trace of his usual hazel like eyes, he looked at you with ravenousness, his eyes darting through your face that was now covered in tears

His cock twitched at the sight of your whipping face, you started sobbing, your lips trembling in a way of begging him to fuck you.

"Oh fuck" He moaned leaving your jaw to tug on your hair and grabbing the base of his cock he finally directed his tip to your needy entrance, you moaned even more between tears feeling how the length of your husband's cock stretched you.

And your husband was big and, oh, he did not intend to go soft with you, remember? So you should have expected when his full-length slammed into your cunt in a strong thrust, making you cry loud, your hands grabbing the edge of the table, you could feel his cock molding your insides, his veins popping through your walls and if you were already not intoxicated you surely were now.

Nanami moaned feeling your pussy tightening around him like you want to cut him off, he pulled your hair into his fist harder and looking straight at your eyes he hissed, "Put your fucking hands were they where"

Looking at him with big tearful eyes you clasped your hands together behind your back, your hold stability now depending on how your husband had your hair pulled into his fist. "Such an obedient girl... Now keep sobbing like a dumb slut while I feed you this cock"

And with that, you could only hiccup pathetically, Nanami's thrusts were erratic and fast, kissing every bit of your insides, he looked at you with a deranged look, enjoying how you were drooling and crying while taking his cock so harshly, he fucking loved it, having you go all fucking stupid on his big cock and have you reduced to a needy little thing.

"Yes, fuck—that's right, so fucking tight around me" his sloppy thrust was making you dizzy on how deep he was reaching into you, your orgasm already in the making ready to burst with the warning of being even bigger than the last one and your husband knew it completely, that smirk of his adorning his lips, and with that your second orgasm erupt shaking your whole body, your husband groaned pulling on your hair harder making you stare at him while you creamed his cock and your eyes rolled, tears trailing down your face to your throat disappearing on your breasts, your husband's depraved eyes look at it and soon you had him turning you around without leaving your sloppy hole to now have you laying down the desk in a more comfortably position

A position that allowed you to look upon your very disheveled husband, through your teary and hazy eyes you could see and rink on the sight of Nanami just fucking into you like a mad man, like a fucking wild animal, his hands now gripping your jaw playing with it like you were a useless doll, his fingers entering your hot mouth pressing on your tongue while he kept pounding that fat cock into you, you whimper so cockdrunk you were about to pass out feeling his hard cock kiss your cervix every time, he was ruthless in the way he was fucking you and you were obsessed with it.

"Fuck, I'm going to fill you up so fucking good" he left your jaw and slapped your tits before rubbing your clit in a maniac rhythm that pull you out of your drowsy state and soon you were filling up another orgasm approaching, "come for me sweetheart, I know you can, fuck—do it"

His thrusts were, even more, sloppier, erratic, and quick you felt like you were about to explode, it was way too much, you were pushing the limits of your oversensitive body, but oh, how you loved it especially when you felt his hard cock stiffen even more inside you and warm cum filling your insides and soon you were cumming a third time, this time even more intense than the previous ones and your whole body shudder at the immense pleasure and the fullness of the cum inside you, your husband moans in the background of your nirvana, it was as you where losing your holding on the world and soon everything went blank.

!Husband Kento was heavily panting rolling off the immense orgasm he had, only to find his lovely wife passed out on his desk, and even though his first response was to get worried that he indeed had been too rough with you, but, the happiness on your —very fucked up— face told him everything he needed to know.

Taking his dick out of you he put himself together and took your limp body in his arms to carry you into the bathroom, somewhere along the way you regained consciousness, your pretty confused eyes looked at him and soon your cheeks turned red "Hello beautiful, I'm going to take care of you now"

Simply he assured you with a smile and a kiss to your damped forehead, you smelled like sweat and whiskey.

"..." You looked like you wanted to speak and Nanami could only chuckle affectionately at your uncertainty.

"You can speak now angel"

[reginyani]

I'll Be Watching You | s.reid x fem!reader

summary: You stand at the alter with you soon to be husband Stephen, but when your eyes lock with Spencer Reid, all the memories of when you once loved him all come flooding back to haunt you.

cw: married!reader, reader getting married in church, wedding, unrequited love, emotional??cheating, use of Y/N

wc: 1259

authors note: this story is inspired by that one trend on tiktok with the song 'every breath you take' but the idea just popped into my head and i literally love this so i hope u do too! ( reblog if u do please and thank you:) )

gif: reidgif

You stood at the alter, the soft hum of the crowd around you filling the air with a kind of anxious joy. Your heart fluttered nervously, but there was clearly no turning back now. You had chosen this moment, this person— your soon to be husband, Stephen. He stood beside you, smiling warmly, his hand squeezing yours gently.

Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. The church was beautiful, bathed in sunlight that lit up the room through stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the marble floor. You could hear the quiet murmurs of the guests and feel their eyes all on you. But in the moment, none of it felt real. The only thing that felt real was Stephens hand clutching yours, and the fluttering ache in your chest.

You loved him. You really did— you had spent so much time building this life with him. But as the ceremony progressed, as vows were exchanged and promises made, you couldn't shake that odd feeling that something— someone was missing.

Then came the moment when the pastor invited you to kiss your husband.

You turned toward Stephen, feeling the wave of anticipation rush over you, and you pressed your lips to his. The crowd erupted into applause, but your gaze shifted instinctively.

And there he was.

Spencer Reid.

He was standing in the crowd of people, just behind Stephens family. His eyes were fixed on you with an intensity you couldn't ignore. His hair was slightly longer than you remembered, a few of his curls peeking out from behind his neck, just a little underneath the collar of his button up shirt. He was smiling— small, almost bittersweet, and clapping along with everyone else. But there was something else in his gaze.

Something unspoken.

The kiss with Stephen felt like a distant thing now, a hallow echo, and you stared at Spencer from across the room. Your heart seemed to stutter in your chest, and just for a split second, you couldn't breathe. The applause seemed to fade to silence, as if the world had shrunk down to just the two of you, locked in a brief, painful gaze.

Your mind was suddenly flooded with memories.

The way Spencers hand felt on yours the first time he held it, all those years ago, when you both had been too shy to admit what you were feeling. His voice, low and hesitant, telling you he loved you after a long, complicated case. That night when he showed up at your apartment door, carrying a stack of take-out, just to make sure you were alright after an emotionally draining day.

And when you had kissed him for the first time. So tentative, so unsure, but it had been everything. He had been truly everything.

But it was years ago. Things had changed. Spencer had always been distant, emotionally withdrawn at times, and you had tried— desperately tried to let go of the idea that you two could be more than friends. You had convinced yourself that what you had with Stephen was enough. The love with Spencer was an unrequited thing, a fantasy.

You blinked, shaking off the wave of memories. You had made your choice. You were marrying Stephen. You were marrying Stephen.

You forced a smile, refocusing your attention to your husband, who was now looking at you with the same warmth and affection as before. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, "I love you."

And you said it back, though the words felt hallow when leaving your chest.

The rest of the ceremony began, and the knot in your stomach hadn't loosened. It wasn't about Stephen, it was about the cold, undeniable truth that you had let someone else slip away. And you weren't sure if you could ever truly let him go.

You couldn't stop thinking about Spencer.

There he was, standing by the open bar, talking to Morgan and Garcia, but his eyes were flickering back to you every few seconds. Every time both your eyes met, it was like an entire world disappeared and only the two of you existed. You knew you shouldn't keep looking at him like that, you shouldn't continue to torture yourself. You had chosen this life. This future.

You were interrupted by Stephen slipping his arm around you, and pulling you into a slow dance. You smiled as best and convincingly as possible, resting your head on his shoulder, but all you could think about is Spencer standing across the room, his face unreadable.

The night dragged on, and with each passing minute, your heart felt more and more like it was splitting in two. Spencer was still there, watching you from the periphery and you were trying everything in your power not to notice it. He was a shadow, a ghost of your past, and yet, when he looked at you, you could still feel the weight of love that had never quite died.

The reception wore into the evening. You caught glimpses of Spencer in between dances with Stephen and mingling with guests. Every time you looked, he was always watching. It was as if he could sense the conflict from inside you, could feel the storm brewing just beneath your skin.

At some point, Stephen wandered off to grab a drink, and chat with a few friends, leaving you alone for a few minutes. You found yourself walking towards the back garden, the night air was a complete relief against your skin. You sat on the marble steps, your heels buried in the grass, and your chin resting in your hands.

You didn't hear him approaching, but suddenly, Spencer's voice cut through the air of silence.

"You look beautiful," He said softly, almost like if he were speaking to himself.

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest. You didn't turn to face him, but you could feel the radiation of his body there, close behind you.

"I really shouldn't be here," He continued, his voice completely full of regret. "But I just couldn't stay away."

His words hit you like a physical blow. The familiar ache of longing swirled in your chest, and you closed your eyes, taking a shaky breath.

"Spence.." You start, your voice was barely above a whisper.

"I should've told you how I felt years ago," He said, stepping closer to you. "I shouldn't have let you go, Y/N."

Your heart broke. "But you did."

"Yeah, I did," He whispered. There was a long silence between words, "I'm not asking you to change anything. I just... needed you to know."

You still felt his presence behind you, the warmth of him there, so close, but still so far away. You still couldn't bring yourself to turn around, couldn't look him in the eyes, because you knew that if you did, those walls you spent so many years building would crumble.

"Thank you," you whispered, barely audible. "But I'm married now."

"I know," He said, his voice thick with something you couldn't think of a name for.

You didn't say anything else, you didn't need to. The unspoken words hung in the air between you like it was a fragile thing.

Spencer lingered for a moment longer, before quietly turning around and walking back into the reception, leaving you sitting there in the cool night air, and your heart caught onto a delicate balance of two worlds.

One you had chosen, and one you would always continue to wonder about.

"Our eyes met, but our hearts never did."

tags:

[incorrect-dnd-show]

i just realized i dont think i ever showed yall my presto cosplay from the mini comicon my local library hosted

its literally made out of my 8th grade cap and gown, but i did pull Mini Presto out of my hat during the costume contest with a little rhyming spell so everyone loved me

[ghoulspaw]

me: hey rui, have you ever considered the idea of a ✨️karaoke night✨️ at the bar?

rui: hahah cutie, i can barely touch things anymore, so i think i'd like to keep my sense of hearing intact 😂

me: 😭 u know what? valid

[lemon-wedges]

inching my way into completing this patreon gift. honestly all thats really left is to edit my last snake and him together. if i wanna be real fancy add a little more shading. but thats gonna take some time, so for now heres the ota to the sune

Full on my patreon

[andy-clutterbuck]

𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐉𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐲 - 𝟑/𝟐𝟐/𝟐𝟑 | 📸 : 𝐜𝐫𝐦𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 - 𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

[ifyourereadingthisblinktwice]

i need to stop forgetting things exist the fucking second they leave my field of vision. why is is impossible for two things to occupy my mind at once especially when im tired. like. i feel like a sim. i feel like actions are being canceled and i just. move on. and completely forget what i was doing moments before. i fucking hate it

[intertexts]

i think weve reached the dreaded summer event horizon where bug unpleasantness outweighs outside fun time :-(

[stunie]

i just WOKE UP !!?????!!!!!!

2024.07.15 — dinner date with Ume. ♡

(hands up if you know where the reference photo’s froooommmmm!!!! >:3 aju nice.)

[seahorseduh]

THINGS TO MANIFEST . MASTERLIST .

hey guys!!!! i have scrolled through a bunch of those "things to manifest" posts and i have decided to create a masterlist. i have combined posts from me and others. MOST CREDIT GOES TO THESE PEOPLE!!

@j444de @itsrlymine @love4ng1e @cherrysaltvape41 @b4ddprincess @urfavstargirl @sarida-candy @stilljuststardust @heavenangelly @scentedpeachlandcreator

── .✦ Being able to shift, manifest, or go into the void on command

── .✦ Can’t get bullied

── .✦ Desired family

── .✦ Extremely rich

── .✦ Living my dream life

── .✦ Starring in your favorite movies

── .✦ I speak [insert languages] on a native level. I’m so good at these languages I can type 200 wpm in each, and I know more than most native adults! I cannot forget languages and will keep them for the rest of my life.

── .✦ DF and DB

── .✦ Always healthy

── .✦ Love school and popular

── .✦ I’m everyone’s type, I get along with everyone, and I have no enemies.

── .✦ I mog every model

── .✦ [Your town/city] has amazing public transit and metro

── .✦ I embody the [insert] aesthetic

── .✦ I always smell like [insert scent]

── .✦ My grandparents are: [insert famous people]

── .✦ I have an extremely high spice and pain tolerance

── .✦ I always have proof that I’m related to famous people, and people believe me

── .✦ There’s usually thunderstorms at night

── .✦ I’m the most attractive person in the school

── .✦ No matter where we travel, me or my family is always protected and safe. Nothing bad can happen to us. We can’t die until we are old. I can’t die unless I want to, and it will be peaceful. I will barely age. My family and I are free from any disease, including age-related ones, and cannot get severely injured. We will live happy, long lives. We can never get in any danger, no matter what time it is or where we are.

── .✦ I can never get hate online or in real life

── .✦ I can do anything on Roblox and not get banned, exploits and anything

── .✦ I have a huge, close friend group where nobody is left out

── .✦ I always have amazing and perfect grades; I’ve had amazing grades my whole life.

── .✦ On my Notion, I have a script for everything, and there’s an AI that helps me find the one.

── .✦ I’m a master shifter and manifestor. I can spawn things. I always get into the void state and shift if I affirm 3 times.

── .✦ I have a tiny fairy companion that lives in our garden

── .✦ I don’t wear glasses and have amazing vision

── .✦ I find skincare relaxing and fun, and I have all the best Korean skincare products

── .✦ I look amazing in every picture; I’m videogenic and photogenic

── .✦ Being a mermaid

── .✦ Being a fairy

── .✦ Having a secret house in your closet

── .✦ Having a portal that leads to your DR in your room

── .✦ Being able to breathe underwater

── .✦ Having psychic powers

── .✦ Your blood being pink (or any color)

── .✦ Having a fairy friend

── .✦ Being able to fly

── .✦ Being able to read someone’s mind

── .✦ Changing your hair color to an unnatural color

── .✦ Your pets being able to talk to you

── .✦ Your toys/dolls being able to talk

── .✦ Revising someone’s birth

── .✦ Having a mermaid friend

── .✦ Your tears having glitter in them

── .✦ Being able to go back in time

── .✦ Being able to grow flowers

── .✦ Being able to heal wounds

── .✦ Manipulating water

── .✦ Manipulating fire

── .✦ Manipulating earth

── .✦ Creating objects from your body

── .✦ Controlling the weather

── .✦ Being able to break anything with your voice

── .✦ Being able to not eat for days

── .✦ Appearing in someone’s dreams

── .✦ Being able to touch a cloud

── .✦ Being able to touch a star

── .✦ Being best friends with a celebrity

── .✦ Being able to clean your room just by clicking your fingers

── .✦ Flowers talking to you

── .✦ Having a pet unicorn

── .✦ Everyone forgetting you

── .✦ Your drink filling up the moment you finish it

── .✦ A fancy car

── .✦ To become a billionaire or a millionaire

── .✦ A tiny fairy

── .✦ A flying magical pet or plushie that helps you and grants your wishes

── .✦ A magical wand

── .✦ A magic door that exists inside your closet

── .✦ A hidden garden just for yourself

── .✦ Superpowers

── .✦ Able to shapeshift

── .✦ Just snapping your finger once, and you tap into the void state instantly

── .✦ Having a photographic memory

── .✦ A billion-dollar mansion/penthouse

── .✦ Owning land

── .✦ Having a (hot) bodyguard

── .✦ Princess treatment

── .✦ Ideal boyfriend (down to the smallest detail, could even be your fictional character)

── .✦ Always receiving expensive gifts

── .✦ Desired phones (iPhones or even Samsung)

── .✦ Supernatural friends

── .✦ Your desired friend group

── .✦ Desired best friend

── .✦ How people view you (high self-concept)

── .✦ Desired career

── .✦ Being a famous YouTuber

── .✦ Meeting with your favorite celebrities

── .✦ Owning a big company

── .✦ Being a nepobaby

── .✦ Having the ability to appear things from thin air

── .✦ Being popular in school

── .✦ Being the most beautiful girl in the entire universe

── .✦ Modeling

── .✦ Having A marks in every subject no matter what without studying

── .✦ Revising your past grades to perfection

── .✦ Revising your whole life

── .✦ Having pretty privilege

── .✦ Getting food for free

── .✦ Manifesting fictional characters to reality

── .✦ Desired scenarios to happen (even the most unrealistic ones)

── .✦ Dating your crush (they can be your celebrity crush)

── .✦ Ability to fly

── .✦ Turning into mythical creatures

── .✦ Expensive apartment

── .✦ Desired pet (cats or dogs)

── .✦ Getting accepted into a desired college

── .✦ Desired face and body

── .✦ You can change the color of your eyes at will

── .✦ Your house gets all cleaned with just a snap of your finger

── .✦ Turning into a vampire or mermaid

── .✦ Being able to read minds

── .✦ Telekinesis power

── .✦ Superhuman intelligence

── .✦ Living in a castle

── .✦ Having maids

── .✦ Revising your whole family

── .✦ Ranking first place in your school or college

── .✦ Having fans

── .✦ Having rich parents

── .✦ Getting popular on TikTok

── .✦ Being the trend

── .✦ Revising embarrassing events

── .✦ Getting asked out by hot and loyal guys

── .✦ Living the Wattpad life

── .✦ Being skilled in something (art, sports, etc.)

