#why is sex so sacred

[mamaindia]

Sacred Sexuality: Honoring Yoni and Lingam in Tantric Union

The sacres essence of Tantric sex and its original purpose have been overshadowed by the constant presence of sexual imagery in the media. We encounter these images daily on television, in magazines, and online. On TV shows, sex often dominates the narrative, appearing in jokes and conversations. Many modern therapists argue that sex is a biological necessity and essential for happiness.…

[handsomegentlebutch]

My 3 little cousins were baptized today. "Triggered" is kind of a strong word but being in a catholic church again... I'm a little fragile rn ngl.

[shslfanficreader]

@staff please don't recommend posts to people by saying I liked them i beg of you. I don't need people seeing that I like 8700 posts a day about anime characters having filthy explicit graphic sex

[turnedpalefromlackofsun]

i hate character design but i drool when i get the chance to do it

i hate character design its so time consuming and its so much effort and it forces me to think and---

hey girlie

wanna design this character?

OMG YES YES YES YES YES PLEASE!!!

........

so

anyways

Nakshatra (नक्षत्र)

and

Yumi (由美)

hmmmm

so naksha tara is star map which is ehhhh close enough. star ->star

yumi is purpose and beauty which is ehhhh

im brainstorming here. not a fan of either of those

........

Chayavati (छायावती)

chaya + vati is like shadows + association suffix = associated with the shadows

so if you stretch your brain enough, it could imply treachery

-1 i hate it

-1.5 you can tell which language it is but not the meaning

-2.5 doesnt start with an S

-3.5 not very thoughtful

kanksa (काङ्क्षा) is like desire and longing. honestly fitting considering the whole plotline about [redacted]

-1 you can tell which language it is and search up the meaning

-2 doesnt start with an S

+1 fits his general themes very well

Saktyasa (शक्त्याशा) is hope for power. so -> desire for power. actually if anyone names their child any of this shit no wonder he went batshit. like--

+1 point because it starts with an S

+2 the spelling makes it almost impossible to tell which language it is and what it means

+3 because i also dont know the language so its even better if i messed up (last i knew of this language was like 10 years ago in meditation school so fuck me)

-1 doesnt encompass as many themes as i like

-2 sounds like exotic gibberish enough to get me cancelled for racism

forget him lets go fuck up some kanji

風刃 kanji for wind + kanji for blade HAHAHA im AAAAAAAAAA

ok so thats a kanji pair so more than likely its onyomi reading right?

so then i think together its read like fujin? is it? on for 風 is fu and for 刃 its jin or nin? in names it seems to be jin

ok so 風刃 is fujin (?)

+1 literally her name

-1 literally her name

善心. 善 is virtuous and onyomi is "zen". 心 is heart/mind and onyomi is shin

zenshin

-1 i dont like it

+1 its true

強志. 強 is strong with onyomi as kyou and gou (i could not tell you which one is to be used). 志 is resolve with onyomi shi

so its either kyoshi or goshi.

+1 i like it

+2 its true

-1 i dont know japanese so i cant tell which reading

back to him

I could name him Sanki

it means strange/eccentric/crazy

+1 starts with an S

+2 captures his entire personality

-1 easy to figure out which language and meaning

ill keep it as his nickname. like screamer was supposed to be derogatory nickname, this is derogatory nickname too.

maybe change the romanization to Sanky

Saktyasa nickname Sanky

[omgeto]

☆ COVER UP — tattoo artist!GETO SUGURU

summary: all you wanted was a cover up tattoo to replace the name your ex left on you. you didn't think you'd be leaving the tattoo shop with a replacement for your ex's tattoo and a replacement for him as well.

wc: 3k

cw: afab!reader, geto gives you backshots, he's kinda obsessed w/ your ass here, unprotected sex (since I forget condoms) BUT he's a gentleman pulls out </3 your kinda a meanie. he's kinda a meanie so light angst (?) but barely. MDNI

an: haven't posted a longer work in a hot minute, but here is how you meet tattoo artist boyfriend!geto soooo give this one a chance big fanks to my lil twat @kazushawty for helping me out and reading bits of it.

as you push open the heavy glass door of ‘cursed ink studios,’ a subtle bell chimes softly, announcing your presence. instantly, the atmosphere inside crackles with an electric charge. the air is thick with the intoxicating scent of ink, mingling with the sterile bite of antiseptic. the walls are adorned with vivid flash art form a chaotic tapestry, while the rhythmic hum of a tattoo gun echoes through the room.

and there he is, geto suguru – a tall, enigmatic figure with jet-black hair and sleeves of mesmerising tattoos that seem to tell stories of their own. he sits at his workbench, surrounded by an array of ink bottles and tattoo machines, his piercing eyes never leaving the art he's creating. a carefully curated playlist of music plays softly in the background, punctuated by the occasional buzzing of the tattoo gun.

he glances up from his intricate work as you enter, his gaze slowly travelling up and down your form. there's a hint of curiosity in his eyes, as though he's wondering why you, of all people, have ventured into his sacred space. his expression, however, suggests that he's far from thrilled about the interruption.

"need something?" he asks, his irritation evident.

"i need a cover-up” you swallow your nerves, holding your head high, your voice steady, ”my ex's name."

geto raises an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed by your request. "ex's name, huh? you people never learn."

your jaw clenches at his condescending tone. "well, i'm here now, so can you do it or not?"

he continues to scrutinise you, his gaze feeling like a judgmental weight. finally, he nods, albeit reluctantly. "fine, show me."

with a sigh of resignation, you turn around, your heart pounding as you pull down the waistband of your jeans just enough to reveal the offending name covering your left ass cheek. it's a constant reminder of a relationship gone wrong, and you're more than ready to be rid of it.

"this won't be easy," he mutters, his fingers cool against your skin as he traces the outline of the name. his touch lingers, just a little too long, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. his fingers, skilled and confident, continued to trace the inked letters of your ex's name on your skin — almost toyingly. and you could feel the chill of the tattoo parlour's air-conditioning contrasted by the warmth of his touch.

his voice, though still gruff, held a trace of disgust "who did this?" he asks, not looking up from the tattoo.

you hesitate, your memories of that past relationship flooding back. "my ex-boyfriend," you reply tersely.

geto's fingers stop their tracing, and he lets out a low, almost imperceptible sigh. "you let your boyfriend do a shitty tattoo on you, and you let him make it his name," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "you practically let him brand you."

“is it your job to be such a bitchy artist?” you snap, already fed up by his comments. you’ve heard it from your parents, your friends, ever since you got that trashy tattoo. but couldn't disagree with that sentiment — you knew it was a shit tattoo. “i thought i was paying you for your artistry, not your smart mouth.”

"listen," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "you walk in here with that god awful mess on your skin, and you've got the nerve to criticise my attitude? if you want to be rid of it, you'll do well to keep that attitude in check, sweetheart."

you bite back a retort, realising that you've indeed crossed a line with your comment. there's a palpable tension in the air now, a simmering anger beneath the surface, and it seems that geto has no intention of backing down.

with a deep breath, you swallow your pride and offer a reluctant apology. "i'm sorry," you mutter, a touch of remorse in your voice. "i shouldn't have snapped at you."

he continues to hold your gaze for a moment, his expression still stern, before finally nodding. "apology accepted."

you didn’t actually have an idea of what you wanted for the cover up, you just knew you needed it gone. geto was a highly sought out cover artist so you had no doubt that he’d be able to do you good. with your initial meeting being heated, you thought it was best to leave him to do his thing.

with a sense of relief that the confrontation has subsided, you decide to give geto some space to work his magic. "i'll leave you to it," you say, your voice quieter now, and you turn away from him.

"good," he mutters, his focus fully on his ipad as he starts to sketch, not even looking as you leave the shop. 

geto usually was quick to draw up tattoo sketches for clients, but when it came to you he was stunned — too busy thinking about how your ass looked rather than what he was meant to tattoo on it. from the moment you stepped in his shop, he was intrigued, you didn’t see the type to get work done by him and the marking stretched on your ass didn’t seem like it would belong to someone with an attitude like yours. 

his mind was anything but focused on the design. he couldn't help but replay the encounter with you in his thoughts, your brashness and the way you'd stood your ground, even under his scrutiny.

"why the hell did she get that shitty tattoo?" he mutters to himself, his fingers deftly working his pen. the sketch was beginning to take shape, but his mind kept drifting back to the curve of your ass. he couldn't deny the attraction he felt, and it frustrated him. he was supposed to be a professional, detached from his clients beyond the art he created on their skin. but something about you had thrown him off balance.

“so you ready to get this tatted on you?” is the first thing he asks when you return the following day. you inspect his sketches in awe, of course you never doubted his talent but you didn’t think he’d be able to draw something you wanted without you even having to say.

“well it seems you do live up to your reputation,” you comment with a neutral facade, but you both know that you were downplaying your excitement — you were pleased. and like with any client, that made geto satisfied that he was doing his job correctly. but when he saw the way your eyes lit up when he initially showed you the sketches, it was a sight he wanted to see again. “i guess we can start the tattoo.”

“okay i’ll get my stuff set up, get rid of those,” he says nodding towards your jeans, “and lay down when you’re ready.” you slip yourself out of your bottoms, leaving the itty bitty thong that you knew you’d need for the appointment and that a small part of you hoped he liked.

he pauses when he sees you laying down on the seat in his station, your head resting in your arms, your ass slightly raised.  ‘this is gonna be a long session,’ he thinks to himself as he smirks, shaking his head as he works his way to his seat.

as he sits down, he places the stencil over your ass, and you berate yourself for getting giddy at the feeling of him rubbing over the design to make sure it was in place — wishing that his hand stayed for longer. 

“how are you with pain?” he asks, and from the way you were laying you weren’t able to see the way he was gawping at your ass.

“what type of pain?” you retort.

“y’know the type of pain where someones drilling into your ass for hours,” he comments as if it’s obvious but you both knew his words were hinting at more than just the tattoo.

“choice words there,” you muse, “but any type of pain i’m alright with, so give me your best.”

geto's needle hovers just above your skin, poised for action. "you sure about that?" he murmurs, his voice low and suggestive.

a coy smile tugs at your lips as you respond, "I can handle it if you can."

with a deliberate, almost tantalising slowness, he lowers the needle to your skin. the first touch is a sharp, stinging sensation, but you refuse to flinch. you're determined to hold your own, to meet geto's challenge head-on.

he continues to work, the needle dancing across your skin with a practised precision. the room is filled with the rhythmic sound of the tattoo machine, creating a hypnotic backdrop to your growing tension.

as minutes turn into hours, you find yourself lost in a strange mixture of pleasure and pain. the pain is undeniable, but there's something oddly exhilarating about it. you steal a glance at geto, his intense focus on his work, and you can't help but wonder if he's enjoying this as much as you are.

"still doing okay?" he asks, his tone a mix of concern and something more primal.

you bite your lower lip, suppressing a moan that threatens to escape. "i told you, i can handle it."

geto smirks, his gaze locked on your ass as he continues to tattoo. "you've got quite the threshold for pain. impressive."

“is it really? i'm sure you’ve worked on a lot of other clients with higher thresholds for pain.”

“but none of them have had an ass like yours though,” he mumbles to himself — but you hear him loud and clear, a grin forming on your face at the confession. “anyways, we’re all done now, go ahead and look in the mirror.”

you stand in the full length mirror, your head slightly turned at an angle as you gawp at your ass. your eyes widen seeing what was once your shitty exes name, now turned into a piece of true art. 

“so what d’you think?” he asks, and you didn’t even notice him coming to stand behind you until you felt his breath on the back of your neck, “this shit is hot right?”

“you can say that again,” you agree, keeping your eyes focused on the tattoo, trying to ignore the quickening of your heart beat at the presence of him, “this is really great though, like i couldn’t imagine my ass could look this good after having that tattooed on on it all his time.”

“well no need to imagine anymore,” geto’s face forms a smiling grin, you can tell he was admiring way more than just his artwork, “you mind if i take a picture… for my instagram?” he says, barely asking as his phone is already out of his pocket and is in his hands, he looks up at you for permission and you give a slight nod before he’s snapping away at your ass.

“are you sure this is for your instagram,” you tease, as he continues to take photos crouched down, as he circles your ass with his phone, “or is this just for your personal wank bank?”

“would you like it to be?” he retorts back swiftly, there wasn’t even any mischief in his eyes as he looks up at you, just pure lust.

“um i–” you stutter, only now feeling exposed — as if he hadn’t been working on your ass already for the past six hours.

“don’t get shy on me now,” he coos, standing up to face you head on, “y’gonna let me finish off making you forget that ex or yours or what?”

“be my guest,” you respond, trying to come across as nonchalant, but the eager look in your eyes gave geto all he needed to know. 

he pushes you softly, as he commands, “hands against the mirror and spread your legs.” and you do just that, as he comes behind you, fitting in between your legs perfectly. his hand forces ur back down, deeping the arch of your spine before both of his hands grab onto your ass.

geto really rubs and digs his thumbs into your cheeks, biting his lip at the sight at the way his fingers mould into your ass. “fuckk man,” he groans out, he’s not even in you yet and he was already obsessed with every inch of you. 

he frees his dick from his pants, and pumps it quickly before sliding it across your already gushing slit. you hiss at the contact, a pleased smile working its way on your face as the tip of his dick edges into you.

“s-shit,” you stammer, as he inches himself into you deeper, “w-what about the rest of the shop?”

“what about them?” he shrugs, “you don’t want them to hear naught you’re being right now? HEY GUYS—”

“oi,” you hiss out, your eyes widening as you turn your head to look directly at him.

“i’m just playing, i’m not ready to share you quite just yet,” he retorts, his dick moving in you at an achingly slow pace, “now, keep your eyes focused on the mirror, and you better not let those hands slip.”

before you can respond, he thrust his hips into you as deep as he could, his dick slamming into you. you moan out at the surprising force, trying your best to keep your palms flat on the surface of the mirror, as you stare straight at him — watching how he works his hands from your ass to your hips so he can drive into you with all of his force. 

“this pussy is s-so fucking good,” he praises, the sloppiness of your cunt making it easy for him to slide his dick in and out of you. “oh and this ass,” he continues giving a hard spank on your ass cheek, to emphasise his point, “c’mon throw your ass back on my dick, i wanna see it bounce.”

you fuck him back, doing exactly as he says, your ass meeting his hips with the same amount of force. his spanks encourage you to be quicker, to give him everything he wants. his repeating, strong strokes, have you feeling weaker, your hands slipping as you try to stay up right, when all you want to do is collapse and cum everywhere. 

“f-fuckk it’s too much,” you whine, as he drills into you.

“nah,” he says, shrugging his head, “it’s not enough,” he lifts up his legs, his digits pressing into your deeper, as he now angles his strokes even further into your pussy, hitting your spot with ease. “give it to me harder, i know you can” he encourages, another two swift spanks landing on your ass.

with his continuous contact of your ass and his hips, and the way his dick pushes into you deeper, you felt like you were splitting in two. but you kept going, thinking back to your earlier conversation, you didn’t want to prove him wrong, you wanted to show him that you can handle it, handle him.

geto was practically beaming, licking his lips feverishly at the sight of your fucked out face through the mirror as he watches himself plough into you, your body rocking forward with every thrust. his eyes concentrate on your ass, as he says, “d’you see how your rocking my work on you now?” and you nod dumbly, too busy trying to reach your climax to string a sentence together, “so fuck that ex of yours and his shitty ass tattooing, from now on you only can me on your body, you got that?” he asks and you nod again, but he shakes his head, his hand moving from your waist to your chin as he grips it making your eyes stay locked on his through the mirror, “i said do you got that?”

“ahhh s-shit yet i do, i do,” you say, mirroring his words, “i will only have you on my body, ‘promise.”

“good girl,” he approves, giving your chin a squeeze before letting go, “now cum.” 

with those simple words, you release all over him, your stance getting weaker, as you shoot out cum all over his dick. he’s quick to pull out of you though, stroking his dick as he sprays his cum all over your ass, with a deep groan.

your hands are still on the wall, as you take deep breaths, trying to recollect yourself. but you turn around swiftly seeing a flash of a camera behind you, and geto is back to crouching down, with his phone out, taking pictures of your cum covered ass.

“you mind if i keep these in my wank bank forreal this time?” he asks, smirking as you nod, “i’ll take some more later, but i got two questions to ask.”

“and those are…” you say, prompting him to continue.

“first, let me take you out after this?” he asks with a smirk, already knowing the answer. after the way he just dicked you down, you’d be a fool not to let him wine and dine you, “second, y’gonna come suffocate my face with that ass of yours or not?” you couldn’t even answer the second question since he’s pulling you down to the floor with him, with a joyous grin on his face.

AN: IGNORE THE FACT THAT HE CUMS ALL OVER UR FRESH TATTOO. LIKE JUST IGNORE IT. just focus on the fact that you have a lovely ass and geto loves it too. but yes do you want to see more, I HAVE ENOUGH IDEAS TO EVEN MAKE A LIL MASTERLIST FOR IT. I love tattoo artist boyfriend!geto so so much, like when u guys become an established relationship it actually gets so good. BUT I DONT REALLY LIKE THIS ONE, BUT IF U GUYS FW IT I PROMISE ILL ACTUALLY WRITE AND POST THE ONES I LOVE. BUT I FELT LIKE I HAD TO WRITE THIS FIRST SO YOU COULD SEE HOW U AND GETO STARTED. LMK UR THOUGHTS

[fear-is-truth]

† 𝑶𝑵𝑳𝒀 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑶𝑵𝑬𝑺 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑾𝑨𝑵𝑻 𝑻𝑶 𝑩𝑬 𝑺𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑫

— charlie mayhew x f!reader. | mdni

tags: mentions of religion・allusions to sex・fem!reader・english is not author’s first language・not proofread

⟡ a/n: i wrote this while i was half asleep so…

you weren’t religious. not really. not in the way others were—those who bowed their heads and whispered their prayers like they meant it, like they believed they could be saved. you came to church every sunday, but it wasn’t to find redemption.

he must have known.

from the first time you stepped through those old, heavy doors, you’d felt his eyes on you. father charlie mayhew was a man with quiet power, a young man with eyes that saw too much, and you—well, you were the girl who was already damned.

“i’m going to hell,” you’d say, as you sat in the confessional, separated from him by a thin grate. “even if i confessed every sin i’ve ever committed, tomorrow would be the same. worse, maybe.”

it never failed to shake him, the conviction in your voice. you could feel it, even when you couldn’t see him—his quiet intake of breath, the pause before he spoke, the way his hands gripped the rosary a little tighter.

“you mustn’t say such things,” he’d murmur in response, his voice layered with something that went deeper than priestly concern. “god’s mercy—”

“doesn’t apply to me,” you’d cut him off, not harshly, but with the ease of someone who’s accepted their fate. you didn’t want mercy. you didn’t want saving.

and that, perhaps, was what drew him to you. slowly, quietly, you became his obsession. the girl who didn’t believe. the girl who begged for damnation, the girl who was convinced she was beyond salvation.

•••

more than often, you found yourself thinking of him when you lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling. body warm and restless under the sheets. fingers brushed your cunt as you moaned out his name like a prayer, and you imagined his hands instead—steady, calloused, but gentle. he’d never touch you. not like that.

but god, you wanted him to.

that thought alone should have filled you with shame, should have made you tremble at the audacity of it. a priest. a man sworn to celibacy, to god. but you weren’t the type to be shamed. you weren’t afraid of hell, after all.

•••

“what if i’m already lost?” you asked him. “what if nothing i do can change where i’m going?”

“no one is beyond saving.”

“but what if they don’t want to be saved?”

there was another long silence. you could hear his breathing, slightly uneven now, and for the first time, you felt like you’d pushed him too far. like you’d finally broken something sacred.

“why are you here?”

“because i wanted to see you.”

another pause. you imagined him on the other side, eyes closed, hands shaking just slightly.

“you’re playing with fire.”

you leaned closer to the divider, breath ghosting over the wooden grate.

“maybe i want to burn.”

the words slipped out before you could stop them, and in the silence that followed, you wondered if he would tell you to leave. if he would end it all right there.

but he didn’t.

“then may god forgive us both.”

it wasn’t a confession. it wasn’t a promise. it was something in between, something that wrapped around your heart and pulled tight, binding you to him.

•••

clothes half-buttoned, your hair a mess from his hands, you sat at the edge of the bench, fixing your skirt. he stood across from you, hastily adjusting his collar, his hands trembling slightly as he fumbled with the white tab at his throat.

“we’re going to hell,” you said softly, pulling your conservative skirt over your hips, the absurdity of the statement falling between you. there was a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe—but it didn’t stop him from stepping closer, fingers grazing your jawline before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your skin. slow and sweet, like molasses.

“we already are.”

•••

“you know this can’t continue,” he said one evening as you lay sprawled across the pews, fingers tracing patterns into the wood as he stood above you, his face tight with something between anger and lust. you didn’t look at him, only smiled lazily, hand trailing down the edge of the bench.

“that wasn’t what you were saying ten minutes ago, charlie.”

you watched as he sighed, turning his back to you as he tried to gather himself, but when you stood and stepped up behind him, pressing your lips to the base of his neck, you felt him tremble.

“stop,” his voice lacked conviction.

“do you want me to?” you asked, fingers tugging at the collar he had hastily buttoned only minutes before.

no reply. his resolve slipped away as you kissed along his jaw, hands sliding up the front of his shirt. when he finally turned to face you, his eyes were darker, filled with something you had only seen glimpses of before.

“god help us,” he muttered under his breath as his lips crashed into yours, hands tugging at you with a desperation that had nothing to do with salvation.

•••

the next time, after you had tangled yourselves in the sheets again, you stood in front of the mirror, tying up your hair. the quiet hum of the rotating fan was the only sound that filled the room, broken only by his heavy breathing.

“how long can we keep pretending?” you glanced at him in the reflection, adjusting the collar of your blouse, smoothing down the wrinkles. he stood by the bed, buttoning up his shirt, eyes lingering on you in a way that was both regretful and wistful. you felt his fingers brushed the back of your neck.

“we’ll stop when you do,” but you both knew that wasn’t true.

you turned, meeting his gaze head-on. his lips were parted, collar still askew, and without thinking, you reached up to fix it. as you did, your fingers lingered, brushing against the hollow of his throat, feeling his pulse quicken.

“we’re going to hell,”

he said nothing this time, only kissed you back.

masterlist

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x best friend!fem!reader

Summary: You and James stumble upon an ancient book of spells rumored to enhance pleasure.

Genre: SMUT (nsfm) + hurt and comfort

Warnings: sex while under an 'aphrodisiac' of some kind, unprotected sex, penetration, cock warming, quickie, public (not seen by anyone), riding, insecurities, porn with plot ✨

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

"Someone is gonna see us," you whisper, feeling James Potter's hand in yours, his thumb occasionally soothing circles over your palm as you stumble in the dark corridors under his invisibility cloak.

"That's the point of the cloak, love," James answers, holding in a laugh as he guides you towards the entrance to the library and he mutters the spell for the lock as you hold your breath. 

