#turn your gaze upon the top right photo

[hell0jon]

Fear avatars taking the piss out of The Ceaseless Watcher’s Special Little Boy

[nottsangel]

the red means i love you — r.c.

pairing: dark!rafe cameron x dark!reader

warnings: 18+ smut, murder, vaginal sex, extreme violence, stabbing, blood, knifeplay (carving), bloodplay, possessive and obsessive behaviour (reader and rafe), fingering, hair pulling, slight spanking, toxic relationship, reader and rafe are both fucked in the head

word count: 5k

summary: in a relationship fueled by hidden obsession and jealousy, you and your boyfriend are more alike than you initially thought.

moodboard // m.list // blurbs m.list // taglist

You hummed along to the song blasting from your speakers, stretched out on your stomach while absentmindedly scrolling through TikTok, your long nails tapping against the screen. With your boyfriend away on their annual family vacation, you were left restless and bored. Since you started dating him a year ago, you've spent practically every moment together, causing your hobbies and personal interests to gradually fade, along with your sense of individuality. He was the centre of your world, everything in your life revolved around him— you were willing to go to any lengths for him, and you knew he would do the same for you. What you both didn’t know, was how far you would be willing to go for each other.

Yawning while watching the nth slime scoopability video on your TikTok for you page, a notification popped up on your phone— rafe_cameron posted a new picture! You instantly tapped on it, having notifications turned on for a reason only to find a photo of your boyfriend on a yacht, clad in nothing but his blue swimsuit. Fuck. His defined abs, the tight shorts showing his bulge through the fabric, his hair messy and slightly wet— you instantly felt an ache between your legs, prompting you to rub your thighs together.

Though it had only been a few days since you had last seen him, his absence weighed heavy and the picture didn’t help. You found yourself analysing every single detail of the picture, but your focus kept going back to his bulge as you could practically feel his cock filling you up so perfectly like he does every night again, except for tonight. You were desperately craving his touch, and just as you were about to reach your hand into your shorts to relieve the achy feeling, your mood was ruined when you checked the comment section.

oliviaprentiss4: looking good Cameron! 😍

Bang. You threw your phone aggressively at the wall while letting out a piercing scream as your breaths grew shallow and fast, anger coursing through your veins. Fucking bitch. Of course it’s Olivia, who goes after your man every chance she gets. Despite Rafe's constant assurances that she's just a friend and nothing more, as a girl yourself, you can't help but notice the subtle flirtations — the way she twirls her blonde locks while gazing up at him with fuck-me eyes whenever they talk. You're not stupid.

You fixed your gaze intently on the wall, attempting to collect your thoughts and calm your breathing as a plan dawned upon you. Swiftly grabbing the lip gloss from the bedside table next to you, you hastily reapplied it before gathering your phone from the ground and switching to the camera app. You raised your phone in the air, pushing your tits up and pulling your top down just a tad bit, leaving nearly nothing to the imagination as you snapped a few pictures while switching poses.

Brandon is gonna fucking love these, you thought to yourself while scrolling through your camera roll, referring to a fratboy you met at a party before you started dating Rafe. You hooked up with him once, seeing him as nothing more than just a one-night stand, but he became obsessed with you after that— replying to your Instagram stories daily and asking you to hang out at least once a week. You knew he would comment if you posted a few sexy pics, and you were right.

brandontheman: cute top, but im more interested in whats under it ;)

You bit your lip as an amused but sinister smile spread across your face, knowing it would infuriate Rafe. Clicking back on his profile to check the new picture once more, you noticed new comments had been added. Your smile abruptly vanished as you glanced at Rafe's comments section again, feeling the anger that had started to subside returning with force.

rafe_cameron: @ oliviaprentiss4 Thanks liv.

Liv. He fucking calls her Liv. Fucking asshole. You muttered curses under your breath, fists clenching as your breathing quickened and your jaw tightened again. He could've simply ignored her. Or deleted her comment. Or blocked her when you started complaining about the bitch four months ago. But no— the fucking idiot calls her Liv, for everyone to see, including you.

With hands trembling from sheer rage, you redirected your attention to your phone before switching profiles. rafe_cameron. Now, you wouldn't exactly label yourself as toxic for having his profile logged in on your phone. You're just, you know, keeping an eye on him, with the best intentions after all. Even though he was unaware that you peeked into his phone to get his password when he was showering. Hmm. Okay, maybe you were a little toxic, you can admit that much. But being toxic means being smart so you went to settings and disabled notifications, ensuring Rafe wouldn’t suspect a thing before tapping on his chat with Olivia.

As you scrolled through the chat, nothing new caught your eye, which didn't come as a surprise given that you checked his profile on a daily basis. It was the usual— Olivia showering him with compliments whenever he posted a picture of himself, and him graciously thanking her. You shook your head in disbelief, your jaw tensing with anger at his consistent responses to her. She was a big problem— a serious threat to your relationship, and you desperately needed to get rid of her. You took a deep breath, hoping your plan would succeed, before typing out a message.

rafe_cameron: hey liv.

oliviaprentiss4: hey rafey!

Rafey. Oh, this bitch really wants to die.

rafe_cameron: my girlfriend is out of town tonight. wanna come over?

oliviaprentiss4: sounds good! I’ll be there at 9!! 🤍

Not a girl’s girl, huh? You scoffed at how easily she agreed to a man cheating on his girlfriend, yet a small smile tugged at your lips as it seemed that your plan was starting to take work. Now you just had to figure out how to get inside Tannyhill, but let’s be real— breaking in is the easiest part of it all.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting eerie shadows across the Cameron’s estate except for a few lights that you hastily switched on when you arrived five minutes before nine. It was quiet; the only sounds in the eerie mansion were the ticking of a clock and a few birds chirping outside.

You were impatiently sitting on the couch, waiting for Olivia, with your knee bouncing up and down— not from nerves though, but rather, excitement. A wicked grin spread across your face as you heard the doorknob turn, followed by cautious footsteps on the wooden floor. Olivia gasped audibly when she spotted you, her face flushing bright red as she stumbled over her words, too stunned to articulate a coherent sentence.

“I- Sorry, Rafe said- I mean. I thought you wouldn’t-“ “You thought what, exactly? That you could fuck my boyfriend without me knowing? God, you really are such a stupid, fucking bitch.”

Your words hit her hard, causing her to freeze in place as she fiddled with her fingers nervously. She realized she fucked up bad when she caught the insane, psychotic glare in your narrowed eyes, which was filled with unmistakable hatred directed at her. It sent shivers down her spine— she came to the stark realization that you were more than simply a jealous girlfriend; she was fearing for her life.

You rose from the couch and marched towards her, causing her to take steps back in panic, her eyes widening in terror. But you were quicker, consumed by rage. She cried out in agony as you seized a handful of her blonde hair, and violently hauled her towards the ground until she smashed into the floor with a loud thud.

“Tsk, so many men, and still, you had to choose mine. Dumbest decision you could make, Liv. And you’re gonna fucking regret it.” You hissed as you straddled her. She slowly opened her eyes, feeling disoriented from her head hitting the floor as she confusedly gazed up at you. It was over for her. You knew it, she knew it. The poor girl gulped when you took a knife out of your back pocket— the pocket knife that Rafe bought you to defend yourself from men. Oh, if only he knew. Thank you baby, best present ever.

“Here’s what I’m gonna do. I will use this cute little knife to stab you, okay? Not just once though, no, there’s no fun in that.” Now, this was the moment where she broke down in tears, pleading for you to let her go. You revelled in the sense of power, devoid of any trace of empathy, as you observed the girl's panicked state with streaks of mascara running down her face. What the fuck did she expect? It’s the consequences of her own actions.

You gripped her face tightly, sharp nails pressing into her skin as you forced her to meet your gaze, her eyes wide with fear and brimming with tears as they met yours. She was frozen in place, paralyzed by an overwhelming sense of dread. “Hey, hey, just shut up for a moment and let me do my thing, okay? This is my moment and I can’t have you fucking it up. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

You paused and slowly closed your eyes, savouring the momentary bliss until Olivia interrupted you, prompting an irritated exhale and forcing your eyes to reopen. “Let me go, please! I wasn’t even gonna do anything with him! I promise!” she attempted and pleaded for one last time, despite knowing deep down that it wouldn't change anything. Your hatred was too strong, as evidenced by your eyes— the psychotic look on your face caused goosebumps to form all over her body.

“You think…” you started, breath quickening in growing anger as your jaw tensed, shaking your head and snickering in disbelief, “…you can fucking LIE TO ME?” you screamed before raising the knife in the air, not wasting any more time as she only fuelled your rage further, followed by bringing it back down, right into her chest next to her silver necklace with the letter ‘O’ attached to it. She let out a piercing scream out of agony before you quickly pulled the knife out, blood spurting in every direction possible just like in slasher movies, making you forget for a moment that this was real life. You were so caught up in the moment— it felt therapeutic in a way to finally release all of your pent-up rage.

“Don’t” stab. “touch” stab. “my” stab. “man, Liv.” stab, stab, stab.

Your heart raced as you witnessed the life drain from her ocean-blue eyes, a rush of power and exhilaration consuming you as you smiled down at her with a manic glint in your eyes. You experienced a strange sense of peace along with a wave of relief washing over you. Problem solved.

Standing up again, you had to steady yourself as you felt slightly lightheaded with adrenaline rushing through your body. You wiped the remaining blood from your face with your shirt before hearing a faint scream coming from upstairs, making you gasp as your heart beat out of your chest. What the fuck? You were convinced that no one was home, the entire Cameron family on their yearly vacation far, far away.

The screams came to an abrupt halt followed by a loud thud before hearing a person grunt, as if they were struggling while carrying something heavy. Fuck fuck fuck. This was when you started to panic. Whoever it was coming down the stairs right now was about to witness you fully covered in blood with a fucking dead body lying next to you on the floor. It was over.

“Shit man… why’s it never the skinny, short guys she fuckin’ falls for?” you heard a familiar voice complain, making you blink your eyes a few times as you saw your boyfriend descend the stairs while dragging a lifeless body behind him. “…Rafe?” you uttered, making him snap his head to the side, startled by your sweet-laced voice calling out his name.

First, his gaze fell on you, locking his blue eyes with yours, both widening in shock while staring at each other. Oh, he really fucked up, he thought, until he noticed the corpse next to you with the knife in your right hand, fresh blood dripping from it onto the floor. He then turned to face the body he was dragging down the stairs, blinking several times as he attempted to process the bizarre situation.

“Oh shit. We’re like that one Spiderman meme, babe.” you chuckled, cocking your head to the side as you watched the body comically fall down each step with a thud, leaving a trail of fresh blood behind. Rafe looked at you in astonishment, before his face quickly turned into one of absolute fury with nostrils flaring and his eyes narrowing. You knew that look on your boyfriend’s face— he was about to freak the fuck out. “ooohh my god, oh my god… what— what the FUCK are you doing?!”

Your face instantly dropped as you scoffed at the hypocrisy, “What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck are YOU doing?” you hurriedly marched towards him, casually stepping over the girl’s lifeless body with the bloody knife still in your right hand. With your faces merely inches away, you stared into his enraged, narrowed blue eyes before turning your attention to the body resting against the stairs. Brandon. The poor boy has been beaten to death with what you assume Rafe’s baseball bat, which has been sitting in the corner of his room untouched for quite some time, always leaving you wondering why he still had that thing. Well, that question was answered now. Brandon’s face was nearly unrecognisable, it was not a nice sight. He was covered in blood from head to toe, and it was clear Rafe used Brandon’s body to get all his aggression out.  

Your attention was then drawn to the once-white carpet he was standing on, which was now ruined and completely covered in blood. “Oh, and real smart, Rafe. Letting a body bleed all over your fucking carpet. What are you gonna tell your family, huh?” You snorted, taking in the mess that Rafe had made all over the house.

“That’s… that’s what you’re fuckin’ worried about here!? Just… I—  I don’t know, say you were on your period or some shit, jesus.” he rolled his eyes and shook his head, obviously not thinking about the fucking carpet right now as his mind raced with a thousand thoughts while squinting his eyes, still trying to figure out who the body was on the other end of the room.

“Is that— is that Oliv-“ “ON MY PERIOD, RAFE?! I’D BE FUCKING DEAD ALREADY IF THAT’S HOW MUCH I BLEED EACH MONTH, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!”

Rafe briefly closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, attempting to block out your exasperating voice but failing miserably as it was the only thing he could hear at that moment. His breathing accelerated and his eyes narrowed as his frustration reached its boiling point, his vision blurred with a red haze of anger before punching a hole in the wall, the impact echoing throughout the room, sending shockwaves of sound outward. “FUCK! Why do you— why you always gotta fuck things up for us, huh? Can’t you just be a normal fucking girlfriend for once? Jesus fucking christ.”

A normal girlfriend? Your heart shattered into a thousand pieces at his words. Each syllable fell like a knife to the heart, leaving you more vulnerable and hurt. In that moment, you realized with a sense of sorrow that no matter how much you loved him, it would never be enough. Tears from sheer rage and heartache began to well up in your eyes as your grip on the knife tightened. You felt so misunderstood— why couldn’t he just see that no girl could ever love him the way you do? That everything you do is for him?

“I— I did this for you, Rafe, for us. Can’t you fucking see that? She was gonna— fuck—  she was gonna ruin what we have!” you spoke in a trembling but urgent voice, swaying the knife in front of his face as blood splattered all over the walls, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. “I’d do anything for you, you hear me? ANYTHING! Nothing is ever gonna get between us, Rafe. And no one— no one will ever love you more than I do.” His eyes were eerily still, devoid of any trace of humanity, as he stood frozen, listening to your ramblings. It only fuelled your rage more, as you so desperately tried to get it through his head that you did it for him, with the best intentions, but Rafe gave no reaction.

“I just—  I just don’t get it… How the FUCK is this my-“ you continued with tears streaming down your face but gasped when you were abruptly interrupted by Rafe grabbing your face, leaving a red blood imprint on your cheek before pushing you against the cold wall followed by his lips meeting yours in a fervent urgency. His body was pressed against yours with his hand gripping the back of your head, pushing you deeper into him to intensify the kiss as your tongues danced together. At that moment, all your surroundings melted away as you were lost in the overwhelming need for each other.

Because oddly, it turned him on— your insanity turned him on. It stirred a sensation of warmth, a tingling feeling, and a deep sense of gratitude within him. Knowing someone loved him to the point of being willing to do anything for him, even if that meant killing— that was all Rafe needed in his lonely existence, longing for someone to love him with the same intensity he felt for them. Rafe Cameron just needed to be loved.

“You’re— you’re… fuckin’ perfect.” Rafe whispered, his voice laced with an unfamiliar sweetness as his blue eyes intensely gazed into yours. Perfect? You blinked a few times as you shook your head, unable to process the sudden change in demeanour. “W-what?” you stared at him before he cupped your face with both hands, a look of solace and devotion on his blood-stained face. “Listen to me, yeah? ‘m never gonna let you go, I fuckin’ promise that. I’d do anything for you— anything, you hear me? Gonna take good fuckin’ care of my girl, a’ight?”

A relieved smile graced your lips, a chuckle escaping as you found comfort before you leaned in to kiss him once more, the embrace deeper and more intense than before, filled with longing and desire. He pushed you towards the couch, making you stumble backwards while feeling more aroused with each step you took. It was a bizarre scene— both of you covered in fresh blood, hungrily touching every part of each other’s bodies, with two corpses on the floor next to you, still bleeding all over. But that wasn’t any of your concern at that moment. All you cared about was how his skilled hands moved over your skin, making you crave him even more.

Rafe, on the other hand, felt he still had something to prove— as if murdering a man wasn’t enough. He needed you to know how good he could make you feel. He needed you to understand that no man on this planet could treat you better than him. You could see it in his lustful eyes as he pushed you back on the couch, followed by him crawling on top of you and attacking your still blood-covered neck with hungry kisses. The ticklish feeling of Rafe’s mouth made you giggle as the metallic tang of blood flooded his senses, coating his tongue with an iron bitterness that lingered long. He didn’t know whose blood it even was, maybe both of theirs together mixed with yours, by the way he was so aggressively biting and sucking on your skin.

“Mine. All fuckin’ mine. Got it?” he snarled as he withdrew and grasped your face tightly, forcing you to look him into his intense eyes. You agreed with a nod, flashing a naughty smile as you gazed up at him coyly through your lashes. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Don’t wanna go around killin’ the entire neighbourhood.” He growled, before trailing his lips to your earlobe, gently sucking on it as his expensive cologne filled your nostrils. “But I will if I have to.” His voice raspy as he spoke, making you become wetter with each passing second.

“Hm, i don’t doubt that.” You remarked before a moan escaped your lips caused by Rafe’s hand groping your tits under your shirt, massaging them over the laced bra that he bought for you. “But know that I would kill the entire female population of the Outer Banks.” He couldn't help but let out an amused chuckle, still wrapping his head around just how insane his girlfriend truly was. “You’re so fucked in the head, shit.“ he whispered, pulling your bra down and toying with your nipples, making you bite your lip, “Just how I like it.”

Rafe then grabbed the knife from where you had dropped it next to the couch, skilfully twirling it a few times. You observed him with a rush of anticipation, uncertain of his intentions. He slid the knife beneath your top, eliciting a gasp as he swiftly sliced through the fabric, ruining your clothes, before repeating the action with your shorts.

“Rafe, what the fuck!” You hissed in annoyance as he destroyed your clothes. “Those were my favourites! Oh, don’t you fucking dare do the same with my underwear” It was evident he wasn't taking you seriously, the smug smile on his face only grew bigger before he slipped the knife under your bra and cut it open as well in one swift motion.

“Don’t be fuckin’ stupid. You know I can buy you anything you want, yeah?” Your lace underwear was next, leaving you inwardly agitated as he cut the fabric and flung it across the room. Seeing your dejected expression, he released an exasperated sigh. “Stop with the whining. I’ll take you shopping tomorrow, a’ight?”

He seized you by the hips and quickly turned you around, pressing your face into the cushion before you could comprehend what was happening as in an instant, you found yourself face down with your ass up, angled towards him. “Fuckin’ soaked already, huh?” He suddenly grabbed a handful of your hair and raised your head, then stuck his blood-covered fingers into your mouth. You swirled your tongue around his digits with a mixture of blood and drool running down your chin while feeling his clothed boner press against your bare ass. “Yeah— that’s right baby. Lick my fingers clean like a good fuckin’ girl.” You could feel yourself dripping down your inner thighs before Rafe scooped it up with his now clean fingers and slipped them into you from behind, making you let out a hitched breath at the sudden sensation as you moaned his name.

It didn’t take long for his digits to find your g-spot as he skilfully rubbed against it, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Your pornographic moans combined with the wet sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you made it difficult for him to control himself any longer, so he abruptly pulled out, causing you to whine at the sudden loss of contact. “You bitch! I was so fucking close!” Rafe’s hand reeled back before you felt a stinging pain on your ass, making you jolt forward on the couch. “Watch that fuckin’ mouth if you wanna cum.”

You heard the unbuckling of a belt behind you followed by feeling Rafe’s erection teasing your folds, dragging the tip up and down as his precum mixed with your wetness. Growing increasingly impatient, you tried to push yourself back onto his cock, to no avail as he held your hips firmly. “Aww, poor girl wants it bad, huh?” his voice laced with faux sympathy. “Then beg for it.”

“Rafe just fucking do-“ your words were quickly interrupted by him grasping your hair and leaning down to your eye level. “I said fuckin’ beg for it.”

“Fuck. Please, okay! I need to feel you! Just, please, fuck me” Rafe pushed himself into you in one quick thrust, swallowed by your warmth as he watched his cock disappear into your body. He gave you no time to adjust as he stretched you out completely, causing a brief sensation of pain that was quickly replaced by pleasure. He let out a sigh at the feeling, one hand on your lower back and the other on your hip as he quickly set a brutal pace— deep, erratic thrusts hitting your sweet spots so perfectly. Your nails scraped against the leather of the couch, nearly tearing it apart as you pushed yourself back onto Rafe’s cock, making him grunt at the sight. He massaged your inner walls so perfectly, making you moan his name loudly over and over again.

Rafe suddenly stopped in his tracks, cautioning, “Stay still or this will hurt, like bad, a’ight?”, causing you to furrow your brows in confusion before hearing him reach for the knife once again from next to him, sending a gulp down your throat. You tensed, anticipating the sensation, well aware of what was about to happen, just as you felt the sharp edge of the blade against your delicate skin while he was still balls deep inside of you. “So fuckin’ pretty all covered in blood, shit.” You could feel the letters he was etching into your skin— R.C., his initials. Once he was done, he tossed the knife on the floor before quickly pulling out, causing you to whine at the sudden empty feeling as he leaned down, licking up your blood that was dripping from the fresh wounds, mingling with Olivia's still-stained blood on your skin. “Forever mine.”

Rafe slapped your ass once again, causing you to cry out from the stinging pain of his hand making contact with the fresh carvings on your skin. “Now, where were we?” He slipped into you again as he mercilessly continued his thrusts, strangled noises leaving your mouth at the sudden feeling. He noticed your moans were muffled by the pillow so he grabbed a handful of your hair and tugged it firmly, pulling you back to meet his thrusts.

“Shit, look at ya now. Not so tough anymore, huh?” Rafe groaned as he pounded into you, his brutal thrusts making your eyes roll to the back of your head as your vision started to blur. “Shut— up.” You muttered in between his thrusts, your mind all fuzzy as his tip repeatedly hit your cervix. You clenched around him when he kept hitting that one spot inside you, the pleasure building as you could feel his cock twitching inside you.

You arched your back with your eyes fluttering shut as felt your orgasm approaching. “I’m— I’m so fucking close, oh my god” You moaned out with your mouth agape, nails digging deep into the skin of his arm that was wrapped around your body as the sensation became too much for you.