── .✦ Less period pain

── .✦ Able to shift instantly on command

── .✦ Having your desired wardrobe

── .✦ Skilled at playing games on the first try

── .✦ Your desired setup

── .✦ Getting money out of nowhere

── .✦ Lucky girl syndrome

── .✦ Scripting your own story

── .✦ Your Pinterest board becomes true

── .✦ Manifesting your desired app

── .✦ Making classes get canceled

── .✦ Making exams get canceled

── .✦ Manifesting Xbox or PlayStation 5

── .✦ Ability to time travel

── .✦ Traveling to your desired country

── .✦ Moving out to your desired country or place

── .✦ Having a magic tattoo that has powers (inspired by the K-drama “My Demon”)

── .✦ Being a math genius

── .✦ Being a trust fund/nepotism baby

── .✦ Owning a private plane

── .✦ Having a vacation home all over the world

── .✦ Being a millionaire, billionaire, or trillionaire

── .✦ Owning multiple businesses/shares and being a popular name amongst people

── .✦ Having lots of connections

── .✦ Easily getting visas for your desired countries

── .✦ Going on vacation a lot

── .✦ Any money you spend comes back x100

── .✦ Immune to getting scammed, robbed, debt, or losing lots of money

── .✦ Having a mansion of your desired aesthetic

── .✦ Having your desired cars

── .✦ Having your desired jewelry

── .✦ A magnetic and powerful aura that demands attention and respect from everyone

── .✦ Living in a palace with helpers, cleaners, personal chefs, gardeners, etc.

── .✦ Extreme beauty — people cannot believe it

── .✦ Always use your money for good and not get blindsided by it

── .✦ You naturally smell like perfume, your favorite smell/food, etc.

── .✦ Continuation of the last one but your sweat and other BO just smells like whatever you chose for #1

── .✦ You have really fancy handwriting

── .✦ Make a Pinterest board of your dream closet and manifest that you have them

── .✦ You can do complicated and beautiful hairstyles/braids easily

── .✦ Manifest a specific aura color

── .✦ Manifest you can see auras

── .✦ Being incredibly photogenic even in candids

── .✦ Always know when someone is lying

── .✦ No color washes you out; they all look perfect on you

── .✦ Getting a really fun/aesthetic job that isn’t stressful + has good benefits

── .✦ Perfectly shaped + long natural nails

── .✦ People like making playlists/Pinterest boards for you

── .✦ Everyone in the class is friends

── .✦ There are always interesting choices happening at school

── .✦ Your class photos are good

── .✦ School is fun

── .✦ The materials are simple and easy

── .✦ You are alone in your locker

── .✦ You always have 100%

── .✦ You understand everything

── .✦ Your handwriting is legible

── .✦ Not having a uniform or having the uniform of your choice

── .✦ Go to the desired school

── .✦ You are in the same class as your friends

── .✦ You can work in a team

── .✦ You can still listen to music at school

── .✦ School is free

── .✦ School goes by quickly

── .✦ Have your desired body

── .✦ Loving your body

── .✦ Have confidence in your body

── .✦ Always have your desired body

── .✦ No one is made fun of for their body

── .✦ Have unlimited money

── .✦ Never run out of money

── .✦ The chosen ones are not expensive

── .✦ You have the clothes you want

── .✦ You always find your desired clothes

── .✦ Your style is unique

── .✦ You have the desired popularity

── .✦ People are interested in knowing you

── .✦ People aren’t fake to you

── .✦ You start trends

── .✦ You have the job you want

── .✦ You have the desired schedule

── .✦ The desired person works with you

── .✦ You have the desired salary

── .✦ You have your desired home

── .✦ The price of your house is low

── .✦ You have the desired decoration in your home

── .✦ You have the desired friends

── .✦ Your friends are extremely faithful

── .✦ You have a good time with your friends

── .✦ You always have amazing adventures with your friends

── .✦ You are never on the side

── .✦ Your friends are always with you, you are never left behind

── .✦ Your friends will never betray you

── .✦ If you have friends online, they’re always online when you want to talk to them

── .✦ You sort with your desired person

── .✦ Everything is going well in the relationship

── .✦ Your desired person hides nothing from you

── .✦ Your desired person will never cheat on you

── .✦ Your relationship is perfect in your eyes

── .✦ Your relationship is perfect according to you

── .✦ Your lover gives you affection

── .✦ Your lover understands you

── .✦ You can manifest whatever you want

── .✦ Everyone finds this normal

── .✦ You always have ideas of what to manifest

── .✦ Your art style is unique

── .✦ You always have ideas

── .✦ You have your dream life

── .✦ You always have the answer to your questions

── .✦ Nothing strange is happening

── .✦ TONS of food available

── .✦ A board with all the food you’ll have

── .✦ The ability to say anything and make it appear, happen, or change

── .✦ The ability to think of anything and make it appear, happen, or change

── .✦ The ability to look at anything on Pinterest and make it appear, happen, or change

── .✦ Whenever magic is done (making something appear, changing something, etc.), there’s a cute little sparkly noise

── .✦ The ability to think of things to add to scripts that wouldn’t have been thought of otherwise

── .✦ A ‘Spotify Future’ app that shows music that will be released in the next year or two

── .✦ A MASSIVE closet

── .✦ A bedroom with a balcony

── .✦ The ability to see a makeup look you like, make all the products used appear, and know how to recreate the look

── .✦ Manifest a pet unicorn in the void state

── .✦ Manifest desired people from scratch in the void state

── .✦ Manifest an actual mermaid friend in the void state

── .✦ Revise a death in the void state

── .✦ Manifest being a quadrillionaire without questions asked

── .✦ A shopping spree

── .✦ So much food

── .✦ Manifest weight loss while eating more and not gaining weight

── .✦ Find lost items

── .✦ A cat that actually obeys

── .✦ Greater confidence

── .✦ Passing a driving test

── .✦ Good grades

── .✦ A dream internship at the theatre

── .✦ A dream job at a university (even after rejection)

── .✦ Seeing your favorite artist in concert

── .✦ Traveling to favorite cities

── .✦ Going to festivals

── .✦ Toxic people removed from life

── .✦ A designer bag

── .✦ A dream body

── .✦ Going on really nice dates (dinner, jazz bars, museums), with princess treatment & gifts

── .✦ New and amazing friends

── .✦ Never having to worry about money

── .✦ A special person writing a heartfelt letter

── .✦ Seeing a favorite ballet performance

── .✦ Being safe and protected always

── .✦ A journal that writes your thoughts and dreams on its own.   

── .✦ A tiny dragon that talks and lives in your pocket.

── .✦ A crystal that grants you one wish every night. 

── .✦ A cloak that turns you invisible when you wear it.   

── .✦ A door that opens into a secret magical forest.   

── .✦ A pet cloud that follows you and rains glitter.   

── .✦ The power to pause time with a snap of your fingers.  

── .✦ A bookshelf that gives you new books you’ll love every week.   

── .✦ A potion that lets you turn into any animal.  

── .✦ A floating lantern that shows you hidden treasures.  

── .✦ A room that changes into whatever you need—like a garden or movie theater.   

── .✦ The power to fly whenever you want.   

── .✦ A tree that grows jewels and glowing fruits.   

── .✦ A tiny tea set that comes to life and talks to you. 

── .✦ A tattoo that glows and changes with your emotions. 

── .✦ A mirror that gives you compliments and good advice. 

── .✦ A map that lets you teleport anywhere you touch. 

── .✦ The power to speak to animals and understand them. 

── .✦ A star that follows you at night and listens to your secrets. 

── .✦ A garden that blooms only when you visit.

── .✦ Superpowers that activate when you say a secret word. 

── .✦ A wardrobe that gives you the perfect outfit every time. 

── .✦ A fairy that helps you and grants small wishes. 

── .✦ A plant that glows in the dark and sings when it’s happy. 

── .✦ A ring that lets you visit your dreams like they’re real. 

── .✦ A pair of shoes that let you walk on water.

── .✦ A blanket that makes you feel perfectly cozy no matter the weather.

── .✦ A necklace that glows when someone tells the truth. 

── .✦ A compass that always points to something you’re looking for.

── .✦ A cup that refills itself with your favorite drink. 

── .✦ A ring that lets you see hidden magical creatures. 

── .✦ A pencil that writes answers to any question you ask.

── .✦ having a big friend group that you can play among us with

── .✦ a jellycat collection

── .✦ an antique photograph collection

── .✦ never get caught doing anything illegal

── .✦ collabing with your favourite youtuber

── .✦ free public transit anywhere for life

── .✦ being able to hold your breath forever

── .✦ having a universal key for any door

── .✦ a lazy river in your house

── .✦ being able to watch movie that will be released in the future

── .✦ Being tik tok famous

── .✦ Being a billionaire

── .✦ Your favorite celeb noticing you

── .✦ Your perfumes lasting forever

── .✦ Clear skin

── .✦ Teacher actually liking you

── .✦ When you buy food you get extra for free

── .✦ Cosmetics never running out

── .✦ Always have perfect grades no matter what

── .✦ Being hairless (only desired parts)

── .✦ Having manga lashes

── .✦ Your parents being rich

── .✦ Changing your birth name

── .✦ Travel for free (imagine going to Japan omg)

── .✦ Going to a concert for free

── .✦ Kamala being president

── .✦ Having a cat

── .✦ Having a mermaid friend

── .✦ Never gaining weight

── .✦ Your celebrity crush being obsessed with you

── .✦ Being a celebrity

── .✦ Victoria's Secret bringing back the 2014 vibes

── .✦ People forgetting about your cringe moments

── .✦ Finding 20$ on the street everyday

── .✦ Your favorite bakery/coffee shop being at your desired place

── .✦ Lipgloss lasting for hours

── .✦ Nail polish lasting for days

── .✦ Strong and long nails

── .✦ Your crush thinking about you 24/7

── .✦ Having real friends

── .✦ Being popular at school

── .✦ Going to boarding school

── .✦ Brands sending you PR packages for no reason

── .✦ Being a Nepo's baby best friend

── .✦ Perfect hair

── .✦ Everyone treating you like a goddess

── .✦ Lip combo lasting for the whole day

── .✦ Men giving you money and gifts for just being pretty

── .✦ Revising hair heat damage

── .✦ Your favorite brand sending you gifts

── .✦ Having every pack on The Sims 4

── .✦ Having your dream job

── .✦ The college of your dreams begging you to join them

── .✦ Have super soft hands

── .✦ Mascara never getting clumpy

── .✦ Having a pink Christmas

── .✦ Having all the gifts you asked for Christmas

── .✦ Speaking the language of your choice

── .✦ Eyebrows being the perfect shape

── .✦ School being cancelled

── .✦ K-beauty being free/cheap

── .✦ Having the vintage clothes that you see on Pinterest but never find

── .✦ Food you're craving

── .✦ Decorating your room

── .✦ Having a Lana Del Rey summer

── .✦ Having a Gilmore Girls autumn

── .✦ A new phone

── .✦ Friend group who actually likes you

── .✦ Living a trope in real life

── .✦ Going to a party like Euphoria

── .✦ Revising watching your favorite show/movie to watch it like it's the first time again

── .✦ Revising someone's death

── .✦ Smaller/taller height

── .✦ Having a fairy as a best friend

── .✦ Having perfect makeup skills

── .✦ A closet like Barbie (life in the dream house)

── .✦ Changing your natural hair color

── .✦ Changing your facial features

── .✦ Going to a party like Skins

── .✦ Your favorite celeb posting your face and asking who you are because they find you insanely attractive

── .✦ Insane hair growth

── .✦ Having skin like Wonyoung

── .✦ Tasting your favorite food for the first time

── .✦ Your crush being obsessed with your perfume

── .✦ Your parents not being strict

── .✦ Your school being cute and aesthetic

── .✦ Fast food always giving you extra sauces

── .✦ Travelling around the world with your best friend

── .✦ Having your desired body

── .✦ Revising bad grades

── .✦ Being a K-pop idol

── .✦ Having Infinite Robux

── .✦ Being VIP in Dress to Impress

── .✦ Acrylic nails lasting months

── .✦ Never getting sick

── .✦ Your whole class going on vacation

── .✦ Having heterochromia

── .✦ Decorating your room for free

── .✦ Banning your old TikTok account

── .✦ Your lips being cherry red and glossy

── .✦ Being soft as a baby

── .✦ Your hair never getting greasy

── .✦ School being effortlessly easy

── .✦ Everyone having flip phones

── .✦ Having slim hands

── .✦ Living in NYC

── .✦ Your family never having to face financial issues

── .✦ Being the daughter of a model

── .✦ Changing your whole face

── .✦ Having all Juicy Couture clothes and bags

── .✦ 25,000$

── .✦ Unlimited food

── .✦ Having a portal in your room that leads to your dream room (DR)

── .✦ Makeup being free

── .✦ Being loved by everyone in your town like Rory Gilmore

── .✦ Perfect teeth

── .✦ A pink phone

── .✦ People looking at you because you're gorgeous every time you go out

── .✦ Your perfume smelling unique on you

── .✦ Never losing your favorite gloss

── .✦ Candles never having a weird shape after a while

── .✦ Your makeup staying all day

── .✦ Waking up with perfect, detangled hair every day

[barnacles34]

Professional Hazard (And Blue Tongues)

Karina x Male Reader

9k words

18+ smut

'I expected you to have...'

'Grey hair? Glasses thick as tank armor?' You lean back. 'Let me guess—ancient and decrepit?'

'Something like that.' She toys with her iced americano, ice cubes clinking.

'Get that more than you'd think.'

'Can't imagine why.'

'Sure you can't.'

She straightens in her chair. 'Well? Are you going to ask your questions or what?'

'Did you have something specific in mind?'

'I thought you'd at least come prepared.' The sharp edge in her voice softens, adapting. 'After that email you sent.'

'I am prepared.'

'Do you know who I am?'

'I know you're Karina. I know you agreed to fund my little Italian vacation.' You keep your voice flat, unimpressed.

She laughs, short and sharp. 'They really sent someone who knows nothing.'

'Biographers aren't exactly growing on trees these days. Most of them are busy dying off.' [1]

'That's comforting.'

'About as comforting as your enthusiastic response to my email.'

'Ah.' She smirks. 'My monument to hubris?'

'Your words, not mine.'

'Christ, you're not exactly sunshine and roses, are you?'

'If only you knew.'

'Oh, I think I do.' She leans forward. 'People like me—we're your bread and butter. Desperate enough to take the abuse just to get that book written.'

'Quick study.'

'Experience, darling.' She draws out the last word like stretched taffy.

'If immortality's what you're after, we're off to a rocky start.'

'Not even grateful for the Italian holiday?'

You meet her eyes. 'Bribery's nothing new. Don't expect it to polish your image.'

'Tough nut to crack, aren't you?'

'I have what I need.'

'Meaning?'

'Let me put this delicately: my last subject bought me a year at New York's finest.' [2]

'Fantastic.' She rattles her ice cubes harder.

'You know what I think?' She sets down her drink with deliberate care.

'Enlighten me.'

'I think you enjoy this. The whole "unimpressed biographer" act.'

You pull out your notebook, unhurried. 'That'd make a great chapter one. "Local girl psychoanalyzes writer, lives to regret it."'

'There it is again.' Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. 'Tell me, do your subjects usually last long enough for chapter two?'

'The interesting ones do.'

'And the boring ones?'

You flip open to a blank page. 'They get a lovely rejection letter.'

'Which I didn't.'

'Yet.'

She leans back, studying you. The late afternoon sun catches the edge of her glass, throwing prismatic shapes across the table. 'You really don't care that I could walk away right now.'

'The door's right there.' You click your pen. 'But we both know you won't.'

'Because?'

'Because you didn't spend three months negotiating with my publisher just to storm off over hurt feelings.'

'Maybe I just like wasting time.'

'Maybe.' You meet her gaze. 'But people who like wasting time don't usually have a dozen designer brand sponsorships.'

Something shifts in her expression—surprise, maybe, or respect. 'So you did do your homework.'

'I always do.' You position your pen over the blank page. 'Now, shall we begin with the real questions?'

'Shoot.' She shifts in her chair, the late afternoon sun warming the cafe corner we've claimed.

'Tell me about your sister.'

Her eyebrows lift slightly. 'Not starting with the obvious questions?'

'Would you prefer those?'

'No.' She smiles, genuine this time. 'She's a nurse. Like our mom.'

'Close?'

'Very. She's the only person who still calls me Jimin.' She stirs her americano. 'Probably the only person who can get away with it, too.'

'Why's that?'

'Because she knew me when I was just the quiet kid who'd rather read in corners than talk to anyone. Before all of...' She waves her hand vaguely. 'This.'

'Still prefer corners?'

'Sometimes.' She considers the question. 'There's this tiny bookstore in Seongnam. When I go home, I still visit. They have this perfect spot by the window.'

'What do you read?'

'Whatever catches my eye. Last week it was about sharks.'

You raise an eyebrow. 'Sharks?'

'Don't look so surprised.' She laughs. 'They're fascinating. Everyone thinks they know them, but they don't, not really.'

'Speaking from experience?'

She takes a long sip of her drink instead of answering.

'You don't have to do that, you know.' You set your pen down.

'Do what?'

'Deflect. Turn everything into a metaphor.'

She meets your eyes for a long moment. 'Force of habit.'

'Bad one.'

'Says the person who's been matching my deflections word for word.' A half-smile plays at her lips. 'We're quite the pair, aren't we?'

'Difference is, I'm paid to be difficult.'