"Hear us then," you counter, unconsciously squeezing his hand for reassurance. 

James doesn't hesitate to return the squeeze and he smiles when the lock opens with a click. He opens the door and you both squeeze inside.

Once the door shuts behind you, James drops the cloak and you let out a shaky exhale, adjusting your hair. The room is dark and it smells like dust. You hold in a cough as James mutters, "Lumos," and then grins like he'd gone mad.

"Told ya we'd be fine," he sing-songs and kicks your shoe in a playful manner as he walks by you to look at all the restricted books. 

You groan and take out your wand, walking along the shelves as you pick up dust with your index. "Are you looking for something in particular?" you ask, your voice low as you read the names of books, realizing just how dangerous this could become.

James nods. "Yeah, I bet Sirius I could find "Moste Potente Potions" so we could make some Polyjuice potion," he says casually. 

"And you needed me, why?!" you turn to glare at your best friend. 

James looks at you with a smile. "Didn't really. I'just like your company."  

You bite the inside of your cheek and go back to looking at the books. "Polyjuice is dangerous, James. Are you sure you want to meddle with that?"

James nods again and he hums, "I'm top of the class in Potions, I'm sure I can handle some Polyjuice." He sounds smug and you roll your eyes at his behavior.

James is reckless and impulsive and honestly, you're worried about him making that potion with his friends. You don't dare bring it up, because who are you to tell James what to do? You aren't his girlfriend or anything—

"Woah," James's voice interrupts your thoughts as he walks over to you. You turn, standing in front of him as he flips the pages of some old dusty book. "These spells are ancient—and completely forbidden—" he mutters, his eyes round with excitement. 

You tilt your head and read the title; "Antiqua Cantus." Ancient Spells.

"Bloody Hell, there's a pleasure-enhancing spell–like a sexual thing—" James exclaims and holds the book open to you so you can see. You walk over and stand next to him, looking over his shoulder at the spell. James begins to recite the spell and you read along, entranced by the words on the worn-out parchment.

By moonlight's glow and stars above, 

Ignite the flames of lustful love. 

Let passion's heat our bodies bind,

In ecstasy, our souls combined.

Whisper soft this sacred plea,

Unleash our wildest fantasy.

Once he's finished, you glance around the page and frown. "Shit." You grab the book from James and then look up at him with wide eyes, "James, this is a wandless spell!" you whisper and his eyes widen like yours did as he realizes what happened. 

He grabs the book from you and reads the instructions. His shoulders relax and he points to the small print— "It says the participants must have already existing feelings for this to work," he mumbles and looks up at you, smiling reassuringly and unsure all the same. "So—"

"Yeah—" you whisper, stepping away from him.

"I feel fine," James starts.

"I do too," you say, feeling completely normal. 

James shuts the book with a slam and his smile returns. "Thing is probably too old to work, anyways," he says confidently. You nod, less confident than he is but you push those worries down. 

He doesn't like you like that—so why would it work?

Once James finally finds the book he's looking for, you both cram under the cloak and you make your way back to the dorm. You ignore the feeling, but your head feels fuzzier than it should. Every brush on James's arm against yours sends shivers up your spine. You're extra aware of how he smells and it's intoxicating. You bite your lip, hoping the pain will distract you from the pleasure building. 

The spell. 

James looks normal. He's even humming the Hogwarts song under his breath, his eyes trained forward as you make it to the Common Room. It feels so unfair—that he's fine and your stomach twists with butterflies as your nipples harden painfully against your bra. 

It isn't fair. 

As soon as you have the chance, you pull away from James and sit on the couch, pressing your thighs together. You glance up at the stairs to the girl's dorms, wondering if you should run up and take a cold shower to quench the ache.

"Hey, you okay?" James asks, folding up the cloak as he looks you over.

Bloody fuck, his voice. 

"Mhmm," you nod, focusing your attention on anything but how turned on you are or how hot James sounds and looks. How much you want his lips on yours. 

You clench your thighs again, nervously pressing your hands in between them and your breath hitches when James sits next to you, his hand flat on your thigh. You inhale. 

"Are you sure?" he asks, looking at you behind his glasses with a look that makes you want to pounce on him. This is so humiliating. You move your thigh so his hand slips onto the couch and James's frown deepens. "Hey," he whispers again, "What's happened?"

You feel like your entire body is on fire. You need to touch yourself or throw yourself out a window—you can't make up your mind.

"The stupid spell—" you say, your voice soft as you avoid his gaze and stare at your knees, feeling your hands shake. "it's working and I- I can't handle it, James," 

He doesn't answer for a moment until you hear a familiar laugh. "Oh, darling," he says, his hand finding your chin as he turns your head around, grinning. "Look at me." 

You do so but he shakes his head, his eyes shimmering. "No. Look at me," he whispers, his voice husky and deep and your eyes widen when you understand what he means. Your gaze falls from his eyes to the painful-looking bulge tenting his trousers and you inhale sharply, the sight causing your mind to haze over. How had you missed this!?

"Look at what it's done to me, love," James finishes as his thumb strokes your cheek. "We really messed up this time, didn't we?" he hums.

"You messed up," you whisper, leaning into his touch. Thank Merlin no one is in the Common Room at this hour because your desperation is embarrassing.

"I messed up," James says with a strained smirk and he twirls some of your hair in his fingers. "Can I make it up to you, darling? Can I make the ache go away?"

James knows this is wrong. You're both under some kind of sexually enhancing spell—this is so many shades of messed up. Still, his heart and dick yearn for you. Somehow, he's managed to hide it well, most likely because he'd had experience in that department—James was constantly turned on to some level when he was around you. He can't help himself. 

"H-how?" you ask, the idea of giving in to the desires not even crossing your mind. 

James smirks, looking at you as his glasses fall down his nose. He pats his thigh. You look down, your eyes widening. You shouldn't. This is wrong. Still, your body responds to him without your brain's permission as you lift yourself to straddle his lap. Your skirt bunches up your thighs as your arms wrap around James's shoulder. You gasp for air at how sensitive you are and you can't look him in the eye.

You can feel him hard and needy against you and you swallow. 

"Look at me," James whispers once more, his voice husky and deep as his hands grip your hips and he moves you up and down his trousers. You whine and bury your face in the crook of his neck, your skin clammy and flushed from need. 

Suddenly the movements stop and your grip tightens around his shoulders. 

"Look at me," he says again, lips pressed to your ear as he sounds as desperate as you are. "O-or I'll stop," he threatens, not sounding convincing considering the spell is starting to hit him hard and he's about ready to come in his trousers. 

You pull away, looking at him as your mind buzzes and you search his eyes for some hint that you both need to stop this. You see none so you say, your voice strained, "James. Fucking need you, please."

You lift your hips, finding his zipper and fumbling with his trousers as you push aside your panties. It's rushed and sweaty and not at all romantic like you'd planned—not to mention public. You pray everyone else is asleep and won't walk in on you sitting on your best friend's cock.  

With a moan, you press down and he slides in easily. "Shit, you're so wet," James mumbles as he kisses your neck, holding you close as his cock twitches inside you. You both don't even think of the fact he's not wearing a condom or anything. You're too lost in the pleasure for any rational thoughts.

"Fuck," you groan, keeping him inside you without movement for a while. You hold him as close as possible, needing him. Needing his warmth.

James groans, his eyes shut in pleasure as he holds himself back from fucking you roughly. He's going to explode at any moment if he doesn't feel you move. "Y/n," he warns, his hands tightening even more on your poor hips. 

You take that as an invitation and you move, your movements slow and languid in the beginning, feeling every pull and stretch and you can't tell if James's cock just feels so much better than any others you've been with, or if the spell is messing with you. 

Perhaps it's a little of both. 

"Bloody hell," James grunts, losing control, as he moves you with him, his hips snapping up into you. You gasp, falling onto his shoulder as you hold him even closer, the pleasure almost unbearable.

You don't know if it's been hours or mere minutes but once James spills himself into you, his hands around your back as he continues to move your body to his liking, you can't hold it in and your mouth opens, a silent moan catching you by surprise as you finish around him. You feel weak and fuzzy almost instantly as if the string master that kept you aware suddenly cut you loose. 

James's hand soothingly runs in your hair as he pants, his eyes shut. The only sound you can hear is your and James' ragged breaths and all you can smell is the burnt-out firewood and sex. You feel much calmer now as your brain tries to catch up with the events that just transpired, and when it does your blood runs cold.

You sit up, looking down at your best friend. He's looking at you, not daring to speak. You'd just fucked him with such want and need and yet all you can think about when you look at him is how you did all that without knowing the feeling of his lips on yours.

Shame burns your skin and you scramble off him, the feeling of his cock leaving from inside you makes you wince as you hold in all the emotions that threaten to overwhelm you. 

"Hey," James whispers, his hand reaching for yours as he stops you from running away, standing up in the process so he's looking at you. He drops your hand and, clearly embarrassed, tucks himself back inside his trousers. You stare at him, feeling dirty from an experience you'd wished had been amazing. 

And it was more than amazing if you were honest with yourself. You'd never been more satisfied in your life, but it also wasn't what you'd really wanted. Was it too cliché to want roses and candles? A steamy kiss and some swoon-worthy romantic confession? 

Instead, you'd gotten love bites and finger dents.

"What's going on in your head?" James's voice interrupts your thoughts as he moves closer. 

"Hmm?"

"Darling, come on, please talk to me," he insists, wanting to know exactly what you're feeling so he can understand his own feelings. 

You cover your face with your hands, head dipping down as your body finally calms down from the surplus of hormones you've experienced.

"We shouldn't have done that, James—I–it was wrong," your voice fades as his hands find your wrists and he pulls them down. He looks hurt, sad, and guilty all in one emotion painted on his handsome face. 

"Do you regret it?" he asks, his voice wavering. 

You open your mouth to say yes but hold yourself back. It's more complicated than that. "I don't know– I just didn't think it would happen like this and—we didn't even kiss," you ramble, avoiding looking at him. You should have been looking because then you could have seen his next move coming.

James gently takes your cheeks in his hands, pulling you into him so he can kiss your lips. For something surprising, it isn't forceful at all. He doesn't kiss you longer than a few seconds and he doesn't use his tongue. He's delicate with you, making sure he isn't crossing any boundaries.

When he moves away, your eyes are open and you're silent for a moment. Then, you grab his collar and pull him in, crashing your lips onto his. You kiss him like he's your last meal on earth--like you've been starved of him. He feels so good pressed against you, his hands in your hair and then your cheeks again, and then your waist. You feel dizzy and you pull away. Your lips feel swollen and love-bitten and you're a flustered mess.

James continues to hold you close as he presses his forehead to yours, his thumb rubbing your waist. "You're amazing," he speaks so softly as a faint smile graces his lips. 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I don't tell you enough, do I?" James smiles and tilts his head. He leans in and kisses your neck. "You're amazing—so wonderful," he inhales your scent but doesn't comment on it and a shiver runs up your spine. 

"I– we–" You want to bring up the fact you had sex with him but James puts his finger on your lips, his thumb rubbing under your chin and he shakes his head. 

"Stop worrying so much, lovely. It's okay. I promise it's okay. I didn't hurt you did I?"

You shake your head and James's smile turns into a grin.

"Good. So we're okay, hm?" he looks at you expectantly. "You're still my best friend."

Your heart thumps loudly in your ears. Best friends. "Y-yeah, you're still my best friend, Jamie," you say, your voice strained as you smile reluctantly. 

You want to be so much more than best friends.

James can sense your hesitation and he takes a breath. "W-would you want to try to be more than just friends, Y/n?" he pauses, and then his voice picks up, "and I'm not saying that because we just fucked. No. I'm saying this because I'm hopelessly in love with you and I think you love me too. You kissed me like you love me. I want to try to make this work."

You feel like the world is crashing around you. Your skin feels clammy and your head is dizzy. Still, an unfamiliar warmth spreads all around you. You feel blissful and you reach for James's hand, needing to hold him. He lets you hold his hand and he intertwines his fingers into yours. He looks nervous like he's expecting a rejection.  

"I do love you, James. So much. I want to try this too," you whisper, looking at him with a shy smile. 

James's grin widens and he picks you up, spinning you around as he keeps you close when your feet touch the ground again. "I'll do right by you, my love," he whispers in your ear and you hold your hands behind his neck. 

"So no more late-night trips to the restricted sections and trying old, dangerous, spells?" you tease.

James nips at your ear. "I kinda liked this one."

You laugh and swat his pec, your hand trailing down his chest as you fist his shirt and look up at him with a mockingly stern look. "Don't be a smartass, you wanker."

James returns your laugh and kisses behind your ear. "No more trips to the restricted section and trying old dangerous spells. Pink swear."

You pull away and hold out your pinky, which he takes and you grin. 

"We can still have sex though, hm. We don't need a spell to do that, right?" he teases but the question almost sounds serious. 

You roll your eyes. "James."

"I'm just making sure!" 

[inknopewetrust]

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞, 𝐈 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝.

Summary: After days of uncertainty, you catch Aemond in the throne room and envision the future of what power can hold. [Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader] [WC: 2.8k]

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, smut, oral (f receiving), public sex, exhibitionism, overstimulation, enemies to lovers dynamic.

Quick Links: Masterlist | gif by @vizual-demon

“Knee deep in the [throne room] and you’re eating me out… is it casual now?”

“Do you always look so smug after killing your own blood?”

In your shadows, Aemond Targaryen stared at the Iron Throne in the storm.

Thunder eclipsed the skies over the castle. In the late evening, you could feel the shocks of lightning beneath your fingertips as they grazed the columns of marble that flanked the room. Each scream of anger echoed through the stones, you could hear it so clearly.

You could see him in the shadows of the throne.

Aemond Targaryen had returned from battle two days ago.

In those two days, the world had changed drastically compared to the one that it was before. A King incapacitated, a legend buried in the rubble of a fallen house, and two sides burning as bright as the cascading terror above.

The tide was shifting and the power in the halls was striking.

Aemond’s arms hung limp at his sides. For someone so thirsty for the power the room held, his apathetic nature would bury him. He could see the darkness of the swords; twisting and bleeding each person dry for their aspirations.

He wanted to be someone who was remembered.

Aemond Targaryen did not want to be immortalized in history as a weak member of the greatest family to ever exist in this world. In his dreams he saw a man of profound strength and terror—someone who reigned a fearsome government with unyielding standards.

In his cruelty, he wanted people to see a person who would not sacrifice his name for peace.

So yes, he was a bit smug at Rhaenys’ demise and ultimately Aegon’s injury. He would not be in this position now had he not done what was asked of him.

But he didn’t answer you—Aemond did not feel the need to acknowledge it because he knew you understood. Even if you were to be cutting and cynical, Aemond knew you rationalized his beliefs in a similar fashion.

And that enticed him.

You had always enticed him. So simple yet cunning, an outsider amongst the other ladies in your class. You were not a whore, you were not a mother, and yet he wanted to know what it felt like to be a feign of your touch.

How would your hands feel on his body? Your delicate fingers wrapped around him?

“Ah,” you ticked at him, pushing off the stone pillar and moving in his direction. “You see, My Prince, when you allow a dragon’s head to be paraded for the city to see, people are going to notice.”

“Power is power. We needn’t parade it unless it was necessary to remind them who they should bend the knee to.”

“At the ill will of a sacred creature?”

Meleys was once a beautiful dragon. It was such a shame that the second time you were able to witness her beauty it was in the butchered attempt of showing off. The grandstanding sickened the soil.

“It does not take a Targaryen to understand that.”

“What would you know of Targaryen customs?” He spoke back. His voice was thin and dry. “You will never know.”

“I apologize… for my lowly status is not on par with such a great house. I am sure my Lord Father would appreciate the sentiment.”

You have a coy, playful smile that he could feel in his bones. The kind that would chide him, never take him too seriously, and one that rarely doubted him.

It was an uneasy feeling. One he would never quite get used to.

“His ambitions are not unknown. How people without power seek it.”

“Is that not why there are whispers of what you have done?” You questioned and his hands turned to fists quickly. “Small folk talk, Aemond. Power is power but when you misuse it, the omen may come true.”

The omen hovered like the storm above. The God’s were battling in the realm in the sky; giants of proportions unfathomable in their richness of blood. They scorched and rattled in the sky as cracks of thunder rumbled throughout the Keep.

“Yet I speak nothing of it,” he eyed you solemnly. “You talk of rumors and fallacies as if they hold truth. Perhaps it is I who should ask where your loyalties preside? Does war scare you?”

Aemond approached you with long strides. His hands lingered at his sides but never held onto his hilt, threatening you with violence or harm for your disagreements.

He could see you did not fear war. Your father would have called on your return if the prospect of war scared a house with the name of your own. A prominent family in the Vale—to the Greens you were a key.

And he could play you a fiddle if you let him.

“No,” you replied, keeping your head tall. “I live in a gilded tower.”

“That has been infiltrated before. It has seen death before.”

“They do not seek me,” your eyes ran along his face as the sky illuminated his sharp features. “But you know that.”

Aemond hummed and in a moment of faulted want, his right hand reached to brush your own. The electricity of shock pulsing through your veins as though it was as important as blood itself.

You swallowed the nervousness that built in your throat at his actions. He was so sure of himself, so different from the man you had known before.

He took his sins and bathed in them. Aemond let the water dry in confidence of himself as Prince Regent. If he was going to rule in his brother’s stead, he needed the reverie of power to seep inside of him.

“Men will seek anything if they are given the chance.”

You traced the direction of his eyes to your hand, how he ghostly itched to touch you again.

“And what is it that you seek?” You questioned quietly. “Is being a ruler not enough?”

In the lull, your ears filled themselves with the sound of your heartbeat. Pumping and beating to the thrills of anticipation you sought in the sordid walls of an ugly Keep. To please a King, well… It was a dangerous thing.

Aemond’s hand touched yours loosely again. His fingers gently grazed yours with a profound intent that was something he sought.

“No,” he admitted. “It is not.”

His hand bypassed yours and rested lowly on your hip. The touch stilled you. In the darkness of the hall, the world stopped moving and your vision tunneled. His hand moved higher to rest upon the crux of your hip and stomach, thumb caressing the fabric of your dress. He stepped closer.

Without thinking, you took a step back out of the chills that erupted on your skin, not out of want. He took the space you created and closed it again but followed you as you moved backwards and backwards until your back hit one of the marble columns you had hid behind not twenty minutes earlier.

One of your hands caught yourself on the column and the other wove itself around a post. The wings of the throne room were elevated for spectators that were nonexistent now.

Aemond’s other hand mirrored the other and he held you there.

“If someone came looking for you,” he huffed, tilting his head to the side which allowed his eye to narrow. “What would you let them do to you?”

You furrowed your brows yet the feel of his hands burning through your dress allowed your mouth to run dry.

Nothing. You would let them do nothing to you. You would fight to the death to defend yourself but if it were Aemond, you would let him devour you.

“What about me, hm?” There was a faint smile on his lips. “What would you let me, your Prince Regent, do to you while the Gods watched over us?”

His hands slithered up your torso, drawing a staggered breath from you as he cupped your breasts over your dress and groped hard to feel the flesh. Aemond saw your chest stutter under his touch.

“Tell me,” he whispered, pulling his head in close to yours. His lips became a mere centimeter from yours; breath lingering in the space between you heavy and taught.

“I-I-I,” your nerves got the better of you. Stumbling over your words like a dolt, his hands moved back down and began to gather your dress in his hands. 

“Poised to stick pins where the plans now lie but a stuttering fool now.” 

“I am not a fool,” you huffed as the cool night air began to make itself known against your ankles, then your shins. “I know what I want.” 

Aemond leaned in, knocking his nose gently with yours. 

“Tell me,” he repeated. 

“I want you to touch me,” you instructed him. “I want to feel the mouth of a King on my lips and under the Gods I do sin, but I wish to feel his lips elsewhere.” 

“Oh?” Aemond hummed as his hands continued their path. “I may not hold the title of King-” 

“You are a King, Aemond,” you said assertively and his hands stopped. 

“You rule in the place of Aegon’s incapacity and by all law and rules, you are the one to carry the heavy sword. You speak the actions and see them true.” 

His Adam’s apple bobbed at the reality. 

Aemond’s power lingered. It lingered in this great hall but it was a shell. The Aemond he felt in his bones was still as scared as the one who killed Lucerys. 

“I wish to feel your lips elsewhere,” you whispered, breath fanning his face. He tilted his head upwards and for a split second, his lips touched yours. 

Intoxicating; you would have fallen to your knees had you not already wished to see him on his. 

“I want to see a King on his knees.”

Aemond could only smirk. He planted a quick, brief kiss on your lips before bunching up the skirt of your dress as he knelt down to the floor. A beckoning, ethereal call from above led him to his knees to worship. With his hands collecting the material of your dress, Aemond’s hands met yours and opened them the best he could for you to grab onto it. He used the leverage of your assistance to bring down your stockings, clear the way of his alter as the thunder roared from above.

You let your head fall back against the pillar as his hands roamed your thighs, inching higher and higher but still skimming past the now unguarded temple.

You could not help but look at the exits in view as though someone would walk through them at this hour.

This late hour when all of the good, pious Lord and Ladies, Prince and Princesses, laid in their beds asleep—sans the King he would never fault himself for burning.

“Aemond,” you spoke with a voice that shook. “What if someone were to see us?”

He stopped his hands, gazing up at you from the ground on which he knelt.

“Let them see then,” he kissed the front of your thighs. “If they see, then I will marry you.”

Fuck. It made your heart leap in your chest. A frog in your throat, the honesty in his eye was enough for your anxieties to settle but your excitement to grow.

He would marry you. What a world you wished you lived in.

If all were true, it would have happened the first time he touched you. 

“Drop your dress,” he ordered.

Without hesitation, you dropped the skirt of your dress and he vanished before your eyes.

But you could feel him.

You could feel the breath of his body releasing itself just beyond where you ached for him the most. His grip on your thighs was bruising. Aemond used his position to prop one of your legs on his shoulder, sending you off balance and into the bannister behind you.

But then his hot breath met where you wanted him and the feeling melted you from the inside. Aemond peppered kisses on your mound, waiting until the perfect moment to lick a stripe through your folds and with it, you folded yourself. 

Daydreams of his hands on yours was not enough. The feel of your hand in the solitude of night where the sins of pleasure were trapped behind heavy doors could not compare. Aemond attached himself to your flesh and sucked, hard, before lapping again in a more gentle fashion. He repeated it again and again until the wetness began to gather more audibly. 

There was no stopping the breathless pants escaping your lips. 

You gripped hard on the marbled post. If you were the strongest woman in the Seven Kingdoms, you could have crushed it beneath your fingertips. Aemond’s tongue laded the wetness and gathered it in a lewd slurping noise to your clit only to run his tongue over it in brisk movements. 

“Aemond-” you swallowed your moan. Knees threatening to buckle, you wanted to grip onto him. Your hands sought his shoulders, his head or hair, and a soft bed. 

The Iron Throne was taunting you in the background. Power so divine, so close yet a million miles away. 