“Come f’me, doll. Gonna fill you up so fuckin’ good” Rafe’s hand snaked around your body to rub fast circles on your sensitive clit, making you moan loudly as your orgasm abruptly struck you, causing you to clench hard around his cock with buckling knees. All your muscles tensed as you saw stars, a wave of pleasure fully overtaking you with Rafe still pounding into you, chasing his own orgasm. He came not too long after you, slow and drawn-out curses spilling from his lips with his head thrown back as you could feel the familiar pool of warmth fill you up to the brim, completely emptying himself inside of you as his orgasm hit him.

He rode out his high before he carefully pulled out as your chest rose and fell in a frantic rhythm, each breath a struggle to fill your lungs with air while trying to regain your breath. “My pretty, pretty girl.” Rafe praised, staring at your cum-dripping cunt with a grin on his face.

As you opened your eyes, the harsh reality crashed over you like a wave, sending a shiver down your spine at the sight of the lifeless bodies lying across the floor. Panic laced your voice as you turned to face Rafe, desperation evident in your words. "Rafe? What the fuck are we going to do with the bodies?"

His response was surprisingly calm, his tone carrying an unsettling assurance. "Don't worry ‘bout that. I'll take care of it, a’ight?"

The eerie composure in his voice sent a chill down your spine, hinting at a familiarity with murdering that made your stomach churn. "What? How— how do you know how to clean up bodies?"

A sinister smirk crept onto his handsome features, causing you to furrow your brows in confusion and disbelief before his blue eyes stared deep into yours, holding you in their gaze with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “Princess, what do you think happened to poor Jake last month? And Dylan before that?”

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[gloomwitchwrites]

secret baby trope with tf141? 😌😌

Anon! OH. MY. GOOOOOD. I love this. I love this. I love this. Secret baby? Yes, please. I adore this trope. I bow down to you for requesting this. I don't know who you are but I wish that I did. I can absolutely get behind a secret baby trope. I actually read a book recently that was a bit like that and I enjoyed it so so much.

I had an absolute blast putting this one together. Seriously. You totally indulged me here. Thank you!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, stalking, possessive behavior, second chances, pregnancy / unplanned pregnancy, parenthood, reunions, light angst

Word Count: 2.3k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle relaxes further into the couch. The air around him is slightly smoky.

He brings his vape to his lips and takes a hit. The action is calming, and that’s exactly what he wants. Kyle is rotting, and it feels fucking good.

Between missions, Kyle is always somewhere, but right not there is no reason for him to do anything. He can relax. He can watch reality television, eat himself to sickness, and wank off until his wrist hurts.

It’s bloody fucking brilliant.

Kyle isn’t attached. He has no kids. The only responsibility required of him is the one he has to himself. Which is why he’s splayed out on the couch in nothing but grey sweatpants and his vape. The television is on, and the volume is low. It’s mostly for background noise. Kyle isn’t really paying attention to it.

With a vape in one hand and his phone in the other, Kyle scrolls through his contacts. There are all the usual people there, but there are also a slew of general acquaintances and a long list of people he’s had it off with but never took anything further.

He pauses at one name, and old memories resurface.

They just happen upon him. Kyle doesn’t drag them up from the depths. They linger there, and Kyle remembers all the fun he had with you.

You were just a small fling. A few lengthy but deliciously good fucks that tops most of the sex he’s ever had in his life. There have been times since he last saw you—over a year now—that Kyle has thought about what could have been.

You were sweet. A potential partner. But Kyle didn’t follow through. He would regret it, but things can’t be taken back. There is no turning back the clock to change what has already occurred.

Kyle’s thumb hovers above the screen.

He shouldn’t. He really fucking shouldn’t.

But he does. Because why not?

Switching over apps, Kyle starts scrolling social media. He doesn’t usually give a shit about what’s happening in people’s lives, but he is curious about you. What are you up to? What are you doing? If you’re not attached, maybe he could call you up, rekindle what was once there.

You don’t have him blocked on anything—thank fuck—and Kyle delves into your socials, exploring your life. At first, the small infant in your arms is nothing to him, but then the tiny human keeps reappearing, and Kyle pauses.

Kyle scrolls a bit more. And stops.

Just three—no—four months ago, there are a slew of friends and family congratulating you on the birth of your son.

Your…son.

Kyle thinks back. Does the math in his head.

“Fuck,” he mutters, sitting up, gaze glued on the screen.

He scrolls back, studying every photo where your son is featured. Kyle’s heart slams in his chest. The features Kyle sees are features he sees every time he looks in the mirror.

“Fucking hell,” groans Kyle, the phone nearly slipping from his hands as he slumps back against the couch.

Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you contact him?

The very thought of you not reaching out doesn’t sit well with him. It sits heavy in his stomach.

“Fuck,” says Kyle, switching over to his contacts.

He finds Simon’s number and taps the call button.

It rings on the other end, and Kyle doesn’t think that he’ll answer. But he does.

“Kyle,” comes Simon’s gruff voice.

Kyle sighs. “I need you to track someone down for me.”

John Price

John doesn’t like cutting off contact with people.

He likes to keep in touch, even if it’s just an acquaintance. But things happen, like a fucked phone with no way to retrieve contacts, and the only people he’s able to retrieve are those he sees on a regular basis.

Your number is gone. And John has no way to get it back.

Legally that is. He could try and find you in the system. What information he has is minimal, but then again, the two of you only had a one-night stand. He’s prone to it since he’s never in one place. Always moving around.

John would like to settle down one day, but his work is his life, and it just doesn’t seem possible to have a family and be consistent with them when he’s constantly called away.

He chews it over while sitting in his office. It’s late, and there isn’t anyone else here but him. Late nights like this are calming to him—a time to process away from the events of the day. John has your first name, where you might live, and a general idea of what your number is. But he isn’t certain, and it’s hardly enough to go on.

Sighing, deciding he’d rather find you than not, John turns on his computer. It takes a while to get the classified systems he has access to. No one tracks what he does on here, and no one will think twice if they do happen to look. John runs lots of names and faces through this system.

John waits. Ponders. Enters in different spellings and every possible clue to try and seek you out. With every new search, John begins to lose hope. He might be completely fucked. Completely at a loss.

If this doesn’t work, he might not ever see you again. And for some goddamn reason, that bothers him.

He tries one last time, expecting nothing, only for his heart to drop into his stomach,

“There you are,” he murmurs, leaning forward, gaze sweeping over your passport photo.

Grabbing a piece of paper, John jots down your phone number and current address. He also notes your top place of employment. You might not be there anymore, but that isn’t an issue. He has enough.

John shuts off his computer and grabs his coat. He’ll try to reach out first by phone and go from there.

“You have the wrong number, bud.”

The man’s southern drawl irks John. “You sure?”

“Yeah I’m fucking sure. Quit calling.”

John frowns as the line goes dead. The number on file isn’t recent.

“Fuck,” mutters John, running his hand through his hair.

This is getting him nowhere. The only other option is showing up at your home or place of employment, but he can’t do that unless he’s on scheduled leave. That’s months away.

And each month is fucking agony.

When John finally makes it to your front door, nervousness sets in. This is completely fucking weird. Who the fuck shows up at someone’s door months after a one-night stand? Him apparently.

But fuck it. He’s here.

Either he does this and things go great, or things go to shit and he doesn’t need to worry about it anymore.

John takes a deep breath, and then pounds on the door. He takes a step back, hands in his pockets as he waits. There is a stretch of silence, and then he hears it—the turn of a deadbolt.

The door swings open, and there you are, just as beautiful from when he first saw you. At first, your brow scrunches in confusion, and then your eyes widen.

“John,” you breathe.

He smiles, and then his gaze drops as your hand moves away from the doorknob to land on your stomach. Your belly is round. Protruding. You’re—oh shit.

“Is that—”

“Yours?”

Fuck.

John glances up into your eyes and swallows.

You shift on your feet, one hand resting against the doorframe.

“It is,” you confirm.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon shouldn’t. Really—it’s fucked up. Wrong.

But he does it anyway because there is no fucking way he’s letting you go even if he has to watch from afar.

He’s done a lot of things he isn’t proud of, and losing you is near the top of the list. Not that he blames you for breaking it off. You had every right. Simon is always gone. Always away. And he rarely thought of you when he came home.

Communication can be a difficult thing for him. He knows this, and yet he couldn’t make an effort to do better with you. It wounds him. It does. Like a sharp blade to the gut.

But that is secondary now. Simon has dismissed it.

Sure, you’re not truly his now, but you’ll come back to him. He’ll make sure of it.

In the dark, Simon watches. Before him is a slew of screens and all of them show different angles of your home. Simon also has your phone tapped, and in another window, he can lurk through your messages and emails.

It’s where he first learned you were pregnant.

You know, and haven’t told him. Haven’t reached out in the slightest. Simon has to see all the results and tests come back via your email. He has to log into your medical portal to access specific things which is goddamn frustrating but he needs to know.

You are fucking pregnant. With his child.

It’s growing in your belly.

Even through the camera feed, Simon can see the swell of your stomach. He wants to be there, to stand beside you, and rest his hand against it. He wants to feel his son kick. Because you are carrying his son in your belly. Simon saw the results.

It’s fucking painful watching you like this.

He’s stayed away for a bit. Not engaging.

But you’ve broken it off before, and came back eventually.

Simon just needs an in again. All he has to do is figure it out, and then he can put away these fucking screens and surveillance. He can be by your side and be there when you give birth.

Leaning back in his chair, Simon observes every screen, his palm rubbing against his thigh as he considered his options.

He has to play this right.

He has to.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Do you think you’ll ever find your woman again?”

Johnny grins behind his pint glass. “If she’s here,” he replies.

The beer is perfectly cold and goes down easily. It’s refreshing since it’s so bloody hot outside.

Johnny didn’t think he’d ever come back to the little seaside town. He came between missions—a way to relax and get away for a bit. With only a few hundred residents, it seemed like the perfect place. What he didn’t expect was to meet a woman that upended his fatigue and made him glow a little brighter.

He learned your name while exploring a local pub. You were a pretty thing. Caught Johnny’s eye immediately. With several beers fueling him, Johnny struck up a conversation, and you were receptive to his charm—melting like butter over fresh toast.

That evening, the two of you jumped from pub to pub, having a bloody good time. It was fucking magical. Afterward, the two of you ventured back to Johnny’s hotel room. But the two of you didn’t have sex. It wasn’t until the next morning that Johnny actually fucked you.

Johnny had presented himself, you slid right into his arms. The hotel bed was well-used. There wasn’t a moment after that Johnny didn’t have his dick inside you. He kept you full and screaming his name for an entire fucking week.

But when that week was up, the two of you parted ways. You gave Johnny your number, and for a couple months, you were consistent in your texts and phone calls. Then it all changed, and you began to contact him less frequently.

Eventually, you didn’t talk to Johnny at all.

He was hurt at first. He tried to reach out. But Johnny didn’t hear a thing—and he left you to it. Maybe someone else arrived into your life. Johnny can respect that even if he doesn’t exactly like it.

It sucked then. And it still pains him a bit now. Johnny liked you when you left—and if he’s being entirely honest with himself—he still fucking likes you.

Maybe you’ll be here. Maybe you won’t.

Kyle is with him this time. A guy’s trip. Price isn’t one for vacations, and Simon has his own shit going on.

“We could try that pub again,” suggests Kyle. “See if she’s there.”

Johnny shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Did she live here?” asks Kyle.

Johnny nods. “Aye. Sure did.”

Kyle bobs his head. “We’ll find her.”

The two of them sit outside a small pub. The air is laced with salt from the ocean, and the sun is out, shining bright. It’s hot, but it’s a beautiful fucking day.

Johnny hums in agreement, bringing his pint glass back to his lips. For a moment, Johnny glances away from Kyle, looking out across the road where people walk along the pavement. He frowns.

Is that?

No. Can’t be.

His focus becomes a tunnel, and all he can see is the woman across the road. It’s you. There is no doubt. He knows that body, that hair and smile. You haven’t changed all that much. Not really.

There is another woman with you—a friend that Johnny met briefly before you and him went off on your own.

But that isn’t what has Johnny’s attention.

You’ve turned, and Johnny can see a swell to your stomach. Your hand cradles it affectionately.

“What is it?” asks Kyle, but his voice is distant.

“That’s her,” murmurs Johnny, his pint glass lowering back to the table.

You don’t see him. You’re chatting with your friend, features animated. The curve in your stomach is fairly large, and a deep twisting in his stomach arises, moving toward his throat.

“Oh fuck,” says Johnny as Kyle shifts to look in the direction Johnny is staring.

“Is that?”

“It fucking is.”

“She’s fucking pregnant.”

Johnny swallows. “Aye.”

He doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s likely the fucking truth. The baby is probably his. No wonder you stopped talking to him. Maybe you thought it best to cut off contact when you found out.

But that doesn’t sit right with him either. If you had told him, Johnny could have been there for you sooner—not finding out like this.

You throw your head back and laugh, playfully hitting your friend’s arm as she says something funny. When you wipe at your face, clearing tears, your gaze shifts, and all the humor leaves your face.

You’re staring right at Johnny.

And he’s staring back.

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[tender-rosiey]

Gojo is the type of guy to always bring you flowers. Always.

devotee — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: anon you so right. let’s do this

whenever satoru goes on a mission, he comes back with a ton of souvenirs and a bouquet of the prettiest flowers to bloom on this earth.

it is so cute and it always makes your day even if he, one time, unknowingly gifted you a flower that symbolized death with a huge grin.

you had asked him about why he gifted you that flower in particular and he said it's because it was your favorite color. so you could do nothing except shake your head helplessly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

that's why it doesn't surprise you when he bursts into the first years' classroom with yet another big bouquet and even a bigger smile, "hi babe!"

you get up from your chair, "hey 'toru," you peck his lips, gently taking the bouquet from his hands, "what are these for?"

"nothing," he hums, "just wanted to appreciate you."

"again?" yuuji questions.

meanwhile, nobara blows her nose, screaming at the top of her lungs, "god, when will it be my turn?!" she quickly recovers with a smirk, throwing the tissue away, "just kidding! I don't need no man."

so yeah. satoru never fails to get you flowers, and in some of the most creative ways because satoru is anything but traditional.

if you don’t find a bouquet on your doorstep then you find a trail of flower petals that leads to your shared bedroom. it’s a pretty cute thing, the idea of your husband taking the time to put petals in your house to make your day just a bit easier is heart-warming.

but satoru won’t do something half-way and that’s why the petals on ground beside your bed spell your name, a heart, and a very bold ‘i love you’. it’s cute and it makes you smile, and it almost makes you forget the tiresome day you had.

but then you feel strong arms wrap around your shoulders and you’re pulled to a chest you’re very familiar with.

your husband is grinning as he peppers your face with kisses and you don’t have the time to think about your day.

another thing satoru loves to do with the flower petals is provide you with the most romantic and calming bath ever.

you remember that one time the higher-ups assigned you a multitude of missions on the same day and it exhausted you. you came back home, tired and almost a corpse.

upon seeing your beaten up figure, satoru took matters into his own hands.

in no time, he was able to decorate the bathtub with flower petals and candles. he got you all the snacks you like and offered himself as a—self-proclaimed—worldwide and top-tier masseur.

but before the pampering, he made sure to treat your wounds as gently as he could.

he threw a few jokes here and there, sang your praises about how strong and brave you are, and his lips left no part of your skin untouched, firm yet soft kisses that he hopes will make the pain even a tiny bit more bearable.

then you got into the bath and your body immediately relaxed. add to that, the surprisingly good massage you’re getting from your darling husband. and when you have had your fill, he helps you wash up, hands covering your eyes so the soap doesn’t get in.

when you stand up, and he gets the towel to cover you, he pauses.

you’re reminded of how intimidating satoru’s eyes are in the moment. without his blindfold, you get the full effect and truly feel his gaze. however, what’s difference between the look he gives his enemies and the look he gives you is far too vast.

to the enemy, satoru’s eyes are the ocean that will drown them to doom. to you, it’s the sky that doesn’t fail to shine upon seeing you.

it almost flusters you: the unadulterated love and pure devotion in his gaze. he takes you all in, admiring every inch of your body then grins, “the body of a goddess.”

and even in his absence, satoru doesn’t let you forget that you’re loved.

one time, when he was away for a couple of days for a mission, you were going on with your daily routine, all fine and dandy.

then you wanted to get that photo album satoru made for your anniversary to pass time until he comes back. satoru personally handpicked and glued every single photo.

he also decorated it with silly stickers and even sillier drawings, along with annotations that make you giggle when you can vividly imagine him saying them.

your feet almost immediately take you there, and you slide the drawer open.

but the photo album is surrounded by flower petals that—mind you—were not there before, and a sticky note is on it. your husband’s handwriting decorates the note and it reads ‘don’t miss me too much now. I will be back soon ;)’

you take the note in your hands and roll your eyes. nevertheless, you hold it close to your heart and wish for his safe return because, in the end, even the strongest will have a weakness.

and satoru doesn’t shy away from showing his love for you to everyone. so he doesn’t mind bursting into the meeting room and sitting beside you, presenting yet another bouquet of flowers, “for you, gorgeous.”

some are rolling their eyes, others are fondly chuckling, but satoru doesn’t care and frankly, neither can you.

who would reject the pampering from someone they love so dearly? a confession on a starry night once fell from his lips, “my heart is yours, you know. do with it what you want.”

it’s the love and care that is effortlessly shown in his actions and you always let him know that you appreciate it every single time.

you cup his face and press a big smooch on his cheek and a grin is automatically plastered on his pretty face.

because as beautiful as an action can be, it needs to be acknowledged and appreciated to reflect the same beauty to the giver.

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[hipsdofangirl]

candy

seokmin x reader

summary: just a simple car ride back to the apartment—nothing special.

genre: idol au, fluff, established relationship, nighttime driving and serenading

notes: based on a sweet dream i had a couple nights ago…

wc: 663

not proofread

fresh air blasts through your hair, swishing between the outside of the window or behind the safety handle inside the car.

you glance down at the temperature displayed on the screen—68 (20) degrees; your stomach flutters, unable to comprehend the very early morning weather with warm welcoming temperatures.

you can’t help but giggle and extend your right arm out the car, your fingers stretching to touch the stars; high on energy, you can’t help but savor the moment.

while seokmin savored you.

as you outstretched your arm, seokmin glanced over at you for a split second, before focusing his attention on the road. he couldn’t focus for so long as every shine from your expressions shot across the console to him, like many meteors in a shower. even though the road demanded his attention—especially during the cold night—your presence beckoned him.

you hum along to the song, fingers sporadically flittering to try and dance to the song. seokmin giggles quietly, not wanting to interrupt; he wishes he could capture this moment, like you did for him one late night in the van, but his eyes and memory would have to do. he flicks his eyes in the rear view mirror, noticing your friends in the back passed out. he mentally thanks himself for being a decent driver to put everyone at ease.

the current song fades through the wind as a new one would soon begin. you retract your hand and use it as a head rest, and you languidly turn your phone around, curious to the next song playing from your phone.

the bass of joshua’s voice vibrates your body. immediately you lightly toss your phone to hide the screen—one of your boyfriend’s ’boyfriend photos’ that you declared should be gatekeeped.

with your eyes close, you lean more into the palm of your hand, following along and singing quietly.

on the other side, seokmin’s subtle muscle memory activated as he too began to sing quietly to the song.

once joshua’s part ended, seokmin’s voice gained traction, growing louder to perform his part. except—he looks over at you; watching you sway your head and unconsciously smile when dk’s part began. except—he didn’t have to perform when he was with you.

when jeonghan’s part began, seokmin never lessened his voice. instead, he slowly reached over to your lap, where your left hand rested methodically tapped against your phone case, to intertwine your hands.

your eyes widen at the contact. you flick your attention over to him as you lift your head.

his smile grew as seungkwan sang. together, you move your clasped hands to rest on top of the console. you move past your position from resting on the car door to now rest on the console—therefore him.

you couldn’t focus on woozi’s voice. not when seokmin’s gaze—although attentive to the road—only looked at you. you couldn’t look away—not when seokmin sings so gently; not when seokmin sings only for your ears to hear.

the chorus may have changed singers but seokmin always stayed with you. the air flowing inside the car and whirling between you two could never separate you two.

even when seokmin had to look away, it was never by choice. to reach back to him, you leaned further against the console, further to him. you titled your head towards him and closed your eyes, savoring the warm air and melody.

seokmin’s voice somehow gets louder, without increasing his volume. then you feel it: a slight weight on top your head. you feel his quiet exhales of words rest upon your forehead. even as he focuses on singing, focuses on driving, he anchors himself to you, loafing his head onto yours still bearing his own weight however.

he still sings. his eyes may have left but his soul won’t. not when the two of you slowly melt into each other’s embrace; as if pieces of candy was being left out in the sun, becoming one with each other due in time.

tags: @jcxbliss

a/n: dawg why did i write this like they died in the end???? i tried to tie it into the song’s meaning but it just got dark—i mean in my dream seokmin and i didn’t die. anyways just take my dream and run with it lolol

if you made it have a nice day/night!!

[like-a-diamondinthesky]

used to this | l.m.h

-> the first i love you m.list

pairing... bf!minho x gn!reader tags... fluff, soft moment with minho 🥹, established relationship

the soft voices, the late-night cuddling, the sweet and fluttering affections you showed each other; man, minho could get used to this.

wc... 777 words a/n... look i know i said felix would be next but i rly liked how this turned out like it's just short and sooo sweet! which i think represents minho a lot HAHAHA,, i hope you enjoy <3 (also thank you so much for 700 followers ily guys so much istg)

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You and Minho have been seeing each other for a couple of months and it's been great. You just click, you fit together, you're a match! You even have a little tradition where he comes over to your place every week and the two of you watch a movie, show, anime, or whatever content interests you that night. Tonight, Minho chose to watch Spirited Away because, surprisingly, he'd never seen it before.