'And I was raised to be.' The words slip out before she can catch them. Her fingers tighten around her glass.

You wait.

'You're good at this,' she says quietly.

'At what?'

'Making silence comfortable.' She looks out the window. 'Most people try to fill it.'

'Most people aren't trying to understand.'

She turns back to you, something shifting in her expression. 'Is that what you're trying to do? Understand?'

'Would that be so terrible?'

'No,' she says.

'Progress.' You pick up your pen again. 'Though I've just realized something deeply troubling.'

'What's that?'

'Your americano's been empty for ten minutes, and you're still pretending to drink it.'

She glances at her glass, caught. 'Method acting.'

'Ah yes, the classic "I'm too invested in this conversation to pause for a refill" performance.' You wave to catch the barista's eye. 'Oscar-worthy.'

'Says the person who hasn't touched their...' She leans forward to peek at your cup. 'What even is that?'

'Green tea.'

'Pretentious.'

'Says the person who ordered an iced americano in winter.'

'It's barely spring.'

'Case in point.'

The barista arrives with fresh drinks. Karina raises an eyebrow at your cup. 'Still green tea?'

'I'm consistent.'

'Boring.'

'Strategic.' You take a deliberate sip. 'Can't blame caffeine jitters for whatever honesty slips out.'

'Sneaky.'

'Professional.'

'Same thing.' She stirs her new drink, ice cubes clinking. 'So what's next in your strategic interrogation?'

'Thought we agreed to drop the deflection thing.'

'Old habits. Ten seconds at a time.'

'That's oddly specific.'

'It's how I learned to swim.' At your questioning look, she continues, 'Ten seconds of courage. Then you can panic all you want.'

'Does that work?'

'Got me here, didn't it?' She gestures between you two. 'Letting a stranger with a notebook and suspiciously consistent beverage choices pick apart my life.'

'You could always run.'

'To where? Croatia?' She laughs at your surprised expression. 'What? I have dreams.'

'Of Croatia specifically?'

'Of anywhere that doesn't know my name.'

'That's rather poetic for someone who just called me pretentious.'

'I contain multitudes.' She mock-bows in her seat.

'Walt Whitman now?'

'See? You're not the only one who can be insufferably well-read.'

You make a show of writing something down. 

You flip to a fresh page. 'Tell me about Croatia.'

'Nothing to tell. Just a place.'

'There are plenty of places that don't know your name. Why that one?'

She traces the rim of her glass again, a habit you've started to recognize as her thinking gesture. 'Have you ever seen those old coastal towns? The ones with narrow streets and buildings that look like they're having conversations with each other?'

'Been to a few.'

'I want to get lost in one.' She looks up. 'Properly lost. No GPS, no itinerary. Just... walking until my feet decide to stop.'

'Most people want to be found.'

'Most people haven't spent years being findable.' The sharpness in her voice surprises both of you. She softens it with a smile. 'Sorry. That sounded more dramatic than intended.'

'Don't apologize. It's the first time you've stopped performing since we sat down.'

'I haven't been—' She stops. Laughs. 'Okay. Point taken.'

'Progress. Again.'

'You're keeping score?'

'Always.' You tap your notebook. 'It's kind of the whole point.'

'And how am I doing?'

'In being honest or deflecting?'

'Both.'

'You're averaging about fifty-fifty.'

'Generous scoring.'

'Strategic encouragement.'

'You're good at that.' She stretches slightly. 'Making people think they're in control of the conversation.'

'Are you not?'

'Please. We both know you've been steering this ship since you sat down.' She pauses. 'Though I will say, you're the first interviewer who hasn't asked about my routine yet.'

'Your routine?'

'You know. "What time do you wake up? What's your skincare regimen? How many hours do you practice?" That whole song and dance.'

'Would you like me to ask?'

'God no.' She grins. 'But I'm curious why you haven't.'

'Because routines are what people do. I'm more interested in who they are.'

'And who am I?'

'Still figuring that out. But I know you crack your knuckles when you're nervous.'

She stops mid-crack, caught. 'Observant.'

'Professional hazard.' You lean forward. 'Tell me something real. Not about routines or schedules or practices.'

'Like what?'

'Like what you think about at three AM when you can't sleep.'

She's quiet for a long moment. 'Sometimes I forget what my natural speaking voice sounds like.'

'What do you mean?'

'You spend so many years modulating everything—your voice, your laugh, your reactions—until one day...' She shrugs. 'One day you catch yourself using your "public" voice to order coffee at 3 AM in an empty convenience store, and you realize you can't remember what you used to sound like.'

'And that bothers you.'

'Wouldn't it bother you? Losing something that fundamental without even noticing it was gone?'

'Is that why we're here? Trying to find it again?'

'Maybe.' She smiles, but it's different now. Unpolished. 'Or maybe I'm just tired of having "public" and "private" versions of everything.'

'Including your voice.'

'Including my entire existence.'

'Right.' You snap your notebook shut. 'We're getting gelato.'

—

[1] The suspicious rate at which biographers are "dying off" has become something of an industry joke. Three prominent biographers mysteriously retired after attempting to write about a certain K-pop company's CEO. Totally not suspicious.

[2] The Plaza Hotel, to be specific. Said subject was a tech billionaire whose autobiography mysteriously never made it to print. The hotel suite, however, maintains legendary status among New York's housekeeping staff for its impressive collection of empty green tea bottles and rejection letters.

—

She blinks. 'What?'

'We're walking.' You stand, gathering your things. 'Unless you have somewhere to be?'

'Are you actually asking, or is this another strategic move?'

'Both. Neither. Whatever. Does it matter if there's gelato involved?'

A genuine laugh escapes her. 'Fair point.'

The early evening air hits your faces as you step outside. She pulls on a cap—more habit than disguise.

'Left or right?' you ask.

'You're the one who lives here.'

'Technically, I've been here three days.'

'And you already know where to get gelato?'

'First thing I do in any city. Professional secret.'

'Ah yes, the biographer's handbook. Chapter One: locate ice cream immediately.'

'Chapter Two: never reveal your sources.' You turn left. 'Unless they're wearing a questionably large cap and hiding from their own voice.'

'Low blow.' But she's grinning. 'Also, my cap is perfectly sized.'

'For what? Smuggling library books?'

'That's... oddly specific.'

'Says the person who just quoted Walt Whitman in a cafe.'

You find the gelato place tucked between a bookstore and a vintage shop. The owner, an elderly Italian woman, lights up at your approach.

'Due?' she asks.

'Sì,' you reply, then turn to Karina. 'What's your poison?'

She studies the flavors intently. 'What's the most unusual one?'

'Professional or personal answer?'

'There's a difference?'

'Professional would be something elegant. Personal...' You point to a vivid blue flavor. 'That one tastes like your childhood imaginary friend made a pact with a Smurf.'

She doesn't hesitate. 'Two scoops of that, please.'

'Really?'

'What?' She raises an eyebrow. 'Scared of a little blue tongue?'

'More scared of what my editor will say when the interview notes are stained cerulean.'

Ten minutes later, you're both leaning against a stone wall, gelato dripping in the warm evening air. Her tongue is, indeed, impressively blue.

'Yah! Why are you taking a picture?”

'Your tongue. I need photographic evidence for my editor.'

She complains, ‘self-respecting people would’ve walked a long time ago.’

‘And let me guess-’

‘Correct. Take a picture if you want.’

'Pulitzer worthy.' You take another bite of your considerably more dignified pistachio. 'So tell me about the sharks.'

'You're still on that?'

'You brought up marine biology in a cafe and then mysteriously changed the subject. I'm invested now.'

'There's nothing mysterious about it.' She licks a drop of blue from her knuckle. 'I just think they're neat.'

'That's the worst deflection yet.'

'Fine.' She pushes off the wall, starting to walk. 'When I was younger, I used to think they were lonely.'

You fall into step beside her. 'Sharks?'

'Mm. Always swimming, never stopping. Everyone afraid of them.' She shrugs. 'Stupid kid logic.'

'And now?'

'Now I think they're just... misunderstood.' She grins. 'That was terrible, wasn't it? Like a bad movie line.'

'Terrible. But honest.'

'You and your honesty fetish.'

'Says the person who just admitted to emotionally relating to sharks.'

She snorts, nearly dropping her cone. 'When you put it that way—'

'Oh, I'm definitely putting it that way. It's going in the book.'

'Absolutely not.'

'Chapter title: "The Shark Whisperer”. I can see it already'

She tries to hip-check you, but you dodge, protecting your gelato. 'I'm revoking your creative license.'

'Too late. The mental image of baby Jimin crying over shark documentaries is seared into my brain.'

'I did not cry over—' She stops. 'Okay, maybe once. But it was a very sad documentary.' [1]

The sun is setting now, painting the cobblestones gold. You pass a street musician playing something soft and acoustic.

'Your sister know about the sharks?'

'Of course. She bought me the books.' Her smile turns fond. 'Still does, actually. Sends them to me randomly.'

'Recent ones?'

'Last week.' She finishes her cone. 'She has... interesting timing.'

'Interesting timing?'

'Mm.' She wipes her hands on a napkin. 'Right after I told her about the interview. She sent me one about great whites. Said something about facing fears.'

'Subtle.'

'About as subtle as your interview techniques.' She eyes your notebook, still tucked away. 'Not writing anymore?'

'Memory's better when I'm walking.' You tap your temple. 'Also, harder to write about blue tongues while walking.'

'Still blue?'

'Devastatingly so.'

She sticks her tongue out at a passing window, checking her reflection. 'Oh god, it's worse than I thought.'

'Crisis?'

'Please. I once had to perform with my hair half-green because of a dye mishap. This?' She gestures to her mouth. 'This is nothing.'

'Half-green?'

'Not going in the book.'

'Already mentally drafting the chapter.'

She groans. 'I'm starting to regret this whole walking thing.'

'Because of the blackmail material or the exercise?'

'Both. Neither.' She pauses by a small fountain. 'It's just... nice.'

'Nice?'

'Yeah.' She sits on the fountain's edge. 'No schedule. No plan. Just... walking and talking and eating questionably colored gelato with a stranger who probably thinks I'm having a quarter-life crisis.'

'Are you?'

'Having a crisis or eating gelato?'

'Now who's deflecting?' 

And she pauses again, caught.

She dips her fingers in the fountain water, watching the ripples. 'Maybe I just wanted one normal evening. One conversation that wasn't prepackaged and pre-approved.'

'Mission accomplished, I'd say. Your tongue is literally blue.'

That startles a laugh out of her. 'You're never letting that go, are you?'

'It's going to be a running metaphor throughout the book. Deep, meaningful parallels between blue gelato and the human condition.'

'You're terrible at your job.'

'I'm excellent at my job. I got you to walk around Rome with blue teeth.'

'Is that the measure of success?'

'For this chapter? Absolutely.'

The street lamps are starting to flicker on, and the air has that peculiar Roman evening warmth that begs for a drink.

'Know any good bars?' she asks, as if reading your mind.

'Thought you'd never ask[2]. Fair warning though—my Italian's terrible.'

'Better or worse than your interview skills?'

'Much worse. But I can order Aperol Spritz in seventeen different ways.'

'Useful life skill.'

'More useful than relating to sharks.'

She shoves your shoulder lightly. 'One more shark joke and I'm leaving.'

'No, you're not.'

'No, I'm not.' She grins. 'Lead the way, worst Italian speaker.'

You find a tiny place tucked away from the main streets. The kind tourists don't know about, with mismatched chairs and a bartender who looks old enough to have served Caesar himself.

'Due aperol spritz, per favore.' You ask.

The bartender raises an eyebrow. 'Americano? Il tuo italiano è buono!' (your Italian was… apparently… good.)

'Peggio,' you say. 'Giornalista' 

(‘Worse. Journalist.’)

He laughs, already reaching for glasses. Karina slides onto a barstool, looking around with genuine curiosity.

‘He seems pretty impressed by your Italian.’

‘Oh trust me—he wasn’t. He just wanted to be nice. That’s all. The inflections are quite easy to catch.’

‘Alright, whatever you say. Giornalista—.'

You grin at her cute prod.

'How'd you find this place?' She asks; needless to say, she likes it here.

'Got lost my first night here––five years ago. It was either come in or keep pretending I knew where my hotel was.'

'And?'

'Woke up knowing exactly where my hotel was. And how to say "I'm sorry" in Italian.'

She laughs. 'That bad?'

'Let's just say there's a reason I stick to green tea now.'

The drinks arrive, vivid orange against the dark wood of the bar.

'To blue tongues,' you raise your glass.

'And bad Italian,' she clinks hers against it.

—

[1] The documentary in question was "Blue Planet II." Her sister still has the receipt for three boxes of tissues and a plush shark from the aquarium gift shop. The plush shark now sits in her studio, wearing a tiny version of her debut outfit. Her company has tried to mass-produce it twice. She's vetoed it both times.

[2] You were never this humble about your Italian until you talked to an Italian nonna. "Qui giace la dignità di un giornalista" (Here lies a journalist's dignity).

—

'Speaking of bad decisions—'

'We weren't.'

'We are now. Tell me about the green hair incident.'

'Absolutely not.' She takes another sip of her spritz. 'Some secrets I'm taking to my grave.'

'Come on. Half-green hair? There's got to be a story there.'

'There is. A great one. You're still not hearing it.'

'I'll trade you.'

'Oh?' She turns on her stool to face you fully. 'What could you possibly have that's worth my green hair story?'

'Remember when I said I learned to say sorry in Italian?'

'The plot thickens.'

'Let's just say it involved a fountain, three angry nuns, and a very patient carabinieri.'

She nearly chokes on her drink. 'You're making that up.'

'Want to bet your green hair story on it?'

'You know what?' She signals the bartender for another round. 'Fine. But if you're lying, you're buying drinks for the rest of the night.'

'Deal.'

'And no taking notes.'

'Now that's just cruel.'

'Professional hazard,' she mimics your earlier tone, then grins. 'Okay, storyteller. Dazzle me.'

The bartender sets down fresh drinks, and you lean in conspiratorially. 'So picture this: my first night in Rome, about five years ago...'

'Wait.' She holds up a hand. 'We need to establish stakes. If this story doesn't involve all three elements—fountain, nuns, and police—you're not only buying drinks, you're telling me where you actually learned to say sorry in Italian.'

'Counter-offer. If my story checks out, I get the green hair story plus whatever happened at that music show in Busan.'

Her eyes narrow. 'What music show in Busan?'

'The one you just reacted to.'

'That's... that's actually impressive.'

'Five years of professional nosiness at work. Deal?'

She clinks her glass against yours. 'Deal. Now stop stalling.'

'Right. So. Five years ago. I'd just finished an interview with this ancient countess at the bar. I mean, it’s the bar. Who else gets to interview a countess at a bar? That’s like crazy Bourdain-level shit right there.’

She nods along. 'Of course you did.'

'Anyway, she invited me to this wine cellar...'

'Oh no.'

'Oh yes. And mind you, I was already quite drunk. And she was very, very insistent about hospitality...'

Twenty minutes and much laughter later, you finish: '...and that's why you should never trust Google Translate to help you apologize to Italian law enforcement.'

She's wiping tears from her eyes. 'The part with the cat—'

'Hand to god. Still have the scars.'

'Okay.' She catches her breath. 'Okay, you win. That was worth it.'

'Time to pay up. Green hair. Spill.'

'Can I have one more drink first?'

'For courage?'

'So I can blame it on the drink.' She waves at the bartender. 'I still can't believe you showed those nuns your interview notes to prove you weren't a street performer.'

'Desperate times.'

'Speaking of desperate...' She takes a fortifying sip of her fresh spritz. 'Ever tried to fix green hair with grape juice?'

'No.'

'Don't.'

'There has to be more to this story than grape juice.'

'Oh, there's so much more.' She settles into her seat. 'Picture this: it's two hours before a live broadcast. I'm sitting in the makeup chair, feeling pretty good about life. You know, like that particular moment where your face just… shines. Then my stylist walks in, takes one look at my hair, and just... screams.'

'Screams?'

'Full horror movie scream. Turns out the hair dye we used was... let's say "not exactly approved by management."'

'Let me guess. DIY job?'

'Worse. My sister's friend's cousin who "totally went to beauty school."'

'Oh no.' You snort, taking a hefty drink of the remaining spritz.

'Oh yes. So there I am, one side of my head this bizarre shade of swamp-thing green, and everyone's running around like it's the end of the world.'

'Which is when someone suggested grape juice?'

'Actually, that was my idea.' She grimaces. 'I'd read somewhere that grape juice could neutralize green tones. What they failed to mention was that this works for swimming pools, not hair.' [1]

'So what happened?'

'Picture a very expensive wig, three cans of dry shampoo, and me trying to explain to the camera director why I couldn't turn my head to the left.'

'Did it work?'

'Define "work."' She takes another sip. 'If by "work" you mean "did I make it through the broadcast without anyone seeing the grape-juice-tinged disaster," then yes. If by "work" you mean "did I maintain any dignity," then absolutely not.'

'The fans never found out?'

'Oh, they did. Someone leaked a backstage photo three months later.' She grins. 'By then I'd managed to fix it. Mostly.'

'Mostly?'

'My sister still has a strand of green hair she saved. Threatens to post it whenever I don't answer her calls.'

'Effective.'

'Terrifying.' She raises her glass. 'Your turn again. What's the worst interview you've ever done?'

'Besides this one?'

She kicks your chair. 'I'm delightful and you know it.'

'You're something, all right.'

Three drinks in, and the bar's emptied enough that her laugh echoes a little too loudly. She covers her mouth, but it's too late – the old bartender shoots them an amused look.