Aemond wouldn’t marry you, but in the moment, you would live sinfully until the Gods caught you in truth. 

He let out a low hum that made your senses tingle. He too was enjoying the pleasure he could bring, growing his own in his trousers that begged for its own mercy. Aemond could feel you palm at his head from the fabric that fell over his head—a delicacy; the rapture of someone he could love one day if he let himself. 

Your helpless want forced you to roll your hips against his face as though his tongue was not enough. Aemond gripped your hips tightly to guide you against his mouth. 

“Shit.” The words fell from your lips freely. 

“Aemond, I don’t think I will fare much longer,” you admitted to him and felt yourself burn from the inside. His accommodations to your wants, the fluidity of his tongue against you in need was sending you barreling toward the edge. 

Your mewls became whines that rivaled the thunder. 

In an instant, he removed his mouth from yours and appeared from under your skirts. Your clit throbbed as the blood began to rush downwards and a sickening wetness that was not your finish began to trickle down your leg. 

“Wha-” 

You could not speak before his lips met yours aggressively. You could taste yourself on his lips and for a second, you wanted to recoil at the thought but his hands cupped the back of your head softly and everything melted into you. 

You wished he would marry you. 

“I am not done,” he broke the kiss and admitted. “But I could not hold that in any longer.” 

His sentiment took you aback. Your eyes searched for a lie; begging for a fallacy to come true and reveal itself in the ugly colors of night but there was nothing. There was nothing but truth and in it, it broke your heart in the slightest. 

Aemond wanted to kiss you. He wanted to please you, pleasure you, hold you tightly as a husband would do but he wouldn’t marry you. 

He couldn’t marry you. 

But he would love you in the depths of darkness as his power soared for a brief moment in time and the hands of a fair lady, opposed by his mother, warmed his bed in the evening. May the throne be his witness, Aemond Targaryen was a sinner. 

He kissed you again before falling to his knees once more. 

As promised, he worked in quick licks to ignite the spark. It lit up the room brighter than the sky as the Gods boomed in discontent but they worked to drown out the sounds of your elation the closer you became. Aemond let you gather the dress back in your hands so you could see him as his tongue circled your clit and he pierced your cunt with two fingers sliding in the wetness easily. Your legs trembled. His other hand ran soft strokes along the muscle to sooth you but it was fruitless. 

His fingers curved inside of you, massaging your walls as they clenched around him and swore to the heavens for a release. 

“Fuck, Aemond.” 

He enjoyed hearing the words no Queen would dare mutter. It dared him to move faster, to move more heavy against your walls, against your lips as he continued to lap the juices that made the ghosts in the halls look away in a blush. 

It was building to a precipice inside of you. As though a volcano was erupting, you let out sounds he had never heard. You were not trying to be quiet. You were letting the castle hear your pleasure that would send you to a horrible fate. 

And you begged him to bring you to the end. His name lost its true meaning as it became lost in the night, falling from your lips breathlessly and your eyes shut tightly as the chills in your spin sent you spiraling. 

He was no God, but Aemond Targaryen gave what he had as a God should. 

“Darling,” he murmured from below. “Let them all see what a King can do.” 

And you did. 

A/N: thanks for reading! As always comments, reblog, and likes are always appreciated. I love hearing from all of you and thanks for letting me write this little self indulgent fic.

[chaptersleftunwritten]

What a lie, what a lie, what a lie…

Blurb: During a smoke session Eddie is betted $100 that he won’t be able to sleep with you by the time summer rolls around. He proves them wrong.

Pairing: Dickish!Eddie Munson x Virgin!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Gambling, depictions of sexual content, mentions of drugs being taken, cursing, alcohol consumption, graphic descriptions, a lot of emotional damage in this one… Characters are 20+ college students.

-

Ethereal fairy lights doused you and Eddie in a golden hazy glow, both of your bodies glittering magically with sweat as your naked limbs entangled each other in an intimate embrace.

But something between you two was forever changed after that night of steamy heartfelt affection and you felt it like a knife twisting in your sternum as you listened to Eddie leave your dorm room without a goodbye. Not even a kiss as he pulled his ripped jeans over the skin of his still damp legs and ran.

You were never one to fuss. You never wanted to cause a scene or create an issue that never existed in the first place- you were ‘the cool girl’… but when your gut is unable to move on from something then you must investigate. You had to, why else would Eddie have left so suddenly if there was nothing wrong?

You gave yourself to him. You showed him not only your nude body, but you bore your soul to him. No one had ever gotten close enough to you to be as privileged as he was. No one had saw you so exposed. So vulnerable. Until him.

Unbeknownst to Eddie at the time, you had allowed him to take your virginity. You trusted him with your entire being and you believed that you truly loved him. You loved him enough to bleed for him- to hurt for him…

And after he fled that night, you laid on your crimson stained sheets and sobbed yourself to sleep. You can’t blame him for not knowing- but you also prayed for some tenderness from him. Even if you weren’t a virgin, sex is such a sacred act and aftercare should always be incorporated.

The following morning you awoke to an emptiness you’d never experienced before. Something had shifted and your innocence was gone. Girlhood was over and adulthood fucking sucked.

-

- Steve’s off campus apartment, 6 weeks prior -

-

The tip of the meaty blunt embers brightly with every drag Eddie takes, his eyes are almost a florescent shade of red and Steve is on his seventh beer of the night, “C’mon man, that shit would be so easy.” Steve laughs, his Adam’s apple bobs prominently as he tips his head back to down the rest of his alcoholic beverage.

“Nah, not interested.” Eddie passes the joint to Jonathan who has almost been swallowed up completely by the beanbag his body is submerged in.

Steve gasps mockingly as his hands clasp together to crush the empty can of beer before he tosses it across the room- aiming for the trash can which he has already missed the past seven times… “I didn’t peg you as a chicken, Munson.” His fingers snap open another can, “Are ya scared or somethin’?” Steve’s eyebrows wiggle at Eddie and Eddie proceeds to drag his hand down his face, already tired of the conversation… or maybe it was just the weed settling into his system.

“I’m not scared, Harrington. I’m lazy. There’s a difference. Besides, what do I get out of it instead of a possible cream pie?” Eddie huffs a laugh, accompanied by Jonathan and Steve’s eyes spark with relentless mischief.

“If you put it like that…” Steve stuffs his hand into his pocket, rummaging around inside of the fabric before pulling out an array of objects. They consisted of a stray button, a small foil packet containing a condom and two $50 bills. He picks up the crumpled currency, slamming it in front of Eddie with a cocky grin splayed handsomely across his face, “A hundred bucks if you manage to bang her before summer.”

Steve knew that if he wanted to convince Eddie to do anything, he had to pay up. Whether it be drugs, booze or money, he knew if those three things were involved Eddie could be easily persuaded to do most things. And unfortunately… Eddie agrees.

“Fuck it, why not.” His hand slaps into Steve’s hard, the noise quaking through the small room as they shake on the agreement. This wasn’t the first time that Eddie had partook in some stupid shit suggested to him by Steve and Jonathan. He had done some crazy things before; jumping off of a roof into a dumpster (breaking his arm in the process), setting fire to his clothes just so he could test the ‘stop, drop and roll theory’, taking ecstasy before a rave (which led to him having a severely horrible psychedelic reaction) and the list goes on and on.

But this… this was a whole new level of low for Eddie. He knew it was wrong, but he just couldn’t let Steve win. His stubbornness would be the absolute death of him. Or so he thought…

“By summer! That’s… what? 7 weeks? Think you can tap that by then, Munson? Or is that not enough time…?” Steve was too confident, he could see this whole shit show going up in flames and he rejoiced in the idea of Eddie being the one having to pay up by the time the weather was its warmest.

“You’re fucking on, Harrington.” The words leave Eddie’s mouth in the form of a venomous competitive bite.

And just like that, the bet was confirmed.

-

The news arrived in the flesh form of Nancy Wheeler. Jonathan could never keep anything from her- he was sick with love and the guilt of the whole ordeal was eating him alive. He knew he would get the end of Steve’s wrath but he couldn’t take it anymore, he had to confess. Your only wish was that Nancy had known sooner. Before the damage was already done.

Your world was spinning on a side way axle when Nancy told you, and it has been spinning upside down ever since, “I can’t believe how moronic they all are! I’m so sorry you had to find out this way…” Her voice is washed out by a ringing that has taken over all of your senses. You were good at disassociation when it came to protecting your feelings- and that’s what you were doing. Nancy had no idea that you had totally zoned out whilst she continued to rabble on about how Steve had changed and how disappointed she was in Jonathan. Your mind was completely numb to all emotions and information.

You hadn’t heard from Eddie since that night��� and now you understood why. Your gut feeling was proven right once again- but you weren’t glad this time around. You weren’t relieved like you usually were; you were hurt.

And you were fucking angry.

Still with a week to spare Steve coughed up the money, making Eddie $100 richer- but that couldn’t amount to what he had lost. Eddie was a player, you knew that from the very start- but you stupidly thought that he was different when it came to you. That you could somehow change the way he thought about relationships.

It was clear to you now that you never stood a chance against Eddie Munson. You never did.

Your first initial instinct is to confront him and Steve face to face, but something was holding you back. Was it fear, rage, agony? You didn’t know, but what you did know was that they already thought you were a joke, why would they take you serious now? The answer is, they wouldn’t. They would chew you up and spit you right back out. Their punchlines would be thrown at you and each one would knock the air from your lungs— you were a laughing stock to them.

The thought alone makes red hot tears streak from your mascara painted eyes, the corners of your lips stealing a taste of the salty liquid as it fell. Nancy had long gone and you decide in that moment that you weren’t going to class today. You couldn’t stay on campus grounds, each passing second intensified the crumbling of the hole in your chest, now so big and gaping that you feel as though your heart may just fall from its cage and land on the ground in front of you. Unbeating. Dead.

You walked until your legs turned to jelly, causing you to collapse on a nearby sidewalk. You were in a unrecognisable neighbourhood. Some of the houses look pristine from the outside, freshly coated paint that was clearly done annually, fences held securely together with the best knuckles and bolts and on the other hand, some of the homes looked like they are over three decades old- gutters filled with rancid leaves, unwanted ivy climbing the walls, windows so dirty and murky you wouldn’t be able to see inside unless you were inside.

The setting sun litters the sky with flaming clouds coloured the brightest shades of orange, pink and purple. You smile up at the visual, momentarily forgetting about the inner turmoil that has caused you to drown your sorrows in straight vodka and cigarettes.

“Oh, Eddie.” You cry and toast to the sky, bringing the clear vodka bottle back up to your lips, throwing your head back and gulping down as much of the pungent liquid as you possibly could stomach. The strong taste momentarily numbing your mind. The only thought that was cartwheeling through your intoxicated brain was why?

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

Why you? What was so challenging and intriguing about sleeping with you? Why not some other girl? Anyone else. Anyone but you.

More tears, less salt in your body- water replaced with alcohol. Your mind fizzes with warmth and your body is slowly shutting down on the edge of the road. Luckily, it’s quiet at this time of night. Everyone is at home with their families, tucking into some home cooked goods. You wish you were at home- you wish you had never left state to go to that stupid fucking college in the first place. You could have avoided this. Avoided him.

Your fingers twirl in the holes of your laddered tights, pulling on the fabric and watching the tear travel from your thigh down to your knee- which you only now register is bleeding. You must have fallen earlier, scuffing the skin pretty badly… but you can’t remember.

Blank spots taking over your memory? You’re nearly there. You’re nearly free of him- free of this day and of this shell which you call a body.

You just need to keep drinking. Finish your second bottle.

“What the fuck?” The voice is nearly enough to pull you back from the darkness, but your vision is blurry as you focus on the misshapen figure hovering above you, “Jesus Christ! You’re a fucking mess- what are you doing? Where have you been?” Eddie has no right to be angry at you, he caused this, but you’re putting your well-being at risk and he is disappointed in you. He thought you were smarter than this- he would rather you attack him, scream at him and hurt him back. But not this…

You’re nearly paralytic.

He had been searching for you all day, surfing through crowds in the canteen, asking around classmates and even speaking to randomers in the street.

Then he found you here. Cold to the touch. Anyone could have found you in this state, if it hadn’t been him… he doesn’t even want to think about what could have happened to you.

“Can you stand?” He asks gentler now, worry lacing itself through his voice and choking his voice box slightly. You bury your face into your hands, finding comfort there you breathe out an inaudible ‘no.’ Your breath whiffs back into your face and your nose scrunches at the scent. Pure alcohol. It’s nearly flammable.

Eddie sighs before scooping your frail body up from the ground, your fingers loosen and you end up dropping your bottle. The glass shatters all over the concrete, “Shit!” Eddie snips but you don’t even flinch at the ringing sound of broken glass- you’re too far gone.

“Do you even recognise me?” Eddie holds your sleep stricken face in the palms of his hands, forcing your gaze onto his softened features. You hum happily at the feeling of his cold rings pressing against your warm face, you feel as though you’re sweltering but in reality.. you’re icy to Eddies touch. There’s a moment he contemplates taking you to the ER, “You’re freezing, love.”

“You d..did this!” You hiccup, your finger jabbing weakly at Eddies chest. Your fingertip may as well have been a knife because Eddie’s heart sinks to his stomach as he holds you upright, knowing he drove you to this is sickening to him. He almost vomits… but you beat him to it.

He holds your hair back from your shoulders, “Let it out, honey.” With Eddie’s free hand he rubs your spine, his words of encouragement echoing through your empty skull.

“I hate you.” The sobbing arrived suddenly, causing your entire body to tremble. You’re beginning to feel the temperatures of outside and Eddie knows that he has to get you home quickly- despite how hurtful your drunken words are.

“I know.. I know you do.” His deep voice is strangled with sadness as he guides you over to his van which is parked across the street from where you had nested on the sidewalk, “I’m so sorry, love. I’m so sorry.” You don’t respond, you just shake your head at him. Unable to bring up the words. Your tongue feels thick in your mouth.

Eddie’s grip on your shoulders is strong as his fingers stab into skin. You keep stumbling over your own two feet, your face would be hitting the ground if it weren’t for Eddie’s strength.

Your palms slam against the metal of his van door, steadying yourself there before Eddie helps lug you inside. You want to kiss him as he reaches over your body and belts you into your seat but you don’t- not because you wouldn’t but because you couldn’t. You feel as though you’re now unable to move your body- your limbs weighted down as you puddle into the musty passenger seat that wreaks of stingy weed with a twang of old booze.

You wonder how many girls have been in here before you, how many others had him and Steve ruined? You close your eyes to stop more tears from escaping, you have cried a river tonight and you’d much rather be numb now.

Cascading light etches it’s way through the smudged glass of the van, illuminating the inside just enough for you to see Eddie’s eyebrows knitted together in what you can only assume is either frustration or concentration.

One of his hands is secured on the steering wheel whilst his other arm is draped over your idle body- his attempt to try and keep you sitting upright and not accidentally smashing your face into the dashboard. If you weren’t so angry at him you would mould into his touch, but nothing can fix what he has broken.

Nothing.

His voice vibrates through the stuffy air and you wish you could make out what he is saying but you can’t. Your tired eyes are heavily lidded and your ears have totally switched off as you slump further into your seat, your head tilting back slightly as you drift in and out of consciousness. Your body is aching for rest. You just need sleep- this will all be so much better in the morning…

-

You don’t understand how or why you wake up in Eddie’s Hellfire t-shirt but your investigative skills narrow it down to the taste of vomit in your mouth and the aspirin that has been left on Eddie’s bedside dresser alongside a tall glass of water.

‘Take this, I’ll be back soon. -Ed’s’ A note reads in sloppy handwriting, signed by Eddie. You would roll your eyes if your pounding headache wasn’t causing them to screw shut- why is it so fucking bright?

You blindly take the pills, the water cools the acidic tinge plaguing your throat and you gasp for air after chugging the entire glass, your cotton mouth leaving you still thirsty for more.

You’ve no idea what time it is or where your clothes are so you can get dressed and bolt before Eddie gets back. For some pitiful reason you’re not surprised that he went out and left you alone. It’s what he’s good at- making a mess and then running away.

Your exhausted body pushes itself up from the springy mattress. Every muscle in your body sore from laying in one solid position the entire night but thankfully the pain medication is starting to kick in for your headache.

Just as you manage to swing your legs off of the bed you hear a door slam shut, your body naturally jolting at the sound.

“It’s just me!” Eddie yells from a far off room and you feel panic begin to compress your chest, like a can being crushed until it’s flat. You’re too sober and hungover now to face him. You need to get out of here and as soon as humanly possible!

You contemplate taking on the window, but there’s no way you would be able to hold your own body weight right now. You would probably plummet to your death if you tried. So what do you do instead? You sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the bedroom door in horror and anticipation- awaiting your nearing fate. Which soon arrives in the form of a chocolate eyed man, his hair tied back messily into a ponytail and in his arms he holds a tray, “Good, you’re awake.”

You silently curse at the way your heart beats faster at the sound of his sweet voice.

Offering him nothing but a tight lipped smile your eyes fall curiously to the tray he is holding. Did he..?

“I made you something to eat,” he advances further into the room, stepping over loose t-shirts and clothes that have been discarded without a care onto the floor, “I know food is the last thing on your mind right now, but if you want to feel better you need to try and stomach something.” He places the tray next to your bare legs on the bed, his eyes flicking the the skin before back to your face.

He palms at the back of his neck nervously and you examine the dry toast on the plate, next to it is a blob of strawberry jelly and a chunk of butter, “I didn’t know if you’d like anything on it so I just kinda left it up to you.” He smiles at you and you nod in response, leaving the food untouched.

“You undressed me.” The thought makes you want to heave into his trash can. Unless he had done it with his eyes closed, which you doubt, that means he got to see your body again. Touch your skin again. He doesn’t deserve that.

“I.. uh.. you,” he coughs lightly to clear his throat, “You threw up everywhere. All over yourself… I didn’t have a choice.” A redness warms Eddie’s cheeks and you suck in an exaggerated breath, your lungs feel as though they are struggling to breathe.

“Right.” You nod, your eyes scan the room for any sign of your own clothes, which you’re unable to find. Eddie notices, “They are in the wash. Your clothes, I mean. If you’d like a pair of pants I can rummage around for you?” He walks over to his wardrobe and you can’t help but watch him. He is moving feverishly. He is anxious and he’s rambling.

“Your tights were pretty ripped up, you must have fell before I found you. I washed them anyways but I don’t know if they are salvageable.” You look to your knee, finding a massive bandaid stuck to the skin. You remember that part- you bleeding and falling. You don’t remember Eddie bandaging you up, though.

“Thanks.” Even in despair and rage, you remember your manners. This all only proves how much he is able to be a true gentleman- and how much he really must have gone out of his way to purposefully hurt you. It makes your eyes sting. If you hadn’t cried so much last night you probably would be able to muster some tears now- but you’re bone dry.

“Listen.. I.. I don’t know how to say this”, Eddie is cautious as he sits down next to you on the bed, ensuring to keep a good amount of separation between the two of you, “How I feel about you is real. Everything that came from our short time together is real, lovie… and.. and I’m a fucking idiot.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps, his throat clearly parched, “I won’t stop apologising, I won’t stop hating myself for what we did- for what I did.” His fingers twitch with need as Eddie contemplates reaching for your hand, but he ultimately decides against it, “I’m sorry.”

Your thumbs twirl with one another, your nail coming to pick at the sensitive skin around the cuticle, “You’ve really hurt me, Eddie.” Just when you thought the tears wouldn’t come, they do, “I can’t believe you made a fucking bet over me. I.. I’m not just some toy you can play with and then throw away when you’re satisfied. I’m a human being! And I’m mad at you.. I’m so mad!” The words squeak out as you let yourself feel everything you’d bottled up over the last few days. The mountainous emotions that you’d let fester deep within exploded through the floodgates.

“You’re such a fucking dick, Munson! I hate you right now!” Your breathing hitches as you struggle to control your breath, “I hate you..” The words are meek and small but they have their desired effect as Eddie’s heart becomes like melted wax in his chest, and it hurt for him to even breathe.

You meet Eddie’s gaze, tears were swimming in his honey brown eyes, but his face was rigid with focus, “I need some time away from you. I can’t.. I don’t want to forgive you right away.” You sniffle hard, your hand coming to paw at your soaked eyes, “What if you’re lying to me again?”

Plump pink lips part on Eddie’s face and he stands up momentarily, only to drop to his knees in front of you, “Let me prove it to you then. Let me make it up to you, please.” He begs, his hands resting on your bare knees and his soft touch shouldn’t scorch you but it does, “I’ll do whatever it takes, sweetheart. Anything to earn your trust again.” He desperately searches your face and you feel your shoulders slump in defeat. It’s so fatiguing to be so upset, “Please.” He repeats, his voice is a light choke.

You nod with a sigh, your hand clasping over his, “Okay.” You breathe, your mind clearing as your tears dry, “But I need time.” You repeat, the venom in your voice dissolving with every second you look at him.

Eddie nods in approval, a teary smile finding his face which he tries to bite back, “Time. I can work with time.”

You smile half heartedly as Eddie presses his forehead to yours, nuzzling his nose gently to your own, “Anything for you, Princess. Anything for you.”

-

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000

[jamminvroomvroom]

hi babe i’m here from the dms but. speaking of brain rot, thinking abt fwb lando again where u stay the night after and wake up in the morning expecting him to be gone already for smth work related or what not but he’s still in bed absolutely clinging to u. and then more soft sleepy morning sex 🫠🫠

play pretend.

ln x fem!reader

in which it’s time to stop pretending…

just a little blurb to say…. HAPPY BIRTHDAY @lavenderlando !! sorry i made you wait like 6 months for this lmfao i love u girl, u mean the world to me and i hope this hits the spot 💖💖 lemme know what y’all think, more 4k requests will be worked on asap (it’s exam szn ew)

songs to set the mood: denial by james marriott, real love baby by father john misty, can i call you rose? by thee sacred souls

warnings: 18+!! minors go away! smut, morning sex, friends to lovers, best friend!reader, friends with benefits type relationship, fluff, unprotected sex (don’t be silly…)

1k words

cool air casts goosebumps over your bare skin, the open window letting in the morning breeze. you tug at the grey bedsheets, dragging them higher over your frame where you lay. you eyes are cracked open, hazily taking in the sight before you.

he’s still here.

you often expect lando to be gone when you wake up. sometimes it’s because of work, sometimes it’s because you’d promised not to do this again but alcohol had then rendered the both of you irresistible to the other, and it was too awkward to have yet another jarring conversation about how you’re such good friends.

but he’s there. and he’s looking at you.

“hi.” he croaks, soft and low. you revel in his morning voice on the rare occasions you get to hear it.

“hey.” you mumble, leaning in closer to him.

he pushes the duvet up and away, inviting you into his arms, and you wriggle towards him. he’s a human heater, and you’re cold, that’s the only reason you snuggle up, tucked between his arms.

“you’re still here.” you whisper into his chest, purposefully quiet, almost as if you don’t actually want him to hear you.

“couldn’t leave you.” he mutters quietly.

you crane your head to look up at him, eyes blown wide at the admission.