You've watched this movie many times before and it was one of your comfort films, but right now, you just weren't too invested in it—not when you already had all the comfort you needed from the person you were watching it with.

As the TV screen illuminated the dark living room, you sat on the couch, eyes unfocused and mind elsewhere. Minho was lying on his side with his head resting on your lap, an act of affection he had only recently made a habit of.

Absent-mindedly, you began playing with Minho's hair, running your fingers through the soft tufts. He made a sound—not so much a hum, but rather more akin to a purr—and leaned into your touch. "That feels nice," he remarked softly.

You giggled at his light, gentle voice, one that he only ever uses with you (and his beloved cats). As you continued petting his head, you pulled your phone out to capture your cute interaction. After taking several photos, you put your phone away, directing your eyes back to the screen in front of you.

No matter how hard he tried, Minho couldn't get himself to stay awake. He found his eyelids getting heavier and heavier, the feeling of your fingers in his hair lulling him to sleep.

When you noticed the absence of comments from your boyfriend, you leaned forward to check if he was awake. Upon seeing Minho sound asleep, eyelids closed and mouth slightly parted, your gaze softened and your previously furrowed brows fell. Only he could make you melt like that.

You paused the movie and turned off the TV. Carefully, you lifted Minho's head off your lap so that you could move to lay down properly next to him. Subconsciously, he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, causing a soft gasp to escape your mouth. ‘God, he's adorable,’ you thought as you wrapped one arm around his back, bringing your other hand to play with his hair once again. After a few minutes, you, too, fell asleep with your boyfriend in your arms.

A few hours later into the night, Minho opened his eyes to find you laying on top of his body, snuggled into him, as he had his arms wrapped around your waist. The only light in the room was from the street lamp outside the window, which cast tall shadows onto your sleeping face. He doesn't quite know how you both ended up in this position, but he didn't mind at all.

Curious about the time, Minho felt around his pocket for his phone but didn't find it. Craning his neck towards the coffee table, he saw it resting atop the surface, far from his reach. Patting his hand around your leg, he felt your phone in your pocket and took it out to check the time. The clock read 1:43 AM, answering Minho's concerns. Too sleepy to notice your new wallpaper, he returned your phone to your pocket. Perhaps he'll notice the image of your fingers threaded in his tousled hair that takes residence on your lock screen another time.

Minho leaned down to press a light kiss on your forehead, causing you to stir. You rubbed your head against his shoulder, tightening your grip around his torso. "That tickles," you whispered against his skin, eliciting a warm smile to appear on his face.

At that moment, Minho realized exactly how tightly you had him wrapped around your finger. He could get used to the weekly movie nights ending in snug cuddles on the couch, the soft and sleepy kisses you exchange when you wake up, and the hushed voices you use to speak to one another when curled up together. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, for as long as you'd let him.

"I love you," he whispered, so quietly that you would've thought it was your own imagination. You lifted your head and let your gaze track from his eyes to his lips, then back to his eyes. In the same soft tone, you whispered back, "I love you too, baby." You reached up and kissed Minho, earning a satisfied hum from him.

Yeah, he could definitely get used to this.

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taglist: @jinnixxn @elllisaaa

comments, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated! © like-a-diamondinthesky 2023

[huhmiya]

MULLET | nick sturniolo

pairing: bsf!nick x f!reader

summary: nick needed a haircut but he was impatient and decided to cut it himself, though when you noticed, you offered to help, even though you weren't a professional hairdresser.

warning: fluff (??), stress, use of y/n

a/n: not my photos, on pinterest. no joke but this happened to me before, my friend cut his hair so I had to give him a buzz cut because there was no saving it

WORDS: 1.0k

huhmiya on wattpad

you - pink | nick- purple

-

Not long ago, Nick called you in a panic, his voice filled with distress. He said he looked like a failed science experiment, making it difficult for you to understand what he was saying.

Despite thinking he might be overreacting, you agreed to help to whatever he was asking. However, upon arriving, you were still confused about what was going on.

Nick greeted you at the door with his hood up, avoiding eye contact. His demeanour only added to your bewilderment.

As you followed him upstairs to the lounge, he finally confided in you. "Y/n, I've made a massive mistake," Nick admitted as you took off your shoes.

"What have you done?" you asked, meeting his troubled gaze.

With his brothers in their room, unaware of your presence, Nick led you to the bathroom and locked the door so they couldn't come in.

Upon seeing hair scattered around the sink, you raised an eyebrow, studying the mess before turning your attention to Nick.

He pulled back his hood, revealing the haircut he had given himself, which was absolutely terrible. "Oh, shit," you whispered to yourself.

He shot you a glare and ran his hand through his hair, but some pieces of hair he had cut were still stuck in his hair and ended up on his hand.

"Nick... how did this even happen?" you whispered as he let out a frustrated sigh and replied, not too loudly.

"The hairstylist wasn't available for two weeks. I couldn't walk around looking like I had a bird's nest on my head for that long," he said, his eyes on you as he wiped away a tear of frustration.

You gazed at his hair, fighting the urge to laugh. It wasn't the right moment for that.

"Why don't you wash your hair to get rid of the cut pieces and then I can help you fix it properly?" you suggested quietly, making sure he could hear you.

He glares at you for a moment before grabbing the shower head, as you both stand in the bathroom.

You were cleaning hair from the sink, flushing it down the toilet, while Nick leaned over the bathtub to wash his hair.

"You know, you look like such an idiot with your haircutting skills," you tease, a slight smirk playing on your lips. In response, he sprays water at you, then back at his own hair.

Your eyes widen as the lukewarm water soaks into your clothes, feeling colder than expected. He chuckles slightly at his own antics before continuing to wash his hair.

There is a moment of silence as you sit on the counter, and he stands, annoyed at the sight of his hair falling out with the water.

After he finishes, he dries his hair with a towel, clearly frustrated with himself.

He looks at you and says, "I might as well shave my fucking head like I used to, I don't think we can fix this shit haircut." He gestures towards his hair in exasperation.

Even though his hair was wet, you were contemplating how to fix it, but he had already trimmed the sides and snipped randomly around the top of his head.

"Let me give it a shot first, maybe you can pull off a mullet?" you suggest, not fully confident in your skills as a hairstylist, but willing to give it a go.

"You can't even cut a straight line on paper, let alone my hair," he quips, causing you to roll your eyes. "I bet I can do a better job than you," you counter.

He gives you a defiant look and gestures with his hand before handing you the scissors.

You sit on the counter while he stands next to you, leaning in slightly so you can reach his hair more easily.

As you examine his hair, you try to stifle a laugh at how messy it is, especially with it being wet, which only seems to make it worse.

You begin cutting his hair, unsure of where to start, but determined to make some progress despite the initial mess.

"I'm going to record a YouTube video with a bald look. What should I say about it? Oh, I'm back as Eleven?" he says with attitude as you continue cutting his hair into a mullet.

"Nick, maybe trust me on this?" you say, making him stay silent, still annoyed by his actions.

You stay quiet while drying his hair, then grab the shaver and continue working on the sides, piquing his curiosity and prompting him to ask what you're trying to achieve.

"The only real option is a mullet," you say, causing him to raise an eyebrow. "Are you kidding me?" he mutters.

You hum in agreement and turn him around so he's facing you as you continue. "I don't know if I should thank you or not," he says quietly.

You just smile at him before resuming the cutting. Eventually, you finish his hair, and he looks in the mirror.

It definitely looks better than before, but you're not a professional hairstylist, so while your cutting skills are good, you're just unsure about styling it.

He simply smiled and gave you a small hug before tousling your hair a bit to style it into a mullet.

"You did resemble a failed science experiment earlier," you jest, causing him to glance at you in the mirror before playfully tapping the back of your head, though not forcefully.

"I might just trim your hair while you're sleeping and see who ends up looking like the failed science experiment with my haircutting skills," he teases with a smirk.

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[wheels-of-despair]

Stargazer Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie and Evil Woman do a little stargazing. Contains: Budding romance, fall (of '84) vibes, a wish upon a star. Words: 700ish

You've never really thought of yourself as a romantic.

But lying on your back, on a blanket in the grass on top of a big hill Eddie calls Weathertop, holding the hand of the best person you've ever met, and looking up at the stars glittering against the night sky?

Eddie Munson has changed your opinion on a lot of things.

He brought you up there to see the leaves. The colors had just started to turn, and he assured you that the highest point in Hawkins was the absolute best place to take in the view. It did not disappoint.

You'd taken a few photos of the beautiful autumn landscape - and a few of Eddie when he wasn't looking - then sat on a blanket as the sun set, sharing a thermos of cider and a bag of cookies your mom had made. When the sun sank into the trees, you laid back and watched the stars appear.

"Do you know much about the constellations?" he asks.

"Uh… I could probably find something that resembles a dipper, if pressed," you chuckle awkwardly. Star-gazing wasn't really something you'd done a lot of in the past. Maybe if you'd had stars this bright to look at, or someone like Eddie to look at them with…

"Well you're in luck, 'cause I'm quite an expert," he says confidently.

"Oh yeah?" you ask. "Impress me."

"Okay." He scoots closer, so that your heads are touching. Your shoulders are pressed together. Smooth, Munson. He lifts the arm closest to you, his jacket brushing against yours. "See that one?" He points to a star, and you hum, pretending to see the same one. He traces a seemingly random pattern from star to star. "Did you see that?"

"Yeah," you lie.

"That's Judas Priest."

You snort.

"And this?" He keeps pointing at another imaginary constellation. "The Manowar."

"Wow, you're really good at this," you grin. He chuckles.

"You try one."

You laugh and search the sky, looking for a pattern. "Okay, see that one?" You point to a random star on the other side of Eddie, meaning you have to lean over him a little bit to show him. He doesn't seem to mind. You trace a pattern in the sky. "Diamond Head."

"Good one," he whispers, turning his head to face you.

You stare at each other, holding your breath, for far too long. What the hell is happening? You've kissed him before. Like, a lot. Why does it feel different right now? Why can't either one of you make a move?

A dog howls in the distance, breaking the spell, and you both turn back to the sky.

"Right," Eddie clears his throat. "And this one…"

You quickly fall back into your constellation-finding. When you run out of bands, you turn to body parts. The game ends when Eddie points out the massive Munson's Cock, and you both dissolve into hysterics.

"Game over," you wheeze. "I don't think we're gonna beat that one."

"Aw, man," Eddie mourns. You both crack up again.

When you finally catch your breath, you reach for Eddie's hand. You stare up at the sky, dreading your looming curfew.

As if he can read your mind, Eddie holds up his wrist and checks the time on his light-up watch.

"We should head back in a few," he says quietly. You nuzzle a little closer to him, not ready to go back down the hill yet. Why can't you stay here forever, just the two of you? He gives your hand a squeeze, clearly not ready to let you go yet either.

"Look!" Eddie exclaims, pointing at a shooting star. You follow his finger and turn your head as you watch it streak across the sky in your direction. "Make a wish," he rumbles, right up against your neck. Your hair stands on end. Your whole body turns to jelly.

Somehow, you gather the strength to turn your head back to him. The stars are so bright, you can see them twinkling in his eyes. He's so fucking beautiful, you could burst.

"I wish you'd kiss me," you whisper.

Eddie leans forward and places a sweet kiss on your lips.

"Kind of a wasted wish," he smiles when it ends, his face only centimeters away from yours. "I was gonna kiss you anyway."

You shake your head.

"Not a waste," you breathe. "Not with you."

You can see him blushing, even in the dark.

[worldsover]

Hourglass ft. Saerom

length ✦ 15.6k

genres ✧ anal; fwb!Saerom

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth, lips parched. Though you asked Saerom for water, you didn’t need to be directed. You remember the important things. Cups in the third cabinet from the right. The water pitcher in the fridge. Everything else about her home is slightly off in your memory. An experimental flick of a switch, so she has yet to replace the lights in the range hood, and now they blink instead of being merely dim. Turn that back off. A different blender, no doubt more robust for all the shakes she makes. New polaroid photos of Saerom and her members on the fridge. Even pictures with Gyuri, but nothing recent as nine as you expected. So that’s what one year looks like.

"Are you gonna hang out in my kitchen all night?" Saerom asks as she walks in, arms crossed and smirking. For all that's changed in Saerom's home, how little has changed with the woman herself? The blunt bangs are new and of course, you’ve never seen this outfit, the flattering blue tube top and denim skirt, but you expected as much with all the clothes she went through. Beneath it all, though, was the same supermodel-esque Saerom. Emphasis on beneath. Beneath, what you were most intimately familiar with. Beneath, what you’re imagining at this very moment.

"Wasn’t planning on it. just taking in how long it’s been," you say. "I like the new painting in your living room, the one with the flowers."

"Thanks. I made it, actually. Little hobby I picked up in our… downtime. But yes. You're right. It has been long." Her words are sharp. The next one is sharper: "Bedroom." 

Saerom’s eyes fill in the rest of the directive. Now. We’re going to fuck. Stop wasting time. Dumbass. You didn’t realize how many words could fit in a gaze. Or some of those meanings are conveyed through her narrowed eyelids. You weren’t fluent in the language of the unspoken, but that wouldn’t stop you from trying.

In the time it takes to decrypt the whole one-word message (she’ll at least let you grab that drink, right?), you realize you’re gazing back. 

Saerom shakes her head and laughs to herself. "It’s like you’re doing this on purpose."

She walks away, but this lingering look of yours is deliberate. Saerom knows it as she looks back and now her smile is much naughtier. She might not know that you’re first staring at her bare shoulders. You want to touch them, massage them, lick them, kiss them, everything. 

Water wouldn’t help your thirst anyway, so you follow Saerom to the bedroom. The familiar last room of the hallway, on the left, its location is seared in your brain. You’d know it sober but horny, and drunk but hornier, so you path in the same footsteps you always did. You only lag behind Saerom for self-evident reasons, your eyes on the target of desire, her pert rear. This time, with the close fit of her skirt, you can make out the shape of your favorite shape to make out with. Her cozy, pillowy thighs look perfect as ever to rest your head upon as well.

The mere act of walking into the room stirs heat in your core. You can’t help but associate this room with the carnal. The only lights in the room are the moonlight filtering through the window and the warm lamp in the corner, and the dimness reminds you of your many restless nights.

Saerom sits on her bed, those thighs settling down and squishing in just the right way. Heat turns to pressure, in turn, turns into a cock imprint on your pants.

"I still don’t like how you just stand there," she says.

Her words make you shift weight from one foot to the other. You should sit, approach, anything, but no, you continue to stand. "You leave me speechless sometimes. I can’t help but watch."

"That’s sweet." Saerom gets up and walks up to you until there’s barely any space between you and her. "But I need you to do more than watch. Especially since you’ve taken this long to see me again."

"You changed your number," you say. But you already knew this was a flimsy excuse.

"And you could’ve DM’ed me. Texted any of the other members." Saerom scoffs. "You could’ve tried. Anything. Apparently it took us literally bumping in the mall to meet again."

A centimeter from making out, minutes away from sex, this wasn’t the time or place to bring it up. However, you had to bring it up at some point. When you hold her hand, Saerom freezes, caught off guard. 

"I’m sorry," you say. "You know me, how I overthink things. It’s not like we were dating or anything. just, you know, friends that did a bit more than friend things."

"In that case… " The vexing half-smile, half-frown on Saerom confirms your self-awareness—at least you know that you’re overanalyzing the shape of her lips. "You could’ve been a better friend."

Why do you talk at all? What a mistake speech can be. As you look down, away from Saerom’s eyes, your grip on her hand loosens. Despite being in this beautiful and blatantly horny woman’s bedroom, you think about walking away in shame—

But her fingers clasp.

"Not this time."

Words into actions, Saerom grabs your shirt with the free hand and pushes you toward the wall. No, there is no escape, when you look down into the intoxicating image of her cleavage, when her breasts press up against you. Your cock hardens in your pants and pushes up against her waist, turning the rest of you into a melting painting (in which you’ve become modern art and don’t care to debate your artistic merits). All the worries disappear in a heartbeat as you recall this exhilaration. At one point, this was an addiction for the two of you: you were both in the middle of promotions and found time to fuck every day for a week straight. You learned her body inside and out.

Time to relearn.

It’s 9:03, the clock above her bed.

You gently place your hand on the back of her head, the other hand between her tube top and skirt, feeling the warmth of her back. 

You lean in.

The lesson starts with the taste of her lips. It might be sweeter than usual, or it could be time twisting the taste, though either way, the flavor honeys you in deeper. The focus of your touch is split between melting into her mouth and gripping, relearning, the various parts of her perfect body. What was a gentle hold becomes a clingier clasp of her hair, and she does the same to you. Another pull, Saerom grips the neck of your shirt, clamoring for you to somehow get closer (space between the two of you is at a premium). Your hand on her back follows the groove of her spine—no, make a detour to get a feel of the muscles in her lean back, lats, and all that. You end up under her top where you tempt to pull it off, but no, not yet, you’re getting a feel of things, reacquainting yourself. Warm skin becomes warmer, becomes the canvas for subtle beads of sweat. Get used to that too, because you’re guaranteed a full-body workout tonight.

Warmth spreads to her breath, or at least you gain a keener awareness of its heat on your lips, its subtle nostalgic taste. Awareness becomes a small thorn: you and Saerom need to breathe, so you draw back. 

9:07, but it feels like 9:03 and thirty seconds give or take leaning on the side of give. When you look into her eyes instead of the clock, it’s not a matter of seconds or minutes—months that have passed you are coming back in these familiarly firing nerves, where spikes of bliss rewind you to the visceral parts of your memories.

With how Saerom’s hands are latching onto your clothes, under your clothes, she might as well rip them off now. While your lips return to hers, your hands are taking a more subtle approach, your fingers drawing and memorizing the lines and curves of her body. Starting at her forearm, you track her muscles, from her svelte but sturdy biceps to her firm delicious shoulders, the sum of her efforts working out. You remember her habits as a welcome contagion that’s spread to you, the stretches she’d do after an intense session of fucking, the ungodly huge jug of water she’d gulp down—simple things in your daily life that you took for granted. Then, her eager tongue slides into your mouth and you’re back in the moment, your digits moving toward the crook of her neck. She always had a particular sensitivity here, a simple press of your fingertip into her skin earning a surprisingly loud moan, though it might also be your tongue pushing back into her mouth. 

You want to pretend that you can keep up this momentum of appreciating the small details, want to remind Saerom of your dexterity; however, your hands find themselves on her tits, over her tube top. Your squeezing and groping are only recompenses for Saerom’s mounting lack of restraint. She’s rubbing her crotch against your erection—does she want to make you unload in your pants? Because she could, easily—she has one leg hooked around you, and she’s making your massaging of her breasts seem tame in comparison to the nails starting to dig into your back.

Saerom and you have never kissed like this. Never kissed like you were trying to escalate from a little scrap to an all-out battle royal. It’s not tongues sliding, but tongues dancing, not hands feeling, hands taking and sinking and grabbing as if you might lose yourselves another year—why bother with what was lost, but instead, the things you will lose. The time, your mind, all control. Don’t try. Let go.

You’re only kissing, so why is there so much saliva? Each escape for air is made a mess by more and more thin bridging strands of spit between your lips, and more is exchanged when your mouths converge again. And you only take breaks for Saerom’s jaw or her cheek or her nose, giving each sculpted feature the kisses they deserve, and Saerom only takes breaks with her thumb on your lip—she sticks out her tongue, showing off the bubbly spit she’s pooled in her mouth, and you’re happy to receive before these breaks have to take a break: you need to kiss her again/she needs to kiss you again.

You’re only kissing, so why is there so much noise? A deep guttural noise nearing growls from out of your mouth meets the unexpectedly cute high-pitched moans out of Saerom at the lips’ points of contact, maybe amplified by the meeting of tongues or the lewd exchange of spit. But the erotic makes way for the romantic, and the two of you resonate in a shared low hum as you slow your pace, control your breathing, trade smiles and giggles and longing looks, no need to rush.

But then, there’s no need to rush, and you’re only kissing, so why is your heart racing out of orbit? And this isn’t close to the first time you’ve kissed, so why can you feel Saerom’s heart beating the same hurried way? The answer is obvious in hindsight. The past is an eternity and the present is infinitesimally small, contained to a single point; that is, your hearts are making up for the lost time.

(Only kissing, yet pulses inside you already threaten to end it here, how embarrassing. (But then on second thought, absolutely nothing to be ashamed of with Saerom's unfair allure.))

All this in a kiss, in a pair of lips upon another. Two selves are reduced to two bodies, flesh and all. Look at Saerom when you pull away, and you’re back to two selves, mind and all. Swipe away the long hair that’s fallen on her face, and help fix her thick bangs. She smiles at you.

Glance at the clock again, and it’s 9:18, closer to 9:04 in your mind. You might have discovered time travel.

She pulls you off the wall—you didn’t notice that you were sagging against it, that you’ve lowered yourself nearly face to face with Saerom—and then she brings you toward her bed. A light push knocks you off balance, though you land on her mattress.

"Smooth," you say, and Saerom giggles.

You reposition so that you’re sitting on the edge of her bed. Soft, springy, doesn’t make too much noise even when two people are testing the limits of its suspension—you remember all that well. The sheets always dried surprisingly quickly if you hung them outside overnight. Plus, it’s the exact height for you to place your feet on the ground, and for Saerom’s head to lean against your thigh. There, kneeling, as if home inside her home, she watches your cock twitch under your pants when she paws at it experimentally.

"And you’re frustrated when I watch," you say.

"Hey, you can’t say I’m just watching." Saerom rubs you up and down over your pants and your jaw clenches. "But you’re right."

When Saerom gets a hold of your shirt, you raise your arms.

"You’re still in good shape," she says, smiling proudly.

"Thank you. I definitely don’t miss the diets, but I’m happy they got me in the habit of working out. Plus, you gave me plenty of motivation."