'Sorry,' she stage-whispers.

'For what? The laugh or the fact that it just shattered three ancient Roman wine glasses?'

'Shut up.' She kicks your chair again. 'I don't always laugh like that.'

'Let me guess – there's a public laugh and a private laugh?'

'There's a whole taxonomy.' She sits up straighter, counting on her fingers. 'Interview laugh, variety show laugh, fan meeting laugh, oh-that's-not-actually-funny-but-you're-my-sunbae laugh—'

'Please tell me you're joking.'

'I wish.' She slumps forward, head on her arms. 'I once had to attend a laughing seminar.'

'A what now?'

'A laughing seminar. Professional instruction on the art of the public giggle.' Her voice is muffled against her sleeve. 'There was a PowerPoint and everything.'

'You're making this up.'

She lifts her head. 'I spent three hours learning about laugh-adjacent breathing techniques while a woman named Mrs. Kim hit a triangle every time someone laughed "inappropriately."'

You stare at her. She stares back.

'That's the most horrifying thing I've ever heard,' you say finally.

'I know.' She dissolves into another too-loud laugh, this one definitely not seminar-approved. 'God, I can still hear that triangle.'

'Is that why you're here?'

'Getting drunk with a biographer in Rome? No, that's just poor life choices.'

'Speaking honest truths to a stranger?'

'Oh.' She straightens up, but there's still something loose in her smile. 'Maybe. Or maybe I just really needed to tell someone about Mrs. Kim and her triangle of terror.'

'Triangle of terror.' You shake your head. 'That's going in the book.'

'Along with the blue tongue and green hair? You're really painting a picture here.'

'It's called character development.'

'It's called character assassination.' She signals for water. 'What else are you putting in there?'

'Wouldn't you like to know.'

'Actually, yes. That's literally why I'm asking.'

'Fine.' You pretend to flip through your mental notes. 'Chapter One: Sharks and Empathy—'

'Oh my god.'

'Chapter Two: The Grape Juice Incident—'

'I'm starting to regret everything.'

'Chapter Three: Laugh Taxonomies by Aespa’s Karina—'

'I hate you.'

'Chapter Four: Why Romans Don't Trust Her With Fountains Anymore—'

'That was you! That was literally your story!'

'Was it? Everything's getting a bit fuzzy.' You tap your temple. 'Must be all that professional memory I was bragging about earlier.'

She throws an olive at you. The bartender clears his throat.

'Sorry,' you both say in unison, then look at each other and start laughing again.

'You know what's really funny?' she says, once you've both contained yourselves.

'Mrs. Kim's triangle?'

'Besides that.' She accepts the water from the bartender. 'This is probably the worst interview you've ever done.'

'Oh, definitely.'

'And yet...'

'And yet?'

'It's the most honest one I've given.' She pauses. 'God, that sounded way less cheesy in my head. Must be the spritz talking.'

'Blame it on the altitude.'

'We're at sea level.'

'Blame it on the sea level.'

'You're ridiculous.' She's grinning though. 'Is this how all your interviews go?'

'Usually there's less gelato. More gravitas.'

'Gravitas is overrated.'

'Says the woman who attended a laughing seminar.'

'Hey, I'll have you know my triangle-approved giggle is very dignified.'

'Prove it.'

She sits up straighter, arranges her features into something serene, and lets out the most artificial laugh you've ever heard. It's so pristine it's almost disturbing.

'That was horrifying.'

'That was three hours of professional training.'

'I'm concerned about your profession.'

'Join the club.' She relaxes back into her natural posture. 'We have meetings every Tuesday. Bring your own triangle.'

The bartender slides over the check with a knowing look. Last call came and went without either of you noticing.

'Well,' you say, reaching for your wallet. 'I suppose this is—'

'Wait.' She puts her hand on your arm. 'I have a confession.'

'Another one? The green hair wasn't enough?'

'I read your book.'

'Which one?'

'The one about the ballet dancer who quit to become a motorcycle mechanic.'

'Ah.' You sit back. 'And?'

'And I maybe, possibly, completely changed my mind about this whole interview when I read it.'

'Because?'

'Because...' She fidgets with her empty glass. 'You made her sound so... human.'

'As opposed to?'

'A story. A headline.' She traces a pattern on the bar top. 'Most people would've written about the scandal, the career she "threw away." But you wrote about how she names each motorcycle she fixes. How she still dances in her garage at midnight.'

'Ah. That.'

'That.' She looks up. 'Is that why you haven't asked me about any of it?'

'Any of what?'

'Don't play dumb. The headlines. The speculation. The—'

'The triangle-approved responses you've probably rehearsed?'

She laughs, caught. 'Something like that.'

'Here's the thing about headlines.' You start gathering your things. 'They're usually more interesting than the truth.'

'And what's the truth?'

'That sometimes people just want to eat blue gelato and tell embarrassing stories in a bar and talk a biographer’s ears off.'

She kicks your chair again, barely noticeable. 'Even if those stories end up in a book?'

'Especially then.' You stand, offering her jacket. 'Though I might need you to sign a waiver about the grape juice incident.'

'I knew it! You are using it!'

'Chapter title: "The Perils of Amateur Chemistry: A Cautionary Tale."'

She shrugs on her jacket, shaking her head. 'You're impossible. That AI flair was so intentional'

'Says the woman who legitimately attended a laughing seminar.'

'I'm never living that down, am I?'

'Not as long as I have a functioning memory and a publishing contract.'

The Roman night is warm as you both step out of the bar. She stumbles slightly on the cobblestones.

You offer a hand which she quickly grabs.

'Don't you dare put that in the book,' she warns.

'Put what? The graceful interpretation of contemporary dance you just performed?'

'These streets are rigged.' She steadies herself. 'Also, your hotel's this way.'

'How do you know where my hotel is?' You’re not exactly one to remember locations, probably the reason you were able to gain such a repository of ridiculous stories.

'Because it's my hotel.' She grins at your expression. 'What? You think you're the only one who does research?'

'I'm concerned about your stalking tendencies.'

'Says the person who somehow knew about the Busan incident.'

'Professional hazard.'

'You really need new catchphrases.'

The walk is quiet, comfortable. Rome at night feels like a different city—all golden lights and shadow play. A cat watches you pass from its perch on a window sill.

'Don't even think about it,' she says.

'About what?'

'Making some poetic comparison between me and that cat.'

'Please. I'm a much better writer than that.'

'Sure you are, shark whisperer.'

You reach the hotel entrance. She pauses.

'Well,' she says. 'This has been...'

'Professionally catastrophic?'

'I was going to say enlightening.'

'That too.'

The hotel lobby is all marble and soft lighting. Your footsteps echo slightly.

'I have a balcony,' she says suddenly. 'And a really pretentious coffee machine I can't figure out.'

'Is this a cry for help with appliances?' 

'This is...' She fidgets with her room key. 'This is me not wanting the interview to end yet.'

'The interview ended somewhere between blue gelato and the triangle story.'

'Then what's this?'

‘Believe or not, some people just like having fun on their Italian vacation.’

‘Haha. Very funny.’

'This is...' You pretend to consider. 'Two people who might be friends if one of them wasn't writing a book about the other.'

'Complicated.'

'Professional hazard.'

'There's that phrase again.' She presses the elevator button. 'Come on. I'll teach you how to laugh properly.'

'With or without the triangle?'

She steps into the elevator. 'Depends on how good you are at making coffee.'

'Now who's the impossible one?'

The doors start to close. She holds them.

'Coming?'

You join her in the elevator. 'For the record, I'm excellent at coffee.'

'For the record,' she mimics your tone, 'that's going in the book.'

Her room is on the top floor, with a view that makes you understand why people write poetry about Rome.

'So,' she says, fighting with the coffee machine. 'This button makes it angry, and this one makes it hiss.'

'Move over, amateur.' You reach around her to press a combination of buttons. The machine purrs to life.

'Show off.' But she's smiling as she heads for the balcony. 'Bring your coffee wizardry out here when it's ready.'

The balcony is small, just enough room for two chairs and all of Rome spread out below. She's curled up in one chair, shoes off, looking more real than she has all day.

'Your professional opinion,' she says as you hand her a cup. 'Is this going to be a good book?'

'Depends.'

'On?'

'On whether you let me keep the shark metaphors.'

She laughs into her coffee. 'You're never letting that go.'

'Never.' You take the other chair. 'Though I might be willing to negotiate.'

'Terms?'

'Tell me something nobody knows. Something that won't make the book.'

She's quiet for a moment, looking out at the city lights. 'I sing in the shower.'

'Everybody knows that.'

'No, I mean...' She turns to face you. 'I sing the old songs. The ones I used to practice when I was just some kid in Bundang with a dream too big for my voice.'

'And?'

'And sometimes I still feel like her. That kid. Especially at night, in foreign hotels, when the city feels like it belongs to someone else.'

'Especially at night, in foreign hotels, when the city feels like it belongs to someone else.'

'Wow.' You let out a low whistle. 'That was incredibly profound.'

She groans, covering her face. 'I know. I'm sorry. That was straight out of a drama script.'

'I was thinking more indie movie. You know, the kind where people have deep conversations on balconies in Rome at—' you check your watch, '—one in the morning.'

'Oh god, we're living a cliché.'

'Complete with coffee and two chairs overlooking Rome.'

'Quick,' she straightens up, 'say something unprofound. Save us from ourselves.'

'My tongue is still kind of blue.'

She peeks at you over her coffee cup. 'Mine too.'

'Better?'

'Much better.' She slouches back in her chair. 'Though now I'm thinking about how this would look in your book. "Two idiots with blue tongues have existential crisis on expensive balcony."'

'Don't forget the part where one of them somehow charmed a coffee machine.'

'And the other one used to sing in her shower.'

'Still,' you correct. 'Present tense.'

'Still,' she admits. 'But if you put that in your book, I'll have to tell everyone about your fountain incident.'

'Mutually assured destruction. I like it.'

She yawns, then looks embarrassed. 'Sorry. It's not the company, it's—'

'The five Aperol Spritzes?'

'That. And the emotional toll of remembering Mrs. Kim's triangle.'

'Tragic backstory,' you nod solemnly. 'Very character-building.'

'Speaking of character-building...' She sets down her empty cup, turns to face you fully. 'This is usually the part in your books where something significant happens.'

'Is it?'

'Mm. Chapter twelve. Always a turning point.'

'You really did read my books.'

'I told you that already.' She's closer now, somehow. 'What I didn't mention was that I figured out your pattern.'

'My pattern?'

'The way you write moments like this.' Her voice is soft. 'When everything gets quiet, and the city's just background noise, and someone's about to do something...'

'Inadvisable?'

'I was going to say brave.'

'Brave is just inadvisable with better PR.'

She laughs, barely a whisper. 'You're deflecting again.'

'Professional—'

'If you say "hazard" right now,' she cuts in, 'I'm going to throw you off this balcony.'

'That would be...'

'Inadvisable?'

'I was going to say "terrible for my book sales."'

She's definitely closer now. 'Your book sales are about to be the least of your problems.'

'Because you're going to kiss me or throw me off the balcony?'

'I haven't decided yet.'

'Well,' you murmur, 'for what it's worth, one of those options would make a much better chapter twelve.'

She closes the distance between you, smiling against your lips. 'Professional hazard.'

You and Karina shared an instant spark that neither of you had experienced. Ever. The moment that first tease left your mouth, it was over.

—

[1] The sentiment of grape juice being able to eliminate green tones turned out to be completely unfounded. Despite this, wine sommeliers around the world have complained about Koreans with their distinct accent asking about grape juice’s ability to change colors.

—

The kiss tastes like coffee and Aperol and something sweet—probably the remnants of that ridiculous blue gelato. It's soft and quiet and perfect, the kind of moment that would sound made up in a book.

She pulls back slightly. 'Your editor's going to hate this.'

'Definitely.' You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. 'Completely unprofessional.'

'Thoroughly inadvisable.'

'Absolutely perfect for chapter twelve.'

She kisses you again, and Rome keeps existing below, indifferent to your small moment of magic. Somewhere in the distance, a church bell chimes twice.

'You know,' she whispers, 'this is usually where you'd write something profound about the city of love.'

'That's Paris.'

'Now who's deflecting?'

'Still you. But I'm starting not to mind.'

She laughs, soft and real—definitely not triangle-approved—and rests her forehead against yours, your breaths intermixing, plenty of intimate eye contact. 'Is this going in the book?'

'What do you think?'

'I think...' Her fingers find yours. 'I think some stories we get to keep for ourselves.'

'I think some stories we get to keep for ourselves.'

'Even after I charmed your coffee machine? That's cold.'

She makes a face. 'You're really bringing up coffee machine prowess right after—'

'Right after you thoroughly compromised my journalistic integrity? Yes.'

'Your journalistic integrity was compromised the moment you let me eat blue gelato.'

'My journalistic integrity was compromised the moment I saw you.' You run your thumb across her knuckles.

Her eye contact wavers and her voice falters, ‘Gosh, you’re such a player.’

‘Flirting has never come so easily before.’ You whisper against her mouth.

'Oh really?'

'Obviously.'

'Which was?'

'Stare at that blue tongue some more.’'

She shoves you lightly. 'You're terrible.'

'And yet.'

'And yet.' She settles on your lap, the forehead to forehead more natural now. 'So what happens now?'

'Well, traditionally, this is where I'd write something about dawn breaking over the eternal city—'

'Please don't.'

'—with golden light catching on ancient stones—'

'I'm begging you to stop.'

'—as two souls find each other under the Roman sky—'

She claps a hand over your mouth. 'I will literally pay you to not finish that sentence.'

You kiss her palm before she pulls it away. 'Isn't that technically bribery?'

'Add it to the list. Right after "compromised journalistic integrity" and "suspicious coffee machine expertise."'

'Speaking of compromising situations...' You glance at your watch. 'It's almost three AM.'

'Worried about your reputation?'

'Worried about your triangle-approved schedule.'

'Bold of you to assume I ever sleep.' She stands, stretching. 'Want to order terrible room service and you can tell me about all the other journalists you've scandalized?'

'That's a very short list. Very enticing regardless.’ 

'Good.' She holds out her hand.

The night air has turned cooler, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from somewhere below. Her fingers trace the collar of your shirt, hesitant but deliberate.

'What happened to room service?' you murmur.

'It can wait.' Her eyes meet yours, playful but wanting. 'I'm conducting my own interview first.'

This kiss is different from the first. Slower, more certain. The city hums below, a distant lullaby of late-night cars and echoing footsteps. When she sighs into the kiss, it's the softest sound you've ever heard. When she falters against your forceful touches, it’s the softest you’ve ever felt a woman.

She pulls back just enough to breathe, her forehead resting against yours. Her heartbeat is quick under your palm.

'Better than chapter twelve?' she whispers.

You catch her lips again in answer, feeling her smile. The wind stirs her hair, sending strands brushing against your cheek. Everything smells like jasmine and coffee and her perfume—something subtle and expensive that you'll probably spend the rest of your life over-romanticizing.

Because that’s what Karina deserves.

Rome stretches out endless and ancient around you, but all you can focus on is how perfectly she fits against you, how real she feels away from cameras and crowds.

Your lips find hers in the dark, soft and certain now. Her fingers trail up your neck, threading through your hair, pulling you closer. There's an art to the way she kisses—deliberate yet desperate, like she's trying to memorize the moment. Your hands settle at her waist, and she makes a small sound that you know you'll remember forever.

Her lips part against yours, deepening the kiss until you're both breathless. The balcony railing presses into your back—when did that happen?—and her body is warm against yours, fitting perfectly in all the spaces between.

Her teeth graze your bottom lip, teasing. You respond by trailing kisses along her jaw, feeling her pulse jump under your lips. When you find that sensitive spot just below her ear, her sharp intake of breath makes you smile against her skin.

She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. Her lips are slightly swollen, her careful composure beautifully undone––hair spread everywhere, but just so that she looks ethereal rather than messy. You brush your thumb across her lower lip, and she catches it with her teeth, playful even now.

‘Still planning to put this in chapter twelve?’ she whispers, breathless.

Your answer gets lost somewhere between her lips and… her lips.

Her laugh vibrates against your lips when you finally break apart. ‘We should probably—’

‘Go inside?’ Your lips find the curve of her neck again.

‘I was going to say breathe.’ But her head tilts back, giving you better access. Her pulse flutters under your kiss like a trapped bird. ‘Though inside works too.’

You pull back just enough to look at her. Hair mussed, eyes bright, that perfect composure completely undone. She's never looked more beautiful than she does right now, with the city lights catching in her eyes and her professional smile nowhere to be found.

‘What?’ she asks, suddenly self-conscious.

��Just thinking.’

‘About?’

‘How this definitely isn't going in the book.’

Her smile turns mischievous. ‘No?’ Her fingers trace patterns on your chest. ‘Not even a little mention of how you completely forgot about journalistic integrity the moment I—’

‘Then chapter 12 would entirely consist of me betraying my profession in order to catch your lips with my teeth.’

‘Wow. You’re bad. Like, real bad.’

‘You have no idea.’

You cut her off with another kiss, swallowing her laugh. Her hands slide up your chest, around your neck, pulling you impossibly closer. The world narrows to just this: her lips on yours, her body pressed against you, the soft sounds she makes when you run your fingers down her spine.

‘Inside,’ she murmurs against your mouth. ‘Before we really give Rome something to talk about.’

You let her lead you through the balcony doors, both of you stumbling slightly, unwilling to break contact. She tastes like promises now, like stories yet to be written. Her hands are everywhere—your hair, your chest, your face – like she's trying to read you by touch alone.