“why?”

“i hate leaving after.”

the ‘after’ hangs heavy in the air between you for a second. he’s eyeing up your lips and you’re returning the gesture, sleepy eyes flitting between his and his plush lips.

this never happens. usually, the night starts with too many drinks too quickly, progresses to his hands dropping dangerously low on your waist, leads to the pair of you mentally scarring an innocent taxi driver, and ends with you underneath him. or, on top of him. and then, he’s gone.

“for the record, i hate it when you go.” you reply, and the space between you dissipates. there are so many unsaid words being traded between you, an intense charge of energy. you’re anxiously sliding your hands up his sides, itching to feel impossibly closer.

“maybe i should stop going then, hm?” two of lando’s fingers grasp your chin, tilting it up to bump his.

“yeah.” you breathe.

it’s like he’s tugged an invisible string, and you’re melting into him, his lips slotting immaculately over yours, as if they were sculpted by god to rest against yours. he tastes familiar, it’s rare you get to kiss him sober and in the light of day. you bask in it, finding the messy, loose curls tickling the back of his neck, threading your fingers through the thick, brown strands. he groans, parting his mouth just enough for you to slide your tongue over his.

“want you. now.” you gasp urgently into the space where your lips part, your body rolling hungrily against his.

“i always want you, drives me crazy.” lando grunts, grabbing a handful of your ass and pulling you even closer.

lando slots his thigh between your legs, and you search for friction, rutting against him. you’re both naked from the blurry night before so you can feel everything, each part of him so ready for you. you’re slick for him already, can feel the way it’s painting your inner thighs. you hate how easy it is to lose yourself in him.

“take me then.” you whine, your forehead collapsing against his shoulder.

lando smirks, flipping you over so that your back is to his chest, like you’re nothing. he hooks your top leg over his, sliding himself closer to where you’re aching for him.

“can’t keep pretending.” lando whispers against the shell of your ear.

he slides deep, then, filling you to the hilt. it knocks the air out of you, your back arching at the sensation of him hitting every single spot that mattered.

“then let’s not pretend anymore.” you choke out, your head rolling back against his shoulder.

“yeah, baby? wanna be all mine?” he teases, thrusting deep and slow, the slide of him shooting pleasure over your body like the slow, satisfying drip of warm honey.

“already am, all yours.” you sigh, totally and utterly content as your nerve endings pulsed with pleasure.

“good girl.” lando praises, his voice fucked out and lovestruck.

as if he’s rewarding you for your admission, the pad of his finger slips down your navel, finding your clit. you’re soaked for him, wet and warm, and he traces circles into the bundle of nerves, each touch sending you keening back into him.

“so close.” you sound like you’re begging, pleading for him to let you finish all over him.

“gotta say please.” he nips the skin of your shoulder and you squirm, toes curling.

“please, lando.” you writhe, canting your hips back against him.

“sound so pretty for me.” he coos, peppering kisses down your neck.

his fingers speed up against your folds, working you perfectly to a sweet release. everything is still blurred by sleep, your body overly sensitive from the cool air pouring in through the window and the slumber still lodged in your bones.

“cum with me.” you slur, your eyes squeezing shut. you almost turn into him, convulsing in his arms to the point where you’d be staring into his stormy eyes if you could manage to pry yours open.

“let me see those eyes.” he commands, your entire body shuddering. you blink, staring up at him, and you both fold, meeting your ends. he looks fierce, starved, completely enamoured with every single way your face moves.

your jaw hangs agape, a choked cry stifled in the back of your throat. it’s all too much, and just about enough, huge, calloused hands roaming your body as your shake, spilling all over him.

“god.” you breathe, flopping limply against him. he stays buried inside of you, his face lost to the damp skin of the crook of your neck.

“i never would of left all those mornings if i knew this is the good morning i’d get.” lando laughs, the sound deep and wholesome. you cosy yourself up even closer to him.

“not letting you leave from now on.” you murmur, smiling to yourself when you feel his lips press against the back of your head.

“you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

-

sorry this is soooo bad lmao i felt the urge to write something short n sweet xoxo

-

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @welld0nebaku @thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys  @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @spideylovin @formulaal

[snowball-doie]

| pairing: sub!Fem!Reader x Daddy!Dom!Jaehyun

| warnings: 18+ MDNI. Bathtub sex. Quickie. Unprotected vaginal sex. Breeding kink. Creampie. Mentions of bondage. Big dick Jae supremacy!

| wc: 2k

Sundays were reserved for relaxation. That was the rule. No work, no chores, no worrying about money or family or anything else, just focus on yourself and Jaehyun if you so chose; but he preferred if you relaxed on your own in order to prepare for the week. In the mornings, while he would let you sleep in and catch up on some much needed rest, Jaehyun would sit in the bath for hours. It didn’t matter that the water would get luke-warm. He didn’t even mind the pruning of his fingers or toes. He enjoyed dipping into the hot water and listening to some music while he reclined against the tub and let his eyes fall shut. He never had any intentions of falling asleep because he savored the calmness he got in the bathroom that he didn’t get whenever he was on stage or walking through thick crowds of fans.

When you opened the door to the bathroom, Jaehyun peeked at you with one eye which he barely opened before closing it and sinking further into the tub. “You’re supposed to be sleeping,” he told you quietly.

You nodded an agreement though he couldn’t see, then you began stripping away your pajamas. “I was just tossing and turning, so I came looking for you.” You stepped towards the tub. “Thought I’d join you if that’s okay.”

Jaehyun finally opened his eyes so that he could watch as you stepped into the tub, and he even reached out for your hips to hold you steady so that you wouldn’t accidentally slip in the water and hurt yourself. He helped you lay down on top of him. The water sloshed a bit, but Jaehyun didn’t seem to mind because he was too caught up in kissing you and wrapping his arms completely around your waist to make sure that your chest stayed pressed against his.

Part of him was surprised that you wanted to bother him on a Sunday, especially when he was in the bathtub, but he embraced every second of it with a grin against your lips that told you he had intentions other than relaxation in mind. What else was he supposed to do? You’d paraded into the bathroom with the cutest yawn, your hair a bit messy from sleeping so roughly during the night, and your pajamas… Jaehyun always had a hard time holding himself back whenever he saw you in that oversized t-shirt and a pair of black spandex— It was like you were always trying entice him, but that was why he only peeked at you with one eye because he didn’t want to overstep if that wasn’t what you wanted. But you clearly had the same intentions in mind. Neither of you were surprised when Jae began nipping at your neck to leave a hickey while you moved slightly so that you could reach for his cock that was resting against your thigh in the water.

“Gonna ride me like a good girl, princess?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl.” He grabbed a handful of your ass in order to lift you up slightly. “You need me to stretch you with my fingers first?”

You shook your head. Little did he knew “tossing and turning” was just an excuse you’d conjured up because your idea of relaxing when you woke up in an empty bed was touching yourself to the idea of Jaehyun fucking you roughly. But your fingers weren’t sufficient enough. Sure, they got you wet and close to the edge, but it just wasn’t as good as Jaehyun himself… And even though you knew the bathtub was his sacred space on Sundays, you just couldn’t help yourself. Jaehyun discovered that once you lined up the tip of his cock directly at your wet entrance.

His grin widened against your lips. “Playing with yourself this morning, were you, princess?”

You nodded, dragging his tip to your clit to help stimulate yourself a bit more and tease him so that he could get a bit harder before you’d go further.

“Bad girl.”

But you weren’t really. Sundays were a free for all when it came to play rules. You didn’t have to ask permission to touch yourself, you didn’t have to beg him for permission to cum. Jaehyun just wanted to mess with you so that the mild degradation could make your brain go dumb just for him.

“Can I?” You circled his tip around your entrance as an indication of what you wanted.

“Yes, princess.”

With a bite on your lower lip from Jaehyun, you slowly started lowering yourself down onto his girthy cock. He was big. Length aside, though he certainly had enough of that too, the size of him was always enough to stretch you in a pleasantly uncomfortable way. You gripped his waist in the water to hold yourself steady. You were trying so hard to adjust to him given the awkward position of your bodies in the tub and the fact that the water was kind of a nuisance to the self-lubricant from your body. Jaehyun was impatient, however. Relaxation Sundays aside, he wanted you— He needed you. The fact that you dared to join him in the bathtub so early in the morning was so out of the blue that he couldn’t help himself, because who knew when the next time he’d get the opportunity to have you in the tub on Sunday morning would be. So Jaehyun took control within an instant, immediately pushing you down all the way to the base of his cock, earning him a loud moan that you couldn’t hold back.

“That’s more like it,” he said teasingly.

“F-fuck…” Your legs shook against him.

“Too big?”

When you started nodding, Jaehyun bucked his hips upwards to make sure that he was really settled inside of you, and that he moved just enough to hit a different spot. You cursed again. Jaehyun’s right hand left your ass, then suddenly there was a wet grip holding your cheeks so roughly that you had no choice but to stare at him.

“Go on.”

Your body shuddered. You hadn’t adjusted yet. He was too big. You thought you were in control by being on top, you figured that he would be kind and gentle because it was a Sunday, his whole demeanor caught you too off guard to be able to obey immediately. His grasp on your ass and your face tightened. It was a silent warning. Okay, okay, fine.

With your hands on his waist still, you used that as a steady surface to push yourself upwards, feeling the way your walls were glad to be rid of his intrusion… Until you went back down. Jaehyun threw his head back against the tub.

“How’re you still so fucking tight after all this time?”

You rolled your hips to angle his cock so that it would hit new spots that made your eyes roll to the back of your head while his name fell off your tongue with a moan.

“Good girl. Take it—” He thrusted upwards again, some of the water splashing over the edge of the tub and onto the bathroom tile.

You tried your best to fuck yourself on his big cock. It was difficult, there was no denying that, but Jaehyun seemed to revel in the way you struggled because you looked so cute with your face scrunched in concentration, and your hands were holding his small waist so tightly that he wanted you to leave marks if your nails began digging in at all, but most of all he couldn’t seem to ever get over the way you panted, “Daddy, please,” with every sad, pathetic thrust that barely had him moving inside of you. He tsked his tongue. Did he really have to do all the work?

Jaehyun continued to move you at will, one hand still steady on your ass, the other on your face because he wanted to see you still take it with an embarrassed, overwhelmed blush. Oh, that’d do it for him. He threw his head back again. His hands did all the work while he focused on how tight you were. The hand cupping your face suddenly abandoned its post to work its way between your thrusting bodies, dipping back into the water so that Jaehyun could toy with your clit as an added effort to pry an orgasm out of you. The tensing of your stomach in reaction made Jaehyun moan and bite his lip. He could feel you getting tighter, as if it were possible— Wasn’t he supposed to have stretched you out by now? Maybe he’d have to start fucking you more often, and harder too, not that you would have protested the thought. His perverted thoughts were always matched by you who wanted him just as badly. Fucking every hole you had? Done. Cumming inside of you? The best thing in the whole world. Tying you up and using you for hours on end? Those were reserved for really special days, and how Jaehyun savored each one.

“Shit—” you croaked out when you rolled your hips one way and he went the other, hitting a sensitive spot deep within you. “C-close—”

“Not yet.”

You whined, digging your fingers into his waist. He bit his lip even harder.

“Hold it, princess. I’m almost there.”

But the coil was building rapidly, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold it, especially when Jae was torturing you by playing with your clit even faster after he prohibited you from cumming. He worked his cock in and out of you harder, leaving you little capability to move on your own, even though you were the one on top. How did he have that kind of strength and dexterity? The tub was so slick— The water was going everywhere. You blamed it on Jaehyun’s stubbornness that once he had his mind set on something, he’d be the one to see it through.

“Ah, shit, baby, I’m gonna breed your tight pussy… Fuck…”

“Jae,” you moaned.

“Gonna keep you full all day…”

You whined lovingly at the thought.

“Cum on my cock, pretty. Go on.”

A single flick of his thumb in the other direction sent you over the edge. The pulsing of your walls coupled with another thrust into you that had you fully seated on his cock again, Jaehyun moaned pathetically then came deep inside of your pussy, completing what he promised. The urge to be filled by his cock and his cum was satiated thanks to his eagerness to invite you into his bathtub relaxation time.

“Good girl,” he huffed quietly, trying to catch his breath.

You relaxed on top of his body, hands finally abandoning his waist so that you could tangle your wet fingers in his semi-dry black hair. Jaehyun left a gentle kiss on your cheek. The water felt warm again… way different from how it started; but there was a mess on the tiles that someone would have to clean up. It wouldn’t be you. So much for a relaxing Sunday morning.

When you tried to withdraw Jaehyun from your core, he pulled you back down. “I’m keeping you full, remember?” The asshole was grinning.

“Your entire body is pruning, Jae. I want to get clean.”

“In a minute. I want to relax a little longer.” He playfully nipped your chin with his teeth. “Let’s enjoy our Sunday together, princess, ‘kay?”

You settled against him again with a content hum and a vague nod before hiding your face in the crook of his neck. The bathtub really was kind of comfortable… You understood why he enjoyed it so much. Maybe you’d join him again next Sunday.

taglist: @hereisz , @zozojella , @hoekyeom , @belleastera , @beomgyusonlywife , @lopprhe , @luvonlyuno , @beidouvv , @delululi , @babyjagihoney , @l4na3s ,

[thekeeperof-thefandoms]

My girlfriend requested this

Hazbin men trying the period simulator. Somewhat of a follow up to my period post so this is based on the reader having severe period pain due to PCOS/ENDO

Lucifer

The man is sweating before you even attach the simulator. He knows he fucked up. He only agreed to this because he loves you a lot.

He handles the first 3 levels ok. You tell him very few women experience that little pain and that usually 4-6 is the average.

Those levels make him tense. He's uncomfortable, but still pretty able to work and do normal things. 5 has him pausing to do deep breaths every now and then. (If this is the canon timeline where he birthed Charlie he compares it to bad kicks).

6-8 he's pretty much doubled over. If you tell him that's the level you experience, he will cry. Literally begs forgiveness since again, period and labor pain is technically his fault. He is so sorry. If he didn't have issues with his Dad before he does now because this is fucked up. God's fucked up for doing this.

He doesn't make it to 10, he's crying by level 9. This is labor levels of pain. He gets why all you do is sleep. Treats your period like a sacred ritual after that. Preps for weeks. He goes full Bible, sheltering you for the duration of it so you can have peace and quiet. Please never hook him up to this again.

If you wear it at anything from an 8-10 and tell him "It's close, but I've hurt worse" he's gonna sob and then try and fight his Old Man again. He'll settle for offering to have your bits removed for you.

Vox

Once again this man hates admitting he was wrong. And yeah he knows your periods are really bad, especially now he's witnessed it. But it's still a huge knowledge gap for him and he doesn’t really take the time to think about it.

He handles 1-5 well. He's mildly uncomfortable by 5, but thinks that if this is the average experience, then it's not such a big deal. Tell him the statistics on how many people with periods actually experience 6-8 because that's actually the majority, and he's just confused. How is the average pain level not the most common?

6-8 has him gritting his teeth and glitching, but he refuses to stop and keeps trying to work. Is starting to wonder how you went so long working with this level of pain without him noticing.

He makes it to 10, but by then, he's unable to move, clutching his abdomen and sparking and glitching. Tells you it feels like his entire insides are being squeezed. The fact that he can feel it in his groin. He's kind of afraid of period sex with you after that because of how much he felt it. And you said it's caused cramps from your ribs to your knees. He's like... genuinely scared of your period and pain tolerance.

He's going to snuggle the fuck out of you afterwards and apologize for not appreciating how much you still do for him when you're not feeling good. How he didn't see how hurt you were. He does a lot of research after that and not only does he spoil you by buying whatever you need for your periods and giving you time off, he looks into treatment options. Even if that means chopping the useless fucking things out. Sinners can't have kids anyway so who needs ovaries and a uterus?

He's more convinced you should just be rid of the damn things when you wear it and 8-10 is "Yeah, this is close, but it doesn't really cover how much of my body hurts".

Valentino

Is only doing this because he was dared to by Velvette. Or if this an au where he's trying to be a less toxic person. But really I think it's also to prove that you're all being dramatic. It's a perfectly normal body function and his employees are just trying to get out of work.

He gets all the way to 6 before he starts to realize he may have fucked up. Especially when it's explained that this is what most people experience.

By 10 he's gritting his teeth, chain smoking, clawing at things. He refuses to give in, but he can count on one hand the number of things in his entire life and death as a pimp and a whore that he's experienced that come close to this level of pain.

No one told him his dick was gonna hurt. Sitting hurts. Breathing hurts. He doesn't even try to eat. He won't ever admit to being wrong, but he does behave more leniently with his actors when they're on their periods.

If you put it on (and lets say he actually cares about you) and setting 8-10 is "Yeah, this an average day for my cramps. My bad days are like..5 or 6 levels worse" it's gonna rearrange his brain a little. He might be a little afraid of you and some of the other actors with periods because your pain tolerances are so high. It threatens his ability to control you and them. But on the other hand, that's kinda hot???

Alastor

Has never once doubted that people who experience periods undergo serious struggle and has nothing but respect for women (and trans people he just associates it with women more because of the time period and his mama) who work through it.

He is actually the one who heard about the simulator through Rosie and asks you to show him your experience. Just to better understand you. He knows you're the type to try and function through the pain (probably because society ingrained into you that your pain doesn't matter).

Initially, he wants to skip the lower levels and just have you set it to your pain level. You tell him that's a bad idea, and to be honest, you're not sure if this thing goes that high. He asks you to check and you set it to the highest setting and say, "It's pretty close. It's been worse, but this is a rough idea," he's a little frustrated but still tries it.

You agree to set it to 4 and tell him 4-6 is what most people report feeling. He acknowledges it, registers it as unpleasant, but otherwise is fully capable.

7-9 has his ears flat, his smile is more a snarl. This is uncomfortable. Not what he considers painful but certainly irritating. It makes sitting, stretching, and eating feel much more difficult.

10. There's static visble around him. His teeth grind. Actually painful. Not the worst pain he's experienced, but he hates it. He hates the way he feels it in his back and hips as he walks. He hates the way taking deep breaths (which for someone as dramatic as he is and with the transatlantic accent, breathing technique and posture is important) stings. He hates the way it causes his stomach to cramp and churn. He hates the ache in his thighs and groin that make sitting feel stiff and ackward. He can only picture how blood loss would make this worse. Tired, losing nutrients, the headaches, the increased moodiness. It's no wonder you sleep, so much, but he wonders how the Hell you sleep like this? He's snappy and short tempered because of the pain (and again he gets why you would be if you weren't sleeping so much).

How does this affect how he treats you?

Not much. He still expects you to know your body and your limits. He would never dare to presume otherwise. He still helps prepare whatever you need for your time of the month and still meal plans for you, though he perhaps finds ways to ensure you get all the iron and vitamins you need without cooking steak and other big, heavy meals, since he now understands how bad your stomach hurts.

The only really noticeable change is how much more protective of you he is. Your time of the month hits, and Alastor hates being more than a few moments from you. He growls, pins his ears, and his antlers grow when people get too close to you. He's more prone to letting you snuggle with him when you want, trying to comfort you.

Angel Dust

Another who volunteered. His girl besties insist he doesn't have to do this, he's got the pass. He still wants to do it though, for solidarity.

He also starts on 4 and handles it well. He handles all of the levels pretty well, even 10. By 7 it's obvious he's sore, maybe a bit more withdrawn, exhausted, trying not to move too much or eat too much. Just trying to find a comfortable way to exist. The sad problem is, Angel already has to do this after rough nights at Val's.

He's used to sitting being uncomfortable and aches in his groin and thighs, cramps in his stomach from muscles clenching constantly. 10 is the only level where he's visibly ill, hunched over, lower arms curled around his midsection protectively.

He and the girlies all curl up together and nap and chat and snack on easy to digest junk food and granola bars. He's the first one to say "I bet it's even worse for you gals, but I tried".

He gets it. He's one of the girls. Honestly, kind of becomes a favorite when the ladies have period problems. (If you're dating any of the others and Angel is openly your favorite after this it is gonna cause a lot of dramatic pouting, posturing, and tantrum throwing.)

Husk

I'm going full balls to the wall on Veteran Husk. This man has seen some shit and dealt with his fair share of pain. Like Angel he takes it the best, with very little outward reaction. He's used to stiffness and nausea. The pain in his crotch is a little off putting, but it could be worse.

He's more cautious how he moves, rests more, occasionally a cramp causes his ears to pin back or a small hiss. Overall he takes it like a champ.

Offers you endless amounts of supportive words for dealing with this as well as you do, for days on end. Also is deeply sorry you even have to put up with this shit. Offers all sorts of tips on how to do stretches that help with easing cramps and stiffness without pulling something. Tips of foods/protein drinks to keep on hand to make sure you're maximizing how much nutrition you get. Man's a whole ass survival guide.

He only offers advice if you ask, though. He's not mansplaining how to handle your own body. He genuinely wants to help you, and that's the best way he knows how.

When you're on your period and just want something soft and warm he doesn't even bitch about it, he just settles on top of you and purrs, offers a massage, maybe offers a sly grin and a "no man left behind" joke as he helps you through these dark times.

BONUS:

ADAM

Would only do this if you challenged him, he has to prove his masculinity. He is definitely nervous as fuck though because he's seen yours. You and Lute already forced him to sit through a whole PowerPoint on women's anatomy and shit. He remembers how shitty he was to Eve, even if hers were in comparison, not that bad, just scary and new.

You forcing him to learn about and acknowledge female health is making him scared of pussy. This isn't gonna help.

3 and 4 make him whiney. He's uncomfortable. His groin feels weird. This sucks. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN THIS ISN'T EVEN THE AVERAGE?!"

By 5-7 he's actually on his knees, curled over his stomach. He tells you getting stabbed hurt less. This is making him re-evaluate his entire view on women (again he knows about trans people, but because of personal history equates periods to women. Wouldn't hate if a trans person had a period, it would just take his brain a second to process). He whines that you and Lute shouldn't be more badass than him.

"I thought men were supposed to be tougher and stronger. This pain tolerance horseshit is a lie. You guys suck."

He insists on going to 10 because quitting is for losers. He may actually throw up at 10 though. Every time the stupid simulators sends out a pulse and his stomach clenches, he groans. He's in the featal position, there are tears. One hand clenches his stomach the other is cupped around his groin. He's apologizing so much and he doesn't even remember what he's apologizing for. At one point its just "I'm sorry...oh fuck this...sorry about...ugh just...just men?! I guess. Fucking shit ass. Men suck. Women are...fucking great. Aces. You do this shit every month? For like 5 days....what the fuck. What the fuck what the fuck."

You feel a little bad, but Lute is definitely filming this. Afterwards, he tells you you're a badass and any person shit talking people for bitching about period pain (Not that a lot of Winners do, but ya know, obviously they let some questionable people into Heaven if Adam and Lute got by) he's gonna beat the shit out of them. Like "Do you even fucking know, bitch? They're literally so much fucking better than you. Absolute queens. You try doing literally anything when it feels like your dick is falling off and your insides are trying to claw outside your body!"