"Mhm." She traces your abs. They aren't washboard muscular (read, photoshopped) since you’re not lifting your shirt for audiences anymore, but they are decently taut, hinting at a six-pack. As you said, you were over the sort of daily sweet potato diet to keep that up. But for this reaction, Saerom's half-lidded eyes gazing at your midriff, you’ll gladly keep up your other routines.

Saerom then tugs your waistband, taking both your pants and boxers an inch down, then another, teasing you with the incremental progress. You can only sit still and keep your hands on the mattress’ edge. When your cockhead pokes out, she smiles, then forgoes any inhibition, stripping you straight down to your ankles. Your shaft springs free, and it nearly hits her face, but Saerom instinctually dodges it. Saerom ducks under your dick, centering it over her face, and she lets out a long exhale. Warm air flows around your length, though the jolts racing up your body are cold. 

"I miss this cock. None of my toys compare." With a light frown, Saerom rests her head on your thigh again. She lightly and playfully traces your shaft with one finger.

"You really know how to boost an ego—ahh." Your jaw is wide, breaths ragged when her fingertip circles around your frenulum, the spot sensitive to her agonizingly light touch.

"Oh. Is that precum? Already?" Saerom’s narrowed eyes change focus from the slight pulses of your cock to your transfixed gaze, and that alone earns another white drop. Her finger traces up, and now she’s drawing circles at the top of your cockhead, smearing stickiness around.

"God, Saerom. You’re so fucking hot." Her touch pulls the truth out of you. It didn’t need to be spoken, but by her smile, it’s always worth stating the obvious.

She licks her lips, cleaning a bit of drool. Breathily, Saerom says, "Fuck. Should I just make you cum like this? With my fingers? It’s only fair. It’s only been me and my fingers all this time."

As much as you want to fuck her every hole open, you can’t deny that the prospect of being brought to the brim with her deft touch alone is tempting. "I said I’m sorry."

"Maybe if you say sorry enough, we can fuck." Saerom puts one hand around your cock and she’s barely doing anything, a lazy twist here, a half tug there.

"Sorry," you say, your upper teeth latching on to your lower lip. "Seriously. I miss you. I should’ve at least tried a little harder."

"Oh, we’re getting sappy now?" Saerom adds another hand—one isn’t enough to wrap fully her fingers around you—though it’s still awfully insignificant motions, sending erratic sparks throughout your body.

You shiver, hiss, and tense up. "Sorry. Please."

"Fffuck, I like the sound of that. the way your voice catches in your throat." She reaches down for your balls, jumpy at the faint graze of a nail. "What if I just milk out everything? I know how much you can cum. That would be so hot. When was the last time you came? Were you thinking about me?"

A week ago, and yes. Of course. You don’t want to admit those, and neither will you admit that a whine is coming out of you, yet even if you were silent, your hips are bucking on their own as you fuck yourself into Saerom’s hand.

Saerom says, "Oooh, are you—"

"I can’t take it anymore." You pull her up then push her back down onto the mattress, then you’re on top of her. You support yourself above Saerom with one arm and look at her carefully. Her face is a masterpiece, her body the work of a master craftsman. At your obvious overflowing lust, she looks to the side, bringing her wrist up to her mouth in a gesture of embarrassment you’ve never seen from Saerom.

Saerom’s reactions renew your confidence as if time never happened, so doubt’s seed could not have grown how it did, and you carry a sure smirk inspired by the cockiness once found on stage. You’re reminded that despite your indecision everywhere else—why the two of you never progressed past mere acquaintances—you were a man of action in the bedroom. That’s what Saerom wanted out of you. Saerom being shy might be an act, might be sincere, but it works either way. With this new upper hand, you grab Saerom’s wrist to unblock her face, too pretty to be shy about.

"We’ve done this plenty of times," you say, pinning Saerom’s arm to the bed.

She turns her head toward you but she can’t make eye contact. "It’s been a while."

"You're right. It has been long." You go in for a kiss, and she closes her eyes; however, you dodge her face.

"Fuck you." Saerom hits your chest and pouting. Then, her lips transform to a different contortion when you go straight for the neck. "Hnn, not too much. Remember last time you left hickeys on me? My makeup artist wouldn’t stop teasing me about it."

"Maybe I should mark you enough that makeup won’t be enough," you say, and her eyes go wide. "I’m kidding. Just a little payback for teasing me with your hands." 

So instead, you aspire to leave your small marks on the other parts of the body. Where no one else but you will see. First, a softer kiss on the end of her collarbone right under her neck. With the floral notes of her shampoo mixed with the fainter sweetness of her body wash on her soft skin, your nose is tempted as you kiss along the rest of her collarbone up to her shoulder; from there, you’re led down to her armpit.

"Your body is perfect, Saerom." 

She’s already ticklish from the playful kisses of her armpit and her ribs, but something about that crook under her arm compels you to lick—it’s the scent of her body wash once again, as well as a hint of vanilla, possibly from deodorant. Saerom is also starting to sweat, lending a barely noticeable musk and salty taste, and that only fuels your tongue further.

"Stooop, nh, nuh, no, why do you keep licking there? It’s dirty," Saerom says, squirming and laughing. This high-pitched tone is unfamiliar, easier to imagine coming from one of the maknaes such as Jiheon or Nagyung instead.

"It’s not." You’ve slathered her armpit in saliva by now. "Kisses aren’t enough. Every part of you deserves to be worshiped. What if I worshiped your whole body with my tongue? Gave you a tongue bath?"

Saerom can’t look at you anymore, yet she can’t stop smiling. "Wh-whatever you say."

You soon leave her armpit to fulfill your promise. You’re leaving a light trail of saliva down her arm, you suck each of her fingers, the knuckles, the interdigital folds, leaving no stone unturned. Returning up to Saerom's shoulder, you realize your folly of asymmetry, having only licked and kissed the right side of her upper body. You swipe your tongue across her neck.

"I don’t know what it is, but I can’t stop thinking about your neck or your shoulder or your collarbones. Should I take my cock out right now and jerk off onto them?"

She bites her lips, and her thighs rub together.

"Just imagine your neck and shoulders all drenched with cum. Dripping down to your tits. I swear I could leave a whole river of thick white semen down your cleavage, make a mess of your tits just as collateral damage," you say as you finish your job of licking up Saerom’s left arm, shoulder, armpit.

With your rising initiative, Saerom’s hands can’t lie inactive by her sides. She first adds to the rubbing of her thighs with her hands—not enough—reaches between her legs—not enough. You know this, have seen this, enough to understand she’ll be on a tortuous brim for as long as you’re not inside her. And so be it, her decision to make, because you’re happy to let her dance on that dizzying outskirt as you pull her top down to her midriff and kiss and lick her breasts. Going in a circle around each one, you find yourself lingering much longer here, again covering her skin with saliva as you sense every goosebump with your tongue. Here, on her sizable tits, you’ll leave the marks that she’ll think about when she’s on stage. Under whatever stage outfit she’s wearing will lay your claim, your worship, and no one else will know but you and Saerom. Sweet secrets, another unspoken language.

The noises that come out of Saerom when you suck on her nipples aren’t speech but they’re too loud to count as unspoken. Your tongue, lips, teeth, and every part of your mouth partake in playing with the nubs as they harden but before long, you pull the top back up. You’re carefully slow because you want to see her breasts squish against the deep neckline of the clothing before it’s hidden.

Slow breaths and raised brow, Saerom glances at you with your sudden intermission.

You tell her frankly, "It’s a cute top, and I want to watch how your tits jiggle when you ride me."

Her quiet, acknowledging "mm" becomes a longer hum when you move downward. You take time leaving a kiss on each rib before worshiping her perfect abs with your tongue. Though you can feel Saerom writhing under you, you’ve been too focused on your task, so you look up to see her reaction. However, as you tongue at her belly button, she doesn’t look down at you in return; instead, Saerom is arching back and looking straight up at the ceiling. Her hands flatten on the bed, right by her head, elbows up. Every muscle is stretching, tensed.

"I didn’t think you’d like this as much as you do."

At your words, Saerom finally looks at you, her eyes unfocused, and she only nods, lips tight.

When you’re done with the upper half of her body, you decide to multitask. If she could form words, she’d be begging for you to move up instead of down from her thighs, but you’re also removing her skirt while you move down to her feet. After you unbutton and throw the skirt off to the side, you give her toes the same treatment as her hands. A thorough tongue washes each ridge, each sole, until her body is tongue-bathed top to bottom as promised.

All except for one part. Looking at the dark spot on her blue panties, it’s safe to say your mouth has plenty of cleaning left. You don’t mind doubling back with your trail of kisses up her leg, especially since it earns more cute strained noises from Saerom’s lips, and then it’s a third and final path down her legs.

"Saerom, watch."

She mouths "fuck" as you bite the waistband of her panties and gingerly pull.

From her waist to her knees, the panty-pulling with your teeth was careful and teasing. You want to say you kept your eye contact the whole way through like a suave playboy, but a glint in the corner of your vision steals your attention. Saerom is immersed in the whole range of light’s temperature, the cool ambiance of the moon, the dim yellow of her small lamp, yet it seems all of light has collected onto her dewy slit. The thought of tasting her nectar hurries you. You stop using your teeth, your now feral hands damn near tearing them off from her ankles.

"Woah, careful with—" 

Then Saerom’s mouth seals when you seal your mouth around Saerom’s pussy without hesitation. This feels right, home, the past in the present, between Saerom’s thighs with your face right at her crotch. You don’t feel a drop of shame because there’s too much dripping already. Two dark pink wavy folds—you set your thumb on one, index finger on the other to hold them in place. The destination of your voyage of kisses and licks, you give plenty of passes of your tongue to the swelling nub of her clit, passes of your lips to her lips. Are you drooling? Or is that Saerom’s boundless juices? Either way, they mix in your mouth, the salty flavors, the addicting musk, and the slightest metallic tinge.

"Fuck, that’s delicious," you say while you gauge her response. You didn’t notice until now that Saerom has two hands in your hair, or that she’s pulling and pushing you to return to your station. You delay a moment to tell her: "Am I remembering wrong? I’ve never seen you this wet."

Saerom first works through her ragged breaths before she can talk. "Yeah, agh, I haven’t cum in a couple of months. You’d be surprised. How busy I’ve been. And, I guess, I was hoping, this exact thing would happen."

"You know you could’ve called too, right? DM’ed me, whatever." You’re surprised you had the wherewithal to bring it up while Saerom’s slick is on your chin and lips.

Saerom whispers, "I’m sorry." Then she closes her mouth. Her grip on your hair loosens. 

Of course, it’s too late for regrets and apologies now. You revisit your favorite place to taste in the world—fuck a restaurant, fuck a bar, everything you need to taste and drink is right here. And quickly, there’s no way Saerom can keep her mouth closed or her hands off your hair with all the oral pleasure you give.

"So, so good, good, ahh, fuck." Saerom’s tongue can’t stay in her mouth, dangling casually as her jaw opens wider in bliss.

As your right hand spreads her folds again, your lips suction and your tongue laps at the top of her cunt, servicing her clit, as well as below, digging deeper at the source of all the wetness. You lick exhaustively, collect every drop you can—you can't. Too much leaking fluid to avoid making a mess of her sheets.

"Fuck, fuck, goddammit, fuck."

Though your free left hand is mindlessly on your cock, stroking, there’s no actual need to touch yourself. You could be as hard as steel as long as you’re eating Saerom out. You heighten Saerom's stimulation, sinking your fingers into her thighs, kneading and massaging—earn a few giggle-infused moans—then you move to where your face is being turned into a canvas, a girl-cum rag. There, you add a finger, then two into her slit. Now your mouth and digits are working in tandem, pumping in and out, exploring her pussy, relearning, to turn Saerom’s brain into mush.

You could’ve been doing this for two minutes or two days, fuck the clock, fuck worrying about time and its immaterial decay on the world. It’s only when you hear Saerom’s profanities die down that you slow down too.

She works up the ability to talk again: "S-stop. I love how you eat me, but I need to ride you. Now."

One last kiss on her pussy lips. "I was thinking the exact same thing."

In honesty, you were also thinking about how your jaw is tired or how your neck is strained, but those would’ve been fine sacrifices to make for Saerom. If you needed to stay there an hour to make her cum three times, you would’ve done it—maybe that would’ve made up for a lost week? So just over two straight days to make up for a whole year? No matter.

Saerom nudges at your shoulder and gestures for you to get up. It takes a while for you to reorient yourself—right, she’s just lying in her bed as if it were any other night, except you’re in between her legs. She sits up and scooches over so that you can replace her reclined position. Listening to Saerom recollect her breathing and watching her stare at your erection pointed straight at the ceiling, you realize she’s also reorienting herself. Don’t give her time: you grab Saerom’s hand and she falls right on top of you, hands at your sides. A mirror of your stances moments ago. She’s surprised at first, her mouth in a circle, and then her smile grows. This smile deserves awards, and more light, if only you had a floodlight on your face. All you get in this room is a dim ambiance, but you’ll take every photon you can get. 

Traveling in time, you think about when you and Saerom fucked the first time. Five years ago, you were both rookie idols without the luxury of a bed. Far bolder back then, Saerom was riding your cock in the dark corner of an empty sound stage, and your hands and back were meeting the cold hard floor, the two of you risking your careers for a spontaneous fuck.

Now the two of you are in different places in your life, yet you end up in the same place regardless. 

Guess it’s 9:34:40—you can’t actually look at the clock above and behind your head as you lay in bed, and Saerom’s hair is in your face.

A breath, and then you’re overwhelmed by Saerom, her tongue in your mouth, her hand on your cock. You’re happy to lose control at this moment. For the rushing thrill of the idea of this beautiful idol fucking you, or for the physical manifestation of this desire, her pussy embracing your cockhead in the first penetration and the weight of her body and her kiss all crashing into your heart, you gladly sacrifice this exact minute for the compressed eternity to compress further, too much to contain, and it uncollapses—what was a single point containing all the beauty and warmth in your head becomes a cascading chasm, a pointillistic cloud, each little dot a snapshot of all the sensations. Beyond thrust for thrust, your thoughts flash ripple by ripple.

Saerom’s cunt slowly slides down as she pushes against the girth of your cock. Your hands are trying to compete for tightness of grip on her asscheeks, but they’ll never compare to the closeness with which her labia grasps around your cock. The tangy taste of her juices lingers on your tongue, mixes with her mouth's taste when you kiss—mostly the saltiness of saliva at this point, though you’ll drink up every last drop. You smell sweat and the trace of sex against the sweet scents of her skin and her hair. Listen to the slow squelch of her soaked hole because for once you’re both silenced by this kiss, deeper than before; open your eyes, watch Saerom’s need in action, and take in that every stimulated sense is but a small part of the single motion of Saerom lowering her ass into your crotch.

It was never that deep was it? It was just sex, just a basic carnal act. There was longing, there was the low light of the room, there was a closeness you forgot, and none of it mattered. For all this thinking, there is no real thought or purpose. There’s nothing so profound about it except for how much happens all at once, and in that inundation of self, the simple profane is newly profound. Balls slap against her ass. It is that deep.

Guess it’s 9:34:45, and it doesn’t matter what the time really is for the rhetoric either. The seconds have been stretched like Saerom’s pussy around your dick. The dots have danced.

She takes in the feeling of your length all the way inside of her, her eyes wide when she looks at you as you stop making out. You have to resist the urge to spank her ass, to start pounding up, upside-down jackhammer, so your hands slide up to her waist holding her.

Saerom feels her midriff, and you notice the slightest bulge of your cock against the slimness; she rubs it. "Fuck. I miss this. I miss you."

Somehow you find it in yourself to snark: "We’re getting sappy now? While I’m this deep in you?"

She growls quietly and holds your jaw. "Shut up." And if her words weren’t enough, she’s back at it with her tongue finding residence in your mouth. 

Saerom then pulls away from Earth’s gravity, lifting her ass. It isn't nearly as slow as the insertion, but it's just as serene a sensation. All the pulling and pushing, it’s everything you remember with Saerom—it’s more. Riding your dick becomes effortless for Saerom, gravity barely a nuisance as her bouncing hastens. Second nature returning in seconds.

You’re becoming less of an active agent, more of a recipient of pleasure, barely holding on by Saerom’s waist. While you certainly feel like you're pounding her pussy, she’s the one putting in all the work. You can imagine it’s tiring for Saerom, but if it’s half as good as it feels for you, then any amount of exhaustion doesn’t matter.

Her unbridled passion eventually subsides though, replacing the forceful slams of her butt with slower and more conscious motions. Though she still has her lips on yours, it’s a lazy placement. Not as much of a kiss. You'll take it. Saerom also isn't bothering to support herself with her arms by your sides, opting to lay on your chest instead. Your cock goes in, tick, tick, tick, out, tock, tock, tock. Many beats, many seconds, and many breaths between each plunge. Then, even the slick sliding of Saerom’s cunt on your cock gives way to more of a grinding motion. She twists her hips, bringing her ass around in erratic ellipses. A whole new host of euphoric sensations on your cock. You’re reacquainting with her tender inner muscles, clenching on your shaft. Your fingers around her midriff press into her skin, your eyes roll back, and you have to tense your jaw.

A grinding halt. 

Saerom is inert, warming your cock. Her head is on your shoulder, mouth on your neck (while not actively suctioning, the sensation of her plump lips sends shivers throughout your body regardless). She stirs, straightening her back again. There’s no way you want to let go of her waist, want to have her stop kissing you, want to remove the weight of her tits and whole body on top of yours—Saerom’s curves are ergonomic with how well they fit on you—however, she sits up, her knees on each side of your waist, back straight. Your dick is a stanchion, its tip poking at her entrance, and you don’t mind trading the feeling for the image.

A grinding start.

Instead of only feeling the twisting and the back-and-forth movements of her hips, now you get to watch it, doubling the thrill. Saerom’s eyes are filled with lust and she’s biting a finger, her other hand on your shoulder. Everything about Saerom hypnotizes you, and you can’t keep your hands idle. You return to sinking your fingers into the mass of her ass, then you’re exploring her curves again in this new context.

There's a large mirror leaning against the wall across from you, right in position to show off Saerom's backside. This is the first time this year and this night that you've got a good view of her bare butt. Perfectly round (you'll redefine circles to be second place if you have to) and ample enough for your digit to make a significant crease. Her ass is a famed masterwork, lusted over by many but not seen in true pure form except by the incomparably fortunate you.

Upon your renewed vigor and thirst, Saerom restarts her ride, the chaotic grinding becoming a focused lifting and dropping of her whole self. She has to hoist her knees up to squat on your cock. The image is accompanied by sounds, making the trade worthwhile. The flesh of her ass slapping and slamming against your crotch echoes her bedroom, some slick noises in there too. Her hands clench into fists by her side as she savors the stretch of her pussy.

This brings you back to the last time you fucked: a year ago, in a love hotel, a careless drunk hook-up. Saerom rode you cowgirl expertly then, and it seems she’s only gotten better now. You’d think the self-admitted lack of practice would show—but once more, she proves that time hasn’t passed between this year and last.

While Saerom seats herself into your perfectly plumb penis repeatedly in her cowgirl ride, not missing a beat or bounce, you get exactly as you wish: the hypnotizing view of Saerom's tits jiggling in the confines of her blue tube top. You get the most beautiful demonstration of physics with each bounce of her breasts. Then you take physics itself into your own hands, grabbing each breast and squeezing over the fluffy fabric. At your rough fondling, Saerom lets out some higher-pitched whimpers in between her constant pleasured groan. She rides down into your cock harder, and you let go to see how wildly her breasts can bounce. Saerom's mouth is open in bliss; yours is more in awe, her breasts bouncing up and down as if wanting to be freed of the top themselves. You'd be inclined to agree.

Thus, with a grunt that gets Saerom's attention, she stops bouncing and lets your dick rest guts-deep inside of her. She shudders. You sit up, a burn in your abs that you cast aside. Saerom raises her arms and you pull upward, watching her boobs squish, then pop out from under the tube top. You're tempted to re-clothe her just to see that again (squish, pop, boing, immature sounds accompanying the sight in your head). However, with the article of clothing already around her elbows, you might as well finish the job. No more hesitation, you toss the blue top right into her laundry basket (nice shot).

Saerom pushes your chest, returning you to your recumbence. You don't mind her forcefulness—in fact, you cherish whenever Saerom handles you roughly. You know exactly what that leads to. She lifts her entire body up, unsheathing your glistening cock, then drives herself back down. This first bounce is deliberate. She's watching your reaction, no doubt giving you a satisfied smile because of your weak groan or your face twisting with pleasure before she restarts her ardent riding.

Yet again, all these places for your eyes to land upon—her thighs jiggling as she springs up and down, your cock appearing and disappearing inside Saerom, the thin sheen of sweat covering the entirety of her flawless skin—yet there was only ever one possibility after flashing through those equally addicting sights. You're fixated on Saerom's soft tits, unrestrained by the shackles of clothing. They freely ripple, rise, fall, rise again, her nipples drawing some invisible erratic path in the air like the chaos of a double pendulum. There is no predicting the movements, but you're staring as if you're trying your damnedest, knowing that you'll fail. Happy that you'll fail.

"What do you like better, hmm? Watching my tits bounce with or without clothes?"

What an intriguing question. (You're jealous of her ability to form cogent thoughts in this situation.) You're not sure. Obviously, seeing her tits completely exposed, her brown nipples in plain view is a sight you never want to relinquish. However, the bounce of her tits within the tube top is oddly compelling. It's the sort of view you could get equally as an audience member or as an average fan replaying the same three seconds of a fancam—you get the privilege of getting to see this Saerom from a whole new angle.

Not even the most advanced camera can capture the full extent of your senses being. The perfect POV video of Saerom riding cowgirl will never convey the heat of Saerom's core, the constant clamping of her cunt around your cock.

But then, if you had a camera and had to hold it right now, you'd have to let go here in confusion.

Saerom leans forward and places her hand palm down on the bed by your sides.