‘Wait,’ you manage, as her lips find that spot below your ear that makes thinking difficult. ‘What about—’

‘If you mention room service right now,’ she warns, ‘I'm going back to my original plan of throwing you off the balcony.’

‘I was going to say 'what about your triangle-approved image?'’

She pulls back, eyes dancing. ‘Oh, that?’ Her lips brush yours, teasing. ‘I think we thoroughly compromised that at the first meeting.’

"Professional hazard?"

"Shut up," she whispers, and kisses you again.

She sighs into your mouth, a soft, vulnerable sound that makes your heart stutter.

Her fingers tangle in your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp, sending shivers down your spine. You walk her backward until she's pressed against the wall, her body arching into yours.

You trail kisses down her neck, learning her— the spot beneath her jaw that makes her gasp, the curve where neck meets shoulder that makes her fingers tighten in your hair. Her pulse races under your lips, a rapid drumbeat that matches your own. When you find a particularly sensitive spot, her sharp intake of breath is the sweetest sound you've ever heard.

She tugs you back up to her mouth, kissing you like she's trying to tell you something words can't capture. Her lips are soft but insistent, moving against yours with a rhythm that makes you dizzy. One of her legs hooks around yours, pulling you even closer, and you groan into her mouth.

Her hands frame your face now, thumbs stroking your cheeks as she kisses you deeper, slower, like she's trying to memorize every second. You respond in kind, pouring everything you can't say into the kiss—how beautiful she is like this, how real, how perfectly she fits against you.

When you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen. You rest your forehead against hers, sharing the same air, neither of you willing to move away.

"Still thinking about the book?" she murmurs, voice husky.

You answer by catching her lower lip between your teeth, gentle but playful, and feel her smile against your mouth.

Her smile against your mouth turns into a soft laugh. "I'll take that as a no."

‘Take it as whatever you want.’ Your lips find her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. ‘I stopped thinking about the book long ago.’

She hums contentedly, her fingers tracing patterns on the nape of your neck. ‘Good.’ Her other hand is still tangled in your shirt, keeping you close. ‘Because I have a confession.’

‘Another one?’

Instead of answering, she kisses you again, slow and deep. Her tongue traces your lower lip, and you respond by pressing her further into the wall, swallowing the small sound she makes. One of her legs is still hooked around yours, and when she shifts slightly, the new angle makes you both gasp.

‘That wasn't a confession,’ you murmur against her lips.

‘No?’ Her teeth graze your earlobe. ‘I thought I was being pretty clear.’

Your hands slide to her waist, steadying her. She's intoxicating like this, all careful control abandoned, her public persona nowhere to be found.

‘Jimin,’ you breathe, and feel her shiver at the sound of her real name.

Her response is to pull you closer, kissing you like she's trying to say everything without words. Her lips are soft but certain against yours, and you lose yourself in the feeling—the warmth of her body, the subtle scent of her perfume.

The city continues its nighttime symphony outside, but in here, the only sound is your shared breathing and the soft, desperate noises she makes when you find that sensitive spot on her neck again.

She pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. In the dim light, her gaze is soft, unguarded. Her thumb traces your lower lip.

‘What?’ you ask, voice rough.

‘I'm trying to decide something.’

"Whether to throw me off the balcony? Because I thought we moved past—"

She cuts you off with another kiss. Her hands cup your face, holding you there as she explores your mouth with a thoroughness that makes you dizzy. You respond by feeling her firm and perky ass.

‘No—,’ she moans when you break apart for air. ‘I'm trying to decide if this is real.’

Instead of answering, you trail kisses down her neck, feeling her pulse jump under your lips. Her head falls back against the wall, giving you better access. When you reach her collarbone, she makes a sound that's half-sigh, half-moan.

‘Feels real enough,’ you murmur against her skin.

Her laugh is breathy, unsteady. ‘I meant—’ She gasps as you find a particularly sensitive spot. ‘I meant this. Us. This whole night.’

You lift your head to look at her. Her lips are swollen from kissing, her carefully styled hair a mess from your fingers. She's never looked more beautiful.

‘If you think I did all of this for the fun of it, you’re clearly missing something.’

‘A gear in the head?’

‘Definitely—’

‘Gosh, how do I allow this sort of petulance?’

‘Because it’s me.’

‘You’re a player.’

‘Only for you.’ You catch her lips, even more wanting—and she forfeits it all. 

You pick her up, mussing up her perfect outfit, mussing up her perfect lips. And you finally throw her against the bed.

‘You’re really roughing up Prada’s global ambassador.’

‘And ambassador to a dozen other brands worth billions—couldn’t care less.’’ 

She smirks, and her arms open, waiting, pliant, obedient.

You rip off your buttoned shirt, tear off your pants; now, there’s truly no way of going back.

‘Wow. That scar is a lot larger than I imagined.’ She’s referring back to the scar that you received during that drunk haze of a night.

‘It was dark. Might’ve even been a lion.’ 

‘Mm. Heroic. Come here.’

Now, who could ever resist that?

You rip off her clothes, each layer even more decadent than the other. And then, she was there. bra barely containing her breasts, and a layer of dampness along her sexy panties.

‘That was expensive, by the way.’

‘I’ve got a payment plan on course.’

‘Mm. Enlighten me.’

You pull her panties to the side.

She’s dripping wet, nectar spooling right on her pink core. A glorious sheen that makes you stare far longer than you should’ve. She’s red-faced at this point, and her forearms cover most of her sight, and yet, she doesn’t move, doesn’t retreat. 

The first lick you place, just a brush against her engorged clit, crumbles every self-regulated triangle-approved behavior she has. Two pants turn fifty, one lick crumbles everything. Her hips coax you in ways gymnasts can’t even replicate, and of course, you oblige.

Soft licks, teases around her outer lips, swollen from all the anticipation and arousal; tonguing at her inner lips, just at the crux of her clit, gets her screaming in ways her deep voice would never register; and above all, she’s orgasming, squirting, losing every pretense in favor of her built up lust. 

‘Oh~fuck—’

Her fingers find purchase in your hair, and she softly pulls you in—rides your face like it was all that she ever desired: her eternal wish.

‘Ohmygod! Imcumming!’ Her voice turns mousy, and her pupils go back in pure pleasure, coupled with hip movements thought impossible: this was the greatest pleasure of her life.

You grab her chin, squeeze softly, her cheeks molding to your grasp, and you press a soft kiss right on her kiss-bruised lips. You let her taste herself on your tongue.

‘Good. Right?’

And she nods. A complete personality switch from the playfulness she displayed earlier. Delicate.

Her hands land on your boxers as she melted into your kiss. Once you felt her palm your cock, you groaned right in her ear. She starts softly, stroking. But her strokes grow more all-encompassing as you press harder into the kiss.

‘Fuck. You’re so good for me.’

She mewls back, on the gradient slide of unadulterated pleasure.

Softly, you release your shaft from the boxer. And you press your cock right on her core. Feeling the wet heat, the sticky nectar that pooled to a mindbreaking degree. 

‘It goes without saying.’

‘That I’m head over heels for you?’

You grin, ‘Well, that too, but you’re hopeless.’

‘Maybe if we weren’t so compatible.’

You grab a breast, palming it, ‘Well that, that too, goes without saying.’

She smiles, so warmly, every trace of everything else melted off her face––the sort of smile you’d never forget, and the sort of smile you’d want to wake up to… forever.

Finally, you press into her, and her wet heat envelops you, enough to make you groan, enough to make her moan like there’s no greater pleasure––because really, there’s nothing else.

Her pussy clings onto you, a wet suction that is immeasurably soft and yet, a vacuum-seal-like tightness that gets you groaning after every thrust.

Her arms cling to you, and her eyebrows knit, her small face full of emotion—all of it processing how good you fuck her.

‘Oh god. Would it be bad that I want you to declare to the world that you own me?”

‘Chapter 12—’

She cuts you off, ‘Something along the lines of: “Chapter 12: Karina is my fuckslut”’ 

‘I don’t tolerate Karina disrespect.’ You say, truthfully.

‘Even if it’s by myself?’

‘Especially for that case, sweetheart.’

‘Oh… you’re too good.’

‘You’re blind.’

Most popular idol in the world, and… she’s hopelessly down bad for you.

‘If I’m blind. Then you don’t have eyes—complete darkness.’

‘We’re two of the same.’

‘I’m your biggest fan.’

‘We’re two of the same.’

‘I love you.’

‘You have a way with words, Karina.’ You reply, pressing soft kisses along her jaw, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, thrusting into her harder, sharing breaths.

‘You’ve inspired me.’

And you lock lips with her, the thrusts were becoming a blur, and her moans music to your ears—it was all just… heaven.

There was no technique. Nothing too purposeful. It was all just pure affection, pure love guiding all your actions. And the fact that she’s cumming again was no coincidence.

‘Oh. My. Fucking. God!’ Her head goes back deep into the pillow and you follow suit. Pressing soft kisses that covered every square centimeter of her beauty, kisses that made her giggle even in her most orgasmic moment of her life. 

‘If I knew anything that felt like this… I’d be doing it constantly.’

‘Well—’

‘That’s right,’ Karina gives a soft peck, ‘I have you now.’ 

You could feel her heartbeat, her skin precipitate, and her cunt pulse—it’s just heaven at this point. 

‘Are you trying to convince me to follow you?’

‘2 years, finest in New York.’

‘Deal. Though you overbid a little.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Means anything you want, dear.’

The soft slick of her cunt made it nearly frictionless, just pure pleasure for both parties. Her hips gave way every time, an identity of its own, retreating when you thrust too hard, giving in when softer.’

‘Is this like a sugar mommy situation?’

‘Two words I never expected you to say.’ You both share a laugh.

‘I mean that’s what it is right?’

‘A power imbalance? Please. I can get you to buy a New York penthouse for me at this point.’

‘Well. You’re right. But—’

You bring your cock to the hilt inside of her, whilst stealing her lips for a deep kiss. She moans and mewls and gasps—music to your ears. You change positions. You bring her legs to your shoulders, and you begin kissing along her ankle while thrusting inside of her.

This time, you can see the full view. How her breasts bounce against the thrusts, how her slick has completely covered your entire length at this point, and how beautifully her face is framed between it all. 

Her mouth’s agape, moaning, giggling intermittently with the jokes shared through eye contact. You bite softly at her ankle then down her legs, to her calves, then releasing her legs altogether to kiss her again.

She fits perfectly against you, small and delicate but the perfect puzzle piece under you. She’s absorbent, aware of your needs, placing soft kisses along the ridges of your eyebrows, rubbing away the day’s fatigue along your jaw and temple. 

‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

‘I didn’t hear.’

You press against her, feeling her breasts spool against your chest, bring your thrust to the hilt, the wetness of her loins pressed against yours, all of them vividly apparent. ‘I love your beauty. I love your humor. I love how clever you are. I love how authentic you are. And I could continue on and on but I’m about to cum.’

Karina sniffled, ‘God, I was about to cry and then you say that.’ She softly smacks your shoulder, ‘just cum inside me and let’s cuddle.’

You oblige, the thrusts turn into a haze of pure pleasure, a desperate moment chasing the local maxima, and finally, you burst inside of her. Cum spooled, all inside her, and she moans so gracefully, staring at you with all the affection in the world.

‘We can worry about this tomorrow.’ She palmed your jaw.

‘Of course.’ You fall onto her, cuddling her.

Both of you are a mess, gross, bodily fluids spread everywhere, and yet, the both of you fell into a deep slumber.

A/N: I'd like to apologize for switching up styles so much (But if you enjoyed this dialogue-heavy work, then lmk!)

[adieutristana]

aftercare headcanons; arcane women x fem! reader

dipping my toes into nsfw stuff… i doubt i’ll ever write anything about the act of sex itself but i thought this would be sweet

summary; headcanons of what aftercare would be like with arcane women and fem! reader.

characters included; jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn.

tags/warnings; fluff, no explicit nsfw, but VERY suggestive, praise, mentions of smoking, mentions of drinking, mentions of poor mental health

men and minors dni.

jinx;

✧.* jinx is very energetic somehow. several rounds, and she’s still bouncing off the walls? of course, she’s breathless and flushed, droplets of sweat on her body, but she’s somehow just as chaotic as ever. it’s like nothing changed. also very giggly. sex gives her a rush, and she’s feeling the effects of that especially after the fact.

✧.* a tease. she’ll tell you how good you did for her, how much she loved hearing those pretty sounds you made, but she didn’t know you were that desperate. or how you were so quick to give into her bratty tendencies, indulging her with just one look of those shimmering magenta eyes. the way she begged and teased you and commanded you even while submissive doing unimaginable things to you. you couldn’t help yourself, could you?

✧.* “am i just that irresistible, huh, toots? it didn’t take much to rile you up.”

✧.* incredibly touchy. it’s no secret that jinx loves the physical contact, she needs to be somehow touching you at all times. it gives her a sense of peace, knowing you’re there and you’re real and you love her. in several ways, you serve as jinx’s sanctuary without even meaning to.

✧.* so during aftercare, she’s clinging to you, brushing stray strands of hair out of your face, pressing warm kisses to your lips, tangling your limbs as she holds you from behind, resting her head on your shoulder. taking you into her lap and holding you impossibly close to her chest as she whispers sweet nothings to you.

✧.* you’re gonna have to redo her braids. they’re a right mess after your activities, and while jinx isn’t particularly bothered by that, she’ll pretend she is. secretly, she just loves the feelings of your hands on her scalp, fingers carefully combing through her locks and braiding it.

✧.* no doubt you’re left with several bite marks and hickeys afterward. on your neck, collarbones, chest, inner thighs… sitting there and admiring her work as you’re laid beside her. just admiring her masterpiece, she says.

✧.* “what, you fancy yourself some sort of artist?” you’d tease.

✧.* “the best damn artist there is.”

✧.* even though she’s super energetic, i do think jinx would like being doted on during aftercare. run her a warm bath (she’ll demand you get in, though), get her a glass of water, maybe even make her something to eat. she won’t verbalize it, but her soft smile will make it clear that jinx appreciates it.

✧.* strangely chatty as well. jinx loves talking to you, that’s not out of the ordinary. but during aftercare, she just wants to talk, and talk, and talk. praise you, and praise you, and praise you.

vi;

✧.* out like a damn light. it takes a lot out of vi, so she’ll be able to manage staying awake for a few minutes maximum. holding you in her arms, laying her head on your lap- either way, she falls asleep rather quickly.

✧.* on the odd occasion that vi isn’t tired after your activities, she’ll pull you into her lap and just… stare at you. admire you. it may sound weird, but vi is just incredibly glad to have you. she considers herself lucky. she just wants to look at you.

✧.* “don’t mind me, baby. you’re just so damn pretty.”

✧.* one or both of you is sore after the fact. run vi a bath when she wakes up, maybe with some epsom salt. she might grumble about getting in, claiming she doesn’t need to be taken care of, but seeing her muscles relax as she eases into the warm water tells you everything you need to know.

✧.* if it’s you who’s sore, vi has methods for treating that. being a fighter, someone with strength like she does, she’s pulled many muscles in her life. she’s got a muscle relaxing cream, ice, hell, she’ll (try to) give you a massage. anything to make you feel better. she does worry, after all.

✧.* you’re marked to hell and back. vi just adores seeing proof of her love on your body. however, she’ll be a bit embarrassed if you go out in public with them. in her mind, those marks are for her eyes only. queue vi tossing you a turtleneck or a scarf, or asking if you could try to cover it with makeup.

✧.* holds you close to her while she sleeps. vi needs that feeling of security and the reassurance, she always says that she sleeps better when you’re with her. her slow breaths against your bare chest, sturdy arms wrapping around your waist, grumbling softly in her sleep about… something. you can’t quite make it out.

✧.* “sleepy… you gonna hold me while i drift off?”

✧.* probably takes a swig or two out of a flask after the fact because i think vi would become a bit self-conscious afterward- not necessarily insecure, but more self-aware. if that makes sense

✧.* the morning after especially, vi is soooo so clingy. now that she’s fully awake and functioning she’s peppering kisses all over your face and neck, holding you close to her, telling you how amazing you were the night prior. how much she loves you.

✧.* will probably insist that you stay in bed so she can make you breakfast. she’s a surprisingly good cook, after having to fend for herself and her little sister at such a young age.

✧.* vi is just caring. she wants to be gentle to you after the fact.

mel;

✧.* the sweetest, most doting woman during aftercare. mel prefers things to be slow and sensual, to profess her love to you. aftercare is no different.

✧.* taking you into her lap or vice versa, putting her head in the crook of your neck, slow, lingering kisses that leave your head spinning, running her soft hands through your hair, little praises whispered into your skin as she kisses your face, your neck, your collarbones..

✧.* mel goes the entire nine yards to make sure that you feel taken care of. she’ll run a bath for you and even toss in flower petals. she’ll grab you water even if you don’t ask for it, she’ll ask you if you need anything- a towel, tea, a meal. even if you insist that you’re okay, mel will probably do almost all of those things for you. it’s just in her nature to want to help people, why would she not want to take care of her girlfriend?

✧.* “are you sure you don’t want me to brew some tea? you look tired, dearest.”

✧.* probably will want to read afterwards. she’ll have you snuggled in her lap or laying on her chest with her back slightly propped up, reading a novel in silence, basking in your presence. mel is focused, but it’s clear that your company makes all of the difference. she’ll read out loud to you if you ask her, but she thinks you’ll fall asleep if she does. (don’t worry if you do, she finds it cute)

✧.* mel is just so attentive. she never wants you to feel as if you aren’t loved by her and she’ll do absolutely anything you ask her for. she knows how tired you must be, and despite her own exhaustion, she’ll do whatever possible to help you wind down. she’ll open a window if you need fresh air, she’ll get you fresh blankets, help you straighten up your hair, anything.