[cryptfile]

★ kinktober file 01 — wandering star, d. winchester

based on this request here, fem! reader, 18+ mdni, warnings of established relationship, degradation, dumbification, edging, p in v, oral sex, praise kink, english is not my first lenguage (thank god!) any mistakes? i’m not sorry for it, feel free to hit me up with requests in my inbox to keep kinktober going! <3 also, dividers by @cafekitsune!

He’s cocky after a hunt goes the way he wants.

Dean Winchester’s always a damn headache after a sucessful solved case. He gets in this mood where he feels invincible and well, he just feels like he could win the lottery if he puts his mind into it.

Sam’s done by the time you guys are in the next town, checking into another cheap motel. The older Winchester has been a damn pain in the ass the whole ride so the first thing he does when you guys ask for separate rooms? Ditch the problem to you.

“He’s your boyfriend,” he’d say, obviously done with his sassy attitude as he left to his own private space — Sacred space he values since you appeared. “You deal with him.”

You love your boyfriend that’s for sure but after a hunt? Your muscles are sore, you feel like you’re going to get sick and on top of all? You been dying for a hot shower and bed.

Dean’s plans are way different, cause by the time Sam leaves saying he’s going to buy burgers in any open restaurant, he’s all over you. Literally.

“Why are you so needy?” you ask furrowing your brows, he’s in a good mood now that he survived a violent ghost who’s bones you had to burn, and honestly, it doesn’t make any sense: The rush of adrenaline? The near death experience? Usually he’s deep in his third dream by now, but that night? He got this grin in his face when he’s pushing you to the motel bed despite any response he could recieve—. “Dean.”

“Just want to make m’lady feel on cloud nine,” he says, planting soft kisses on the exposed skin of your neck, a fight you cannot possibly win. “Can I do that? Take care of my girl?”

Thing is, deep down, you don’t want to win any fight. Not that one at least when Dean’s pulling you to the edge of the bed, unblucking his belt as he lets the fabric of his jeans fall to the floor, he’s craving you ever since you pulled this show up in the morning when you said there was no time to shower together since the case was so important. Naked, standing in a foggy bathroom: You won’t let him have you? Not even ten minutes? Fucking unfair.

He can do a lot in ten. You do love it even when it’s rushed, when Sam’s pushing on the other side of the door screaming something about being late, his only goal is to take whatever he needs, so in ten minutes he can do plenty. He can kneel on the slippery floor, filthy thoughts as he helps you lift up your leg — “Such a pretty pussy, already dripping for me?” he would said, the sound of his voice imprinted in your memory. The warm water burns on your skin as he uses a hand to spread you open, buring his face in your cunt without a previous warning.

Even under the shower he makes you sweat. Dean’s damn skilled so he knows what spot he needs to hit to get you there, the wet sounds that fill the bathroom on random mornings — He knows you’re getting there when his digits finally fill you up in a way you can even describe, his tongue lapping over your clit, taking his time, savouring each sound he manages to get out of you, the way you say his name when he’s nose-deep in what he claims belongs to him.

And god you’re a mess. A fucking mess every single time.

“You owe me,” Dean says confident, “We solve the case, job done here. I want your full attention now.”

He has it soon after. Every ounce of it.

He’s not patient enough to play with you before like he would do in the morning, in the dirty motel you’re now at the hunter would mumble something about not giving a single fuck about preparing you cause you’re already wet enough for him, something about being already used to his size cause he’d fucked you plenty of times before, that your warm and tight cunt is already prepared for him cause you’ve been his for months, convinced that you can take him. No problem at all.

“You were such a bitch to me this morning,” he says, pushing your cheek against the matress, not caring enough about your comfort as he forces himself inside you, muffling the sounds of your moans as he places his hand on your mouth, keeping you in place—. “Do you have any idea of how hard is to concentrate on a ghost when all I can think is to have you beneath?”

He’s rough when he’s needy, straight up filthy as he lets his primal desires take over. Dean forgets about it all. His hand collides against your ass a couple of times, spanking hard enough so the skin is red to be visibly noticiable, to make you think about another pain more than the one you felt as he’s finally buried inside you.

“Atta girl” he praises, leaning to place kisses on your shoulders, giving you just enough time to adjust— “Lookin’ so pretty when full of my cock.”

He enjoys the view so much. So damn much Dean chuckles for a second, almost proud of the mess he’s done with you, always so damn tight, already clenching on his dick as you squirm desesperate to move. He got you where he wants you to be.

“Move that nice ass for me,” he says seconds after, demanding you to take him faster as he moves you at the rythm he needs—. “That’s it, fuck yourself pretty witch, work for it.”

“Dean,” you whine, the sound distant thanks to his fingers covering your mouth— “Dean-please”

“What are you begging for?” he chuckles, the sound of his laugh making your skin shiver as his hips buckle up to meet the pace you’ve been setting— “My girl is dumb for my cock already? Only a few minutes in and my baby is talking nonsense?”

He’s giving you exactly what you need, that nice pace as he grabs you by the tights, fingers buried in your skin as his movements become more erratic, desesperate as the time passes.

Dean waits. Cause he can be a cruel son of a bitch sometimes, drive you fucking mad cause he knows when’s you’re close to release, when you’re ready to cum as he slides his cock off, leaving you hollow as you loudly gasp.

“What the actual-fuck?” you ask clearly annoyed, looking over your shoulder as he offers you a sly grin—. “Dean, what the fuck?”

“We are goint to work in some manners here,” he says, grabbing you by the hair, roughly pulling your head to the side so he can look at your face while speaking—. “Cause you’re not doing to me what you did in the morning ever again. Teasing me all fucking day, acting all innocent about it. No. You’re gonna cum when I say so. And we’re gonna start all over again ‘till that big brains of yours finally gets it: No more leaving Dean Winchester all hard in the bathroom.”

next kinktober file [ art donaldson ] // masterlist

[coffee-and-geto]

“YOU WOULDN’T LIKE ME WHEN I’M HUNGRY!”

“Just warm? I thought you meant I was hot, hot.” “Hot, hot?” “Yeah, I guess I’m a handsome guy, am I not?” You snort. “And so full of yourself.”

pairing: werewolf! satoru gojo x f!reader | kinkoctober

summary: since you were kid, you’ve been friends with satoru gojo. having grown up in the same village, it’s perfectly normal to meet up, laugh in front of a campfire and reminisce about the good old days, isn’t it? not the place or the time to confess your true nature, hmm?

warnings: +18 only, smut, nsfw, childhood friends to lovers, both lived in a small village, firecamp mood, sex (p in v), fingering (f!receiving), doggy style, handjob, bredding kink, full moon, nipple play, dirty talk, talking about being parents, fluff, (if you wanna picture werewolf like it’s same as jacob in twilight).

wc: 3,568

“I’m a werewolf.”

Those words, whispered in the silent night — or almost silent. Unless you count the cicadas’ songs that break the inaudible, sacred stillness of the dark. Under a sky where stars shimmer and the village campfire is the main source of light, casting a fiery glow in Satoru's eyes as he looks at you.

The dry, earthy ground, the scent of pine trees, roasted marshmallows, and the laughter of other young villagers — all back for the famous autumn full moon.

And you, sitting beside your childhood friend — Satoru Gojo.

Who utters words you never thought you’d hear from him, whispered without a care about being overheard. His azure gaze fixed on yours, as though searching the depths of your soul for any reaction besides your obvious shock.

With his hands pressed against the dry ground, his long legs stretched out, his torso turned toward you — every ounce of his attention captivated by you and only you.

As it always has been, hasn’t it?

And out of all the things he could have confessed, this declaration is what passes through his lips, cutting short your laughter and turning it into a gasp.

Then nothing. Silence.

“You— Satoru, what?”

And oh, how he could have fallen for that little frown of yours, so confused, so lost, so utterly adorable.

But he doesn’t repeat his words. He just watches you, lips flat but eyes replacing the smile you knew so well. The glow of the flames licking the campfire’s wood casts orange hues across his face like a phantom’s shadow.

Swallowing hard at his lack of reaction, you glance around, disoriented — your village, your family, your friends, your neighbors. No one seems the least bit troubled, nor does it seem like they’re paying attention to your conversation.

“Sweetheart.”

The nickname makes your panicked heart swell, and Satoru gently anticipates your next move. His rough, warm hand rests over yours, silently asking you not to worry.

“I always thought you’d figure it out on your own one day,” he murmurs.

“What do you mean?” you reply, and he can’t help but chuckle — a low, rumbling sound that almost seems wolfish.

“All the stories since we were kids.” He pauses, giving you time to process. “Our parents told us, and it’s also the history of the village.”

“A story is just a story, Satoru.” You pull your hand from his and prepare to stand up.

Enough with the tasteless jokes.

“This isn’t funny.” And his little heart breaks, because he hates the annoyed tone you take, though he still tries to salvage the situation.

Why the hell did he blurt it out like that?

“Wait, sweetheart,” Satoru pleads, his voice low and husky. His large, warm hand gently catches yours, urging you to sit back down. But as you persist in pulling away, he ends up confessing in desperation, “Am I disgusting to you?”

This time, it’s not the night’s silence that overwhelms you but Satoru’s puppy-dog eyes. Like he’s afraid you’ll walk away from him forever.

“Disgusting? Satoru…” You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. “You know I hate your jokes, and—”

“I’m not lying.” He presses his hand desperately over yours, tugging slightly to make you sit down again. “Do you want me to show you?”

Your eyes widen. “Excuse me? Here? In front of everyone?”

“Everyone already knows. You’re the only one blind to it,” Satoru breathes, standing gracefully without ever letting go of your hand.

“What are you even talking about? And where are you taking me?” you protest, stiffening your legs so he won’t drag you away. But he only chuckles softly, turns toward you, and suddenly hoists you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes (yes, really — nothing more, nothing less).

Only a chuckle answers your protests as you weakly pound your fists against his perfectly sculpted back under his white t-shirt, hiding so much more beneath.

“Satoru fucking Gojo!”

“Hmm, so Satoru is gay and he fucks Gojo?” He bursts into laughter at his own joke, tightening his grip to keep you from falling as he carries you further into the forest of tall pines that have watched you both grow up.

Yet you persist, thrashing about to make him let go — but in vain.

He walks surprisingly fast, as if guided by some instinct, knowing exactly where he’s going. Or maybe he’s been here countless times when you weren’t around — or when you were asleep?

When he finally stops, Satoru carefully sets you down and presses his lips together to stifle his laughter at the sight of your disheveled hair and utterly defeated expression.

Heat rises to your cheeks as you turn your back on him, trying to fix your hair. Your gaze lands on the river running through the forest, its surface shimmering under the moonlight tonight.

Lips press a kiss to your cheek, and you shove Satoru away as he laughs, delighted by your tomato-red face.

“Stop it.” You punch his chest, though he doesn’t budge an inch.

It’s like hitting solid concrete — only slightly softer.

He takes advantage of your moment of confusion to step back and peel off his t-shirt, revealing his muscular chest, pale skin, and far-too-defined V-line.

Your eyes dart away from the sight he’s offering, one even the moon seems to embellish with its rays. But then the sound of a belt buckle clicking open makes your eyes widen.

“Satoru, don’t you dare—”

“Relax, I just don’t want to tear my clothes while transforming. How else am I supposed to get back home after?” He chuckles, giving you time to turn around and offer him some privacy.

You can feel his damned smirk, but you swallow down yet another sharp retort.

It’s always been like this with him. He’d tease you, you’d say you didn’t like it, and then chase him around while convincing yourself it wasn’t funny  —  ignoring the laughter that always bubbled in your chest.

At school, it was the same story. You were practically glued to each other, one always with the other. A constant war between two friends competing over anything and everything. Who would leave the haunted house first, who would blink first, or who could sleep without a nightlight after yet another story about the village’s werewolves.

Since you were kids, you hardly ever kept secrets from one another.

So why does this unpleasant sound of bones cracking and flesh tearing behind you feel both so new and so familiar?

Has Satoru always carried this secret within himself when you spent your evenings together watching movies? Had he tried to tell you, leaving hints for you to eventually uncover the truth?

All those times he managed to climb impossible places no ordinary human could, or when he walked past you and, with one sniff, could tell if you’d changed shampoo?

Or how he seemed to turn into your personal bodyguard at least once a month, and anyone who dared hurt you ended up with a broken limb?

Since middle school, he had always seemed more mature despite his jokester nature. And his physique — how drastically it had changed when he turned 18. If it hadn’t been for the Satoru you knew, you would never have guessed that back then, he was just a young adult.

And now in college, the two of you seemed like proper adults.

Real, young adults, still friends.

Even if kissing your friend on the cheek isn’t exactly common?

Even if sleeping in the same bed with nothing but cuddles and hugs isn’t normal?

Even if you’d both seen each other practically naked under the right circumstances without either of you daring to ogle the other?

A bark snaps you out of your thoughts, and you turn around with a start.

Standing before you is a massive wolf-dog with snow-white fur tinged with silvery hues, and cerulean blue eyes piercing through the forest's shadowy darkness.

You freeze in place, staring at the creature before you. It is both majestic and terrifying.

“Satoru?”

The white wolf barks and rushes toward you, affectionately nuzzling his nose against your stomach before moving up to lick your chin. If it weren’t for his sheer size, he might’ve been mistaken for a puppy.

A tender smile spreads across your lips, and you stroke Satoru’s head, his fur so soft and cool you can’t resist planting a small kiss on it.

“You’re gorgeous.” Another kiss on his snout earns a bark that sounds like joy. “And so cute, and so big, I’d hold you like a plushie all the time if I could.”

He lets out a soft growl against you, lifting his front paws to rest them on your shoulders. In the background, his bushy white tail wags happily.

You cup his face in your hands, noticing the glint of his sharp teeth as he opens his mouth slightly.

“You’re not scary,” you coo, kissing the top of his head, and he squeals in appreciation. “And you’re not disgusting at all, I swear.”

He barks happily once more before bounding away, running around wildly before stopping to howl at the moon.