You're surprised at her action and, at her hitherto wordlessness, you're also surprised at her saying "I'm going to ride you as hard as fucking possible."

What an intriguing declaration. Wasn't she already doing that?

She lifts her ass and does not lie and rides you as hard as fucking possible. Never doubt her. You knew intensity came in the form of horny Saerom, didn't know it could lift your soul past the stratified layers of atmosphere above this very home, where jet streams blew past and didn't compare to her speed or didn't compare to the air knocked out of your lungs.

Wanting to hold back from cumming, you slow down—well, you want to slow down, but it's not really up to you, judging by Saerom staring off into space with a slack jaw, by the insistent motion of her hips. Maybe she'll ride your cock until you both die or neither of you may die and she'll be fucking you cowgirl until heat death? She's in a trance, cock-drunk, lust clouding her brain, and you have the same fog, though the fog is also pulsations that you want to delay. Now a dynamic duo, heat and pressure cook inside of you, and you could unload and breed and fill Saerom any second now. You have to physically hold her from fucking into your cock.

It isn't until your fingers grip hard—you might even be leaving traces of nail marks—that Saerom is pulled out of her rhythm, panting. She whines and pouts and after brushing her long hair aside, looks at you with an empty-headed expression. "Wh-what?"

You try your best to maintain composure, but really your whole body is dedicated to clenching every muscle so that you don't orgasm on the spot, despite her now sitting still. "Reverse cowgirl," you say, keeping up your false resolve.

Saerom nods mindlessly, raising her ass. It's more honest of her, commendable, to eschew the pretense that she had anything in her mind. She gets into position for reverse cowgirl, kneeling with her legs hooked under yours, her ass placed right in your lap. Instead of a reflection a few meters away through the mirror in her prior cowgirl stance, now you get a perfect close-up. Sweat, pores, goosebumps, all that texture in the dim lighting of her bedroom. More than ever, you want a spotlight—having no such device, you aspire to paint bright red with your hand—smack, a loud one, like a whip on her right cheek, and at once you get the vividness you want.

She gasps and looks back, the vixen smugly grinning as if to say "one more".

It's too easy to fall in, to give her what you want, and her left cheek recoils nicely in the same way. It's tempting to keep going, to keep submitting to the little diversion that makes this moment and night last forever. But if the shape of her ass is tempting, her tight asshole is a drug to an addict, and you've unknowingly abstained for far too long. Right now, do it, take your cock, align it with the entrance, and thrust into her. You want to… but you also know better than that.

Besides, Saerom takes the matter into her own hands—hand, as she reaches back to hold your cock. She softly places your shaft between her supple cheeks and after a quick wiggle of her hips to situate herself, she starts sliding her ass up and down your length. This buttjob alone is enough to make your balls twitch, to make you jumpy at the prospect of cumming early once again.

Her rhetorical words don't help—"You know how many times I’ve thought about you and fucked myself in front of this mirror?"—because now, you're picturing it, and the images overlap in your mind. In the mirror and in your imagination alike, her deft fingers are teasing herself, crawling between her legs, and rubbing her clit. In this imaginary world, the juices from her cunt are being wasted on the floor or on the sheets or on a towel if she were so poised; in the real world, there is no waste, as this nectar finds its way onto your cock, whether it be dripping right into you or by her moist hands reaching back to keep your shaft in place.

The undulation of Saerom's hips is much gentler than her previous ride—she must have recognized why you wanted her to stop in the first place. You'll happily take the sparks of pleasure that this lazy friction gives you, your cock neatly nestled in the crack of her backside.

"I can even show you later," Saerom says.

"Show me what?" you ask.

"Ahh, don't worry about it." Once more, she grabs your cock behind her, but this time she's twisting her whole upper body to look at you. There are so many targets for your inevitable cumshot: her arched back has the perfect valley for your seed to run down, toned muscles to paint white; the thought of cum streaking down her tits could make you bust on the spot; and sullying Saerom's alluring face is naturally a favorite pastime of yours, especially making her sharp jawline drip with cum as you feed your load right onto her lips, or maybe you should make a mess of her bangs.

Anyway, what were you supposed to be worrying about? Whatever it was, it wouldn't matter compared to Saerom aligning your cockhead at her entrance, plunging your whole length at once, at twice, at thrice, and then it's a blur of bliss.

You want to say it's the same as a few minutes ago—after all, what's the difference except turning around—but her velvety walls surrounding your cock feel completely novel to the regular cowgirl position. Your shaft is pointed at an angle different enough to give you whole new sensations of pleasure, and if not for the momentary reprieve of the teasing buttjob, you'd climax in the first few thrusts. That doesn't include the whole new visual stimulation of her perfectly perky ass lifting and dropping in rhythm, its fleshy weight ricocheting with each downward collision.

Again, you feel inert, more like a toy being used than a person having sex. In a way, it's fine, natural even with Saerom's eagerness. There's only so much touching and fondling you can do until it seems a waste of energy—you don't need to do anything to keep Saerom bouncing on your cock as long as it's hard. And for your part, you're getting sweat and moans and jolts of pleasure extracted out of you without any effort. However, naturally, you want more participation, to feel more involved.

Therefore, your first course of action is to sit up, breaking Saerom's rhythm, and she looks back at you, her breaths heavy and sporadic. It reminds of you the classic ending fairy, her chest rising and falling, but you get to watch her breasts in their full bareness moving with each exhalation. Then, you grab her with two hands by the waist—by now, a gesture you've repeated a hundred times, and thus you know exactly where to put your fingers to have her held still, like her hips are handles. Keeping up this tight grasp and never fully unsheathing your cock, you reposition the two of you until you're both kneeling, with you behind Saerom.

Her back rests against your chest, and her long hair is right in your face. You take a moment to smell Saerom. Maybe her shampoo is lavender or rose—you're a Flover, not a florist—but for certain, you haven’t smelled it before. Then, you brush her hair with your fingers, all disheveled by the continuous bouncing and riding.

You take a nibble of her ear, and you can see the whites of Saerom's eyes for a moment in the mirror, your face next to hers. "My turn," you whisper into her ear.

Saerom gulps, barely maintaining eye contact in the mirror.

This position, inspired by JAV, is perfect for your goal: repay Saerom's passion by getting the leverage to piston into her pussy as hard and fast as possible. It starts by taking her arms, hanging listlessly at her sides, and pulling them behind her back.

Caress her face one last time—call it the moment's final tranquility. The silence save for the air passing your lips. The darkness save for glimmers of light, the night in the window.

Your hips snap into place, back and forth, cock going in and out, rhythm accelerating all at once, drag racing. You're already at your top speed, your peak strength, fucking your whole soul into Saerom. Clap, clap, clap, the audience and the performers on the stage of the bed are the same. The uproarious applause cannot be conceited because neither of you has your hands free.

Saerom yelps and moans, and you can't tell which is wider between her mouth and her eyes. The observational task through the mirror becomes harder as her hair swings wildly, long dark strands haphazardly strewn about her face, plus you get distracted by her breasts swinging even more wildly.

At least you now have an answer to Saerom’s previous open question.

Each of your words is punctuated by one or two or three thrusts (actual punctuation omitted for readability): "Can’t believe I haven’t fucked your tits yet or your throat or your tight little—" Well, these plunges are powerful enough—CLAP, CLAP—to merit the interruption, as it completely breaks the flow of what you were saying "—asshole. Fuck!"

Asshole, fuck—you want nothing more than to do that Saerom right now, temptations and jitters and dry throat as you look down and see that vulgar entrance, and it completely breaks the flow, slows down your thus-far dogged pace.

Her hands are shaking so you let her wrists go, and you expect her to fall forward (you’re looking forward to that, aren’t you? Saerom face down ass up, a lucid dream’s image); instead, her limbs limp at her sides, and she leans into your chest, returning the warmth and sweatiness and softness of her back—firmness of her lats and shoulder blades. 

She takes a deep breath. You nuzzle your chin onto her neck, and Saerom giggles—then she’s silenced when you wrap your arms around her: one arm around her tits, compressing them while you toy with a nipple in your hand, with the other arm around her neck in a stranglehold. You aren't aiming to asphyxiate Saerom (the force of your cock can make her as light-headed as you want her) but rather, to have her whole body in your complete control, manhandling her like a plastic sex doll.

It’s fair play to how she rode you mere moments ago (or maybe it’s been much longer; the clock might tick above you, but its count is worthless in this situation). You didn't need words to know how much she enjoyed this push and pull. You could hear it, see it, every sense attuned to your mutual pleasure. You’re not just fucking Saerom’s plush cunt. You’re pinching and rolling her nipples. You’re sucking on the back of her neck.

Emboldened by the few weak moans that escape Saerom, you’re back to that ardent rhythm, though long and deep strokes of your cock are replaced with quicker and shallower drives. Two people can’t get any closer than this. Your dick is repeatedly entrenched in Saerom’s cunt while the rest of Saerom’s body is held tight in your embrace. Close but there’s distance: she can’t look at you, her pupils rolling up.

This hold becomes tedious, even with Saerom having the defined abs to give her core strength for days. What would be a relaxed position—the two of you kneeling, Saerom in your lap—becomes tiring when it involves the exercise routine of sex. You take all the pillows from behind you, place them in front of her knees, then push her down with a hand on her back with the pile of pillows for support. You're positioned perfectly so that her face is at the edge of the bed, more importantly, visible to the large mirror opposite to the bed.

Look at yourself. You're exhausted, crease lines on your face, sweat on your brow.

Saerom's exhaustion is more beautiful—if not beautiful, compelling (it is beautiful, don’t philosophize now). It makes you want to pump harder, to find out if you can drain her of her stamina first. A tall task, you've seen the woman's more intense workout sessions too, experienced it first-hand in your past marathon weekends of fucking.

Hissing, you carefully extract from Saerom, then smack her reddened sore buttcheeks with your shaft. Her fucked cunt gets some cock-slaps too, a tactical delay that earns a few cute yelps from Saerom. If you’re going to cum, you’ve decided it’ll be here, with Saerom face down, bent over pillows, her ass up for you to squeeze, watch jiggle, and plunge into. Doesn’t mean you’ll cream her cunt in one more stroke. Savor this as long as you can. 

One more hit of her pussy lips with your dick. A dripping string of her juice flicks off.

A fistful of hair, you pull while you begin slamming your hips forward. You shove your cock inside, again and again, a slow rhythm, no rhyme, like there's a point you're trying to make by fucking Saerom into the bed. If there had to be a point, it’s that your dreams materialized too easily because even your lucid dreams didn’t go this well. And further, though not much further, following this logic, you fuck Saerom’s pussy with thoughts of another hole. An even tighter hole, somehow. Too tight. Visions of Saerom’s anal grip have your fingers digging into Saerom’s back, have you pushing too hard for this denouement. You have to be measured about your penetration, needing to pull her into you. If nothing else, ensuring she doesn't slump past the edge of the bed. Saerom is the pile of pillows underneath her, soft and lifeless and you wouldn’t mind spending all day in her.

Burying and unburying yourself into Saerom, your dick is soaked in slick and raw, sore. All this pounding is getting to you. A heady mix of hormones and heat. You’ve done your job. Saerom can barely keep her eyelids up, her every breath heavy and slow. She doesn’t even move.

This is your final ramp-up, the pace almost numbing, and then the internal throbs come out of nowhere—you can’t delay your end much longer. These past few minutes have been completely devoted to your stimulation, so it was only a matter of time. You push your knees down into the mattress now, having to hold onto yourself as much as Saerom. (What part of self you’re holding onto is a question you won’t or can’t answer.) feeling the familiar pulses of climax in two of your strokes, you're tempted to clamp down on her waist and keep your cock buried inside.

But then, you look at her ass. The roundness is so perfect and, like with her face, the only thing worth doing to perfection is to flaw it.

Here begins the end of all journeys.

Here, in this beautiful moment, you understand, the dots, tiny prickles of pleasure were grains of sand. They return in an overbearing way. Your mind is an infinite beach, where time stands still and then gives way to waves and the tangy orange sunset. This is sweet and fruitful perfection, the orgasm temporary but more real than any existence can claim. The shape of Saerom’s body, the sandcastles, the nostalgic memories, you’re damn near tears at the thought, but this is a cry of bliss as you moan and let everything out.

A long first short of semen lands on her back, creamy white streaking down the dips. With Saerom bent over, the cum runs down toward the back of her neck in the central valley of her spine. You're tempted to keep unloading there. But, after seeing her ass rise and fall, you then aim for her buttcheeks, giving each one an equal amount of love, mixing sweat with seed. You watch them clench as Saerom feels the warm sticky load, watch them ripple as heavy breaths make her whole body lurch back and forth. How hypnotic the pendulum. You cum more ropes than you expected, absolutely drenching her backside. You only know that Saerom is awake because she brings her hand to her neck, where your semen collects, then licks her hand to taste.

The two of you catch your breath. You want to sit against the back of the bed, your body slack and lacking energy, but you take the initiative to grab a big handful of tissues and clean the mess you've made on Saerom's backside.

Eventually, you and Saerom lie on the bed. She holds your hand. You look at her and let quiet wash over you both for a while.

To break the silence, you ask, "You okay?"

The end of the journey is only the start of a new one. Cyclic. Possibly infinite. Saerom’s answer to your question is a question: "Do you want to fuck my ass?"

You pause. Definitely infinite, judging by time's nonmovement. The answer is obvious, your "yes" breathless and nearly the neediest you've found yourself.

"I’m gonna shower," she says. "Also, I’ll need you to get hard for me again." 

"I’ll help you clean up then." After all, what could re-spark your erection more than soaping Saerom down, watching water drip down her curves? But when you get up, she places a hand on your shoulder. 

"I have a different idea." Saerom grabs her phone, opens up photos, and goes to the hidden album.

Your jaw drops while she smiles, stands, and heads to the bathroom.

Top left of the screen, 10:04, but never mind the time. You’re not sure where to begin, so you open the latest. A simple selfie in her bathroom with naught but a towel around her waist, the steam of a hot shower in the air. You didn’t think a selfie could be art, and then you see her wet hair and the droplets of water making trails down her tits, and you’d proudly have a print of that hanging in your living room.

Careful, don’t go crazy stroking yourself—wait, when did you even start doing that?—keep a casual pace of your hand up and down your shaft.

Spoiled for choice, you tap the gallery at random and find a video of Saerom on her bedroom floor. Her clear suction dildo is attached to some large book, weighing it down. Clever. (Note that the proxy cock is about the same size and shape as your real one.) She aligns its silicone tip, looks at the camera, wasn’t lying—your name’s but a whisper as she sinks down into the toy. Then she starts riding, and you understand her practice was studious. It’s like a dance perfected, how she makes her body move on her knees, tits bouncing, eyes unwavering. The same way she was riding your cock earlier. So that’s where she got the practice.

There are plenty more racy images, particularly artful ones of her nude silhouette as a shadow against her wall and less than artful pictures of fingers spreading her perfect pussy lips. Other short videos arouse you equally: a 2-second video of Saerom pulling her jeans down to her thighs, enough to show off the squish of her butt cheeks; an 8-second video of Saerom taking off her shirt in a public toilet to flaunt her bralessness to a mirror before running to a stall at the sound of the door opening; and an hour-long video of a cheerful Saerom dancing to various songs, nude in her living room. Actually, that video was only 7 minutes long. Felt like an hour though.

The sound of water flowing from the bathroom stops. Saerom should be coming out soon. You didn’t realize how tightly you were gripping your shaft.

It’s unbelievable the sheer number of pictures and videos there were in the phone’s gallery. Had to be at least one for every day since you last met her. It’d be difficult to quantify which was your favorite, and which one you would masturbate to the most.

However, the answer was clear. The hottest video, or set of videos, was yet another dildo. This one isn’t as girthy as the clear suction dildo, as she holds it in her hand. Two key differences. First, this pink phallus had little marks on it. Each subsequent video had another mark, a centimeter deeper. In some of the videos, she’d be fully nude while in other videos, she’d have a hoodie or oversized shirt on, but nothing else, leaving her bottomless. Sometimes it’d be daytime, birds chirping, sun shining into the room, and other times, it was at night, dimly lit as the room is now. Second, and more importantly, is that every video had the same format: she sat comfortably in her bed, legs spread, then she took lube, coated her fingers (initially one, but then it became two, three), and slid them in her ass—the fingers were only the start though; afterward, she kept her anal entrance relaxed as she spread lube onto the pink dildo, then slid the toy inside herself at an extremely gentle pace.

She had already been able to take your dick in her ass, though it wasn’t the most pleasant experience back then. You enjoyed it visually, but seeing the strain and discomfort on Saerom put you off of it (not to mention the wrenching tightness for you, barely inserting a third of your length). You thought you’d have to save the anal experience for another day. Didn't think it'd be today. Plus, the mere concept of progress here, the enjoyment she’s having, is somehow making you harder than ever, as if you didn’t just cum five minutes ago.

You can even find where Saerom hit a plateau in the middle of the collection of anal training videos. She had a pout on her face and rolled her eyes when she couldn’t push the pink dildo deeper inside her asshole. In the next video, she tried the same length but with a bullet vibrator on her clit—even used tape to hold it. Not only did it help, to get the toy deeper inside, but she also squirted all over her phone camera.

The door opens, greeting Saerom to the sound of her moans from her phone until you quickly pause it in surprise. Nothing on but a towel. Picturesque. In her hand, a bottle of lube.

"Oh, hey. I remember buying that," you say, pointing to the bottle. "Did it expire?"

"I didn’t think about that." Saerom examines the bottle. "January 2024. Should be fine."

She stands in front of you, drops her towel, and you thoroughly examine her figure. The hourglass curves, you want to make her toss and turn, forget the time. The sole sure sign of the time's passage is that night falls differently, moonlight mixing with the small lamp—now on the ground, not sure when that got there—casting subtly new angles of shadows on Saerom. In all lights, she looks ethereal, contrasting her casual attitude. A light smile, she dusts off her bookshelf. A light step toward her desk, she readjusts a potted plant. Like she forgot you were here for a moment, a light giggle as she remembers your presence and takes her phone back. 

"I take it you liked what you saw?" Saerom declares, rhetorical.

Right, you should nod here. So nod. But you’re holding your breath too, nodding emptily. You’ve decided she doesn’t look ethereal; she is ethereal, immaterial, of another world. You can’t touch her even though you did, consequences of ethereality you can hardly endure. Endure you shall because you must. Her nude form is unmatched. Her ass is unmatched. Your hands on her ass were a ghostly dream.

Saerom walks around the room, cleaning more. You’d offer to help but you’re simply awestruck, your eyes like a hawk. She fixes the lamp, the pile of pillows, and the clothes laying around on the floor.

Returning your gaze, she eyes your erection. Saerom points, and you’re back in position, and she's back to the floor, lube still in hand.

You sit on the edge of her bed. Soft, springy, doesn’t make too much noise even when two people are testing the limits of its suspension—now you're sure of it. With the wet mess, hopefully, the sheets dry as you remember. Your feet are right on the ground, but there's something different this time. The tension and doubt of earlier are silent; if you had to take a stab at it, you've never seen this sort of raw hunger from Saerom as she's kneeling between your legs. Your cock twitches, free in the air, when she licks at it experimentally.

"You don’t have to do this. Your pics kept me hard as a rock." Look, a statement as dumb as not contacting Saerom.

You're fortunate that Saerom is set on getting your dick in her mouth. "Shut it," she says, "you know how much I love sucking this dick."

"Right… but remind me."

A smirk tugs at the corner of Saerom's lips, then a soft exhalation. The warm breath sends tingles through your cock to the rest of you. What is there in the rest of you? You can only wonder when Saerom starts to give the same licking worship to your cock as you did to her whole body, spending as much time bathing you in her saliva. Her tongue is soft, wet, and all over your shaft, and the smooches on your cockhead plant your feet down into the ground. Your fingers curl. Five into the air, five into her hair. Let her go. She has work to do.

Saerom, relinquishing her momentary trance, opens the lube bottle. She squeezes a dollop onto her hand, can barely match the amount of saliva that she’s already drooling. Saerom tries her best to go to work, to give you a blowjob while applying the lube at the same time. Her palm rubs the cool lubricant onto your shaft, fingertips work all the half-viscous fluid around your whole cock—makes sure plenty is under your tip (does that part even need to be lubricated like that, or is she just toying with you?)—then she uses her dextrous tongue to spread the lube further. Pulling back, Saerom seals her lips on your cockhead, cheeks hollowing as she sucks and uses both hands to stroke you up and down. She’s diligent, but all that lube ends up being washed away by the excess of spit from her eager mouth bobbing down into your length, impulsively taking you into the back of her mouth. A waste, though you’re going to buy new lube for her soon. She has work to do, and you’re not stopping her for now.

You can tell that taking you into her throat isn’t on purpose; however, Saerom is so captivated with sucking your cock that she ends up gagging a couple of times. You're worried at first, pulling your hips back, but Saerom looks at you with puppy eyes and a pout on your cock—as if to ask why you took away her favorite toy, and imagine a harrumph for theatrical measure. At the unexpected, unspoken brattiness, you raise your hands. If she wants saliva streaming down her chin to get your full length into her throat, so be it. So be it that she wants her eyes to water.

A question Saerom won’t answer, too busy: you've already given her what she wants, so why is she whining and humming on your cock like it isn’t enough? Then you realize she knows what she's doing, knows how the vibrations are getting from your cockhead to your real head. knows how the foamy slobber makes her lips feel extra soft and pillowy. Amen to all the fluids, holier than water can get.

Having eaten her out however many minutes ago, you empathize with how tiring oral service gets. When Saerom finally pulls back from your dick, she exercises her jaw, moves it side to side, and stretches it.

Fix the thick strands on her forehead, putting the bangs back in place. She might have just showered, yet you could easily have mistaken her damp locks for being wet with the mess she’s made in her blowjob.