✧.* probably lights a few candles if she didn’t already, before intimacy. her room always smells incredible.

✧.* doesn’t seem like the type to leave marks to me, she’d just tire you out and vice versa.

✧.* “just one more kiss, darling. oh, who am i kidding? plenty more.”

✧.* just whispering so many sweet nothings against your skin- your chest, your neck, anywhere. soft praises like, ‘you’re so beautiful, dearest,’ or ‘you’re incredible,’ things of that sort. her voice is smooth like honey and just as sweet.

✧.* at least you’re not too worn out. mel is merciful and won’t push you beyond your limits, much preferring the intimacy and slowness. taking her time with you and enjoying it for what it is, enjoying you for what you are. aftercare is arguably her favorite part.

sevika;

✧.* yeah… good luck walking after the fact. at the very least, sevika will make sure to get you anything you need. water, definitely. maybe cough drops to ease your throat. a towel, a little something to keep you fed. she doesn’t say much during these acts, but it’s clear that sevika cares and wants you to feel the best you can.

✧.* just very, very gentle towards you. after making sure you’ve got all your bases covered in terms of care, she’ll lay down next to you, lighting a cigar and humming. looking over at you every now and again, just admiring your face. her eyes filled with warmth and a slight smile playing at her lips, sevika absolutely adores you. gods, how did she get so lucky?

✧.* actually pretty clingy. sevika will ask that you let her spoon you, sit on her lap, rest your head on her chest as you listen to the soft thrumming of her heartbeat. something. it grounds her in the moment and a moment of stillness, away from the constant chaos and disorder of her day-to-day life. she really doesn’t care how sweaty you are or how messed up your hair or makeup or (what’s left of) your clothes, she just wants to be close to you.

✧.* “come on, pretty girl. you gonna leave me all by myself over here, hm?”

✧.* on the subject of having trouble walking, sevika does not want you to move off the bed, the couch, wherever. if you really need to get up to get something, she’ll get it for you. if you need a bath, she’ll run it and carry you, gently setting you down in the tub. your muscles will no doubt be sore in the morning and fatigue will take you, the last thing that sevika wants is for you to put your body through even more.

✧.* “relax, dove. i’ve got ya covered, just let me take care of you, okay?”

✧.* sevika does get pretty tired herself, but she’ll draw her energy out as long as possible to get a little more time with you. when sleep does take her, though, she’s clinging to you and she’s out. have fun waking her up in the morning.

✧.* smells of cigar smoke, maybe a bit of whiskey and of course, sweat. but it’s strangely charming. sevika has a way of making everything work, and it’s the way she’s so confident that makes you fall for her over and over again. maybe clean her up a bit, though.

✧.* she won’t admit it, but she will enjoy if you look after her at least a little bit. even if it’s just wiping her down with a towel or running your fingers through her dark hair while giving her sweet little compliments.

✧.* the morning after is slow, and she’ll undoubtedly be up later than you are. brew her a cup of coffee, maybe press your lips to her forehead delicately to wake her up. sevika will be more than appreciative.

caitlyn;

✧.* also very attentive. she does want to take care of herself, so she’ll get herself freshened up in the shower (and invite you in), make sure she’ll be somewhat presentable in the morning. but she also does want to take care of you. she’ll be so clingy. brushing your neck and jawline and cheeks with plush lips, humming into your skin.

✧.* probably not very talkative. the silence isn’t awkward or tense, instead it’s comfortable. caitlyn will let her actions speak for her instead of speaking, although she does make sure to give a few gentle compliments to you.

✧.* “you did so well, you know that? yeah, absolutely amazing, darling.”

✧.* caitlyn probably put on a record before taking you, crackling, soft music filling the room during and after. it’s relaxing to her, being able to relax to music and enjoy your presence while you’re cuddled up next to her. staring into lapis eyes, smiling so softly. it brings caitlyn both tranquility and joy simultaneously, something she didn’t know she could feel before meeting you.

✧.* please brush through caitlyn’s hair, maybe even massage her scalp a little or wash her hair. she will positively melt under your touch, tense shoulders dropping and a sigh escaping her.

✧.* very smiley afterward. not a cheesy grin or full, toothy smile, but just something soft. you can tell just how content she is by one look at her face, especially while she’s looking at you. coming to cup your cheek and run the pad of her thumb over it, the corners of her lips tugging upwards.

✧.* caitlyn waits until you’re asleep to go to sleep herself. whether that be you in her arms, her in your arms, she doesn’t have a preference. caitlyn just wants to know that you’re okay, you’re resting well before she indulges herself in the same thing. yes, she does want to take care of her own needs, but she’s particular about this.

✧.* doesn’t matter how late it gets or how tired she is, she’ll force herself awake. probably not a healthy choice, but it’s what she does.

✧.* although i said she wouldn’t be very talkative during aftercare, she probably will whisper to you while you sleep. maybe the fact that you’re at peace is what prompts her to do it, maybe it’s that you look so damn cute.

✧.* “tired you out, did i? mm… that’s okay. i like having you like this, honestly.”

[carbonfiction]

Dark Desires

older, best friends dad!Logan x reader

summary: a week ago you found yourself drunk texting your best friends dad; something that should've been a mistake, but you were sure in that drunken moment that Logan would know everything you'd kept from him all those years. You'd been thinking about it for longer than you'd care to admit; adding to the fantasy. so what happens when logan finally indulges you..

warnings: Swearing, dirty talk, F!Receiving oral, PIV smut, prone bone and missionary, Somnophilla (technically??), daddy kink, roleplay?? pussy sniffing?? Kind of voyeurism? But the person is very much asleep. Also tagging this for dubcon but it’s more pre established consent/free use and slight CNC vibes depending on how you view it? Tagged this the best i believe i can but ultimately you are responsible for your media consumption.

A/N: i don't know where this came from, other than i had a glass of wine and a naughty thought. i tried real hard on this and its a little darker than i usually write- not to mention longer- but i hope yall enjoy a filth filled piece of my intoxicated brain anyway. Et voilà.

Masterlist Words: little over 4k (oop- longest thing ive ever written.. i got carried away..)

Your heart is hammering away inside of your chest so insistently that it feels like your ribs are bruised and your breasts are trying to punch their way out of your dress.

You're still wearing the stupid thing and Laura is drinking another mimosa. Part of you is grateful for that. Yet while you want her drunk and snoring tonight, part of you can't help trying to stop her.

You make eye contact, give her the look. Tell her to slow down because you two have been down this road before. She gets wild, has fun for half an hour, and then spends the rest of the night dizzy in a bathroom asking deep philosophical questions like why do my eyes hurt? And why do guys suck? And do i still have puke in my hair?

But if she's drunk tonight, just enough to sleep like the dead, then what?

You set your own drink aside to check your phone for what feels like the hundredth time this hour and lift a shaky thumb to your texts.

You've read the thread again and again and again, and still you don't quite believe it. The party swirls around you. A hurricane of sound and the smell of cocktails is sour in your nose. You feel the heat of your friends, your fellow graduates. one day lawyers, doctors, professors, professionals in their field; and yet here you are reading over the texts again.

You feel like a little girl and yet simultaneously the most grown of women because you have a secret, a dirty little secret.

You were nearly as drunk as Laura is now when you sent the first text a week ago. You were celebrating the end of finals and you were curled up in bed after a long night out.

One of your other friends had flirted with the bartender. You'd told the girl to stop and Laura had reached from her stool and pinched your leg. Asking if you'd ever needed something so badly that you actually made a bad decision.

Everyone had laughed, all except you.

You know she was teasing and complimenting in the same breath. You're a good girl and everybody knows it. Reliable, honest and never involved with the wrong kind of guys.. Always a reason to why you were too busy to bother. You were studying, too busy hanging out with Laura. Too busy prepping for school, internships and the next two decades of your life.

You're no angel, although of course, no one was. You've had your share of regrettable hookups and disappointing boyfriends, but nothing that set your world alight. Nothing worth risking anything for.

But maybe what Laura had said thread under your skin more than you'd like to admit. Maybe you were just drunk enough to ignore the obvious risk.. Or was it that you'd been thinking about him for an indecently long amount of time?

So with finals over, diploma practically in hand. There was nothing preventing years of pent up lust from sending a jolt down between your legs, setting a crackling fire in your heart and making you sweat. Dripping down your neck, stomach, that spot on your lower back, they all tingled as you crouched on the corner of your bed and wrote a single text.

You: I need something.

You sent it. Had forced yourself to before you chickened out and immediately regretted it. You thought you'd worded it in such a way that you could play it off, pretend it didn't happen.

But you were sure in that drunken moment that Logan would read those three words and know everything you'd kept from him all those years. Every dirty thought, every horny fantasy, everything.

It was all right there in the text. 2am on a Thursday night and truly it could only mean one thing. You put the phone down, tried to make yourself go to sleep.

Logan was an older man with a life. A job, house and a child- your best friend- and you were sure he wouldn't even see the stupid thing until the morning when you could say you meant to message Laura. Not him, not her father. But then you picked up the phone again, half panicked and ready to change your mind, when you'd saw those little dots.

That meant he was writing something back, at 2am on a Thursday night, either in bed or his limo.

Logan: You need to go to sleep

Of course.. Responsible. That was the responsible thing to do. And you would do just that. But first you'd just write a quick text to apologize. Say it was the wrong number and sleep this off; pretend it didn't happen for the rest of your lives.

But.. what if, for once in your life, it could be easy? What if Logan did know everything? What if.. There was something else? Because that was how this all started, hadn't it?

You'd always felt something more, saw something different in his worn eyes, his gruff demeanor. Heard something he was saying when he really wasn't saying anything at all.

Or.. Was it all in your head? Was this only ever a one way infatuation? A young woman's crush, a dark fantasy that only grew darker with each new kink you discovered in yourself? Losing all confidence, you texted back.

You: sorry. Wrong number.

And that was that- or it should've been that- If it was only ever a one way street. You put the phone down, tried desperately to keep your eyes closed, but the moment you heard the phone buzz again you peek.

Logan: Is that true sweetheart?

Oh no, no. it wasn't true at all. You knew he knew exactly who'd texted and why; what you wanted him to do. You'd been thinking about it for years. Adding to the fantasy. Soaking your sheets in the middle of the night when you couldn't sleep, all that brought a temporary relief. If only for a little while; So, you text back.

You: No

Just that. A simple No.

Logan: You telling a lie?

You: Not exactly

Logan: So you wanted my attention then?

You: Wanted? No Logan.. Need.

And yes, you know need is a very strong word.

Logan: You feel very strongly about that huh? Strong feelings can be dangerous sweetheart.

You: what if i want something dangerous.

You answered back with the most honest thing you could say. And then there was a pause, a very long pause, in which you could see no dots, and even started to wonder if he'd abandoned you. Left you on read.

A thousand images erupted in your mind, different versions of him sitting and staring at your number- your words. Those cheap reading glasses perched on his nose as he wondered if this was some kind of game.

But if it was a game.. Logan was ready to play and after a few minutes your phone dings again.

Logan: you're being a real bad girl tonight, aren't you?

And then it wasn't your best friend's father you were texting. Well, it very much was- that was the crux of it, wasn't it? But now it was also the man. The man on the other side of the phone who was paying close attention.

You: Yes, daddy. very, very bad.

Now, In the darkness of his daughter's room, You imagine colors swirling on her ceiling. Your heart restless like a caged animal and there is a knot in your stomach twisting tighter and tighter by the second.

You don't know how long you've been lying here. 5 minutes or 5 hours. But you know you can't possibly wait another moment... But then you do, because you have to.

You haven't heard from Logan all day and that makes you afraid. Really genuinely afraid that He's forgotten or changed his mind.

Because, well, it's just you and Laura in here, isn't it? You're lying on the floor, a lumpy pillow under your head, and a spare, slightly musty blanket folded under your breasts.

Laura is snoring away in her bed, her limbs tangled with a stuffed animal almost the size of her- one you'd won her from a carnival. It was like old times, she slurred drunkenly. The three of you huddled together in her bed, giggling and watching some crappy reality show.

She'd tried to get you to join her and the animal in the bed, but you'd said no. Insisted that it was too hot tonight. That you'd rather be able to spread out on the floor. Fortunately, by the time you made it up to Laura's room, she was too far gone to argue.

Unfortunately, now though, there's a very drunk girl in her bed beside you, a possible witness to your depravity. And so you lie there, staring at the ceiling and forcing yourself not to text. Not to call. To just ignore the nagging doubt in your gut.

And yet again, you still find yourself opening the text thread. Reading through the things you told him, the things he'd told you. A formed plan and line after line of you promising things. All of the 'Yes, daddy I want this' the 'Please do that to me' The repetitive 'ill be a good girl, Promise' And then, at the very bottom, a safe word. It was when you'd agreed on the safe word that you knew this was for real. Not a fiction in a book or a fantasy playing out in a movie.

The word. Kitty. An inside joke from years ago. The word proof that all the little confidences and conversations held an attraction you were both willing to hide for the sake of decency

But.. you don't want to be decent anymore. You'd confided your fantasy, one that you had dreamt so many nights. Wished for it in the hot, comfortable haven of Laura's bed every time you'd stayed over. The thought of her older, attractively gruff father coming to you in the night and making you submit to his secret lust.

Of him pulling your panties to the side while Laura slept untroubled. Logan ravishing you while you whispered and mewled 'please, daddy, make me your filthy slut'

You've always been his filthy slut, haven't you? Deep In your heart. The thought is turning the wet spot between your legs into a soggen menace. You've been horny before, You've been needy before, but never like this- because you've never tried something like this.

Never wanted something badly enough to ask for it; or even beg for it. This was a dream, a dirty desire, a secret yearning never to be true.

Then you'd drunk texted. You told him and he'd responded, not with shock or disgust, but enthusiasm, cautious enthusiasm. But it was still only text messages. You haven't spoken to him yet, not properly at least. Even when you saw him walk in at the party, or in the limo on the way back to Laura's. You couldn't bring yourself to say a word. Your mouth was so dry, cheeks so hot. Laura had laughed and said you were flushed in the backseat- a lightweight to end all lightweights- when in fact you haven't had a drop to drink tonight.

You're going to throw your phone at the wall, you swear it. But No, that would probably wake her up. Instead, you conclude that you're going to find your pants, and you're going to leave this house and never come back. You love Laura but you can't bear it, can't believe you trusted him with this. You can't lie here and torment yourself about your decisions a minute longer about your need.

Then, your heart leaps into your throat. phone dropping onto your chest with a soft thud. Quickly you brush it off and turn onto your stomach. Your head hitting the pillow, eyes squeezed shut and pulse racing like you've run a marathon.

Through your closed eyelids, you see the glow of the hall light from the open door, only for it to vanish moments later. Either the door has closed or the light's been turned off, but you're not sure which because blood is racing so loudly in your ears. Breath escaping in overwhelming gasps.

Do you hear calculated heavy footsteps or is that your imagination? You struggle to listen for Laura. Is she awake or still sleeping? The tension so tight in your chest that you begin to feel dizzy, almost nauseous. Then comes the creak of the floor at the foot of your makeshift bed, the unmistakable presence of another person in the room, their eyes on you.

You can't stop your body from trembling slightly as the sheet is softly yanked away. Adrenaline courses through your veins, making your body buzz with anticipation.

Your legs are bare the cool air of Laura's bedroom. You're laying on your stomach. Face pushed into the pillow, eyes clenched shut as if you're locked into a deep, drunken sleep- like you should be.

Your legs are splayed out, dark lacey panties riding up the crevice of your ass. One of your ass cheek's indecently exposed... then a rough touch caresses over the swell of that exposed cheek, two big exploring hands, gliding over you.

You hear the grunt of a man, and you know it can only be Logan. He's the only other person home.

Your heart is beating so hard you're afraid you're going to pass out. Laura is on the bed, sleeping mere feet away, and her father is groping you in your supposed sleep.

So the question becomes: are you dreaming now? or are you praying this is as far as he'll go?

when Logan pull's the fabric of your panties to the side, you know he's willing to go much further. He's quiet in the darkness around you, but he's big and the house is old; the floor creaking and groaning as he readjust's his heavy weight.

Your panties are roughly hiked over one cheek of your ass, the sound of ripping lace filling your ears. Logan's hot breath roll's over your ass and the tremble in your limbs becomes a full shiver.

You can feel his scruffy face so close to your body, Feel his nose against the crevice of your ass as he roves lower. Dipping further until his mouth- his nose - is pressed into the folds of your bared cunt.

You hear how he inhales deeply, toes curling in response. Your fingers lay over Laura's spare pillow, the case tight in your grip. He's smelling you, nuzzling against your dampening skin not once, but many times. Lewdly breathing in your scent like a dog that's found something it likes.

His calloused hands spread you open so he can breathe deeper still and when hes as deep into your cunt as his face will allow, his wet tongue slides out to lick at you. You cannot stifle your moan at the feeling, immediately biting your lip to keep from growing any louder.

But with this the culmination of so many fevered late night fantasies, you dont know if you are dreaming.

His wide tongue laps at your swollen clit, swiping open the seam of your pussy and to the point just shy of your tighter hole. You hear logan growl into your wet slit like a monster unleashed from beneath the bed. Feeling how how his licks grow stronger, longer and twice as ravenous as he steadily turn your pussy into a drooling, dripping mess.