The sound is so powerful that a shiver runs down your spine.

~~~~

Back in the village, Satoru is already back in his normal form, and you scream in terror when you find him standing completely naked in front of you, a mischievous smile playing on his lips before he puts on the clothes he had tossed onto a fallen tree trunk.

No one seems to notice that you’ve just witnessed a werewolf transformation. According to Satoru, it’s simply because you haven’t realized that nearly half the male population of the village shares the same condition.

On this full moon night, new werewolves are being initiated, others are transforming just for fun like Satoru (since it’s the only time he can do it freely without going mad for the rest of the month while waiting for the next full moon), while some are engaging in reproduction.

Because, as he tells you, a full moon means mating season for werewolves.

But tired of it all, you head back home, with Satoru following closely behind—where no one will return for quite some time.

You collapse onto your bed, immediately curling up under the blanket before scooting over to make space for Satoru.

He doesn’t waste any time.

He slides in beside you, wrapping his strong arms around you to warm you with his naturally higher-than-average body temperature.

“You’re going to be useful in the winter,” you giggle, closing your eyes with a smile, your back pressed firmly against Satoru’s warm chest.

“I’m pretty hot, huh?” he murmurs into your hair, placing a welcome kiss there. No need to wonder what he means anymore, right?

“Mh-hmm,” you hum. “Like a warm comforter.”

Satoru frowns. “Just warm? I thought you meant I was hot, hot.”

“Hot, hot?”

“Yeah, I guess I’m a handsome guy, am I not?”

You snort. “And so full of yourself.”

His embrace tightens around you, and he grazes his lips against the shell of your ear. “Am I?”

“Admit that you aren’t just hot in both ways,” you mutter.

“Because there is a third?” he asks, his breath tickling you.

“Don’t act innocent.”

He settles his head fully onto the pillow, the moonlight filtering through your window caressing his flawless face. “Never said I was.”

And he chuckles when you huff.

Then he returns to his original position, pulling you closer to his chest before gently running his hand along your forearm. His touch is warm, inviting, mischievous—yet affectionate, asking for nothing but a little more closeness.

You sigh, closing your eyes, slightly parting your lips as you let the back of your head rest against his neck.

He takes advantage of your vulnerable position, sliding his arm around your waist and closing any remaining space between you. His thumb traces slow, soft, patient circles over your stomach. Each motion makes you crave more.

So you shift slightly, freeing your torso to give him access to your neck, where his warm, steady breath teases your skin. He must feel it by now—the way your heart races in your chest, how your breathing grows quicker, shallower.

And Satoru, in his sly delight, doesn’t react more than you desire.

He simply lowers his nose to the hollow of your neck and shoulder, brushing his lips against your skin, resisting the primal urge to claim you as his. To mark you as his own.

So you move again, giving him full access to mark your bare neck or shoulder, your ass pressed firmly against him, wriggling just a bit to adjust—or perhaps not.

Satoru presses his lips together as he feels a surge and a quickening heartbeat in his pants, blood rushing to the area. Giving in, he sinks his mouth onto your neck, planting open-mouthed kisses, the wet, noisy sounds of his lips against your skin sending shivers of pleasure through you.

You press yourself impossibly closer to him, guiding one of his large hands to your breast. Your back arches so deliciously against him as he cups the soft mound in his palm.

Between the kisses that turn into hickeys along your trapezius and his hands kneading your breast, teasing your hard nipples, you reach for his other hand with a soft whimper and guide it under your shorts.

He doesn’t waste a second, his already warm hand finding its way to your already puffy clit. He rubs slow, torturous circles, spreading your wetness over it to make things easier. You are now reduced to shallow pants and lewd, adorable noises.

“F-Fuck, Toru,” you whisper, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

“Let it go, sweetheart,” he murmurs, toying with your intimate area, using his middle finger to spread your lower lips and gently pat your drenched entrance, the tight little ring of resistance testing his patience. “Will you let me take care of you?”

You nod, your eyes fluttering shut as you moan his name again when he breaches the soft, wet resistance of your entrance. His middle finger slips inside you, gently parting your walls as he seeks out that one sweet spot that makes your toes curl.

When he finds it, he rubs it gently, drawing gasps from you while his forefinger plays with your clit, his other hand busy tugging and twisting your nipples under your shirt. He bites down on your neck, slurping your soft skin before pumping his finger into you.

“Feels good?” he asks in a hoarse voice. The sound of him like this — taking care of you while pressing his hardness against your ass — is almost as good as what he’s doing to your body. You squirm against him, relishing the way your movements draw a throb from his length. It feels like he’s about to cum in his pants.

“Such a tease, hmm? Didn’t know this side of you,” he whispers into your ear, sliding a second finger inside you. He thrusts both digits knuckle-deep, curling them perfectly.

You mewl, letting him feel your walls tightening and clenching around his fingers every time he brushes your sweet spot. The slick, wet sounds of your arousal make him groan — did you just throb?

“Close,” you warn, your body folding as the knot in your stomach tightens, teetering on the edge of release. You wince, struggling to control your shallow breaths as your orgasm approaches. “Please, Toru.”

“Cum, baby, cum,” he coaxes, his voice soft and encouraging as he thrusts his fingers deeper into you. His grip tightens on your breast, and his fingers work your clit with relentless precision.

A second later, you come undone, cumming hard on his fingers. Your walls spasm around them, coating them in your warm juices. You bury your face in the pillow, gasping for air as the pleasure courses through you.

Satoru carefully withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his mouth to taste you. “Hmm, tastes as good as I thought you would,” he hums.

“You thought?” you repeat, your voice feeble.

“I never said I was innocent,” he says, echoing his earlier words with a smirk.

“You thought about how I’d taste?” you ask, raising an eyebrow with a skeptical pout.

“Not exactly that dirty, but…” he presses a soft kiss to your temple, “Can you blame me?”

You chuckle softly, sliding your shorts and soaked panties off under the blanket, your thighs damp with sweat and slick. As you shift, Satoru pinches the soft flesh of your rear.

“Didn’t you say tonight was the werewolves’ breeding night?” you tease, a smirk playing on your lips. The mere sight makes him want to cum in his pants.

“Would you let me?”

“I’m just waiting for you,” you say, blowing out a breath.

At those words, he wastes no time, undoing his belt and sliding his pants and boxers down. A damp spot betrays how hard and ready he is, his tip already leaking.

You reach out, wrapping your hand around his flushed, twitching length. It jumps slightly as you stroke him gently, a naughty smile playing on your lips — a sight that nearly drives him wild. You lower your head, giving him a perfect view of your bare ass as you tease him.

Each stroke of your hand makes him bite his lip harder, suppressing a moan. He’s trying to stay composed — he’s a man, after all.

But when you guide his shaft to your swollen lips, rubbing his reddened tip back and forth against your slick entrance, it nearly breaks him. You coat his mushroom tip with your cum, then press it against your tight, dripping hole.

Satoru exhales a trembling sigh, gripping your hips as if to ground himself. His fingers tighten, promising marks that will bloom later on your skin.

“Lemme fuck you, please, sweetheart,” he groans, his voice desperate as he struggles not to buck his hips into you.

And you smile. Such a naughty girl.

You sit up, slipping off your top to feel freer, and then position yourself on all fours, lifting your hips to give him full access to your dripping pussy, which aches to be filled.

You giggle softly, wiggling your hips, burying your face into the pillow.

Satoru takes it as an invitation. He positions himself at your entrance, stroking himself a few times before sliding into you. The stretch is delicious, like something out of a dream.

Your whimpers fill the room, rising into melodic, lewd moans — music to his ears.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Satoru hisses, gripping your hips to pull you closer, sliding his cock all the way inside until his tip kisses your womb. When he bottoms out, he knows it.

Even though he’s on the verge of cumming, Satoru wants to make sure you cum with him — to breed you thoroughly. His babies. Making you a mom.

The thought makes his thrusts gentle at first, letting you adjust to his size. But when you push your hips back and babble for him to fuck you for real…

He snaps.

He’s pounding into you, his heavy balls slapping against your clit, adding to the obscene wet sounds filling the room. Your ass meets his hips again and again, your walls gripping him tighter each time he withdraws, only to pull him back in harder.

It’s not just your bodies syncing but your hearts too. Breathless pants, gasps, pleading moans, and filthy whispers intertwine, creating something sacred between you.

“Toru, ah, please, deeper,” you whine, your hands gripping the sheets as he fucks you so perfectly.

“Deeper?” he repeats, his voice teasing as he grabs your hair gently, pulling your head back to arch your spine. It gives him even better access to the sweet spot he intends to flood with his seed. “You want me to be a daddy? And you a mommy? Cute little werewolf babies?”

“Fuck,” you moan, clenching tighter around him. “I want it. I want to be full of your cum and have babies.”

“So good, so tight,” he groans, his thrusts relentless. “Promise. You’re mine, remember?” But your nod isn’t enough for him. “Say it, sweetheart.”

“I’m yours, I’m all yours, Toru,” you sob, tears streaming as you teeter on the edge. “I-I’m close,” you babble, your hips moving in tandem with his.

Satoru leans over you, his chest pressing against your arched back. His cock twitches as he growls, “Gonna take my load? Gonna cum so fucking much, yeah?”

One final thrust sends you both spiraling.

You cum hard, clenching so tightly around him that it’s a miracle his length fits inside you. He fills you with his warm seed, so much that it spills out in thick spurts.

Heartbeats pounding, breaths ragged, Satoru softens inside you, slowly pulling out. He kneels to watch the mix of your juices and his spill from your stretched hole.

He slides two fingers back in, gently pushing his seed back inside. “Need it to stay here,” he murmurs, patting your ass and pressing a kiss to your back. “Wanna go back to the village later?” Satoru asks.

You shake your head. “Just stay with me. With the future mother of your children.”

“Hmm, I think I can get used to this. Or maybe ‘wife’ is a better title?” He collapses beside you, a tired but peaceful smile on his face.

“Husband too,” you whisper, your voice filled with warmth.

a/n: thank you guys to have read this silly fic <3 on my period rn and it sucks but anyway. lot of tests coming so i think the stress is the reason haha. this time i don’t have a lot to say, just that writing about satoru is the best thing lol. some memes about wolves come to my mind i just wanna add them somewhere lmao

like and reblogs are always appreciated as comments <33

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @elliesndg

@drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t @wawuwe @cybersomniq @sanemistar

@monokaix

[ariestrxsh]

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 content warning: smut, fluff, innocence corruption, religious/purity kink, masturbation, dry humping, mommy kink, use of sex toys, sub!virgin!matt, experienced!pervy!reader

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 author's note: the whole basis of this series is that matt is a pure little christian boy whose innocence gets corrupted by his dommy mommy neighbor, and it may offend you if you're religious, so please don't read if it's going to upset you! 💖 here are parts one and two. enjoy!

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 summary: while beginning to open up to you and trust you more, matt decides to loosen his morals and test the waters with you, exploring the sacrilegious world of mind-altering substances and pre-marital sex.

me & u part three

Later that evening, after the two of you cleaned yourselves up along with the remnants of paint-covered plastic that was scattered about Matt's bedroom, you and Matt decided to go up to your treehouse to watch the sunset descend below the horizon. He followed you through your gate and up the rope ladder to your treehouse. You rolled and lit up another joint.

While Matt was still reserved, you could feel him opening up to you and becoming more comfortable in your presence, and you liked that. Matt sprawled out on his back on the wooden floor and watched a cloud of smoke escape your lips and dance around the atmosphere before being sucked out of the treehouse window. "Why do you like to smoke?" Matt wondered aloud. "Same reason you like to masturbate," you smirked at him.

"What's it feel like to be high?" He wondered, watching you take another puff. "Well, it's kind of hard to explain. It makes you feel all weightless and airy, and it feels good. Sometimes it makes you giggle a lot or get the munchies," you relayed to him. "I-I think I want to try it," Matt admitted, looking up at you from his reclined position. You raised your eyebrows at him.

"Are you sure? Why?" You pondered, narrowing your gaze at him, curious as to what changed his mind between today and the day before. "Well, I've been thinking about what you said the other day about caffeine being a mind-altering drug, and I have caffeine almost every day," Matt told you. "So, I feel like I'm not being very consistent if I refuse to try a drug just because it's a drug when I drink coffee," he told you.

"Okay, I'm just letting you know now, it's going to affect you way more than coffee," you responded. "Hit me with it," Matt confidently said. "If you say so," you smirked at him. He went to reach for the joint, but instead of passing it to him, you took this opportunity to climb on top of him and straddle him. Matt stared in awe at your confidence, and he immediately grew hard beneath you.

"Just inhale when I blow it out," you directed him, taking a drag. You took both Matt's wrists and pinned them above his head, making sure not to burn him with the cherry of your joint. You leaned down and slowly blew the smoke into Matt's slightly parted lips, brushing yours against his. He moaned against you while you gently kissed him after you exhaled into his mouth.

You pulled away, realeasing his wrists but still straddling him. You watched as he breathed out the smoke and started violently coughing, covering his face with his elbow. "You okay?" You asked him, and he nodded, but he was still choking on the smoke, and tears started welling in his eyes.

"Here, sit up. I'm going to go get you a glass of water and some snacks for when you start feeling it," you responded, climbing off of him and helping him to a sitting position. "I'll be right back," you whispered, rubbing his back before climbing down your rope ladder.

Matt wiped away the tears that had formed after he'd stopped couging, and he peered up at the sunset straight ahead and admired the way the orange and pink shades bled into each other. He could see why you liked to spend so much time here, and he felt honored that you were willing to share such a sacred space with him.

It wasn't sacred to him in the way that church was, but he could tell it held that quality to you. This was your church. It was a place you went to find peace and quiet, a space where you'd sort out your feelings, and a safe haven where you could go enjoy the simple pleasures life had to offer.

He felt the lightness in his body from the marijuana, and he calmly waited until you were climbing back up the rope ladder. "Here," you said, extending the glass of water to him. He gazed down in awe at it, enthralled by the life-giving elixir you were handing him. "Wow," he whispered, looking at it wide-eyed.

"Are you going to take it?" You giggled, raising an eyebrow at him. "Oh, yeah. Sorry," he said, taking the glass from you and beginning to drink it. "This is the most amazing cup of water I've ever had," Matt replied, gulping more of it down while you pulled all the snacks you'd brought him out of a bag. "Here, I brought you some funyuns, some chocolate-covered pretzels, some sour candy, some beef jerky, a sandwich, and a root beer. Eat as much as you want," you told him, smiling at him and laying them out in front of him.

"You know, you're the nicest girl I've ever met," Matt smiled at you with his glazed over expression while he went to grab the bag of funyuns and the root beer. "Nicest? I don't know if I've ever gotten that compliment before," you snorted, well-aware that you were an abrasive and overbearing kind of person, and people didn't usually use the word nice to describe you.

"You're also the prettiest girl I've ever met," Matt told you with a mouthful of funyuns. You blushed and smiled. "You're the most handsome boy I've ever met," you returned the compliment, tapping him on the nose with the tip of your finger. "How do you feel, handsome boy?" You asked Matt, who was taking a sip of his soda. "I think I feel pretty high," he peered over at you with heavy eyelids, and you giggled. "You look pretty high."

"You know, you're like a fairy. You live in your little treehouse, and you have your elixirs and your potions," Matt stared lovingly at you. "A fairy? That's generous. I'm more like a gnome or a troll," you chuckled. "No. To me, you're a fairy," Matt grinned at you.

"Oh man. My dad is going to be expecting me home for dinner soon, but I can't let him see me like this," Matt said in a concerned voice, snapping back to reality. "Don't worry. Let's send him a text and tell him you're having dinner with my mom and me tonight," you suggested, holding out your palm for him to offer up his phone. He pulled it out of his pocket and placed it in your hand.

"Hey, dad. I'm staying for dinner at the neighbor girl's house. I'll be home in a couple of hours," you read out loud while you typed. "Don't forget to say I love you. My dad and I always tell each other that at the end of conversations," Matt muttered to you with his mouth full, dipping his hand into the bag of chocolate-covered pretzels.

"Of course you guys do," you replied with a twinge of jealousy in your voice as you finished typing out the text. "Don't your mom and dad tell you they love you?" He asked. "I mean, yeah. Just not all that often," you replied, lighting up the joint again. "But it's fine. I don't need that," you responded, avoiding eye contact and shrugging.

Matt could tell that under your tough persona that there was a softness to you. "Well, I'd tell you that every day," Matt smiled at you while he crunched pretzels between his teeth. "Are you saying you love me?" You widened your eyes at him, taking one of the chocolate-covered pretzels out of the bag Matt was holding.

"Well, yeah. I mean, I haven't known you for long, but if our next interaction is never promised, which it never is, I'd want you to know I love you," Matt replied, smiling at you. "I love you, too, Matt Sturniolo," you replied, taking another drag.

You weren't a very soft person. In fact, you'd worked to become as stoic and unreadable as possible, but there was something about Matt that softened you, melted your heart, and made it easy for you to let your guard down around him.

"You know, being high makes me kind of horny," your eyes flicked up at Matt's, and you deviously grinned at him. "What are you going to do about it?" Matt gave you a serious look, almost as if challenging you. You raised a brow in his direction. You loved it when Matt egged you on.

You silently crawled over towards him, still holding your lit joint, and you put your legs on either side of his, straddling him again. You leaned down and whispered into his ear. "What I'm gonna do about it is fuck you so good. Give you the kind of pussy you won't mind going to hell for," your warm breath tickled his earlobe.

Matt whimpered at your words, and you felt his cock twitch against your clothed cunt. "But not tonight," you teased him, pulling back and gazing at him. You could tell in his facial expression that he was intimidated by you, but you could also see a craving in his blue eyes. "W-why not tonight?" Matt innocently asked, somewhat disappointed.

"The first lesson in sex is don't ever underestimate the power of the anticipation leading up to the act," you responded in a low, seductive voice, beginning to roll your hips against Matt's while you held eye contact.

A million thoughts were racing through Matt's mind. He knew he shouldn't be letting you rub up against his lap like that, and he knew he shouldn't be smoking weed, but there he was, high as a kite as you were grinding on him and he loved every second of it. He let out a soft whine as you shifted your weight around on him. "You can touch me, you know," you whispered to him, taking a drag off your joint. He was taken aback. Of course, he wanted to, but he wasn't sure if he knew how.

His hands hesitantly wandered until they were on your waist, and he initiated a kiss, brushing his nose against yours and tilting your head towards his. His lips clumsily crashed into yours while you continued riding him. He whimpered against your mouth, your tongue begging for entrance into his. His wandering hands soon curiously traveled to your ass. "Is this okay?" He timidly asked, pulling away from the kiss, and you slowly nodded at him, smiling.

You could feel him hardening beneath you as you teased him. You couldn't deny how good it felt, and with every rock of your hips, you both let out a satisfied moan. He squeezed your bottom as he started nearing his orgasm. You loved how simple it was and how responsive he was to your every touch. "Please don't stop," he managed to get out in the midst of his pleasure. "I wouldn't dream of it," you responded in a dreamy voice, rutting up against his member.

His head fell back and made a quiet thump as it hit the wall of your treehouse, and he let out a loud, needy groan. You peered down in awe at the wet spot on the front of his jeans, realizing you'd made him cum again without even directly touching him. "Wow. That was easy," you told him, nibbling on your lip while you hungrily stared into his bedroom eyes. "That was amazing," Matt told you, catching his breath.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

The next morning, you groggily stumbled out of bed, reminiscing on the night before and the way you and Matt had shared such an intimate moment together. You still couldn't believe he had chosen to get high with you. Matt had waited until his dad had fallen asleep before sneaking back into his house, still stoned from having smoked several hours before. Luckily, he'd made it inside without having to face him.

You reluctantly dragged yourself from your cozy bed and started getting ready for work. You hadn't been awake for long when your phone start buzzing against your dresser. When you peered down at the screen, you saw it was Matt calling. "Hey you," you smiled into the phone, rifling through the mess of clothes in your closet.

"Hey. Sorry to bother you. I just saw your light come on in your room, and I was wondering what you were doing up so early," Matt said, sitting at his desk and taking a sip of his morning coffee. "Are you spying on me?" You jokingly accused him, peering out of your window into his room. "Yeah, whatever. You spied on me first," Matt waved to you from his desk chair.

"The green fits you so well," you told Matt, admiring the new paint on his walls. "Thanks," he smiled. "My shift starts in like 45 minutes, so I'm begrudgingly getting dressed. Look away," you replied, pulling down your pajama bottoms while you glanced back at Matt across the way. "What happens if I don't?" Matt asked, unable to take his eyes off you and the way you looked standing in your underwear, gazing back at him. "Then Jesus will know!" You teased him. He rolled his eyes and chuckled into the phone.

"What are you doing?" You asked him, slipping out of your panties. "Just having some coffee and journaling. Oh, and getting like, the world's hottest striptease," he replied, watching you still. "Sounds hot. Coffee sounds so good right now. Well, I should really finish getting ready, but I'd love to hang out after my shift. I'm off at 3 p.m.," you responded, pulling on a pair of jean shorts.

"Sure. Maybe I'll come see you at work," he told you. "Yeah? What are you looking to buy a pocket pussy or something from me?" You teased him. "Only if you sell me on one," he joked. "I'll catch you later, Matt," you giggled into the phone before you hung up. You took off your top and peered back over at Matt who was still visible in your window. You winked and walked out of view, stepping deeper into your closet.

A few hours into your shift, you were reorganizing some of the lingerie when your coworker Carly nudged you. "Isn't that the guy you came in here with the other day?" You glanced up to see Matt walking into the shop, holding a frozen caramel coffee in his hand. He gave you that same shy smile and gentle wave as the first day you'd met him. You made your way over to him, smiling from ear to ear.

"Awh, Matt. Did you bring me a coffee?" You asked, motioning at the drink in his hand. "Yeah," he said, handing it off to you. "Also, this is embarrassing.." he started to say, lowering his voice. "What's up?" You tilted your head, looking at him sympathetically. "I'm here for more than just to see you and bring you a coffee," Matt blushed. Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped, picking up on what he was trying to say.

"Are you here as a customer?" You wondered out loud. "Look, I've never done this before. But can you give me a recommendation?" Matt quietly asked, his eyes darting around the shop as if he were worried about seeing someone he knew. "This is so hot. I can't believe I get to help you pick out your first sex toy!" You practically shouted, turning heads and drawing the attention of nearly everyone in the vicinity. Matt shushed you while blood rushed to his cheeks.

"Not if you're gonna embarrass me," Matt mumbled, hiding his face. "Matt, everyone who's in here is here for their sexual needs. Why would they be judging you?" You rolled your eyes, smiling at him and grabbing him by the hand. You pulled him over to the men's sex toy section.

"Unfortunately, there aren't quite as many options for men, but are you looking for like a cock ring or a fleshlight? Maybe a butt plug?" You asked, picking one up and dangling it in his face. "Uh, no. I think that's a little advanced for me," Matt giggled, taking it out of your hand and putting it back down. "Just pick me out something that's not too weird."

"Well, Matt, weird is subjective," you responded, grinning at how flustered he was. He rolled his eyes, still blushing. "I think I know what you should get. Follow me," you responded, leading him down the aisle. "Now, I'm not a man, so I can't tell you from personal experience how good this one is, but it has great reviews on our website," you told him, picking up a packaged fleshlight and putting it in his hand. "The inside of it is really textured and made of a really soft material. A lot of men say that if you use lube, it feels almost as good as actual sex."

"Well, I wouldn't know," Matt rubbed the back of his neck, nervously laughing. "Well, when we inevitably fuck, you can tell me how true that is," you whispered into his ear. "Anyway, it's really discreet, and according to a lot of male customers we have, it feels really good," you told him. He stared at you needily and nodded as you told him about it, still hung up on the comment about the two of you inevitably having sex.

"Let's get you some lube and some toy cleaner, too," you smiled at him, leading the way towards the front. You gave him the rundown on how to clean it and store it, and you bagged everything up for him. "Here you go," you said, smiling at Matt and handing it over to him. "Don't I need to pay for it?" Matt inquired. "No, I'll pay for it later. That way I can use my employee discount," you told him. "That's sweet of you. You don't have to do that," Matt replied.

"I know I don't have to, but I want to. The only rule is, you can't use it on yourself until I get off shift," you bit your lip at him. "That's like four hours from now," he pouted at you. "Be a good boy and wait until mommy gets home, okay?" You whispered, looking into his eyes. "Okay, fine," Matt huffed at you.

"Oh, hey, pretty boy. You decide to come back and get something for yourself?" Carly appeared out of nowhere. Matt timidly looked at her and slowly nodded. "That's hot. You have to come back and tell us how good it made you feel," your coworker seductively looked him up and down while she chewed on her lip. He nodded again.

"I'll see you later, Matt," you told him before he left the shop. "I don't know what you did to that boy, but he's under your spell," Carly smirked at you before wandering off to another part of the store.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

Matt had already been playing heavily on your mind since you'd met him, but by the time you clocked out, all you could think about was how he would look and sound while using his new fleshlight.

When you got home, you took a shower, washed the day from your skin, and slipped into a comfortable over-sized shirt. You called up Matt while you were standing in your bedroom, gazing through your window at the cute boy laying in his bed. "Hey," he answered the phone, trying not to sound too excited, looking back at you.

"I have a weird request," you nibbled on your lip. "What is it?" Matt wondered. "I want to watch you use your new toy from here," you nervously replied, smirking as the words left your mouth. "At least you asked this time," Matt teased you, smiling at you. "And if you could stay on the phone with me while you use it, I'd really like that," you admitted.

"That would be really hot," Matt responded. "You haven't used it yet, have you, baby?" You cooed. "No, I've been a really good boy," he needily replied. He started slowly unzipping his jeans, and you could see it through the window and hear it through the phone.

He pulled out his aching cock and reached for the lube you'd recommended to him earlier. You heard him pop the lid open, and you could hear his soft groans as he applied it. He already had his fleshlight within reach like he was waiting to be able to use it.

"Good boy. Why don't you put it in?" You suggested in a seductive whisper. "Yes, mommy," he obeyed you. You watched as his length disappeared into the fleshlight, and you listened as his needy groans filled your ear. "I bet it feels so good," you smirked. "Oh. Mommy, it does," Matt whimpered, stroking himself with his toy. "So much better than my hand," he whined, picking up speed. You felt a wet warmth pooling between your thighs as you watched Matt pleasuring himself.