Saerom wipes the excess of saliva and licks her palms, then grabs the lube. This time, she’s more careful. More handiwork spreading lube than mouthy work as she kisses and tongues your tip with greater restraint.

In such a sensitive state—your previous orgasm wasn’t that far in the past—even the faint grazes of Saerom’s tongue draw out involuntary moans from you, and your mouth is a tight contorting curve. Something of a smile, something of a frown. You manage to ask regardless, "How does it taste?"

"The lube? It’s a little sweet, but not the best flavor. Here." Saerom squeezes a drop onto her hand and offers her finger to you. 

You wrap your lips around her middle finger, and you forget you were supposed to be tasting something as you made eye contact with her. Saerom smirks back. Is it a fruity flavor? Maybe it’s flower yet again, to match her shampoo. Doesn’t matter. You keep her finger in your mouth, and she laughs when you give it a soft bite before she takes her hand away.

"I, for one, prefer the taste of this cock." Saerom licks in a circle. "It’s musky and sweaty and salty, and I love it. Especially when pre-cum comes out like this—" she tongues at your cock’s slit, and you shudder.

Pretend that time is unwavering, a force inerrant, yet your mind can do so much to trick you, to make the past/present/future all toys in the same room converge. Turns to dots, to visions. You could be sitting here as you are, a passive man for the rest of your life (for all you know, this night will be the rest of your life), or you could be making good on promises.

You have work to do. This is the unthinking reverie of a man possessed by visions of a single thing you’ve been waiting for, for a year, for a lifetime, for dreams eternal. Don’t call it a reverie. Your actions are not light. You pull Saerom up from her kneeling stance, a hint of unnecessary rabid strength. This force is used in place of words, forgoing language in a new way. Your grip on her hand says something. If only you could say what it is. And she never liked when you just stood there silent, but her mouth is open and her eyes are needy.

Her brows are raised when you shove, and her yelps are unsurprisingly filled with surprise when you bring her to her desk, unforgiving in how you lever her arm back, grab wrist, animal thoughts, smack, one, two, the orbs of her ass jiggle. You’re in a human place, a human still. Posthaste, clearing the haze in your head, you clear out the stationery from the middle of the desk. There’s the rest of her, perfect, yet it middles to the true perfection of her asshole. You lay your cock between her asscheeks, left hand cupping their heft.

Saerom needs something from you, but she’s so beautifully compromised. Her arm is bent back, her wrist tight in your grip. Her legs are straight, but you see the buckle in her knees—it’s taking active effort from Saerom to keep her ass lifted in the air for you. All the while, her face is right on the desk, and she twists her head to look back. She’s pleading with her eyes. Put it in, put it in. Why say it out loud when the soft whimpers tell you as much.

Despite all the primal force and exhibition, you’re no animal. As much as you want to dive straight in and impale your whole length at once, she needs to acclimate even with her diligent practice with toys. Besides, it gives you an excuse to admire her ass when you push your lube-covered cock’s tip against her tight sphincter. Leave it there, for a breath, for two. Deep breaths. Long breaths. Breaths that let you stare at Saerom’s ass until time ends because you’ll never tire at the shape outlining sublimity, the weight so perfect, the firmness of the glute muscles, the smooth and light skin marked red by your hand and beginning to bead with sweat, the crease into her equally ample thighs. Your tip is at the start of anally penetrating Saerom, and all you can think about are the two surrounding cushions. You will never tire of staring at Saerom's butt.

You do tire of having only your tip in the chokehold of Saerom’s tight entrance. So eventually, you push in, a glacial rate, a tectonic rate, eras, timescales for scientists. The minutes dilate like you’re pushing against a law of physics, a speed limit, even if your length is plunging into Saerom’s ass as slow as it can. New paradoxes, record it. The waves propagating throughout your body, at one inch, at two inches, three, four, five, etc, record them. The snug ring of her asshole is almost at the base of your shaft, yet there’s a complete saturation of bliss, record it. All this pleasure must be recorded rigorously in your mind as charts and tables flash by in an attempt to put numbers down to the innumerable.

Saerom’s back arches on this first penetration, her eyes rolling up into her head, where she isn’t thinking about anything, and now you aren’t either. Saerom’s anal walls are built like a cocksleeve to hug and clamp around your shaft. With this inexorably tight hold, you can’t move, a statue, marbled by pleasure.

Looking back at you, Saerom frowns, her thinking returning. She doesn’t speak but she says why the fuck aren’t you totally inside, and you can hear it out loud in the bedroom only filled with ragged breathing. In frustration, she lifts her ass higher by tiptoeing, and you have to grab something, the edge of the desk, her waist, whatever you can. You look down, and her legs are trembling now. Long groans escape you and Saerom when you’re finally guts deep, finally inside her ass with your whole length. Never have you gone this deep inside Saerom; the last anal attempt was more half-assed. Now you're stretching Saerom in places she didn't know she had, content with her warming your cock.

You pull back, squeeze a bit more lube on your cock for good measure, and begin anally fucking Saerom in earnest. Can’t let patience rule you. Her pussy is tight; this ass has a complete throttlehold. To ram into Saerom’s asshole means you succumb to the constriction and thus what would be a torrid rhythm is turned spasmodic—fierce, yet subject to fits of paralysis, where you return from fleshly lust to scientific observation. Metrology in mind, you measure the precise amount of your dick inside of Saerom's butt, calculate the forces with which her asscheeks jiggle.

Nothing so surgical about your hands as you pull by her hair bundled in your fingers, enough to lift her head off the desk. Saerom looks at you with a nearly crazed frown—no, that’s her smile upside down—mad lust in her eyes, and teardrops every time her asshole is impaled by your shaft, down to the balls.

As much as you’re fucking Saerom, Saerom is fucking you. Regardless of her submissive position bent over the desk, she backs that ass up into you, and her smile shifts from smug to wild to docile and pliant with every thrust.

Thrust back and you see her gaped asshole, the width and consequences of your cock's pounding. It’s winking, at a rapid rhythm somewhere between her breaths and her heartbeat.

Who cares that you're in the middle of fucking Saerom’s unmatched ass—you can't help but get on your knees.

"Oh, fuck," Saerom says, "what are you—ohhh." 

Your tongue finds itself in Saerom’s used and stretched-out hole. One hand is holding an asscheek with a firm grip while the other hand is teasing her pussy lips. You drive your tongue deep enough that her asshole can’t just relax, can’t just ungape itself from being this well-fucked—it’d be a waste of effort and time, and you haven’t eaten out this perfect ass yet. The flavor is foreign but welcome, or whatever. Your lips refuse to release from her widened hole regardless of taste, and your tongue will rival Gluttony’s sin in your relentless analingus. If you do release, it’s only to kiss each of her plump cheeks, to give them the love they deserve, but her anus deserves more love with the bliss it sends to you. Give that love, and romance is returned in a thrumming moan, vibrating through the wood of the desk on which Saerom’s head lays.

In search of deepening that pleasant noise, you fully focus your hands’ attention on her leaking cunt. There were already clear strings leading from her slit to her thighs, from between her legs to the floor, but when you begin to insert fingers into her untongued hole and circle her clit, the leak becomes a whole-hearted drench. Saerom near crumples, slumping at the desk, your active hands keeping her from totally sliding off. The pitch of her voice heightens, and her whole body shakes.

"I’m f-fucking, cu-cumming!"

Your fingers are battering into her pussy, your tongue is sloppily tending to her asshole, and you’re kneeling next to a puddle growing as the spray from her cunt reaches its maximum pressure—

Catch her. As she shudders and limps into the floor as you envisioned, you hold Saerom as you two sit and inhale and exhale and inhale and—and slowly now, exhale.

"Slowly now, exhale," you say.

Saerom turns her head, eyes like a stray cat fed. Look deeper, and it’s more like there’s nothing there past the sclera’s white, the iris’ dark brown, dim of her pupils. The colors and shapes are all in the right places, sure. Nothing. Stroke her cheeks, its high bones, and her nose and her jaw. Be careful with those. Don’t get a cut on their sharp edges. The thought evolves: how sharp can she be? Her words and glare can cut, at times. Here, she’s feathers. She’s clouded; no, she's clouds. She’s fur. Looks back at you, the quietest smirk, like this one doesn’t say anything—she can be a cat, sure.

Though your breaths are now steady, you have to carry her as you relocate your two bodies to the bed. While Saerom’s orgasm has racked her, you are not faring much better. Truly flagging, it takes a whole minute until you’re both lying on the mattress—the clock you forgot or pretend not to care about said 10:28 with its longest hand up, then 10:29, longest hand up again when you look again.

Your arm under her neck, Saerom looks at you. "So we’re done for the night?" she asks.

You laugh weakly. "You’re asking like we’re not."

Saerom rolls her leg over your waist, hooking your erection between her calf and thigh to make a point.

Again, your laugh has little air to it. As much as you want to go on forever, spend all the moonlight fucking Saerom’s ass, you don’t have the energy left to move. You close your eyes, sorry in your heart for ignoring her succubine advance for a final round.

You’re going to sleep. One or five or thirty minutes pass. Can’t tell. The internal hourglass is too tired. Sand won’t even fall. There should be an ending here regardless.

Weight. Instead of an ending and empty darkness of sleep, weight, and heft, the now intimately familiar but always welcome warmth and plushness of Saerom’s butt against your crotch. You feel her hair scattered on your face, tickling and itching, and you half open your eyes, but you stay stock-still. Instead of next to you, Saerom is lying on top of you.

You should’ve known this would happen. It’s not the first time she’s done this to you, not even the first time on this bed. When you were stressed from the responsibilities and the changes of your new non-idol occupation, you answered a Saerom booty call, expecting to have fucked out your tension and worry. However, the moment you lay on her bed, you fell asleep—then woke up to Saerom sliding down onto your cock like it was a bomb that would explode at the slightest bump.

You didn’t complain then, and when you watch Saerom apply lube on her thighs, making them shiny and wet, you don’t complain now. The muted glimmer of her pale skin, her thighs giving way to your cockhead as it pokes out with each slide, yet those don’t compare to the loving caress of her flesh on your shaft.

Saerom must know you’re awake. There’s no way you can ignore the coolness of the lube on your tip, or her finger smearing the small beads of seed on your slit. She carries on yet, the sluggish up-down motion of her legs becoming a back and forth: she moves forward to slide your length against her pussy lips, then moves back to give your shaft her thighs' full embrace.

You buck up into her labia, her thighs, and that’s when she gives up the game, a chuckle as she shakes her head, moving hair off your face.

"Look at you," she whispers, "pretending to be asleep."

You groan when she grasps your shaft carelessly. "I didn’t want to interrupt."

She sits up, grabs the lube, applies more to your length by stroking and twisting, then guides your cock into her asshole before leaning back into your chest.

Kiss her neck. Lightly, with pecks, you didn't forget. It matches the verve with which Saerom fucks her ass into you.

That is to say, none.

Unlike with the desk, this is the laziest anal sex you’ve ever had. Every few seconds, a deliberate rolling of her ass. In, out, this piston couldn’t drive a toy car. There’s purring like a car anyway: guttural sounds from deep within your throat, Saerom matches them, still not used to the brute stretching of her asshole. If her pussy is a natural moist velvet that enveloped your cock, her asshole is the closest thing you can imagine to a sex toy, made to wring your cock out, lube fully necessary for the tightness. She's almost stuck on your shaft, making each act of pulling out a whole grippy ordeal.

After enough of this lethargic penetration, you endure the ordeal and unsheathe fully.

There's only one way this can end. You truly understand how this night is a cycle. The giver becomes the receiver; the subject becomes the agent—the push and the pull are bound in sequence.

Never any words to communicate the time to switch where they aren't needed and are a waste of oxygen by now. (You, the liar or the fool, must know you're fluent by now.)

You peel Saerom off your cock, setting her aside on the bed. You're not so gentle when you flip her over. She sits up, kneeling, facing away from you (facing the dear enemy, the clock, above the head of the bed). Hands on knees, she wiggles her ass and looks back at you. The soles of her feet are equally inviting, toes wiggling. (You want to bite them.) She bites her finger. Never fails to make you act.

You're quick to your feet, standing by the edge of the bed, and then grab Saerom's waist and pull her toward you. Falling forward, she gets on all fours.

Push.

If the rest of your life could be defined by pushing and pulling with Saerom, that would be fine by you.

Cock in her asshole, nothing more.

Fine, there's a little more. You're holding your shaft, your thumb on your tip, and you tease Saerom's anal entrance one last time. even if this hole has acclimatized to the exact mold of your dick's shape, evidenced by its continued gape, you can't help but savor a final time. You rub your tip around in a circle.

Enough of that. You push an hour into a minute, pull a minute into a second, push a second to the wayside. There is no truly timing in the animalistic act of doggystyle, especially not with Saerom. Hands in her hair, hands on her back, hands spanking hard against her ass, hands cupping her breast as you bend over and kiss where your fingers dug in, every thrust consolidating into one. You're under some self-made thrall, and Saerom is in that same complete thrall. With her feet keep kicking up at the sheer bulldozing force into her very guts, you take one moment of not having her ass in your hands to knead her soles. Then you're back inside, making sure that mold-tight hold of her asshole is perfectly set, or whatever was there is being rearranged. How you're fucking Saerom on all fours, it's like you're rushing for an ending, and you get what you want soon enough.

A single fiber of your being and your soul (in other words, hormones and nerves) becomes a quivering fire, then two fibers, then four, and the pretty pattern flowers into something equally pretty in its chaos.

As this night can't last forever, the doggystyle position can’t last either.

She falls back down, face onto the mattress, and she spreads her legs in a split. You keep pounding, your false energy like the retreating soldiers of a battle sounding off their final shots, and as you do, you massage her ass. Saerom shouts into her pillow at your throes, though it's equally spaced with satisfied hums at your unfailing handiwork. Hands are the only part of you that fail to fail. You want to fill her insides with cum, to destroy the crumbling dam of your restraint. Want to paint her guts white. Want becomes need. You’re fucking her hard enough to turn the necessary into the truth. 

"Saerom, I’m…" Finish your sentence. You can’t.

Saerom has her own idea about this ending anyway.

She pulls herself off you. Her tight anus is reluctant to let go of your pulsating cock (you empathize). Saerom rushes to your waist, crawling down to the floor and onto her knees in front of you. It gives you a second to breathe—no, it doesn’t; Saerom’s lips are sealed around your cock already. By the look in her eyes, she wants to suck your soul out. All uncertainty thrown aside, she pushes herself down into your length with a repeated rhythm. Each loud and forceful gag of her self-throatfucking comes with a mess of spit that stains her bed, waterfalls onto the floor.

However, you have the final say.

Grab her hair, pull your cock out of her mouth, and stroke yourself as you aim down.

The first shot hits her chin, dripping, but the other jets of cum cover her neck, her shoulders, and her collarbone, exactly as promised. There are no revelations in this orgasm—unfortunately, you haven’t been superhumanly recharged. The edge of your sight blackens and your knees halfway give out. For this is purely physical. Pure hormones and static sparking pleasure to your body as you stroke your cock to Saerom’s visage and form, and quivering fire is jittery lightning when you cover all that unblemished skin in sticky cum, vulgarizing, fulfilling promises sexy.

Your mouth is dry. Everything else too.

A phone is handed to you. A picture is taken. A smile is on her lips. (A final lesson, smiles don't drip the same way cum does.)

There should be an ending here, but see, climaxes are the true ending, and the true ending is just a necessity. As you and Saerom cuddle, there is an understanding. Comfortable, but uncomfortable. The future, a future, between the two of you exists in some uncertain state. The two of you might find something deeper in this bond, or might never know anything more than friendship and sex. Don’t think too hard for now. It exists unspoken, for now. Whatever would exist is far away from the confines of this bed, and this hold on her body, and eyelids lowering with the understandings between you intertwining—not solved, but trying; if it were solved, then you would just say it right now. We’re together. We’re not together. We’re just fucking. Who cares. If it were solved, there would be no ambiguity to the ghost touch of Saerom’s fingertips on your back and a breath trying to let a word out but letting that warm air become past sand in the glass bulbs and the upper bulb is damn near empty.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

[inmyheaddd]

missed calls - grayson hawthorne x reader

a/n: these girl dad grayson fics have be wishing for a little freya more than grayson himself 😞 need a baby daughter so bad wc: 927 tag list: @wish-i-were-heather @x-liv25-jamieswife @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus

@anintellectualintellectual @heartwithsimplenotes @littlemissmentallyunstable (love u guys!! if u want to be added lmk 🩷) masterlist

it was the morning of your 5 year old daughter freya’s ballet play, the one she had been rehearsing and practicing for months. sometimes, you and grayson would go wake her up for school, and you’d find her already awake, practicing her pirouettes in her little mirror. 

you dropped off your daughter at around 8 in the morning, and the show as at 1. grayson had his schedule cleared for months, he had literally scheduled everything around it, he wouldn’t miss it for the world. 

the world may bend to the will of grayson hawthorne, but he bent to the will of his daughter. 

it was nearing 12:15 when grayson’s personal phone went off. he was fetching his car keys so you decided to see what it was. your face fell when you saw it was a 911 text from his brother, jameson. 

you turned around, not even registering that grayson had now come up behind you. “whats wrong?” he said upon seeing the look on your face.

“nothing, it’s just,” you paused before sighing, “jameson just sent a 911.” 

graysons eyebrows furrowed, and he reached for his phone and saw the message. he muttered a swear under his breath before meeting your eyes again silently.

grayson’s bond with his brothers was uncomparable to anything else, even if they bickered a lot, they would still practically die for one another. 

“what are you going to do?” you asked, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth nervously. you had to drop everything for a 911, that was the rule.

the last time grayson ignored one, a very unfortunate video of him in very tight leather pants haunted him for months. you had jameson to thank for that.

you could see grayson thinking through all the possible outcomes, a tiny crinkle in between his brows.

“i’m sure they’ll be fine without me for one day.” he stated, and you could tell he was sure in his decision.

that didn’t stop you from asking anyways.

“grayson, are you sure? i mean, i’ll be there to watch freya anyway.” your fingers were drumming against your leg, grayson noticed and held your hand in his. “plus, i think she’ll be fine. she doesn’t like you that much.”

you joked in an attempt to resolve the visible tension in his face, and it worked — his lips stretching into a smile that made your heart flutter. 

he then pulled you into his side and planted a kiss on the top of your head, appreciating your attempts to make him feel better. 

“even if she doesn’t like me that much, i care for her more than anything. i’m going, no matter what.” 

you smiled at grayson and his thoughtfulness. the love he had for your daughter was extraordinary, he was the best parent there could possibly be. 

any worries about what the future - more so his brothers - held in the next week that lingered disappeared the second he locked eyes with freya. she was looking all over the audience for you two, the way her face visibly lit up and her little wave was worth anything his brothers would put him through.

grayson, ever the dad, pulled out his professional camera and was snapping photos and videos throughout the whole show. 

people were giving him looks, even moms that you knew were eyeing you. 

“grayson,” you whispered as you nudged him. 

“yes, my love?” his gaze kept flickering between the stage, his camera, and you. 

“people keep staring.” you muttered, as if it was something new to you two. 

he quirked an eyebrow up as he watched freya on stage, “i’m afraid i don’t care.” he paused, smiling as freya did the one routine she had shown him a million times and locked eyes with you two right after she did. 

“if they had this angel for a daughter, then they’d understand.” he continued. 

the way you could visibly see the excitement and happiness bouncing off of her little face made you endlessly proud. 

you chuckled, “how’d we ever get so lucky with her?” you muttered practically in awe, you wholeheartedly believed you had the best kid in the world.

grayson’s gaze was now entirely focused on you, “she’s a little you, you know that? you’re the best mother to her, it amazes me everyday; how perfect you are with her.” 

“grayson,” you said with a slightly flustered chuckle as you squeezed his hand, “don’t cut yourself out. that determination, that focus?” you say as you nod towards freya, “did not come from me.” 

“that’s not from me, either. that’s all her, my love.” 

freya ran to you the second she was done, then grayson lifted her up and spun her around. their shared laughter was a sound you could listen to forever, and one you couldn’t help but join in on. 

the next day, grayson left for the 911.

he was late though, and the rules were the rules. even though his brothers wouldn’t outwardly say it, they were beyond happy that grayson had found his people, the ones he loved with his whole entire being. 

nevertheless, 2 days later grayson was back home with pink and green streaks in his blonde hair, and glitter in all the places glitter shouldn’t be. honestly, you weren’t too sure you even wanted to know what happened. 

along with that, you were sent a video of grayson singing britney spears karaoke in a very questionable outfit by xander. 

grayson would do it all again though, to be able to see that proud smile on his little girl’s face, and to be able to share that moment with you.

[dontyouworrydaddy]

Can you please do 141 where the reader and them are talking about there Highschool years and like “I would have dated you in high school “ type thing THEN they see a pic of reader in high school (prom,first day,or any thing for that time) SHES FINE FINE like imagine 90s type vibe, then they remember what they looked like in that same year and they say back “ IM glad u didn’t meet me then cause u would have no interest “ AND SHES STILL FINE FINE where they think it’s a recent photo!

idk know what I’m doing I just got an idea and your my favorite writer so I wanted to let you know!!!!

YOU ARE LOVED!!!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️

thᥱ most bᥱᥲᥙtιfᥙᥣ ᥕomᥲᥒ ιᥒ thᥱ ᥕorᥣd

Task Force 141 + fem! reader

I ABSOLUTELY love this idea!!!! Like as soon as they see your pictures they‘re like "damn. I‘m glad we didn’t meet back then because she would definitely reject me and on top of that probably make fun of me." I‘m sorry but especially with Soap😭 This dude probably had the craziest hair back then (he still has but we love him for it).

Also I‘m so thankful for your kind words🥺🥺 They really mean so much to me and you just lighten up my entire day<33 I wish I could hug you right now☹️ Remember that you’re also always loved by someone and MEEE🫶🏻🫶🏻���💘

Thank you really so so much 🌸💕💕

‿︵‿︵ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ・❉・ ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ‿︵‿︵

Simon Riley

It was a quiet evening at the your apartment . Simon found himself reminiscing about your high school years. As the conversation flowed, nostalgia filled the air.