He laps at you in the quiet darkness of Laura's room, calculated and experienced as you fight to not to cry out. The pressure of an impending orgasm building so tight in your body that it feels time you woke up.

And so you take a deep breath, a rough gasped sound falling out too. Your fingers claw at the pillow as you flex your lower half.

"Hmm?"You grumble, pretending to bat away the cobwebs of sleep. "Wha-whats happening, What are you doing?" You ask, voice thick with mock confusion.

Within moments you feel Logan's tongue retreat from your pussy, a weight so much heavier than your own crawl over your half naked body. You feel him pressed tight against you, still clothed if the scratchy fabric tells you anything, but an unmistakable bulge is hidden inside. Hard and large against your ass you feel Logan's arm rub against your shoulder. A big hand sliding over your mouth.

"Quiet, sweetheart" he growls in your ear. "Daddy's had enough of your teasing"

Another large hand slides beneath your sleep shirt to cup your tender tits, The nipples diamond hard against Logan's palm. You cant help but moan into his hand as you plead.

"Please. Didn't mean to tease" its a wine, petulant in tone.

"Course you didnt.. Shame S' Too late now" he whispers against your ear, teeth biting into your earlobe. The hand on your breast trails down. Right the way down to his slacks.

"B-but Laura" You warn him in a whispered panic, hearing the sound of a zipper sliding down. you struggle teasingly, hips bucking back against him. Its not enough to cause a scene or enough to wake your sleeping friend- his sleeping daughter- but just enough to make him pin your body down. Enough for you to feel a fraction of his real strength.

Logan's muscles bulge from the effort of caging you against the floor and spreading your legs.

"Nuh uh, Stay still. Stay right where ive got you" he murmurs darkly in your ear, voice a low rumble. the words fire through you like liquid lightning as you bite into his palm, not to fight but to restrain a high pitched moan that you fear could wake the neighbors- not just Laura.

"nothing you can do now sweetheart, just gotta take it" Logan says and you hear the mocking smile in the words, feel the throb of his thick cock as it emerges from the confines of his pants. "Kept telling me you were a good girl, so show me"

With your stomach flat against the ground, legs spread wide beneath him, you can do nothing but tremble as his cock slips between your legs. The cock belonging to your best friend's father sliding deliciously across that little bundle of nerves that sparks a whimper of pleasure.

Your eyes roll back as Logans hips buck, cock brushing your clit again, running up and down your slit torturously slow. "fuuuck, you feel that? How hard you've got my cock?"

You're kicking your legs now, moving your hips. It could be viewed as a struggle but its not, not really, you're just so desperately excited you can't keep still.

"Don't need to fight me baby. Just let daddy in hm? let it happen sweetheart."

And then he's pushing inside your body in one heavy thrust; slow and impossibly deep. The weight of him inside your cunt making you mewl against his palm. All the years of secret yearning, wet fantasies and subtle flirtations have all led to this moment.

It doesn't take many thrusts before your tongue is rolling out of your mouth, licking wetly against his palm like a grateful dog- a bitch in heat. You try to use it to muffle the moan that follows, a pitiful sound mixed with pleasure, like you're ashamed to be in the situation.

Used and humiliated around logans cock.

Its push followed by retreat, a half thrust and then withdrawal over and over. "So fucking tight" Logan growls as you wiggle your ass, not certain if your trying to squirm further in to his grip or out.

He's stretching your walls apart, the burn of his size delicious with each heavy he offers. Each bringing a pulsing throb on your clit. "Yeaaaa, that's it, take it like a good girl.." he groans. "S' what you wanted isn't it."

Logans right, this is exactly what you wanted and more. His body trembles atop yours from the exertion, balls squeezed against your ass, his hand on and off clenching around your breast. His thrusts picking up in pace as you struggle and squirm to keep quiet even under his palm

"L-logan" you whimper as he pushes particularly deep, pussy squelching lewdly from your arousal, his hand barley muffling the word. He knows your close before you do, can feel your cunt clenching desperately.

"Getting fucked so good your gonna cum sweetheart?" he rasps in your ear, panting into it. "C'mon, tell daddy how good his cock feels."

"S-so good.. F-fuck yes daddy, please"

You whine and It is a struggle to pry his strong hand off your mouth to get the words out.

"Go on sweetheart. Cum, coat my fuckin cock. Show me this cute little pussy is mine"

and then his big hand clamps back over your lips as he begins to fuck you into the floor. Your orgasm crashes over you in burning waves. Every stroke becoming an ecstatic agony, overstimulation starting to buzz over your bones. Its a constant struggle to hold your moans and neither of you can move properly for the risk of waking Laura .

But Logans hips remain unrelenting, Fucking you prone on your friends floor. His balls swinging, swatting unbearably at your clit with every entry. The heat of him and being trapped against the floor is almost unbearable, but so is having to keep your whimpers quiet. sweat beads hot on your brow

you can hear his own desperate attempts at staying quiet. Broken only by muffled groans, grunts of exertion, and primal chesty growls as your cunt clenches wetly around him.

Yet the discomfort of overstimulation is no match for the absolute bliss of your submission. Your toes curling so hard you're on the verge of a cramp.

The friction between your clit, Logan's cock and the floor builds to an intolerable pressure. Something must give way. The temptation to lose all control and scream his name too great. Now that possibility of you blacking out is too dangerous to ignore. So you say it the word.

"Kitty!"

Not because you want to, but because in this moment you have to. Almost as soon as the word leaves your lips and sinks into the pillow, wet from saliva and tears, you feel his body shudder. muscles seizing while a heavy groan sounding out into the skin of your neck.

"you okay?" he pants softly worry creasing his brow. "Was it too much?"

Your wordless and it worries him. Making him pull back, cock slipping free with a hushed hiss as he helps you shift onto your back, so he can look at you properly.

Your hands rise, fingers caressing his scruffy cheeks. "M'okay" you pant, eyes on him. "wasn't too much. Promise."

No, in fact, It was just right- before it all overwhelmed you that is. Now? now you just want to hold him, make love to him. Hold onto something- someone that isn't really yours. Eye to eye, your mouth slides back over his, legs spread back open, ready to welcome his length back inside. Without a word you buck your hips down, beckoning him to fuck you again.

Things are much quieter this time. Pace slowed to deep grinds rather than shallow thrusts, pleasure once again coiling in your gut as you lean up to watch his cock disappear inside.

"Feel so good sweetheart, my good girl" he coos, lips against yours as his hand slips back to cup your breast. "My good girl with a fuckin perfect body"

You keep your eyes on logan, blissful smile across your face, and for this moment he's not your best friends father. Not with the way he's gazing down at you with a mixture of lust and long held affection. "always wanted you" he whispers, hand moving back from your breast to cup your cheek. "But I would have kept that secret forever.."

You squeeze him to your chest, heart stuttering at the admission as you lock your arms behind his neck, legs tight around logans waist. You whimper back his name, a plea on your tongue.

"Want you to cum logan.. Please, need to feel it"

You want it more than anything, to feel his cum pushed inside you; for it to drip out later as a downright filthy reminder. You kiss his neck, then cheek, and finally his lips. You want Logan to claim you right here on the floor, right under her nose and you know it makes you a bad friend. Your eyes roll back, hands clawing down his chest as you feel yourself giving up all thought to the rush that flows down the center of your body. The one that begins and ends in the wet, sticky place between your legs, Where the sensitive bud of your clit pulses like a dying star.

it's then he growls much too loud, and you respond back in a whimper, lips pressing tight as you cum together in panted kisses. Him pumping hot heady ropes of cum inside your cunt without reservation or regret as you clench in a vice grip around him.

Tomorrow you will be sore, you know it for a fact. But Tonight.. Tonight You can revel in a fantasy made flesh, your flesh and Logans wrapped around each tight. You drag weak fingers down through his damp hair, then his back, feeling the way his shirt is soaked through with sweat.

Logans panting has subsided by now, breaths no longer crackling besides your ear. He plants mouthy kisses at the juncture of your neck, ever so gently, like a sated wolf nuzzling at the muzzle of his mate. You giggle quietly as those kisses grow fiercer, teeth nipping at your neck.

"my good, great, naughty girl" he murmurs against your skin, voice soft. "you feeling okay sweetheart? sure it wasn't too much?"

You nod and he can feel the enthusiasm seep from the move as you grasp his face again. "Mhm, better than okay. Was perfect" you hum sleeplily, content in his hold, in the scent of him. Your eyes flutter, lashes tickling his cheeks as you kiss him long and deep, until the rub of his beard hurts your face and sleep begins to take you under.

You both know tonight was the culmination of so many fevered dreams. The breaking point of lust and its power that can't be fully expressed in words. So he holds you close- just as you do him in your rest- for a little while longer, until light begins to filter soft through the curtains and the reality of what you'd both done really begins to set in.

thats it!! lemme know what you thought anddddd yea! asks are always open to shoot the shit, drabbles and more! <333

[st4rbwrry]

𝓢𝓐𝓣𝓞𝓡𝓤’𝓢 𝓖𝓘𝓡𝓛.    satoru gojo.

ᰔᩚ warnings. 5.2k, fem!reader, professor!satoru x college student!reader, classroom sex cs duh, reader’s 23! & satoru’s 30!, oral ꒰ f + m ꒱, titty sucking, biting, size kink, voice kink, sub / dom dynamic, fingering, choking, spanking, lotssss of dirty talk omgie, multiple orgasms, pet names ꒰ lil’ girl (literally just a taunt), pretty, baby ꒱, roughhhhh sex ona desk, minors aren’t welcomed! reblogs + comments are greatly appreciated. ♡

꒰ mocha’s note ! ꒱ : got inspired by miller’s girl and wrote this in literally five hours. so, happy bday daddy. <3

he always knew there was something wrong with you. how could there not be? one, you’re deadly in the eyes. that he solidified the first day. always looking at him like you wanted to eat him. two, you're a mythical deity. stunning. you could be born in a different world for all he knew. sometimes he hated those voices that told him to stare at you. watch you watch him. velvet red hair cut in layers that reach the middle of your back. dermal piercing a few inches below your right eye, multiple on your ears, septum ring in your nose. your eyes are slanted like a cat, fluffy lashes enhance your features. your lips always look soft, darkly lined, and topped with a sheen of gloss. 

most days you dressed according to weather, or really whatever you felt comfortable in. yesterday, when going over the topic for an essay he wanted everyone to have written and turned in before spring break hit, you were different. just tuesday you were wearing oversized men’s jorts with a basketball jersey tied up to your back. now, when you walked into his classroom with less clothing than he’s ever seen you in, he had to question it. you looked nice. it wasn’t any of his business, maybe you could be going out later with friends. it’s not his business. 

what was his business was how you strutted up to his desk after you waited for every student to exit class. satoru sat in his leather chair, legs sprawled and hands clasped together in front of him as he leaned back into his seat. his eyes absentmindedly trail up and down your body full of curves and soft, ample skin. the tattoos on various areas of your body are more evident. the black prescription glasses sitting on the bridge of your nose as you chew your gum and hand over your essay. those short ass white ruffled shorts and a yellow crop top, without a bra, with green accents and black font that read ‘soulaan’ in the middle a distraction.

“hi, ꒰♡꒱. you’re always one of the few people who turn in their work early.” 

“what can i say, i was very passionate about this essay,” you twirl your finger within your necklace, scanning his entire face with flirtation. satoru hums, pretending not to notice. “i really put my entire soul into it, so please take your time reading it. it’ll mean a lot.” 

“must’ve been a really interesting dream of yours.” 

“you have no idea.” 

and you were fucking right. that night satoru went home and started his usual routine of getting comfortable, making dinner, and brewing some coffee so he’s wide awake to read over thirty student essays. luckily, he didn’t ask for much. they were given two options. their goal was to describe the perception of dreams or in detail, write a tragic fantasy story. most of the essays he read felt like middle school writing, frustratingly rubbing his temples as he graded multiple papers, trying to figure out why basic comprehension skills were lacking, even doubting himself as a teacher. he tries not to stay up for hours, flipping through papers and scribbling—until he sees your name on the corner. 

satoru sniffles, taking a sip of his coffee before he’s getting comfortable in his chair, sinking into it and beginning to read what you wrote about. you’ve always had a way with words, great formatting, expansive dictionary. when reading your dream, it felt like a real novel, like he was a part of it. then, he felt really a part of it, to a point where it was uncomfortable. the story has to do with a woman who aches for an intimate union with her lover, yet he’s withholding her pleasure, leaving her trembling on the precipice of desire in their lover's den. the greek god you describe as your lover is dominating. stunning facial features, starlight hair, and crystal blue eyes. the woman is feeble, urging him to see her, to yearn for her, to become one with her. abandoning her needs for his personal endeavors. 

with gentle touches that linger on the softness of her plush thighs, smoothing along her brown skin shining under the moonlight, she results in the sensual act of pleasuring herself. the help of her lover is nowhere to be found in the darkness where her body laid on milk-toned, silk sheets. leaving her to pursue the cavern flowing with burning, hot arousal. she finds herself daydreaming of what could’ve been as her delicate fingers find themselves sinking between her precious legs. trailing another hand to her throat which she clutches tight as if it were his. rolling her hips into her hand to grind on as if he were entering himself into her. dulcet whimpers escaping her throat as her body arches off the bed in ecstasy, mind swirling with pleasurable emotions and unforeseen desires. rocking her body upon the bed as if his heavy, big body hovered over her and lost himself in her. spanking herself as if it were him. chewing on her lower lip as if he were gnawing at them. orgasming with tiny whimpers and sobs as if he were the cause. him, him, him. . . 

the heat encasing satoru’s face could only sum up one feeling; arousal. the essay goes on for so much longer, conjuring up unwanted fantasies of a woman he promised to push back into the furthest parts of his brain. you were altering his mind. it was clear as day exactly who you wrote this for and about. him. what you wanted from him, the longing ache to have him. it’s enough to give him a migraine, cutting off his desk lamp before forcing himself to take a very cold shower. those words replay in his mind, the image becoming erotically more vivid. picturing your body atop of silk sheets where you’d fuck yourself out of pity. is that how he’s making you feel? edged? unsatisfied? whimpering in your loneliness? he’d never do that to you. 

satoru hates himself for needing to handle the painful hard on he’d gotten, head buried under the stream of water as his fist twists roughly around his aching dick, grunting at any image of your face coming to mind. it was a highly inappropriate thing to do. a professor and his student sleeping together? it’s all too cliche. you were a grown ass woman, so if teasing him by switching up how you dressed to purposely gain his attention, and writing erotic pornography was your way of showing him you needed him for one act, one day, one night of nasty ass sex . . what were he to do? you are a beautiful woman, and he’s always felt a source of attraction to you, but you weren’t worth jeopardizing his career for. it’d have to wait. 

the last day before spring break came and he was ready to confront you about your so-called ‘essay’. when he notices you walking into class, he tries to avoid staring at your attire; a really short black pleated skirt with a matching ed hardy tank top and glossy mary jane’s on your feet. gulping and keeping his focus on your eyes as he whispers, “stay after class. i need to talk to you.” 

you try to hide the smirk wanting to display upon your face, winking at him before nodding and finding your seat. class seems exceptionally longer today, finding yourself dozing off for most parts, shutting off your brain by doodling into your journal or making a grocery list for this weekend. pulling a sweet treat from your purse, you find a pink lollipop to distract yourself with, oral fixation getting to you. satoru almost chokes on his words when he catches you swirling your tongue mindlessly around your candy, being a fucking brat in his eyes. gently kicking your feet and resting your chin in your hand to keep yourself from sleeping. 

when the lecture ended, that’s when your heart began to race in excitement, and maybe a sheer sense of nervousness. curious to hear what he was going to say to you. making your way down the steep stairs of the class, you sit in the front row, plopping into a chair and crossing your legs as you look up at him, watching him say his final goodbyes as the class completely clears out. half of the campus was empty considering most students began making their way home, so really only fifteen students showed their faces today. 

satoru’s shoulders roll as he sighs, folding his arms in front of him. “so, ꒰♡꒱. . . i read your essay.” 

“uh huh, what’d you think?” you smile. 

“it's definitely something. very good writing, never doubted you on that. but, i do have some questions.” 

you snap your fingers before pointing them his way like a gun. “shoot!”

“you remember the topic of discussion, correct?” 

“wrote it down in bold,” you nod. 

“right, but, i think we went far off topic. as in, inappropriately.” 

“what are we, in high school?” you scoff. “i’ve read worse. i used to grade papers for teachers.” 

“i understand that. but it’s evidently not what i meant as far as the topic goes. in this dream of yours, the two characters are . .” he pauses, trying to figure out what to say. 

“fucking,” you finish for him, still sucking on your lollipop. 

satoru’s gaze flew there momentarily before finding your eyes again. “having intercourse, yes. i’m just having a hard time comprehending what you wrote.”

“why is that?” 

“how is it considered a tragedy?” 

“well, the woman couldn’t have what she wanted in the end. she was edged, given false hope from promises that were made to her. pleading for any form of gratification. why, as a man, deny your lover of acts that forever bonds their love?” 

you bat your lashes, eyes going wide as you word it so . . dreadfully. satoru inhales, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he squints at you. 

“so, she killed herself in the end, because she wasn’t gratified?” 

“as implied, yes. the pain of a woman, you’d never understand. it’s unbearable. feels like death, satoru,” a pained sigh emits from you as you hold your heart and shake your head. “ugh.” 

“꒰♡꒱,” satoru blinks, your games becoming unfunny. “was this dream something you recalled, or are you trying to imply something?” 