You couldn't get enough of the way he looked through the window, his head thrown back and his mouth hanging open as more delighted groans poured from his pretty lips. "Keep going. You're such a good boy," you praised him through the phone. "Mommy, please. You're making me dangerously close," Matt whined, fervently jerking himself off with his toy while he basked in your words. "Not yet, baby. Don't cum just yet," you responded quietly. He let out a pained sigh and slowed down his movements to keep himself from finishing too quickly, but he found himself bucking his hips up to continue the wonderful sensation.

"Mommy, can't stop. Mmm. Feels too good," Matt whimpered. You took in the sight of him across the way, tending to his needy cock. "You got this, baby. Hold out just a little bit longer," you cooed into the phone. Matt used every ounce of discipline to keep himself from teetering over the edge as he buried his cock deep into his toy. "Mommy, I keep imagining it's you," he said in a breathy voice. "Don't you dare cum until I say so," you replied in a soft, sensual tone. "Please," he begged. He started picking up speed again, flirting with the idea of finishing despite not having been given permission.

"No, no. Not yet," you teased. He couldn't get enough of the slippery material inside the fleshlight, and the way it fit around his cock so snugly, wondering if that's how you'd feel wrapped around him. With every stroke, he felt himself nearing the tipping point. "Mommy, need to cum. I am begging," he desperately pleaded with you. "Good boy. You waited so patiently. You can cum now. Cum for mommy," you directed him. "Thank you, mommy. Thank you," he whimpered.

His dick started twitching as the knot in his stomach gave way. All his muscles tightened as he finished pumping his cock, blowing his load into his toy until it started dripping out, coating his length with his milky white substance. "Fuck. That was so hot," you told him, rubbing yourself through your panties while he caught his breath. He playfully giggled into the phone.

"This toy is amazing. I've gotta go clean this up."

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[moonlinos]

Don’t let me love you (Siren part II)

♡ Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Camboy!Hyunjin, friends with benefits to lovers

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), sex work, mentions of smoking, drinking, oral sex (female receiving), orgasm delay/denial, sex toys, marking, nipple play, unprotected sex, creampie, choking (only a little tho)

♡ Word count: 15.7k

♡ Synopsis: Hyunjin has been a camboy since he turned eighteen and a host since the age of twenty. His life and line of work had him building up a fortress of walls to keep himself safe, but he’s powerless as he watches you unknowingly break them down. Although he knows you deserve better than him, he battles with a selfish desire that wants nothing more than to allow himself to love you.

♡ A/N: Part two of what was supposed to be a one-shot, but people made my brain think things and I wrote 15.7K WORDS. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that so many people actually wanted a part two of something I wrote, so I wanna say thank you 🩷

← part I

Your situation with Hyunjin has been going on for almost eight months now.

Some things have changed; he’s undoubtedly more clingy with you, and you started hanging out with no intentions of having sex. What remains unchanged, however, is the fact that he’s still the same old egotistical idiot.

The thing is, you somehow grew to like that about him. It’s amusing to you just how much he loves himself, gloating about his conquests at the club or bragging about maintaining his number-one spot on the camming website. Although this only makes you even more certain you would never entertain the idea of being with someone like him, having the man who makes you come so hard also make you laugh just as much is a nice bonus.

Hyunjin began coming over to your apartment around two months ago, gradually wearing down your resistance with a lot of pestering until you finally let him in. Your home was almost sacred to you. Hooking up in his apartment was one thing, doing that in the familiarity of your home made it feel almost too intimate. You’ve fucked on the couch, on the kitchen counter, in the shower, but you never allow him into your bedroom. You’re not entirely sure why, but it would feel as if you were tainting your favorite place if he were to fuck you in your bed.

You’re getting ready for a date in your bathroom with Hyunjin sitting on the floor behind you, claiming the view of your ass from that angle was optimal. He lets out a loud chuckle as he watches you dab yet another layer of concealer on the hickey he left on your collarbone earlier tonight.

“Fuck off,” you snap at him. “You think this is funny?”

“Well, yeah, ‘cause it is,” he simply says, and you see him shrugging in the mirror, a grin tugging at one corner of his lip.

Hyunjin has the maddening habit of marking you. Although you told him numerous times how much you hate it, he conveniently ignores that when you have sex, and you’re always too clouded by lust to say anything about it.

“What are you doing on your livestream tonight?” You ask after finally making the small, red blotch on your skin imperceptible.

Watching Hyunjin cam has become your go-to de-stressing method after work. Sitting in a corner far away from the camera, you watch him do his job with ease, like it’s second nature to him. It’s almost intoxicating how he seems to always know what to say to get his viewers going, knowing exactly when to be mean and when to play the role of a caring boyfriend. It makes you clench around nothing, hungrily watching as he makes himself come all over his stomach so deliciously it has you eager to be fucked as soon as he’s done.

He hums. “Well, they really seemed to like the toys I tried last weekend, so I guess that’s what I’m doing for the next few weeks.”

“Ooh, so you’re sticking to the toys now,” you tease him with a grin.

Last Saturday, you watched as Hyunjin opened fan gifts he had received in his PO box during his livestream. Some were extremely questionable (if you had a nickel for every time he pulled out used panties from a box, you’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice), while some were exactly what you would expect to be sent to a camboy. A variety of BDSM gear, kinky costumes fans wanted him to wear, and of course, a lot of sex toys.

Hyunjin shrugs again, leaning on his left hand and staring up at you through the mirror. “I kinda have to do whatever my viewers want to keep my number one ranking.”

“And are you going to the club tonight?”

“Nah,” he yawns and rests his head against the wall. “Took the day off. My spot there is secured,” his lips upturn into a grin. “No other guy at that club can compete with me.”

That’s another thing you learned about Hyunjin these past months; his club and website rankings are extremely important to him. You also learned he has an Only Fans account on the side where he shares videos and pictures of himself, and he pesters you about making any type of content with him every couple of weeks. You were tempted after seeing the enticing amount of money that was in it for you, but your decision was unswayed.

Your confidence wasn’t like his. You’re sure having your performance and appearance scrutinized by strangers would make you go insane.

Nonetheless, you struggle to conceal your jealousy toward Hyunjin’s jobs, as they seem so damn perfect in your eyes. How great would it be if you could essentially work only when you felt like it? Not to mention the fact that both his jobs are basically having orgasms and looking pretty, which certainly seems heavenly when compared to your headache-inducing corporate job.

He even delayed the starting time of his livestream tonight for the sole purpose of tormenting you while you get ready.

Jihoon is your first proper date in almost a year, as you only allowed yourself the luxury of dating after getting the promotion you were working for. He’s in your company’s finance department, and you two have been casually flirting for three months. You tried your best to ignore him for a couple of weeks, but not only was he ridiculously good-looking, he was also the breathing definition of boyfriend material. He was kind, holding doors open and helping other workers carry heavy boxes with a smile on his face. He was caring, always arriving at the office with coffee for his coworkers, having memorized everyone’s order.

Not to mention the whispered rumors that echoed through the hallways of the ninth floor. Your friend, who had recently moved into the finance department, shared them with you after a drunken night out. Jihoon was apparently amazing in bed, all while being a perfect gentleman. The perfect blend of rough and sweet, and never one to kiss and tell — all these rumors apparently coming from women in his department who had dated him and couldn’t keep themselves from gushing about their unforgettable experience with him.

But it would be a lie to say you were excited about this date because of him.

It was the prospect of how much this could vex Hyunjin that really got you eager.

A couple of nights ago, you joked with Hyunjin about how Jihoon was the complete antithesis of him, hence why he was the ideal candidate for a boyfriend. Hyunjin’s reaction was exactly what you anticipated, with him becoming visibly annoyed and grumbling about how Jihoon probably talks a big game but does the bare minimum in bed.

You simply laughed because the mere thought that another man could be just as good, if not better, than him in bed was what ticked Hyunjin off. Never mind that you said Jihoon was perfect because he was everything he was not.

“You know,” Hyunjin suddenly says, “We should make a bet.”

And you hesitate for a beat and a half because you know Hyunjin.

Still, you sigh and answer, “Sure. What kind of bet?”

“If this guy is really that good in bed, then I’ll pay for your next date myself,” he vows, his smirk only growing as you turn to look at him through the mirror. “If he’s average, you go on a date with me.”

You silently look at him for a few seconds before laughter bursts out of you.

“Hyunjin, do you fucking hate me?” You ask, turning your body toward him. “I get shitty sex then have to endure a date with you?”

He shrugs, rising to stand in front of you. “This just proved to me how much faith you have in your date,” he calmly says. He then leans into you, caging you against the countertop, hands beside your body. Hyunjin bends his face to yours, his breath tickling your skin as he speaks, “Just admit you know no guy will ever be a better fuck than me.”

You scoff at his arrogance, pushing him until his back hits the wall.

“Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Hyunjin follows you when you leave the bathroom to grab your purse in the living room, loudly clicking his tongue behind you.

“Why’d you dress up for him?” He huffs, and you turn to look at him with a raised brow. “This fucking short dress and shit.” He rakes his eyes over your body from head to toe, tugging at his bottom lip. “I should make you dress up for me, too. You look hot.”

By now, you’ve learned that the best course of action to follow when dealing with Hyunjin’s monumental ego is to ignore it altogether. It’s also quite entertaining to purposefully give him answers you know will vex him, so you sweetly smile at him.

“Thank you,” you beam, your fingers toying with the hem of your short dress, pulling up the fabric. “Hopefully Jihoon thinks the same.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes, curling an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his body. He harshly presses his lips to yours, undoubtedly smudging your lipstick. His tongue pushes past your lips, brushing against your own. It’s almost like an act of possessiveness — leaving his taste on your tongue before you go off to your date with another man.

He tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you even closer. But just as you’re getting lost in the feeling of his lips against yours, the sound of your doorbell echoes through the room, and your eyes widen. Pulling away, you promptly push Hyunjin back and wipe the corners of your mouth. You stifle a chuckle when your eyes land on his face; red lipstick smudged all over his lips.

“Stay in the bathroom until I leave,” you tell him while grabbing your purse from the couch. He rolls his eyes again, this time with a scowl contorting his features.

You smile at Jihoon when you open your door. Barely giving him the chance to say hello, you hurry him toward the elevator, reminding him of your reservation. You know Hyunjin, and you wouldn’t put it past him to show up behind you simply to stir up some drama.

But that’s the thing; you know Hyunjin, yet you still choose to stay in this strange arrangement with him. Because it’s the fact that you know him, for some reason you’re unsure of yourself, that makes you actually like him a little bit.

Hyunjin ends his livestream as usual, saying goodnight with a promise of seeing his viewers again tomorrow night. He never acknowledges tips and addresses no one by their name or username. Some cammers wear masks to conceal their identities — this cavalier persona, uncaring and nonchalant, is Hyunjin’s mask.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he goes on to do the arduous task of cleaning up the fleshlight he used tonight. It was a gift from a viewer, who begged him — with quite a lot of tips — to use it for her. What was initially meant to be a one-time thing has now become his new routine, as his viewers couldn’t get enough of it.

Hyunjin hates this part of his camming job: the incessant need to please the people who watch him, lest they abandon him and move on to a new cammer. He doesn’t mind the sex toys — although cleaning them makes him want to throw his entire collection out the window — but he’s had to do a lot of shit he really didn’t want to, all in the name of maintaining his number one spot.

He was eighteen when he first started. In desperate need of money after moving out of home for college, one of his friends suggested he sell his nudes to people around campus. When Hyunjin scowled and asked why the fuck that was his first and only suggestion, the boy laughed. He remembers his words to this day:

“Hyunjin, you know you don’t really have anything else other than your looks. Your grades are shit, and you’re lazy as fuck. This is pretty much the only way you can ever make money.”

And by that age, that was nothing new to Hyunjin, as he had heard different variations of that same speech his entire life. When he was a child, his parents urged him to become an idol or a model, going so far as to motivate him to ignore his schoolwork to attend auditions (even when he whined about how much he hated them). 

His mother always said his face had the power to make people love him while studying would only lead to success.

“It’s much better to be loved, Hyunjin,” she told him when he was ten. “Anyone can reach success if they try hard enough, but being loved is a privilege only special people can have.”

By his late teens, when his reputation began to precede him after countless hookups during high school, his friends assured him he could make a lot of money off of sex.

Either way, the consensus was always that the only thing Hyunjin had to offer were his looks and body.

At first, he hated it. He wanted nothing more than to be appreciated for anything other than what his face looked like, or how good he was in bed. He got his grades up, excelled in hobbies he actually liked, and even set goals for himself after college. But Hyunjin never heard a word of praise from his parents, and his friends were always more interested in who he was hooking up with than how he got to the top of his class. After a while, he realized he was simply fighting a losing battle.

So he accepted that truth, because it couldn’t hurt him if he were the one to incentivize it.

That was why he decided to follow his friend’s asinine suggestion.

His first endeavor was with simple videos of himself jerking off in front of his mirror, the shitty camera of his phone certainly hindering his attempt at making the whole thing pleasing to the eyes. He would promote them through text messages to acquaintances he’d met at parties at first, later creating a Twitter account dedicated solely to selling these videos. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was certainly more than his friends made while working monotonous shifts at coffee shops.

Only four months later, he coincidentally entered the world of camming through a girl he had been hooking up with.

They were in her bedroom, just about to have sex, when she giggled against his lips and told him she could make a lot of money if he fucked her during one of her livestreams. He said he could make a lot of money if she let him record them fucking.

They ultimately reached an agreement, and Hyunjin appeared on his first-ever livestream that same night — a mask covering both their faces and the money made split evenly between them.

He recalls how his eyes were glued to her computer screen the entire time. He was used to praises and compliments, but there was something different about having a stranger openly say they’d do anything to be in that girl’s place, that they would pay to have him fuck them, or even something as simple as telling Hyunjin how good he was. It had a rush of euphoria cursing through his veins.

It was as if, for the first time in his life, he had found something he was truly good at, something that he was entirely in control of. He was a natural, and he enjoyed every moment of it, easily slipping into the persona he wears to this day.

He got drunk on that validation and was desperate to have it again.

After that night, he created his own account, with many of his hookup’s viewers following him immediately. He dropped out of college soon after he started, as the money he made from camming along with selling his content on Only Fans already exceeded the estimated salary in his field of study.

Hyunjin was good, and he loved being good. Most importantly, he loved knowing he was good.

That’s why he simply ignores the few times he’s had to do things he wasn’t all that keen on doing. Because at the end of the day, that’s the only thing he’s good at — pleasing people, no matter the cost.

After a long shower, Hyunjin walks back into his room and sinks into his bed. He’s glad he took the day off from his job at the club since a viewer tipped him $300 to edge himself for as long as he could tonight. After an hour of that, the only thing he wants is to curl up in bed and sleep for hours.

He buries himself under his blankets, but just as his eyes flutter closed, the sound of laughter echoes through his room. Your laughter.

He sits up in bed almost immediately, a grin etched onto his lips. He still remembers the day he found out his walls were paper thin; the day you touched yourself while he was streaming. He knew you were so sure you had been quiet — only letting out small whimpers and sighs — but he heard you regardless, and your pretty noises made it even easier for him to come that night. He initially assumed you were simply masturbating, but when you came knocking at his door the very next day to complain about how noisy he was, he knew you were touching yourself to the sound of his voice.

Hyunjin has fucked many women in his life, but for that silly fact alone, none piqued his interest quite like you did.

He rests his back against the headboard, ready to listen to you complain on the phone to some friend, grumbling about how fucking awful your date had been. But a masculine voice suddenly permeates through the wall, filling his room with the sound of your date’s obnoxious laughter.

“I had a really nice time tonight,” he slurs, clearly a bit tipsy.

“Me too,” you giggle, and Hyunjin’s face twists into a scowl. Since when do you giggle like that?

He hastily yanks the covers off his body, rushing to settle into his computer chair in a shameless effort to hear your conversation more clearly.

“Sorry I laughed when you spilled your drink on your dress,” the guy — whose name Hyunjin frankly didn’t care enough to memorize — apologizes before adding, “Do I make you that nervous?”

And it’s like Hyunjin can hear the smirk in the man’s voice. Why the fuck must this annoy him so much? Couldn’t you go back to his place to fuck? Maybe you’re pissed at him over the bet, and this is a desperate attempt to prove you’re right. He scoffs, running a hand through his hair before reclining on the chair.

Just means you’ll be having mediocre sex while he listens.

“Of course I was nervous,” you reply. “Look at you, this shirt’s been driving me crazy since you picked me up.”

The man snickers. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you state matter-of-factly, “Kept looking at your arms the entire night. Couldn’t think straight,” your voice drops to a whisper, and Hyunjin could recognize the alluring lilt that envelops your voice from a mile away.

You use it with him almost every night.

Your date hums. “Oh, you like my arms?”

And Hyunjin can just picture the man flexing his muscles. What a fucking idiot.

His room is filled with the creaking sound of your bed, and he physically cringes. He can’t believe you’re really gonna make him listen to you fuck another guy. He especially can’t believe you so easily let this fucker into your bedroom. Hyunjin has known you for eight months, and you still adamantly insist that your bedroom is off-limits.

Maybe this is his long-overdue punishment for making you lose sleep for a month.

Your room suddenly falls into an odd stillness. All Hyunjin can do is sit in the dark, consumed by the incessant ticking of his clock, unable to tear his gaze away from the wall in front of him. His mind becomes his own worst enemy, flooding his imagination with vivid images of you laid out underneath this man, his arms you seemingly love so much caging you between the mattress and his body while his lips explore every inch of your skin. Or maybe you’re on top, rolling your hips in that slow, tantalizing rhythm that drives Hyunjin mad while looking at him with lust-clouded eyes.

The sound of you softly whimpering shakes him out of his thoughts, and Hyunjin subconsciously clenches his fists. Despite hearing the guy talk to you again, all he makes out is a jumble of garbled, muffled sounds.

He isn’t sure how long he stays there, eyes boring holes into the wall until his vision goes blurry and gnawing on his lips until he tears at the delicate skin. His ears sting with the sound of your bed frame hitting your shared wall, and your sighs and moans he loves so much only seem to mock him.

When the sardonic symphony eventually fades into silence, Hyunjin remains where he is. He feels powerless; he can’t stop how his heart weighs heavy in his chest or do anything but feel the scorching flame of anger searing his veins.

He’s memorized your date’s name by now — Jihoon, as your voice repeatedly called out.

For the first time in so long, Hyunjin was no longer in control.

Hyunjin struggles to conceal his annoyance when you show up at his door the next day as if nothing had happened. The hickey he gave you no longer being concealed by makeup and your ever-present grin only added to his aggravation, as if you were relishing in his agony. He wants nothing more than to fuck that smug grin off your pretty lips, but he can’t bring himself to touch you. Not when his ego is bruised by how easily another man could please you.

After all, that was all Hyunjin had to offer. Why were you even here in the first place? If you had already found someone else to fuck you, he had nothing more to give you.

Sitting on his couch, Hyunjin’s frustration gets the best of him, and he’s the first to break the silence.

“I don’t even gotta ask if you had a good time last night,” he sneers, and you stifle a chuckle, trying but ultimately failing to keep a straight face.

“Yeah, the restaurant was nice.”

Hyunjin can’t contain the scoff that escapes his lips, his mouth curling in disdain. “You know damn well I’m not talking about the restaurant.”

You cock your head to the side, brows knitting together as you put on your best act of naivety.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean?” You ask, voice dripping in sarcasm.

Hyunjin is pushing your body onto the couch before he realizes what he’s doing, the rage he felt last night no longer laying dormant in his bloodstream. He cages you against the cushions, his hands resting beside your body. You instinctively spread your thighs to accommodate him.

“You think you’re so fucking funny, don’t you?” He asks, bending his face to yours. You shrug with a contented sigh, lifting your arms to wrap around his back.

Hyunjin scoffs, and you let out a yelp as he abruptly hoists your legs over his shoulders, fingertips digging into the flesh of your thighs. He leans down to kiss you, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth but pulls away before you can register to kiss him back, leaving you to chase after his touch.

“Is this how he fucked you?” He asks with a hum, his lips hovering mere inches above yours. His hold on your thighs becomes bruisingly tight as he waits for your answer. “Hm? Did he fuck you good?”

“We were both tipsy,” you murmur, breath hitching as he pushes his hardening member against your clothed core. “It was okay.”

A grin tugs at the corner of his lips, and Hyunjin mockingly pouts. “So he wasn’t the sex god you were promised, baby?”

You roll your eyes. “I just said it was okay.”

Hyunjin shakes his head, his gaze transfixed by the way your eyes look up at him while you subtly roll your hips up into him. He’s not stupid, he knows the reason why you have such an infuriating effect on him. He’s never going to be good enough for you outside of being a good fuck, yet he feels a blooming yearning inside of his chest that makes him selfishly want to keep you to himself. Even if he has nothing else to offer you.

So he chooses to swallow his pride, just this once, to prove to you why you should choose to stay and stop searching for pleasure in other men — because Hyunjin knows you will find much more than that in them. Much more than what he has.

“‘Okay’ isn’t what you deserve,” He tuts, his mind slowly fogging over with desire as you roll your hips harder against his length. “Isn’t what you’re used to after all these months, is it? Hm?” He urges, raising a hand to lightly brush against your jaw before gripping it. “Answer me.”

Hyunjin knows you’re struggling not to give in; that’s one of his favorite things about having sex with you. The push and pull, how you try so hard to act tough and unbothered but ultimately melt under his touch every time. Even so, he was only able to truly break you for the first time a couple of months ago. You’re obstinate, he’ll give you that.

You shrug again, and he knows it’s the only answer he’ll get from you for now.

“Are you gonna see him again?” He asks instead.

You let out a quiet sigh as Hyunjin lazily grazes your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

“Don’t think so.”

“Yeah?” He asks, arching a brow almost knowingly. “I can’t help but think you only brought him home to make me listen to you.”

And you giggle at that. The same overly sweet, coy giggle Hyunjin heard through his wall last night.

“I guess you’ll never know,” you simply answer, running a hand through his hair and lightly gripping a fistful while your eyes flicker down to his lips.

Hyunjin wastes no more time talking to you — he knows your conversations usually lead nowhere. He crashes his lips into yours, fingers gripping your jaw once more and forcing your lips open, his tongue slipping inside your mouth. You whimper into the kiss, a sound he knows slipped past your lips unwittingly. Your tongue swirls against his, and he savors your taste with a low hum.

You tilt your hips up, chasing after him again and whining when Hyunjin moves out of reach. He smiles.

“You want me to give you what you’re used to?” He asks against your lips, and you’re quick to nod. “So fucking greedy, made me listen to you get fucked last night only to come running back to me.” He slides his hands under your ass and picks you up effortlessly, carrying you toward his bedroom with an exasperated sigh. “Would’ve been easier if you just admitted no guy will ever be as good as me, wouldn’t it?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snarl, but your words are cut short as Hyunjin throws you onto his bed and promptly walks to his wardrobe. “At least Jihoon got to it quick. I’m not one of your viewers, I don’t care much for your chatter.”

Hyunjin lets out a hearty laugh, retrieving a small blue box from among his clothes and sitting at the edge of the bed. “He got to it quick? Is that your way of telling me your date was a one-minute man?”

You open your mouth as if you’re ready to refute him but ultimately close it and cross your arms over your chest, willing him to do something. Hyunjin stifles another laugh.

“Good thing you have me, then,” He mutters, the goading lilt to his voice impossible to disguise. Placing the box on his nightstand, he hovers over your body once again. “I got all these toys, and we never got around to playing with them together.”

You visibly shudder, nodding slowly as Hyunjin looms over you. He slots your lips together once more, this time much more softly. Your tongue lightly brushes against his bottom lip, licking into his mouth as your thighs wrap around his hips, hooking your ankles behind him and drawing his body flush against yours.

With each languid and deliberate stroke of his tongue, Hyunjin revels in the way he can feel you grow more impatient, tugging at the fabric of his shirt and rutting your hips against his. His hands slip under the hem of your shirt to grip your waist, easing your movements. The way his cock strains against his sweatpants becomes impossible to ignore as his hard length presses against your warm core harder and harder with each roll of your hips. 

Hyunjin’s hand glides from your waist to your stomach, caressing your skin before finding its way to your cunt, fingers harshly pressing against your clothed wetness. You whimper into the kiss as he lazily circles your clit over the fabric of your shorts.

“Let’s make a deal,” Hyunjin whispers as he pulls away. “You admit I’m the best fuck you’re ever gonna have, and I might let you come.”

He punctuates his words with a firm press of his fingers to your clit, and he can visibly see your resolve crumbling before him, but you still force out an indignant huff.

“In your dreams,” you shakily breathe out.

Hyunjin shrugs, his fingers leaving your core and traveling over the expanse of your stomach. He promptly rids you of your shirt, and you hiss as his hands brush against your sensitive nipples, Hyunjin watching as they immediately stiffen in response.

Your habit of not wearing a bra nearly drives Hyunjin insane — even on the first day you came knocking at his door, he remembers having to fight the urge to glance down at the way your nipples peaked beneath the fabric of your white shirt.

You’ve been driving him crazy since you walked into his line of sight.

Hyunjin lightly massages your breasts before grazing your hardened nipples with his thumbs, swiftly sucking one into his mouth, causing sighs to spill from your lips as your hand tangled in his hair. He flicks the stiff bud with his tongue before grazing his teeth over it, and you roughly tug at his roots. He smiles against your skin, nudging the peak of your nipples with his lips and sighing.

“Say it,” he calmly tells you, but your only response is tugging harder at his hair. “You’re so stubborn,” He chides, tugging his shirt over his head. “I told you, you’re only coming if you fucking admit it.”

He slowly moves onto the foot of the bed, his hands roaming along your legs with featherlight touches. He places wet kisses from your stomach to your inner thighs, sucking lightly at the skin until his lips hovered tantalizingly close to your still-clothed, aching cunt. And then he stops, instead pressing a kiss to your hips.