"You know, Y/N, if we had met in high school, I would have totally dated you." Simon said with a playful smirk, leaning back against the wall.

You chuckled, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. "Oh, really? And why is that?"

Simon's gaze turned thoughtful as he recalled those distant memories. "Well, you are always confident and stunning. I would have been a nervous wreck around you."

Grinning, you teased, "Are you saying you weren't attractive back then?"

Simon chuckled, running a hand through his dark hair. "Let's just say my teenage years weren't my finest hour. I had an awkward sense of fashion, let’s not talk about my hair... Definitely not the smooth operator you see in front of you today."

Curiosity piqued, you both began reminiscing about those high school days. Simon had a mischievous idea and suggested pulling out old photo albums to see just how different you both were.

Rummaging through the dusty boxes, you stumbled upon a photo of your younger self. It was a picture from prom, in your beautiful dress. You were radiant, your smile lighting up the frame. Simon's eyes widened as he took in the sight.

"Damn, Y/N, you were fine then, and you're still fine now!" he exclaimed, feigning surprise.

You laughed, not realizing his little trick. "Well, thank you, Simon. I try my best."

Simon's expression shifted, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia. "You know, seeing this picture reminds me of why I'm glad we didn't meet back then. I don't think I would have stood a chance with you. You would've rejected me in a heartbeat."

Your smile softened as you leaned in closer. "Simon, you underestimate yourself. I would have seen the incredible person you were, braces and all. It's the person you are inside that truly matters."

Simon's eyes locked with yours, and a genuine smile graced his face. The air was filled with a sense of camaraderie as you both laughed at the absurdity of it all.

As the evening came to a close, Simon made a decision. He carefully tucked the photo of your younger self into his pocket, a keepsake of a moment he cherished. You remained unaware of this little secret, but somehow, deep down, you felt that this memory would always be a part of your bond.

John MacTavish

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon and John and you were lounging on the couch, flipping through old photo albums. The nostalgic memories flooded your minds as you reminisced about your high school years. The room was filled with laughter and teasing as you playfully pointed out your younger selves in various snapshots.

John looked at a picture of you, radiating confidence in a stunning prom dress. He couldn't help but stare in awe, captivated by your beauty and timeless charm. With a grin, you turned to him and said "You know, John, I would have totally dated you in high school."

John's eyes widened in surprise, his heart skipping a beat at your words. He never expected you to make such a bold statement. "Really?" he asked, a mix of curiosity and disbelief in his voice.

You nodded, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Oh, absolutely. You are the mysterious and brooding type. I was drawn to that kind of intensity back then."

A flicker of doubt crossed John's face as he remembered his own high school years. "I'm glad you didn't meet me then" he said, his voice tinged with self-deprecation. "I had this crazy hair phase, and trust me, you would have immediately rejected me."

You chuckled, playfully swatting his arm. "Come on, John. Show me that picture. I'm sure it couldn't have been that bad."

John hesitated for a moment, then reached for another album. He turned to a page and revealed a photograph of himself, his hair styled in an over-the-top, eccentric manner that seemed to defy gravity. His expression was a mixture of embarrassment and amusement as he looked at his younger self.

You burst into uncontrollable laughter, clutching your stomach. Tears formed at the corners of your eyes as you struggled to compose yourself. John couldn't help but join in, the embarrassment fading as he found joy in sharing this memory with you.

Once the laughter subsided, you looked at him with a smile. "John, you have no idea how much I would have loved to meet that version of you. That hairstyle is absolutely cute!"

John's face softened, his heart swelling with affection for you. "You're incredible, you know that?" he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "Even if I looked like a total goofball, you would still find a way to make me feel special."

You reached out and took his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. "That's because I've always seen the amazing person you are, regardless of how you looked or what hairstyle you had."

John leaned in and gently kissed your forehead, his love for you evident in his eyes. "I'm the luckiest man in the world to have you by my side," he whispered and kissed you on the lips.

John Price

You and John sat side by side on the couch, flipping through an old photo album filled with memories from your high school years. The two of you had decided to take a nostalgic trip down memory lane. You couldn't help but smile as you stumbled upon a particular photograph that brought back a flood of memories.

"Oh my gosh, John, look at this!" you exclaimed, pointing to a picture of yourself at the high school prom. You were dressed in a stunning vintage dress.

John's eyes widened as he gazed at the photograph, taking in your breathtaking beauty. "Wow, you were absolutely stunning" he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "If I had known you back then, I would've also been head over heels for you."

A playful grin spread across your face. "Oh, really? So you're saying you would've dated me in high school?"

John chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Well, I probably would've been too intimidated to ask you out. Plus, I had a weird sense of style back then. Trust me, you wouldn't have been interested."

Curiosity piqued, you leaned closer, showing him the photograph of yourself. "Well, let's see if that's true" you challenged him.

John's eyes widened even further as he looked at the picture. "Wait a minute, is this recent? You look exactly the same!"

You burst into laughter, your heart warming at his genuine surprise. "No, John, this is me in high school. That's why I said I would've dated you back then."

He let out a low whistle. "Well, damn. I definitely lucked out then."

You playfully nudged his shoulder. "Come on, John, you can't be that bad. Let me see your high school days."

John reluctantly handed you another photograph from the album, showing his younger self with a mischievous grin. He sported a rather peculiar outfit that seemed to be a mixture of different styles. It was elegant and had a touch of cowboy style, mixed…

You burst into laughter once again, unable to contain yourself. "Oh, John! I can't believe this was your fashion sense back then."

He smirked, looking slightly embarrassed. "Yeah, I had a bit of a weird phase. Trust me, if we had met during those years, I would've been instantly rejected."

You shook your head, still laughing. "Oh, John, you have no idea. Even with that fashion sense, I would've been all over you."

His eyes sparkled with affection as he pulled you into a tight embrace. "Well, I'm glad we met when we did, then. I wouldn't change a thing about how we found each other."

You smiled, savoring the warmth of his embrace. "Me neither, John. We're perfect for each other, weird fashion choices and all."

Kyle Garrick

Kyle and you sat side by side on the couch, surrounded by photo albums from your high school days. You decided to take a trip down memories from back then together. As you flipped through the pages, looking at the good old times, you stumbled upon a photo of yourself from prom night.

"Oh, wow!" You exclaimed, holding up the photo for Kyle to see. "Look at me back then. I can't believe how much has changed."

Kyle's eyes widened as he took in the sight of you in your beautiful prom dress, radiating a timeless beauty. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret as he thought back to his own high school days.

"I would have dated you in high school" you mused, oblivious to the effect the photo had on Kyle. "You're such a great guy, I would have definitely dated you."

A small smile played at the corners of Kyle's lips as he stared at you, captivated by your words. "Thank you love, but believe me, you're better off not having met me back then. I was a total nerd."

You furrowed your brows in confusion. "What are you talking about? I‘m sure you were cute."

Kyle's expression turned pensive as he reached for another photo album and opened it to a picture of himself from the same year as your prom. His hair was a mess, his glasses too big for his face, and his clothes screamed "geek."

"See?" Kyle pointed to his photo, his voice laced with self-deprecating humor. "I was a freak. If we had met in high school, I would've been immediately rejected. You would've never given me a second glance."

Your eyes widened in surprise, and then you burst into laughter, shaking your head. "Baby stop. You look adorable!!"

He blinked, unable to comprehend your words. "Wait, what?"

"I'm serious!" You continued to laugh, your heart swelling with affection for the man beside you. "You're looking at this picture like it's some embarrassing relic, but all I see is the person I fell in love with. Baby Kyle looks so so cute here"

Kyle's gaze softened as he absorbed your words. The weight of his insecurities began to lift, replaced by a newfound confidence in your unwavering love. "I‘m 17 here love… not 6…"

Placing the photo album aside, you leaned in closer to Kyle, intertwining your fingers with his. "High school was just a phase, but what we have now, this incredible relationship, is what matters. I love you, Kyle Garrick, then, now, and always."

Kyle smiled, his heart overflowing with love for you. "I love you too, more than words can express."

[mt-oe]

Hello! This is a little embarrassing but I’ve been feeling really insecure lately and I was wondering if you could do a modern Mizu x reader story about Mizu would go about showing you she likes/loves you the way you are? 💜💙

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dear!

Thank you so much for requesting and please don't ever feel embarrassed about your own feelings. Though your feelings are valid, please remember that you're much more than your insecurities.

I hope that you feel better soon and some how this fic will comfort you <3

Enjoy! Mwa mwa :*

warning: not proofread, light touching (mdni!), she/her for mizu, implied afab reader

It was a long day at work for Mizu. She had been running around everywhere, calculating the total cost of the materials needed for her client's dream house and going to different suppliers to find the best deals and prices. Upon arriving home, the exhaustion that was previously weighing down on her shoulders evaporated almost immediately.

The cozy interior of your shared apartment warmed her up, inside and out. Souvenirs from places you had visited together decorated the shelves along with various photo albums and books. Her eyes scanned through the photos of you and her together as she walked up the stairs, a habit she developed ever since you decorated the place.

Each picture excited her even more, making her pick up the pace. She wanted to see you so bad. To hold you. To kiss you. To pretend she's too tired so you'd keep asking her to tell you all about her day. But just as she opened the door...

"Holy shit!" you almost screamed, immediately scrambling to put your shirt on. You were standing in front of the mirror, half naked. It seems that you were too damn focused on what you were doing since you didn't hear her footsteps. "Don't you know how to knock?!" You turned to glare lightly at her, making her raise an eyebrow.

She set down her bag on the side, slowly approaching you. Once she was right behind you, she wrapped her arms around your shoulders and rested her chin on the top of your head. "And why would I need to knock in our own bedroom?" she asked, kissing the back of your head as her eyes traveled to the mirror. "And what are you looking at?"

A soft giggle escaped your lips at her display of affection before sighing at her question. You looked at the mirror again before looking at your girlfriend. "Do you think I'm ugly?" you asked a bit hesitant.

Mizu blinked before raising an eyebrow again. "Where is this coming from?" Her hand tilted your chin up as her blue eyes gazed deeply into yours.

"Just askin'," you mumbled, gaze traveling to the floor. Despite your response, Mizu could clearly see how troubled you are just by looking at your eyes.

She sighed before giving you a small kiss on the forehead, letting go of your chin. "Clearly this is something that's bothering you," she mumbled back. "So tell me, dove. What's going on?"

Nothing really gets past your girlfriend, huh?

Your gaze turned towards the mirror again, holding back the frown that was tugging on the corners of your lips. "Its not that big of a deal. I just saw a modelling video earlier and they were all so pretty and sexy and...and I thought 'damn, I'm pretty darn ugly, aren't I?'," you explained with an awkward laugh, trying to keep your tone light to not soil the mood.

Your words made Mizu's heart sink. You? Ugly?

Oh hell nah. In her eyes, you're the prettiest goddamn person in the world.

Sure those models in that video you saw was probably pretty too. But that was their job for fuck's sake. They're supposed to look good. They put a lot of effort into looking good.

But you?

You were effortlessly pretty. The moment you woke up—no, even before you woke up—you already completed her day as soon as she saw you. And on the days you did put effort into looking better? It wasn't obvious but she was absolutely smitten. It was as if anything you did enamored her in a way even she couldn't understand. She was so down bad.

There was no fucking way she's letting you call yourself ugly.

"Stop saying something so stupid. You're not ugly," she said in a low voice, eyes staring into yours through the reflection on the mirror. Her hands traveled down, tracing your curves, before landing on your hips. She hooked her fingers under the garter of your panties, pulling on it slightly before releasing it, making it snap lightly as she placed her hands on your hips again. She gave it a firm squeeze, making your breath hitch. "These hips.."

Her hand trailed up, slipping under your shirt. You could feel her nails raking against your stomach lightly, barely even scratching your skin. The sensation sending goosebumps across your skin. "This stomach..."

A slight smirk crawled up her lips as she bent down to kiss the side of your neck, making you let out a shaky breath. "And these?" Her hands continued to travel up, making their way under your bra to give your boobs a firm squeeze. "God fucking damn..." she groaned out in a whisper-like manner as you moaned softly. "You're so fucking beautiful."

You couldn't help but chuckle before pulling her hands away. "You're such a horn dog," you laughed, turning to face her and giving her a kiss.

Mizu chuckled as well, eyes scanning your face, taking in every detail. The way your eyelashes fluttered. The slight blush on your cheeks. The texture of your skin. The slight sheen on your lips, probably from the kiss. Everything was so beautiful to her.

"And you're the prettiest woman I've ever met," she replied before placing a kiss on your lips. "Honestly...I don't understand how you can't see what I see."

She planted another kiss on your lips, holding you closer as you kissed back. The kiss deepened almost immediately. Your tongues intertwining and dancing against each other. Her hands immediately went to your back to support you as she kissed you eagerly.

Slowly, you pulled away upon feeling the burn in your lungs from the lack of oxygen. You looked up at her, giggling as you watched her breathing deeply. "Am I really that pretty to you? You're not lying just to make me feel better?"

A snort escaped her lips before she shook her head, resting it on your shoulder. "I could never do that to you," she mumbled. "Not when I wake up every morning thinking about how lucky I am to have you."

You gently lifted Mizu's head, making her raise an eyebrow and her smile to widen. Mizu wasn't really the vocal, affectionate type but she tries and you knew that. The amount of effort she put into her words truly told you how special you were to her. "So how was your day at work?" you asked.

Mizu laughed, wrapping around your hips to slowly guide you to the bed. "Mmm? 'm too tired to tell you.." she playfully groaned out, suddenly pretending to be too exhausted. You let out a whine, sitting down on the soft mattress. "Oh c'mon! Tell me!"

The smile remained on Mizu's lips as she sat down next to you, still pretending to be too exhausted. She definitely loved it when you pestered her to tell you all about her day. You were adorable.

She loves your appearance, your personality, and your quirky habits and mannerisms.

But most of all, she loves you.

Just the way you are.

[kinardsevan]

can't outdrive pain (some day it's gonna take the wheel)

Evan leans back on the couch as he slides the photo album back down on the coffee table. He wasn’t snooping at all, but in the process of moving some things around in the closet while moving his own things in, he’d stumbled upon it. And the thing was, he didn’t really have one of his own. His parents weren’t present enough when he and Maddie were kids to think of having family photos done after Daniel’s death. Most of the pictures that did exist were from disposable cameras Maddie paid for with her own money once she was old enough, and a number of those photos had gotten destroyed by Doug. Evan never really complained about it because there was stuff that Maddie had hung onto and still had, even now, like the postcards he’d sent her while bouncing all over the US and into Peru before he’d ended up in LA. 

Still, for all he’d expected to find in the album, which wasn’t a lot, given how tight-lipped Tommy still was about his childhood…he wasn’t expecting what he did find. 

. . .

“Baby?” 

Tommy comes around the corner of the living room into the kitchen as Evan slides a tray of fresh brownies onto the counter, smiling up at him as he reaches behind himself to untie the apron. There’s enough batter on it that he’s going to have to wash it, but that can be a problem for later. 

“You baked for me,” Tommy cooes as he crosses the space, a smile crossing his face as the wafting heat of the fresh brownies hits his nose. Evan tugs the apron over his head and folds it, setting it aside on the counter as Tommy reaches him, slotting an arm under Evan’s around his back, kissing the corner of his mouth. 

“You kept talking about them yesterday and I had some free time,” Evan replies. He chuckles softly as Tommy trails kisses down his jaw to his neck, nuzzling against his pulse point briefly. 

“So good to me,” Tommy murmurs against his skin. 

“Yeah,” Evan murmurs, his face scrunching as he tries not to think of the photo album. When Tommy pulls away, he busies himself finding a knife so he can cut into the brownies and get them each one. “How was your day?” 

“Long,” Tommy replies, circling the peninsula and leaning against the counter. He grins happily when Evan passes him a plate with the brownie on top of it. It’s still steaming, almost too hot to eat yet. “What about you?” 

Evan inhales a deep breath, unsure if it’s the right time to ask. He gulps.

“I found something today,” he admits. “I was emptying boxes, trying to find space-..” 

“I mean I’d expect you to do that,” Tommy replies. “You are moving in. You should find space for yourself.” 

Evan nods, still his expression is mildly pained as he looks up at his boyfriend. “I found a photo album.” 

“Oh.” 

Tommy says it like it’s so simple; like it doesn’t mean anything. But the look in his eyes betrays the sound of his voice, and it makes Evan’s stomach flip. 

“I wasn’t trying to-..” 

“I’m sure you weren’t,” Tommy says. There’s no anger in his tone, but it still hurts Evan to hear it. His gaze is locked on the counter between them now, refusing to look up. Evan sighs softly, settling his own plate down. He walks around the peninsula and slides his arms around Tommy’s waist, physically having to move his boyfriend to get him to turn towards him. 

“Talk to me, babe.” 

Tommy gulps. “I honestly never wanted to have to tell you.” 

“Tommy,” Evan lilts. He slides his right hand back, bringing it under his boyfriend’s chin and making him look up. When Tommy’s eyes meet his, they’re wet. Evan’s frown sets deeper, reaching his thumb up and brushing away at the first tear as it falls. 

“You know what my childhood was like,” Evan murmurs. “How little my parents cared when my bone marrow wasn’t enough to save the kid they were concerned about.” 

Tommy nods. They’ve had many conversations about his personal hatred towards the Buckleys and how fucked up he thought it was that at three months old, they’d put their newborn through that kind of procedure to save their oldest child. They’d originally planned to the cord blood—at least, that was the story that Maddie had told him when he’d asked—but it had become contaminated, and given that Evan was already intentionally a genetic match for Daniel, they’d managed to convince his care team to allow the bone marrow transplant, given that it was a last-ditch attempt. It wasn’t Evan’s fault that the graft hadn’t taken. 

Still, for as little as Tommy had given in information about his childhood, he’d never really wanted Evan to know just how much he could understand the pain he’d suffered through. 

“I told you my father and I don’t talk,” he rasps, sinking against one of the barstools against the counter. Evan nods. 

“What I didn’t tell you was why,” Tommy continues. 

Evan sits down in another one of them, his hands sliding down until they find Tommy’s and squeezing them lightly. 

“Kinda figured after everything about Gerrard that it was because of your sexual orientation,” he replies. 

“That was certainly part of it,” Tommy replies with a quirk of his eyebrows. “But it wasn’t all of it.” 

Evan nods again, watching and waiting as Tommy stares at the counter. 

“Things were never good between him and my mom. That militant attitude you joke about me having? He always had it. It was like even after he took off his fatigues, the drill sergeant attitude stuck around. A-and when my mom left, he turned it on me,” he explains. Evan nods. The few photos from Tommy’s childhood showed telltale bruises. The average person looking at them might take them for childhood injuries, but their job and Evan’s own childhood had given him a generous education on what abuse looked like. 

“When I was ten, he broke my arm,” Tommy tells him. Evan had seen a picture of him in a sling but hadn’t pieced that together. “My teachers figured it out, and they called CPS. They tried to find my mom, but whether she’d disappeared into a bottle or was so far into drugs at that point, I’m not sure. Either way, she wasn’t an option, so they put me into the system.” 

Evan lifts Tommy’s hand, kissing his fingers. 

“It wasn’t great there, either,” Tommy admits softly. “There were people who…” He pauses, shakes his head. “Nobody hit me, but it wasn’t any better. A-anyway, he did the classes they required him to do, and I was sent back to him right before I turned thirteen.” 

“You’re not going to tell me it got better,” Evan surmises, his throat tight from the expression on Tommy’s face. 

“No,” Tommy whispers back, pressing his lips together in a hard line. “At that point, I’d figured out that I was gay, at least to myself. I was home for like three months when he caught me kissing this kid who lived around the corner.” He pauses again, staring down at Evan’s hand on his as the blonde traces his thumb over the back of Tommy’s knuckles softly. “He beat me up so badly from that, that I didn’t leave the house for a week. But it was summer, so no one knew.” 

“No one caught him,” Evan asks, anger tinging his tone. “CPS didn’t-..” 

“They’d done a visit like a week before that,” Tommy explains, glancing up at him. “Had no reason to come back so soon. Anyway, after that, I just kept my head down and stayed away from home as much as possible. When I got into high school, I joined as many extracurriculars as I could. I found ways to make money so that I could afford the hotel stays and travel, and when I was seventeen, I enlisted. He thought that was great until he found out I wasn’t going to be a marine because ‘no son of mine is going to join the army. Three generations of Kinard men have been marines’.” 

Evan huffs, shakes his head. 

“You already know how it went there,” Tommy says softly. “When I got home, I called up a friend from high school and was able to sleep on his couch for a few weeks until I got my own place and enrolled in the fire academy. And then when I was twenty-five, he showed up at the 118.” He pauses again briefly, lets out a haughty laugh. “He got on great wtih Gerrard.” 

“Of course he did,” Evan mutters under his breath. He already hates the man they’ve both had to call their former captain. 

“He said he wanted to mend fences, but I knew after seeing him with Gerrard that nothing had changed,” he states. “So I didn’t make an effort, and he’s one of those people who thinks your elders deserve respect regardless of how they treat you, so when I didn’t call, it didn’t move forward.” 

“Thank god for small favors,” Evan replies quietly. Tommy nods. Evan looks up at him, and it seems that Tommy’s finished. He stands up from his stool and moves into his boyfriend’s space, wrapping his arms loosely around his neck, fingers sliding up through the curls on the back of his head. “He’s unworthy of any of your time.” 

“That’s what I tell myself,” Tommy responds softly. 

“I hope you know that you are worth so much more,” Evan tells him, brushing his thumb back and forth over the back of Tommy’s head. “I know you still hold guilt over how you were with Gerrard, but that trauma bond didn’t really give you the space to be a better person.” 