“dreams can’t always exist, unless you persuade yourself to make it real,” you respond firmly, making yourself as clear as you possibly can. 

“do you want it to be real?” 

“do you?” you counter. 

satoru pokes his inner cheek with his tongue, turning his attention away. “i-i can’t answer that.” 

“why not?”

“it’s just . . not in my position to answer that. it’s inappropriate.” 

“but, you felt it, right?” your voice grows softer.

he looks at you. “felt what?” 

“our attraction to each other,” your head slowly tilts to the side, eyeing him up and down, watching him slightly shift. “through that essay. what i want from you, what you’ve been wanting from me, professor satoru.” 

his jaw stiffens. “you’re essentially crossing a line.” 

“the only thing i’m crossing are my legs,” a loud pop! rings as you remove the lollipop from your mouth, looking at it before deciding to crack it in your mouth and tossing the white stick somewhere in the room. satoru’s fists clench whilst he admires your glistening legs. “you want them . . un-crossed? open?” 

“꒰♡꒱.” 

“mhm,” you moan after hearing your name desperately fall from his lips. he didn’t mean for it to sound that way, sucking in his breath as your fingers trail within your plush inner thighs. “it’s wet, professor satoru. see.” 

next, you spread your legs apart, lifting your skirt up some more so satoru can easily see the imprint of your cunt against the red fabric of your cotton panties, wetness sealing and sticking to you. 

satoru clears his throat, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck with a rough grunt, trying to contain himself from acting on his obvious desires. his polished loafers click amongst the tile as he strides quickly towards the classroom door, locking it and pulling the shade down so there would be no interruptions. he doesn’t know what he’s doing, he shouldn’t even react this quickly in fact. but he’s been pent up ever since last night, having such a hard time sleeping. only the thought of you glimmering in his mind. 

satoru takes a deep breath with shut eyes, hands sliding back into his slacks pockets as he leans against the desk, one foot crossed over the other, those once daydream blue eyes now staring maliciously in your direction. you bite your lip, slowly rising from your seat to strut towards him, hips swaying salaciously. 

your body brushes amongst his seductively slow, tits grazing his chest and arms that are tightly fitted into his baby blue button down, lips coming up to graze over his clenched jawline. your hand trails up his left arm, feeling the hair on his skin rise as your nails brush along his neck where a vein throbs violently, blood rushing. 

“don’t be so scared, i don’t bite. and i don’t tell.” 

in a swift move, you're hiking your body on top of the mahogany wood desk, kicking off your shoes and planting your feet flat on the surface, legs spread wide to allow him to slot himself between you. satoru’s vision remains unchanged, still staring at the seat you once resided in as he breathed heavily. your manicured foot skims up and down his strong arm, your short, bubblegum acrylics sliding into your mouth as you lewdly suck on your own fingers while mewling. satoru can see you in his peripheral vision, your hips shifting dauntingly, just waiting for him to react. 

“you already locked the door, what are you waiting for?” 

“for you to say it.” 

you grin. “say what, baby?” 

satoru scoffs, shifting in his spot from the sudden pet name, dick uncomfortably hard. “that you want me to fuck you, ꒰♡꒱. i need to hear it.” 

okay, you get it. lowering your leg from touching him, you go to grab his hand instead, the expensive watch on his wrist cold to touch as you guide him to touch the top of your thigh. “want you to fuck me like you've been needing to, satoru. please.” 

an unexplainable breath of air releases from him as he finally faces you, and seeing you spread along his desk like this felt like a hallucination. most of this didn’t feel real. maybe he was still sleeping? and if that was the case, there were no rules. his towering body slots between your thighs, glaring down at you possessively as he smoothes both his veiny hands up and down your thighs, tightening at your hips before sliding back up. going back down to apply pressure to your ass, then lowering his head to your pretty face. 

“gimme your mouth,” satoru rasps, clutching your neck to pull your face up before you oblige and lean in for a kiss first to feed his hunger. 

satoru grunts in your mouth, soft lips molding with your own in a passionate kiss. it’s slow, sucking on each other's lips before you’re sucking and moaning on his thick tongue, moaning into his mouth while he pants into yours. you suck on his lips, turning your head slightly to deepen the kiss, unbuttoning his shirt, desperate to feel the heat from his skin. then goes his belt, unraveling it along with pulling down his zipper, and that causes satoru to get aggressive with his mouth. kissing so rough it makes your pussy throb. 

“you taste so good, pretty,” he moans in between, turning your neck to the side to latch his lips and tongue on the flesh, your eyes rolling back as he found your sensitive spot. you gasp from the whimper he emits as he does it. 

“f-fuck,” you whimper, gripping his wrist as he suddenly sinks his teeth delicately into your skin, soothing it with a rough, slow swiped of his tongue before ending it with a kiss. 

he’s traveling to the other side to do the same, your hips rocking on the desk to try to get closer to him, his bulge only grazing your soaked pussy. you lift your hips and scoot closer, balancing yourself by gripping onto his shoulders to drag yourself against the outline of his dick. satoru moans from the motion, locking his right hand under your left thigh to raise higher so he could grind against you like you whimpered for, dry humping you as he continues to kiss you.  

soon, he’s lifting your top over your tits, eyeing them as they sit on your chest, barbells pierced into the dark skin of your nipples. it created a visceral response from him, shifting his hips to grind against you harder as if he’s fucking you slow, cocking his head to latch his full mouth around your tits. your head falls back as he pulls them into his mouth greedily, dropping your hips on him mindlessly. 

“satoru, you’re g’na make me cum too soon,” you whine into his ear, but he ignores you completely, almost growling like a dominant animal in heat as he locks you close. 

“g’na cum a few times fuckin’ me, so get over it,” he mumbles after releasing your tit with a lewd pop, switching his mouth to drop his tongue and enclose his lips over the other, tongue flicking with his hands slamming against the side of your ass falling bare of your skirt. 

satoru hisses a deep ‘fuck’ as you rotate your hips quicker, humping him like a bunny, an orgasm in fact happening. satoru picks up his pace, rolling his hips forward to match your rhythm, his eyes sparkling from your desperation. he’s leaking precum, and your slickness is drenching his briefs. 

“mgh, baby—fuck,” your tongue lolls out to lick and suck at the shell of his ear, biting gently on his earlobe as your knees buckle and you whimper while grabbing at his backside to pull him indefinitely closer. 

“lemme taste that shit,” satoru’s almost begging, your heavy breathing by his ear and inability to stop moving your hips fucking him up. he knows you taste as good as you look. 

you grip the edges of the desk as you nod, legs shakily raising as he roughly pulls your victoria’s secret thong with a blinged hemline off to finally see his other girl, lowering to his knees in worship. 

“she’s pretty as hell,” he whispers with an erotically drawn-out moan, licking his lips before he leaves open-mouthed kisses at your inner thighs, holding yourself open for him. he spanks your thigh hard, the hit making you squeak and stare at him with a stretched jaw and furrowed brows. “where’s that thank you, lil’ girl?”

“t-thank you, baby.” 

“mhm, that’s right,” now his lips are latching onto your sluice clit, hungry eyes piercing into your every emotion as you whimper pathetically and maintain eye contact you’re sure he wants. “fuck yes, baby. so fuckin’ good, girl. rock on my face.” 

sinking your teeth into your lips which you’re sure were bitten red and nearly chapped, you comply, gripping tight on the desk while your other hand tangles into tresses of white, swallowing and lifting your hips just like you were doing a few minutes ago. satoru’s thumbs are embedded into either side of your thighs, using only your pelvic muscle to shift into his mouth, his fat tongue hot on your pussy. 

“tongue so good, baby. nng,” your face scrunched up as he growls into your cunt, your inner thighs shaking when he slicks his face up and down your pussy, juices covering his chin. “right there, right there!” 

satoru keeps his mouth where you want it, focusing mostly on your engorged clit pulsating on his tongue, digging into and occasionally capturing it with his lips, his salvia drooling onto you as he moans, his eyes scrolling as you tug at his hair. 

“oooooo, fuck, yessss,” you didn’t mean to scream, but his attention on your clit gets distracted by his thick fingers sliding into your hole, twisting and thrusting two of them simultaneously. his jaw shifts quick, kissing and licking while he fucks you open. “ ‘t-toruuuhh.” 

“unh huh,” satoru continues to swallow you. “gimme that fuckin’ cream, baby. i want it all in my mouth. make me proud. atta girl.” 

you cry out, stomach heaving. “i love when you talk like that.” 

his fingers pull out to quickly spank your clit, your hips stuttering as he’s slipping them back in, pumping three to four times before taking them out again and spanking your clit again. “that’s what you like?” 

“y-yessss!” 

“fuckin’ sexy ass girl,” he spanks your outer thigh with vigor, coming to grab your throat once again, giving you a chaste kiss while he finger fucks you faster. “ain’t you? fuckin’ let me know. scream that shit out loud.” 

“i amm, ugh—god . . pleaseeee.” 

“go ‘head and cum, c’mon. gotta paint my dick pretty with it, yeah?”

“oh . . my . . g-goddd,” the way he talks to you makes you dizzy, and it’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of. his mouth is filthy, and when you cum hard for the second time, he makes sure you suck on his fingers to taste yourself. wrapping your lips around them to suck them clean before satoru’s sticking out his tongue to rush over your mouth along with his fingers, pulling them into his mouth to suck after. 

your eyes are drooped, feeling so fucked out without actually having him fuck you yet. who would’ve expected your professor to be this . . nasty? it’s like he’s been waiting for you to speak up so he can fulfill his own disgusting fantasies. safe to say, you made a good choice. 

satoru’s standing back to his full height, which never fails to make you ditzy from the size difference. you feel so small on this desk under him. 

“c’mere, move up all the way,” he’s now guiding you to turn your back to him, which makes you pout since you wanted to face him. he chuckles deeply at the audible disapproval, swatting your ass. “you’ll still see my face, greedy. be patient.” 

he positioned you on your knees on top of the desk facing a dusty chalkboard, spread eagle and hands pinned behind your back, almost curled up into a fetal position with your tits to your knees. satoru swallows, your pretty red hair falling angelically around your soft features as you wait for him to fuck you. his dick is throbbing in his fist he’s pumping it into, the shlick shlick noise leaving you anticipated as he uses your arousal as lube. he’s aligning the tip with your opening, teasingly rubbing the head up and down, the vein on the underside of his heavy dick throbbing. 

his other hand is keeping you pinned down at your hip, also lifting the flesh of your ass so he can slide into you. he’s pushing forward, choking on a moan the deeper he gets. you’re real tight, it being slightly difficult to push fully into you. words like ‘relax’ and ‘breathe baby’ utters painfully from satoru as he tries not to lose his shit at the sight of your pussy literally gripping his dick to pull back in after he slightly shifts back. when he’s halfway in, leaving the hand on your hip, he uses the other you lock your wrists behind your back, gyrating his hips to cock back and grind into you. 

“ooo, f-fuck,” you whimper, hands wiggling in his grasp, nails managing to scratch his arm. satoru watches the flesh of your ass bounce with every deep, slow thrust, pussy squelching. 

“see? look at the shit,” satoru comments to himself, knitting his brows together in fascination. “told ya’ it’d make it pretty,” 

“can’t see it,” you whimper, upset. 

“you can feel it, right? it’s stretchin’ that pretty girl open,” satoru moans gruffly, moving himself closer so his sharp hips hit your ass with every movement. he’s getting rougher, your skin nearly bruising from his hot touches, the bangles on your wrist clinking with each thrust. 

“i feel it,” you hiss, stomach caving in. “bet s’so pretty.”

“yeah? promise to give it a taste after?” 

“yeah,” you nod slowly, eyes tightly shut. “y-yeah. will, ‘toru.” 

“good girl.” 

gasps fill the air when he fucks you harder, balls slapping against your sticky clit as your ass recoils and claps back onto his abdomen. he’s got a deadlock on your posture, satoru’s face completely serious as he fucks you so, so rough. his sounds are animalistic compared to your own; whiny and soft. coughing out moans as you heave against the desk creating a spot of condescension. he’s so big hovering over you, bending you underneath him, papers falling off the desk while he rutted into you. skin clapping, moans synchronized, and sweat dripping. it’s the hottest fucking scene. 

“takin’ me so deep, baby. this shit feels so fuckin’ . . good, god,” satoru’s voice breaks, hitting you ass with a dirty grunt. “ungh, fuckin this pussy g’na get me in trouble.” 

“i n-need you,” you fight to break free from his grip, flipping your hair over to one side of your face as you sit up after he releases his grasp. “closer.” 

taking the initiative, you go to stand on your feet, back pressing to his chest as he clasps your throat, standing on your tiptoes to rotate and grind your ass back on his dick, stuffing you so full you feel it in your tummy.  

“that’s my girl,” satoru’s kissing your earlobe, pressing his cheek onto the side of your face as the two of you controlled your breathing together. “it’s your dick, take it. fuck that pussy how you want. i’m your fuckin’ toy.” 

“ssshit,” sucking your lips inwardly, you keep your hand on satoru’s wrist while your arm slings behind his neck to balance yourself, the ridges of veins on his dick scratching all the good, achy parts. 

“c’mon, girl, got me waitin’ too long,” without incoming, satoru spanks your thigh, hips thrusting steadily. “if you g’na fuck me, do it right.” 

you try to keep your composure, but the sultry, deep baritone of his voice directly by your ear makes your waist stutter, that warm, bubbly feeling swarming in your tummy. his mouth is back on your neck, and that activates you quick, sobbing and clapping your ass back needily. the mutual desperation to cum is at an all-time high. 

“there we go, t-there we go, girl. that’s what i wanted. s’good,” satoru’s gorgeous eyes cast white, jaw dropping as he grunts, holding your waist just to hold you, allowing you to handle it. “ungh, fuck. keep fuckin’ back.” 

the burn in your legs prolongs as you sway your hips and fuck back on him, his grip on you keeping you balanced to give you enough space to move how you want. this dick is slick with your cum, a ring of cream covering it as you cry and push all your weight back so you're feeling every inch while he's experiencing every tight clench.

“ ‘toru, i—” your words are cut off by an interrupted orgasm, cumming yet again as you greedily roll your ass back with weak cries. your legs feel staticky, almost falling down before satoru makes sure to lock his forearm around your stomach. 

“ ‘toru needs t’ cum too.” 

interlocking his right hand with yours, the two of you hold hands as he lays it on your thigh, bringing your head back to rest on his shoulder with a hand grasping your throat tight, nearly cutting your airways. he’s getting . . mad? nothing satisfies him more than to know he’s made a woman cum multiple times in one session, but when he gets as horny and fucked out as he was now? it wasn’t a good idea to leave him without one orgasm. and he can definitely give you more than just one. he wanted to show you that, you deserved that. 

satoru begins to pull his hips back, giving you a sweet kiss on the lips to let you know he still cares and will comfort you after. just needs a few minutes of shutting off that part of his brain to fuck himself dumb. your pussy clenches and pulsates sloppily on his dick as he fucks you harder than he has before, the breath knocking out of your throat while he squeezes his eyes shut and pounds assertively. they’re neither fast nor slow, just steady and rough. like he’s been needing it so damn bad. the warmth of you getting him out of character, the scent of your perfume enveloping him. the conditioner in your soft, red velvet hair. the tattoos inked into your brown skin, the piercings on your ears and face. your fogged-up glasses, courtesy to him. the unexplainable pleasure he derives off of hearing you whimper ‘toru, toru, toru’. 

who knows what kind of fucking spell you put on him. he just knows he’ll never, ever erase today from his memory. it’ll play like a tantalizing loop. tears threaten to fall from your eyes, cunt going sore from his brutal pivots, falling back weakly into his strong body and gasping from every deliciously deep, thrust. satoru kisses at your face, lashes kissing your cheekbones, trying your best to look up at him. and when you do, you can see he’s utterly gone. the groans emanating, feral growls, and pinball white eyeballs that couldn’t stop scrolling into the back of his head. you watch him mumble your name while spewing expletives, pink lips wide as his whimpers and moans break apart.

“fuck!” he bellows, moving your bodies back towards the desk as he pins you down flat and fucks your ass back onto him, that pressure tugging at him. he's pressing the side of his cheek with yours, breathing heavily while gripping your jaw and dropping his weight on your backside. “fuck, fuck. fuck.” 

“ ‘toru, please cum for me, baby. w’na taste you so bad.”

and he does, as soon as you say his goddamn name like that again, that vanilla voice of yours, seductive yet sweet, coaxing him to cum. 

“knees, baby. suck me,” satoru heaves in a high pitch.

hurriedly, you twist your body to crouch below him, palm wrapping around his dick, satoru’s hand taking strands of your hair to make a ponytail on the back of your head to bob your head to suck him, hips stuttering and his lips damn near quivering. your cheeks hollow inwards as you swallow him in your throat, satoru guiding your head as he shoots his cum hot in your mouth. you moan around him, staring up at him through your dark falsies to be rewarded with the beautiful sight of his snow white hair shielding his face, blue eyes glowing as he looks at you with a genuine laugh. 

pulling your head back, you wipe your mouth slowly with the back of your hand, satoru’s dick twitching midair, semi-hard. he holds both palms out, waiting for you to grab him so he can pull you up. you take them, and he brings your chest to his. 

“fuck, you’ve got me spent,” his hands are now on either side of your face, locking his lips with yours once more. “so damn good.” 

“mhm,” you blink with a goofy smile, pulling your shirt down and smoothing your hair. kissing his face, you wipe your lipgloss off any part of his skin. “so, same time after break?” 

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