Tommy quirks his lip up in a skeptical expression. That’s a common disagreement for them, but Evan is determined to get him to forgive himself one day. 

“I love you,” Evan adds. “Every part of you.” 

Tommy gives him a small smile. “Sometimes I think you love me more than I deserve.” 

“Well, welcome to the party,” Evan replies with a smile on his own lips. “Evan Buckley. My boyfriend makes me feel the same way.” 

Tommy chuckles. 

“What’s the saying,” Tommy murmurs to him, pulling Evan closer, looping his arms around his waist. “We’re all just looking for someone whose demons play well with ours?” 

Evan leans down, brushing his lips against Tommy’s before leaning back enough to look down at him through lidded eyes. “Think I’ve found mine.” 

Tommy smiles at him, pulling him in so they’re chest-to-chest. “God I hope so.” 

[marvelmymarvel]

Face Paint

Tobirama Senju x Reader

Synopsis: Normally, he was able to paint his face easily and swiftly, but today was not his day. Thankfully, you were more than eager to paint his face for him.

Naruto Masterlist: Here

A/N: Photo is not mine! I found it on Pinterest. Please let me know if you know the artist so I can credit them :)

Ps: this might be my favorite fic atm

Another grunt sounded out into the room, causing your eyes to flick once more from your book toward the white-haired man on the floor. His red eyes shone brightly in the mirror as the rays of the morning sun bounced off of the reflective surface and onto his unpainted face. Upon further analysis, you could tell by the way his nose was scrunched up that he was getting frustrated. "Tobirama" you called out quietly as your eyes flitted back down to your book, "Do you need help, my love?"

Another grunt hit your ears, and you bit back a smile as your eyes once more flicked up to where he was, but this time he was looking at you rather than his reflection in the mirror. Snapping your book shut, you crawled off of the bed and onto the floor beside him. "You know how much I love painting your face" you cooed out, fingers tracing his reddening cheeks as he looked away, embarrassed by the immense amount of love that dripped from your words. You took his silence as permission and carefully pried the paintbrush from his hand, "Move, please" you commanded as you tried to shimmy your way onto his lap.

"You're so demanding" he grumbled but moved anyway to make sure you were comfortably seated on top of him. "I think that's the reason you married me" your tease caused him to scoff but before he could bite back anything, you pecked his nose, once more causing him to short-circuit.

"Paint please"

He broke away from your gaze to grab the paint beside him, grumbling about how lovey-dovey you were being today. The two of you shouldn't have worked, no one saw the relationship coming but they also weren't complaining. In comparison to his harsh and hardened persona, you were bright and bubbly. Tobirama often wondered if putting you two together was some cruel joke the Gods organized.

But he didn't hate it.

You dipped the paintbrush into the red paint, eyes narrowing as you focused on painting his lines correctly for you feared one mistake would make him revoke this privilege. Tobirama bit back a sigh as you angled his face up to start with his right cheek. You weren't paying attention to anything other than drawing, but it gave Tobirama a chance to take you in without you teasing him. Your face was relaxed, yet there was a slight crease in your brow as you carefully began drawing a straight line across his cheekbone. He'd never voice it, but times like this reminded him of how lucky he was to have you in his life.

Your e/c eyes darted to his, a smirk forming on your lips at his love-struck look. Deciding not to say anything, you tilted his reddening face to the other side, now beginning to work on his left cheek. He tried to not stare as deeply at you, but he once again zoned out on your beautiful concentration.

"You're so cute when you're flustered" you cooed out as you tilted his head back to get his chin.

"So help me Y/n"

"Done!" you squeaked out as you flew off of his lap, nearly missing his grasping hand as he tried to catch you. Your giggle filled his ears as he chased you across the room, it didn't take long till you were cornered against a wall, your breathless giggles and pleads only causing his heart to grow bigger. Tobirama grabbed your arms, hand slipping up to grab the paintbrush from you, "Thank you my darling" he whispered before softly pressing his lips to yours.

Now it was your turn to grow flustered as you tried to spit back a retort, but you couldn't come up with anything, so you just stood there in shock. It wasn't like he never showed love, but this kind of love was playful...

Which was definitely not like him.

Before you could ask him what got into him, he pulled back and walked toward where his Hokage outfit was laid out. He paid you no mind as he set the paintbrush haphazardly on the dresser, "I have a long day today, but I'll hopefully be done by dinner time. If not, I'll have the ANBU come to fetch you-"

"What, you worried I'll get lost in my venture to the Hokage's office?" you teased but he simply shook his head at that, "Your mouth is going to get you in trouble someday" he bit back. From an outsider's perspective, they would have found his tone and words condescending and rude, but you knew him better than that. It was his own way of poking fun, and no one understood it better than you did, not even his own brother understood it. There were times when Hashirama pulled Tobirama aside to give him an earful about 'talking to you like an object and not a person'. You and Tobirama always laughed about those instances later at night in bed when no one could hear you.

"Have a great day Tobirama" you called out as he walked towards the door. He turned his head and shot a smile your way, "I'll see you at dinner time. Stay out of trouble" and with that, he was gone.

A bashful smile formed on your lips as you giddily watched where he was just standing. You were so in love with him and the fact that he let you do small things like this told you that he felt the same level of love. Taking a shaky inhale, you walked towards the bookshelf, lips curving mischievously as you moved back the jewelry box to get to the paintbrush you hid from him.

His paintbrush to be exact.

You eyed the paintbrush that Tobirama set down, that paintbrush just so happened to be yours. They both looked the same, however, yours was slightly shorter. It wasn't noticeable by look alone, but it was enough to cause him trouble when painting his face. Your plan had worked perfectly-

"By the way, I knew you switched our paintbrushes. I just wanted an excuse for you to sit on my lap"

Your wide eyes shot to the door where Tobirama stood, his smirk was cocky and caused your once mischievous grin to turn into a sheepish smile. "You could just ask next time... I do rather enjoy you painting my face"

You nodded at this, happy to hear that he wasn't upset with your little scheme. Without another word, Tobirama was once more off to his destination, leaving you feeling a whole mixture of emotions. But one stood out more than the others.

Unadulterated love.

[phr3ia]

I Got Isekai'd Into A World Where I'm Just The Side Character (Wuthering Waves x Fem!Reader) [Chapter 1 : How You Got Isekai'd]

[Trigger Warning]

You are a Professional Gamer known as the "Battle Goddess." holding the top rank in the world's most popular Massively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game (MMORPG) called, "The World Of Warcraft". You are always praised, admired and respected within the game for your exceptional skills and achievements. You are confident, smart, strong and beautiful in the gaming world. You're always the "Number 1" in everything, a complete opposite from the way you live your life in the real world.

You're not entirely an introvert, but you rarely engage in social outings and interactions with others. You're also an average-looking woman with no any special features or qualities that set you apart. An ordinary citizen employed as a Service Crew member at McDonald's.

In other words, you're NORMAL.

You grew up in a dysfunctional family with an alcoholic father and an older brother struggling with drug addiction. And when you reached the right age to start working, you made the decision to leave home and forge your own path independently.

After a few years of playing the game, you finally achieved the prestigious honor of being inducted into the hall of fame. Your Guildmates, who have been your faithful companions for years, expressed their desire to meet you in person to celebrate your achievement. Considering their unwavering support, you thought, "Why not?"

And this is where everything came crashing down...

The people whom you believed were loyal to you ended up ridiculing your social status. Commenting on your looks and what you do for a living, they expressed disappointment, stating that they expected more from you as the "Battle Goddess."

"What a let down." commented your Vice Leader in the game.

"It turns out I'm earning more as a Secretary than our Guild Leader here." replied the other female guild member as she casually sipped her drink.

You remained silent, gazing down at the floor, nonchalantly absorbing the impact of their insults.

You immediately realized you don't belong in the group, so you stood up and excused yourself. However, as you attempted to leave, your Vice Leader "Ryuji", grabbed your hand, pulling you back to sit with him.

They ended up forcing you to drink, intoxicating you by spiking your beer. And upon waking up the next morning, you found yourself completely naked in a hotel room, with only a vague recollection of the events that happened the previous night. Opening your social media, the first thing that caught your eye was a naked photo and a video of yourself surrounded by a group of men, which turned out to be your trusted Guild Members. In a horrifying betrayal, they violated you and treated you like a pig.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

[Facebook]

Razgriz : Is that really her? She's not even pretty 😂

100Hamsters : Eww...

Carnage2001938 : You guys are really wild, making out with her!

MrSkullCrusher7 : Sluuuuuut!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stuttered, "W-Why?" You questioned yourself, wondering what you had done to deserve such treatment. Life has been unjust to you from the moment your Mother passed away, and now this? The relentless torment is slowly eating away your soul. You had enough of everything. The game was your only refuge from the harsh realities of life, but now it seems there is no escape from the overwhelming challenges you face.

You weren't the kind of person to give up easily, but you felt deeply disappointed in yourself. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the screen, endlessly scrolling through people's comments. The post had already garnered half a million views.

Crying, you aggressively hurled your phone at the wall, shattering it. You were so done with all the bullshit happening in your life.

Suddenly, the door swung open revealing Ryuji, entering with a couple of beer bottles in hand.

Consumed by overwhelming emotions, you reached for a box-cutting knife from the bedside table and impulsively lunged towards him. Ryuji swiftly evaded your attack, his eyes widening in disbelief at your actions.

"Are you trying to kill me?!" he exclaimed, shouting at you. "I will make you all pay for this! I will hunt you down one by one, skin you alive, and feed your dicks to the pigs!" You let out a piercing scream of anger as you fiercely attacked him once more with the cutter. You managed to injure him this time, causing blood to splatter everywhere. However, the wound was not severe enough to be fatal.

"YOU BITCH!!" Ryuji hissed, shattering the bottle in half. He grabbed you by the hair and pressed the glass threateningly against your neck.

"You're a fucking psycho!" he spat, pressing the glass deeper into your skin until it drew blood.

You bit his arm with ferocity, causing him to release his grip on you. Then, with a swift kick to his crotch, you sent him crashing to the floor. You weren't even thinking twice about killing him right there and then. Straddling him, you locked eyes with Ryuji, a fierce glare in your gaze as you pressed the cutter against his throat.

"P-P-Please! I beg you! Don't kill me!" he pleaded, but begging won't work on you anymore. The pent-up anger and frustration within you had finally erupted. While others may not understand or appreciate the real you, one thing was certain - you're not someone to mess up with.

"Oy, Ryuji! What's all that noise?" the other Guild Members entered the room, they caught you in the act of trying to kill their friend.

They swiftly rushed towards Ryuji and restrained you, gagging you with a cloth tightly tied around your mouth.

"What are we going to do? She'll definitely go to the police if we let her go." the red-haired guy inquired. "We'll have to kill her." Ryuji responded coldly. "Are you really suggesting that?!" he questioned in disbelief. "Yes." Ryuji affirmed, fixing you with his cold, lifeless gaze.

The men started by submerging your head in the bathtub. They laughed as you struggled for breath, gasping desperately for air. Ryuji also delivered several punches, leaving bruises on your skin with each strike.

"I despise women like you. Acting so righteous, yet deep down, you're as corrupt as the rest of us." he seethed, pulling the cloth down from your mouth.

You spitted in his face without any hesitation. "Don't you dare compare me to the likes of you. If you think you can strip away my dignity because of what you've done, you're mistaken."

"Tch." he scoffed before pulling out his pocket knife and plunging it into your stomach. You were so stunned that you didn't immediately feel the pain, yet you could see the blood dripping onto the floor. Without warning, Ryuji forcefully submerged your head back into the water, drowning you completely.

"I refuse to die like this!" you exclaimed to yourself. "Please, I'll do anything to have another chance. This time, I'll live my life to the fullest! No more hiding!"... You can feel your life slowly ebbing away from you. But in your final moments, you made a wish, "I hope that in the next life, things will be better for me."

However, you didn't die and instead you got "ISEKAI'D"

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

[Huanglong - Dim Forest]

"Phew! That was tough!" Chixia exclaimed with a radiant smile.

"You seem cheerful for someone who just faced a lot of struggles earlier." Rover commented, chuckling at her optimism.

"I'm glad we were able to clear the spores infecting this beautiful tree." Yangyang stated, admiring the breathtaking sight before them.

"Hey guys! Am I the only one seeing something red glowing up there?" Chixia pointed to the top of the Giant Banyan Tree. "Did we miss something?" Yangyang inquired. "Let's check it out!" Rover suggested, gliding down from the cliff.

"Awwww, but we just came down from there!" Chixia complained as she followed Rover and Yangyang towards the tree.

"What if it's a powerful Tacet Discord?" Chixia asked, firmly holding her guns. "That's unlikely, Chixia. But if it does turn out to be a powerful TD, then we'll give our all to take it down." Yangyang replied with a reassuring smile.

"A woman?" Rover rushed towards your unconscious body. "She's still alive." he confirmed, checking your pulse and breathing.

Rover's calm demeanor remained as he examined you further, seemingly left for dead at the top of the tree. There was something off, though, about you. A faint hum was subtly reverberating around you, and the color of your skin was a pale hue- almost as if you were a corpse coming back to life.

"Hmm... She's no Tacet discord, that's for sure." He murmured to himself.

Your chest barely rose and fell with each breath. Rover had a feeling that you're someone who'd been through hell and back.

"We should help her, she looks like she's been through a lot." He already made his decision.

Rover's form wavered, manifesting his Tacet mark as it glows on the back of his hand- his power of Spectro activated. A barrier of light engulfed you, the humming became stronger. His expression was unreadable, a mix of curiosity and confusion, as he didn't know what was going on.

Suddenly, your breathing picked up, the faint hum increasing in volume. The barrier pulsed with the rhythm of your heartbeat, the air around you heating up.

"Rover, what are you doing to her?" Yangyang questioned, concerned for you and Rover's well-being. "I-I don't know what's going on. There's a strange force drawing me to her." He explained, his eyes never leaving you. Rover could tell that there's something going on inside of you. It was a struggle to determine what it was. However, he sensed a strong connection with you.

"Yangyang, Chixia, please step back! I don't know what's going to happen." He warned, his voice trembled slightly. His hand quivered as the barrier's glow intensified, before exploding into a shockwave of light.

"Yangyang! Chixia!" Rover exclaimed, his gaze fixed on them.

"We're okay!" Yangyang reassured, still taken aback of what just happened. "What in the world is happening?!" Chixia asked in a panic, feeling the anxiety creeping in.

The moment the light vanished, you jolted upright, your body now radiating a healthy glow, the pale hue of your skin vanished, and your eyes fluttered open. They were mesmerizing. Your body moved with so much energy, as if you had never been in a state of unconsciousness.

Rover remained frozen, his Tacet mark still glowing, unsure of what just happened. His mind raced to comprehend the unexplainable connection he felt with you.

"Eh?" You gazed at your surroundings and realized you were in an unfamiliar place. "Am I dreaming?" you whispered to yourself, trying to recall what had happened. And then you remembered that you've been murdered. "Am I dead?!" you exclaimed, staring at the man in front of you who seemed to regard you as if you were his long-lost soulmate or something.

"Hey! I'm asking you, am I dead?" you demanded, grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt.

Rover's eyes widened, and he instantly pulled back from your grasp, stumbling backward into a seated position, his hair falling over his face as he looked up at you. "N-No, you're not... dead." he managed to say, his voice wavering. The intensity of your gaze and your sudden aggression had caught him off guard.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did you end up here, in such a state?" He inquired, attempting to divert the conversation.

"I don't know. Anyway, why does that even matter? How am I alive? And who are you?" you asked, pulling yourself together.

"You can call me Rover." He introduced, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Do we know each other? I feel like we've met before, but I can't remember how or when." He admitted, glancing at the others.

"I'm sorry, but I don't recall ever meeting you before." you mused, still convinced that everything was just a dream. You were amazed by how vivid and real it all felt.

Yangyang and Chixia joined the conversation, "We found you lying unconcious here. Rover did something that helped you gained back your consciousness, and we're all a bit lost on what's going on." Yangyang explained.

"Yeah, it's like you were reborn! It's pretty unbelievable." Chixia butted in.

"By the way, my name's Chixia! And this is Yangyang!" she cheerfully added, introducing themselves to you.

"Nice to meet you..." you replied, still feeling lost.

Rover's eyes scanned over you while you conversed, his intuition telling him that you were more than just a stranger. A nagging feeling persisted, trying to tug at the edges of his memory.

"What should we call you?" Chixia inquired. "Y/N." you replied simply. "Are you from around here?"

"I'm not sure." you admitted, unsure of how to respond. You weren't even certain if you were still on Earth. The three of them gazed at you with concern written all over their faces.

"We should head back to the Capital and figure this out. And besides, you look like you need a change of clothes, food, and lots of rest." Yangyang suggested. "And a good bath." Chixia chimed in. "Get yourself cleaned up, and then we can talk about it."

"Don't worry. We're not here to harm you. You're safe with us." Yangyang reassured, gently smiling at you.

You nodded in response, returning the smile.

"I'm not sure if she's telling the truth." you pondered quietly to yourself. Despite your doubts, you realized you had no other option but to go with them. "What's there to fear?" you questioned yourself once more. "After all, this is just a dream!"

"Rover, Chixia let's go." Yangyang stated, her tone soft as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders to help you stand.

Rover watched you carefully, still processing the overwhelming feelings and thoughts racing through him. "Lead the way, Yangyang." Rover agreed, rising to his feet, ready to escort you back to Jinzhou.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

End of Chapter 1 🥀...

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

[Male Resonators x Fem!Reader] [Trigger Warning!!!]

You've been murdered. However, you didn't die and instead you got "ISEKAI'D".

[sook9i]

— I SAID LOOK

. . . GENRE ! yeonjun x afab!reader | smut

. . . CONTAINS ! dom!yj, sub!reader, implied edging, fingering, mirror sex, choking, yj kinda rough, some marking (tried to keep readers skin color ambiguous as possible tho is it described that red from bite marks can be seen), finger sucking 😞, reader naked while jun is still semi-clothed, reader is a little…dazed, pet names (yeonjun called junnie; reader called baby, darling, handsome, pretty, & cute), i think that’s it lmk if i missed anything !

. . . WORD COUNT ! 772

. . . NOTES ! I hope you enjoy our first fic !! yeonjun posted that fucking photo and i lost all coherent thought 😵‍💫

. . . ADMIN ! written by fairy cal 🐱

“Come on, baby.” The voice is silky, devilish, right up behind your ear. “Look at me.”

Your head is filled to the brink with fog. All senses dulled and yet turned up to one hundred. The firm feeling of his thighs spread out beneath yours is driving you crazy. Yet the sound of his command swims in and out of your ears, never sticking. Your only response is to let out a high-pitched whine as you struggle to grind your hips back into his.

The movement is quickly brought to end as he delivers a sharp slap to the inside of your thigh, drawing out a gasp.

“No, darling,” His hand travels up your thigh and over your hips and stomach, fingers fleeting on your bare sternum, until a strong grip takes hold of your chin. “I said look.”

Your head is yanked away from his comforting shoulder, forced forward straight at the mirror. Yeonjun’s half-lidded eyes meet yours in the reflection. His black tresses dangle down into his sight-light, drawing more attention to the sly smirk hanging on his lips.

Oh how proud he is of himself to have you like this.

Focusing on yourself in the full-length, you see just how much damage he’s already done. Your neck is littered in red, unlikely to disappear for the next couple of days; Your thighs draped wide on top of his reveal the leaking wet in between them. He has you completely naked, while only his top remains bare. Looking into your eyes, the gaze is far away and you let out another soft whine. His other hand, draped upon your lap, inches ever closer to where you need him most. Still, he continues to refuse you.

He’d been so tired coming back into the hotel room. Shoulders sagging, eyes heavy, you wanted to do anything you could to make him feel better. Thinking maybe a massage or running him a bath perhaps. Three ruined orgasms later, you can barely think beyond how desperate you are for his touch.

“Aren’t you so handsome? Look at how pretty I’ve made my baby.” Suddenly so much more energetic the moment he had you in his lap, quickly submitting to every touch.

Two long fingers poke at your lips, signaling you to open them. You gladly do, letting the rough pads run across your tongue, pushing down the back of your throat. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling. The gag reflex pushes back up your throat, you swallow it as it’s replaced with a whiny moan.

He pulls the fingers away and you quickly peel your eyes back open, watching dazedly as he trails them down to your clit. Keeping with a soft touch, he begins circling the nub, barely pressing down. He moves at a torturous pace. A mewl breaks out of your lips, squeaky and needy. The deep vibrations of his chuckle shake against your back. Every movement of his bare skin against you drives you deeper into a haze. The two fingers dip further down, spreading slick up and down your folds, toying at your wanting entrance.

“J-Junnie, please! Please, I’ll be so so good for you! Promise-Just please give me anything, please!” Your voice hikes up, feeling tears begin to bubble up in your eyes. Need taking over, your hips buck against his hold, trying for any sort of relief you can get.

“God,” Fingernails dig into your sides as he stops your movements. “You’re so fucking cute.”

In a moment his lips swallow up yours. Eating up every delicious moan that spills out once he finally pushes his fingers into you. The pace he sets is fast revealing a need comparable to yours. Two fingers stretch out your walls again and again with a slight sting, yet you still want more. Yeonjun seems to think the same as he soon adds in another. That draws out a moan which he lets ring out, pulling away from your lips and back down to your neck. There his teeth scrape on the red skin. Pain fogs up your senses until it leaks into aphrodisiacal pleasure. Bombarded with so many sensations when he places his thumb back to roll circles around your clit; your head lolls back onto his shoulder and your eyes screw shut. The sounds you release grow higher and louder with every second past. Your high creeps up closer and closer, so close to finally getting there.

Yeonjun’s free hand soon finds purchase tight around your neck; grip harsh when he squeezes and forces your head back up. “I told you to look, baby. Watch how I ruin you.”