“Hyunjin,” his name falls from your lips as a breathy whine. He looks up to find your gaze already on him, eyes silently pleading. He grins, thumbs drawing circles on your inner thighs as you push your hips into his face, but he promptly pulls away. “Please,” you finally whisper, although barely audibly. 

Hyunjin hums, satisfied, pressing a wet kiss to your core through the fabric of your shorts before sliding them down your legs along with your panties. He hisses through his teeth at the sight of your wetness, thumbs gliding up and down your folds before spreading you before him. His tongue immediately pokes out to travel up your slit before wrapping his lips around your swollen clit, sucking harshly, and your hand soon flies to rest on his head.

He lifts his eyes once more, humming against your folds as he finds your head rolled back onto his pillows, lips falling open as you softly mewl. He could listen to your sweet sounds all night, reveling in the way every flick of his tongue made you become louder and louder until you were all but screaming his name.

But he has to teach you a lesson tonight.

His tongue delves deep into you, gliding against your slick inner walls, causing even more arousal to flood his lips. His eyes flutter closed with a pleased hum, lapping up every drop of your wetness.

“Fuck,” you rasp, and Hyunjin knows you’re close.

With a wicked grin, he slips two fingers into your warm cunt, curling them just the way you love while his tongue expertly circles your clit. When you roll your hips against his lips, yanking his head toward your body, Hyunjin pulls away.

He watches as your eyes shoot open and you frown at him, but he simply grins, thumb wiping at his glistening mouth before slipping the digit into your agape lips.

“Say it,” he repeats, unrelenting, and stifles a laugh when you groan loudly.

You hook a leg around his waist, bringing his body close to yours again, the heat of his thick cock pressing against your soaked cunt. Hyunjin sucks in a breath, focusing on reining in his emotions, determined not to let you win. His mind is already completely clouded with lust, desperate to fuck you into the mattress, but he refuses to give you the satisfaction of watching him give in to you.

He bends his face to yours, gasping out a curse as he watches the way you swirl your tongue around his finger with a hum, lazily sucking it while maintaining your eyes locked onto his. He presses the pad of his thumb down onto your tongue, and your lips obediently fall open before upturning into a taunting smile.

You still think you’re in control.

Hyunjin shakes his head, his resolve coming back to him.

His fingers fall from your tongue, and he presses his lips against yours. You melt into the kiss, hands traveling down the expanse of Hyunjin’s abdomen, then back up to wrap around his broad shoulders. He lets you do as you please, rummaging through his box until his fingers brush against what he’s looking for. He sucks your tongue into his mouth, ultimately distracting you, and you let out a small whimper, which grows into a loud groan as he presses the blunt tip of the massaging wand to your clit and switches it to the medium setting.

“What the fuck,” You all but growl into his lips, and Hyunjin hums.

“Does it feel good, baby?”

You let out a shuddering sigh. “T-Too much,” you whimper, hands scrambling for Hyunjin’s arms in an attempt to ground yourself, but ultimately clawing at his bedsheets.

He glides the wand along your drenched folds, moving up and down, eyes transfixed on the way your arousal drips out of you and coats the toy. Your entire body jolts when he harshly presses the vibrating tip directly onto your clit. He could come just by watching you squirm underneath him, loud groans falling from your lips. How he wished Jihoon could be in your room, listening to how beautiful you sound when you’re actually being taken care of properly.

Hyunjin feels his cock twitch every time your body shudders, trying to escape the relentless vibrations, sticky precum gathering in his sweatpants and increasing his discomfort. He desperately wants to fuck you.

With a low grunt, he leans in closer to you, pinning your arm to your side and flicking his wrist as he presses down harder on your swollen clit.

“Got no idea how pretty you sound, do you?” He hisses, “If only you weren’t such a fucking brat and just — fuck.”

His words dissipate when your free hand wiggles between your bodies and pulls down his sweatpants, freeing his cock. Your fingers immediately wrap around his length, squeezing him tightly before frantically stroking him. The sounds that echoed through the room were lewd, unmistakable evidences of both your arousals.

Hyunjin pulls the wand from your clit, turning down the vibrations and letting it rest against one of your peaked nipples while he grips his cock in his fist, the swollen tip prodding at your entrance, just barely pushing in. You whimper loudly, clutching his arm, fingernails digging crescent moons into his pale skin.

“Come on,” he growls, cock now gliding up and down your slit. “I know you wanna come, just fucking say it.”

But you’re unrelenting, staring into his eyes and weakly shaking your head.

Hyunjin stops his movements altogether, his shaft nestled against your soaking cunt, the head of his cock resting heavily on your clit. He presses the wand down onto his length, increasing the intensity to the highest setting. A loud, broken moan falls from your throat as your shaky hands grip his wrist, your back arching off the bed. You try to push the toy away, but Hyunjin’s free hand wraps around your neck, effortlessly pinning your pliant body down onto the mattress.

He presses his forehead to yours, his sweat dripping down onto your breasts as he fights off his orgasm.

“Fucking say it,” he hisses, tears gathering in your lashes. The unyielding vibrations from the wand traveling through his cock and going straight onto your clit, coupled with the way his hand tightens around your throat, finally have every bit of your resolve crumbling.

“You,” you choke out, “Best fuck I’ll ever fucking have, Hyunjin, god — I wanna come, please.”

Hyunjin feels satisfaction enveloping his entire being, and the pleasure intensifies tenfold, his cock twitching and a low groan reverberating from the depths of his chest.

“Come for me, baby,” he breathes out, giving your neck one last squeeze, and your climax erupts from you with a loud cry. As your entire body convulses and your head tilts back, Hyunjin can feel your release coating his cock before dripping onto the sheets below.

As you struggle to catch your breath, your grip on his wrist tightens and your body squirms away from the vibrations, but Hyunjin only presses down harder, seeking his own release. He soon comes with a sigh, eyebrows scrunching together, his cum landing all over your cunt.

He turns off the vibrator, labored breaths mixing with yours as you two come down from your highs.

“You’re fucking insane,” you chuckle after a beat.

And Hyunjin’s lips stretch into a lazy smile. “And you owe me a date.”

You were reluctant at first, having assumed it was simply Hyunjin’s ego talking that night, only teasing you because you were going on a date with someone else when he proposed that odd bet. However, you eventually found out he wasn’t at all joking and actually wanted his ‘prize’ — as he called it — for winning the bet.

Figuring out a date was an aggravating task, given that Hyunjin worked on weekends and you worked on weekdays. You told him numerous times to just let it go; you could simply hang out in his apartment like you usually did and call it a date. It wasn’t anything serious, just another one of his whims.

But Hyunjin’s persistence was unwavering, and he settled for taking yet another day off and canceling his livestream altogether so he could take you out on a Saturday.

Although you weren’t looking forward to it at first, you unknowingly smiled whenever you saw the day marked on your calendar alongside your endless work assignments. It was ridiculous, and you wouldn’t admit it to him, but deep down, you were actually excited about this date. You wanted to know what it’s like to have a conversation that doesn’t end in you two bickering, wanted to know what it feels like to hang out with him without the thought of fucking looming over your heads.

You were strangely excited to get to know Hyunjin outside the four walls of your apartments.

But the Sunday before your date, disappointment washed over you like a cold bucket of water when Hyunjin told you he had to cancel.

What did you expect? You knew Hyunjin. This should’ve been the obvious outcome from the start, but you were stupid and allowed yourself to be swept away by a hope that proved too good to be true.

He waited until he finished his livestream to tell you — as if canceling less than a week before wasn’t already bad enough. Your irritation reached its peak as you sat in his bed and listened to him insist it wasn’t his fault.

“One of the other hosts had a family emergency so he’ll be gone for two weekends,” he explained, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his words. Family emergency. Of course.

“Hyunjin, you say that like you don’t take countless days off with no issues,” you refuted, and his frown deepened while he shook his head.

Just say you don’t wanna go on this stupid date.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “It’s not like that. We have rules to follow,” he insisted. “Only one host can be absent at a time. I don’t have a valid reason for bailing on Saturday, so I’m forced to go.”

“Or you’ll lose your precious number one spot?”

“Or I’ll lose my fucking job.”

And you simply shrugged as you ultimately realized that was yet another pointless conversation between you. You then went on to have sex, as you always did when confronted with the threat of a serious conversation, and the topic was forgotten.

At least by Hyunjin.

You spend the next days avoiding him to the best of your abilities. Deep down, you know you’re behaving like a child, but the way you allowed yourself to get excited over something as stupid as a date with him still makes you feel pathetic. It’s impossible not to feel like he raised your hopes only for the pleasure of shutting you down. All because you went out with someone else, and you know that was a blow to his ego.

You two have never been anything more than friends who hook up — and even using that term feels almost comical, seeing as you two can’t have a conversation without it turning into a petty argument or an ego battle — but his insistence on this date, and your own eagerness seemed to hint at something more.

Clearly, you were mistaken.

You brought Jihoon back to your apartment hoping to have mind-blowing sex after a nice date. Plus, you knew Hyunjin would hear you, and you terribly wanted to deflate his ego. A win-win situation in your book. Instead, you had mediocre sex at best. Jihoon skipped foreplay entirely, simply pounded into you, and finished far too quickly while leaving you hanging.

Maybe he was too tipsy to perform well, or maybe the women in your office are living in a depressing reality where a guy’s ability to find the clitoris means he’s a god among men. Either way, even after putting on your best performance, Hyunjin still saw right through you.

And the worst part is, even you can’t explain why you did that. Your mind argues it was all for the pleasure of vexing him; he’s been annoying you since he first moved in next door, after all. But your heart is quick to jump in with a list of facts and reasons why that can’t be the case — all while presenting some valid arguments that lead you to believe you might like Hyunjin more than originally planned.

But he was still Hyunjin at the end of the day. Your egotistical idiot neighbor whose fragile ego you hurt, so he’s retaliating.

After three days of successfully ignoring Hyunjin, one of your friends at work makes all your work crumble with a single phrase.

“I can’t believe we still haven’t gone back to The Siren,” she grumbled during lunch, and you stabbed an innocent piece of broccoli with your fork.

That was all it took to ignite your curiosity.

You sit at your desk later in the day and look up that damn club, telling yourself you simply want to find out why your friends are so desperate to go there. This has nothing to do with Hyunjin.

Upon entering their website, you realize The Siren wasn’t a nightclub as you had imagined; it’s an elegant lounge with a lavish-looking bar you’re sure charged $5 for a bottle of water. As you read the club’s About Us page, the entrance fee almost has you choking on your coffee, despite it being expected for such a place. Among several rules, one catches your eye:

The club allows a maximum of twenty attendees per night, offering a choice of twenty-five hosts.

You gnaw on your bottom lip at the realization that perhaps Hyunjin wasn’t lying, and that was the reason only one host could be absent at a time.

Eventually, you find your way to the Hosts section of the website. You’re a bit taken aback by how these men are presented as amenities, like products displayed at an online shop, with nothing but their names and a picture along with their price.

They’re divided into tiers: gold, emerald, and platinum. Hosts in the gold tier are younger, most likely having just started on the job, and their prices are the most affordable. The emerald tier is more expensive, with some hosts who look old enough to be your father. The disturbing realization dawns on you that these men’s values diminish as they age.

On the platinum tier, only five hosts are displayed, and you blanch at each of their unique prices. Hyunjin is the most expensive, at $500, excluding extra fees. You click on his black and white picture, and a myriad of photos of Hyunjin flood your screen. You’re struck by how different he looks in these shots; his styled hair and impeccably tailored suits look nothing like the man you see at your apartments every day, lounging around in sweatpants and loose t-shirts.

A description sits at the top of the page, short but still enough to make you grimace. 

Hyunjin has held our club’s esteemed number-one position for two consecutive years now, and rightfully so. Complementing his striking good looks is an alluring personality that will make you feel cherished throughout the evening. His undivided attention will undoubtedly meet your satisfaction, and his additional services will leave you breathless.

You aren’t sure what you were expecting — you were already aware of the nature of Hyunjin’s job as a host — but the club’s portrayal of these people as mere products leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

Your curiosity has morphed into frustration as you return to the homepage, but a message catches your eye just as you’re about to exit the website. Three spots are now available for Saturday night due to the absence of one of their hosts. And before you can even process your actions, you’ve already booked these spots for you and two friends.

Thank you for choosing to unwind at The Siren! We will contact you individually regarding further details, including host orders.

Host orders? That is enough to make you close the website.

You can’t believe you’re going to do this. You know for a fact Hyunjin will be upset, but you can’t bring yourself to care. If he wants to toy with your emotions, you have every right to show up at this club.

You wait for Hyunjin to leave for work to get ready on Saturday. You weren’t able to avoid him this afternoon and spent the day lazying around in your apartment, binge-watching some new reality TV show he’s obsessed with.

You expected Hana and Naeun to eat you alive for buying tickets to this overpriced club without consulting them first, but their excitement overshadowed any anger they had. You also played up your excitement, although, by the time your shift had ended, you mostly felt regret for spending all that money purely out of spite.

The email you received explains The Siren has a strict dress code, not allowing any client in unless they’re dressed to their standards.

The patrons are required to match our club’s overall atmosphere.

You rolled your eyes. At least their arrogance fit their ostentatious price.

As you skim through their several other rules, you find out that booking a host isn’t mandatory, and often, hosts will seek out patrons themselves if they’re free for the night.

Be prepared to be approached by one of our available hosts at any given moment. Should you be fortunate enough to capture their attention, that is.

Among the rules, you’re also explicitly told that tipping the hosts anything beyond their set prices is strictly forbidden. The more you learned about this club, the more you struggled to understand why Hyunjin held it in such high esteem.

You bring out your best dress from the back of your closet, hoping you ‘matched the club’s overall atmosphere.’ You let out a heavy sigh as you make it past the What Not to Wear crew guarding the entrance alongside the bouncer, and you are officially in.

“This is your first time here, right?” Hana asks you, linking your arms together. You nod, and she grins before adding, “You’re in for a treat.”

The Siren is exactly what you saw in the pictures, only the dim glow of purple neon lights illuminating the extravagant chandeliers, corner sofas, and opulent decorations you know cost more than your month’s rent.

The owner herself personally escorts every single patron to their seats — a tradition spanning over a decade since the club was first inaugurated. Briefly introducing herself as Taeyeon, the beautiful woman leads you through a long corridor adorned with the hosts’ pictures on the walls. Finally, you arrive at a sofa, where a champagne bottle nestled in an ice bucket already waits for you. She informs Naeun that the host she ordered for the night will be a bit late due to personal reasons, before bidding you goodbye with a smile.

You awkwardly shift in your seat as Hana leaves to fetch you drinks from the bar, and your eyes scan the lounge as it slowly fills up with people. You notice a few of the men you saw on the website parading around the club, a grin etched onto their lips as they lock eyes with a few of the patrons. Other hosts are already tending to their ‘dates,’ sitting beside them on the sofas and attentively listening with warm smiles.

Hyunjin wasn’t lying when he said his job was making lonely women feel wanted.

The club itself is rather boring without the satisfaction of a host pampering you. The slow jazz music playing softly in the background makes you feel almost drowsy, and the dim lighting does little to help. For an hour, you watch as hosts come and go. Some lead their clients toward the bar area, partaking in drinking games with other clients and hosts. Others guide women up the black, shimmering staircase at the back of the club, leaving you to wonder where they could possibly be off to. Thankfully, you’ll have Hana to keep you company when Naeun undoubtedly disappears off to somewhere with the host she ‘ordered.’

Your gaze falls on the sofa in front of you, where a host’s dimpled smile lights up his face as he playfully strokes a woman’s cheek, eliciting a shy giggle from her lips before she continues her story. His intense gaze remains fixed on her face, his hand soothingly trailing down her back while he nods, seemingly enthralled by their conversation. It would be a lie to say coming here after a tiring week at work wouldn’t seem like stepping into a dream. Even if it’s all a well-constructed lie, having a handsome guy cater to your every need and listen to you complain without uttering a word is almost fucking idyllic.

Your eyes then wander toward the back of the club, where a small group of hosts is huddled around a circular table, quietly laughing among themselves. Sitting at the center, Taeyeon’s intent gaze oversees her club’s activities while engaged in a heated phone conversation, her scowl deepening with each word she mutters.

You assume these hosts weren’t booked for the night or are still waiting for their clients to arrive. Just as you’re about to advert your gaze, Hyunjin emerges from a door on the left. His hair is meticulously styled, slicked back to reveal his gorgeous face, and his tall figure is dressed in a white button-up shirt tucked neatly under an expensive-looking black blazer.

Hyunjin has always been beautiful in your eyes, but seeing him exude so much confidence stirs up something inside of you.

His mere presence captivates you so strongly you find it impossible to look away, even as his gaze meets yours. A look of utter bewilderment washes over his face as he stills his movements, looking almost startled. You two fall into an impromptu staring contest as if you’re attempting to communicate with your eyes alone until Naeun taps your shoulder, snapping you out of your haze.

“He’s so fucking hot, isn’t he?”

Your brows knit together. “What?”

“The host you’re ogling at,” Naeun giggles, “I saw him on their website the first time we came here, but I was too late so I couldn’t get him to myself. I’m so glad you asked us to come tonight ‘cause I got to order him before he was booked,” she explains, and you feel as if all the air has frozen in your lungs. Hyunjin is the host your friend ordered. “I’m fucking broke now, but I know it’ll be worth it.”

You inwardly grimace at how she talks about Hyunjin, almost like he’s only a shiny toy she couldn’t buy in the past. That, coupled with how booking a host is so casually referred to as ordering, makes you feel a bit nauseous.

Hyunjin eventually walks over to your table, as you knew he would. He’s Naeun’s host for the night, after all. As he slowly strides toward your sofa, his focus remains solely on you. For a split second, his eyes flicker with something akin to sadness before he quickly resumes his usual persona.

He immediately takes Naeun’s hand, kissing her knuckles with half-lidded eyes and a sultry grin. The way he looks at her has the knot in your stomach tightening, aching with the realization that it’s the same way he always looks at you. You were never anything special or significant to each other — you’re well aware of that — but the sting you feel is unbearable for some reason.

Hyunjin sits beside Naeun, and his focus shifts entirely to her. His wandering hands leave a trail of goosebumps from her arms to her bare legs, while his whispered words make her cheeks flush a rosy pink. And it feels as if he’s completely ignoring your presence, which is such a foolish thought you almost feel ashamed. This is his job, but reminding yourself of that every couple of minutes somehow only makes you feel worse.

Because this isn’t a one-time thing, this happens every single time he works.

At some point, while you were too busy engrossed in Hyunjin and Naeun, Hana got a host of her own. With his bleached blonde hair, a constellation of freckles on his cheeks, and a deep, gentle voice, it seems he’s done his job at captivating her. Each host seems to embody a specific persona. From his less-touchy demeanor to the softness in his eyes when he looks at Hana, it’s clear that this guy is going for the caring boyfriend type.

As you remember how available hosts sometimes approach clients themselves, you fight back the urge to roll your eyes. If they’re available, no one has booked them for the night, meaning they won’t earn a single dollar. Their focus will undoubtedly be on finding the wealthiest available patron. Hana came from old money, only working at your company after falling out with her family, but her head-to-toe Chanel attire radiates wealth. It’s no wonder this host so graciously chose to sit beside her.

Eventually, Hana is led to the large bar by her host, and the atmosphere in your little space becomes increasingly uncomfortable for you. Your neglected drink is now lukewarm, leaving a damp spot on the hem of your dress as condensation seeps through from where you rested the glass on your thighs.

Hyunjin leaves a few minutes later, taking Naeun by the hand. He briefly turns to look at you, his gaze now nearly unreadable. Only disappointment — or was it hurt? — flashes in his brown eyes before he walks away to lead her up that stairwell.

You sit alone for what feels like an eternity, the once bustling lounge slowly falling into a deafening silence around you. Jealousy and hurt intertwine inside your brain, spinning around in an endless cycle and making your head throb.

You’re only waiting until you’ve finished your way too expensive Cosmopolitan — far too warm to be enjoyable now — when a figure suddenly sits beside you. To your surprise, it’s a host. His styled dark brown hair is messy as if he’s been running his hands through it, and his black button-up shirt has the sleeves rolled up, exposing the veins running along his forearms. He’s hot, there’s no denying, but your sour mood won’t be solved by some eye candy.

“Seems we’re both alone tonight,” he starts, a smile slowly spreading across his lips.

You simply hum, taking a final sip of your drink before placing the glass on the table. You’re not really in the mood to entertain this conversation, so you uncross your legs, ready to leave.

But your movements halt when his hand gently rests on your knee.

“You seem so lonely here all by yourself. Why don’t you come with me?” He offers, and your eyes narrow. He lets out a hearty laugh. “No need to act so suspicious, I’m just making an offer. We’re both alone. What’s the harm?”

To say you were skeptical would be an understatement. You clearly remember his face from the website as he was right beside Hyunjin, at the number two spot of the platinum tier, his price only slightly less offensively expensive.

“I’m Minho,” he offers his hand, which you reluctantly take after telling him your name. After your awkward handshake, you try to pull back, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he places your clasped hands on your lap, his thumb drawing circular shapes on your skin as he continues, “I waited all night for my client to show up. I could really use a distraction.”

Of course.

You take a deep breath, and your gaze shifts towards his face.

“I don’t have money to order you, sorry.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Minho’s lips, his hand leaving yours and finding the skin of your thighs. “How about I make this my treat, then? My client has this habit of ordering me and then ghosting me,” he sighs, “Isn’t that cruel? Taeyeon said she won’t let it fly anymore and is refusing to give her a refund for tonight.”

As Minho’s soft touch glides along your skin, his fingers inching closer to the hem of your dress, your mind replays the scene of Hyunjin’s hand on Naeun’s legs. The way he touched her mirrored how he had touched you so many times, and it replayed in your mind like a flickering film. It ignites the flame of ugly jealousy inside of you once more.

“Your treat?” You whisper, and Minho’s face inches closer to yours, your noses brushing together.

“I’d hate for a pretty girl like you to go home unsatisfied,” he whispers.

You’re walking up the gleaming steps of that staircase before you can make sense of what you’re doing. Minho’s hand doesn’t leave your skin for a second, fingers now gliding across your arms as he leads you down a wide corridor. You eye the place curiously, taking in the row of closed, dark wooden doors lining both sides of the hallway.

Minho leads you toward the only door that has been left ajar, and it finally dawns on you what happens on the second floor of The Siren.

The room is not large; a round bed occupies most of the space between the small bar and the dark velvet couch. Following your initial conversation with Hyunjin about this job, he consistently evaded any further questions you asked until you eventually gave up. You always assumed he found the subject boring, much like you did when forced to talk about your own job.

You knew his job as a host meant pampering women, making them feel wanted and tending to their every need throughout the night. It seems your brain conveniently failed to remember that it also implied having sex with them.

“I only fuck them if they’re willing to pay, and I’m expensive.”

You feel a shudder run through your body as those words ring inside your mind. That’s what extra fees meant.

Hyunjin led Naeun up those stairs. It doesn’t take much imagination to know what they were doing at that exact moment.

Minho locks the door behind you, and his strong arms circle your waist, drawing you closer to his body. His gaze drops to your lips, and a smile spreads across his face.

“Is this okay?” His voice is gentle, with no pressure lingering in his words. You know you could say no, go back home, and wallow in your self-pity for the rest of the night.

But you don’t want to do that.

Because you know Hyunjin is currently fucking your friend. And, despite the rational side of your brain screaming that this is his job, it does little to extinguish the searing fire of jealousy that burns under your skin.

So, you allow yourself to fall into bed with Minho.

His touches are almost feather-light, his kisses gentle, and his movements deliberate as he fucks into you.

It feels good, but it’s not what you’re used to.

It’s not Hyunjin.

Hyunjin returned home as soon as he possibly could after his shift.

Any anger was dampened by the sadness and shame he felt because you had to see him at the club. It’s his job, but it’s a job he never truly loved. He feels vulnerable and powerless as a host, a stark contrast to what he feels when camming.

Taeyeon personally scouted him from his livestream. He was twenty and already making enough money to provide for himself. He didn’t need a new job, but the allure of the validation he knew it would provide him was enticing. Compliments and adoration fueled Hyunjin throughout his entire life. He knew it was a bit pathetic, but that was how he was taught to be.

During his training period, Taeyeon and the older hosts instructed him. They taught him how to erase his true self to fit into what would most appeal to clients. That was easy for Hyunjin. He’d already been doing that for most of his life.

He wasn’t tricked into anything. He was given a meticulous explanation of every minute detail of the job and was allowed to set hard limits for anything he wasn’t comfortable doing. Taeyeon treated the hosts like her family, like older and younger brothers she cared for. She provided apartments for those who came into the job with nothing, paid off student debts, and was always willing to listen to their problems.

She would be the perfect boss if not for her love of money.

Every host receives only 5% of any money they make for the club. Hyunjin, as the highest-paid host at The Siren, only makes around $100 per weekend — if he’s lucky enough to have clients booking him for extra services every night.

He knows he’s being exploited but can’t bring himself to quit.

When he first discovered the ranking system at the club, he turned to smoking because of pressure. Naturally, he started at the lowest tier but needed to climb as fast as possible. He was determined to do whatever it took to reach that number one spot. He bleached his hair, splashed out on clothes he didn’t like, and even took up groups of clients per night. Hyunjin had always found comfort in sex. He had complete control of the situation and the satisfaction of knowing he was the reason someone felt good was just another form of validation, like he was loved for as long as the sex lasted.

Sex at the club was never like that. It was a chore, something he did because he had to. It wasn’t anything like camming, and it wasn’t like having sex with someone he actually cared about.

It wasn’t anything like having sex with you.

Seeing you that night only made it harder for him to drag himself up those stairs and do what was expected of him.

Hyunjin got home that night and fell asleep on the couch. He couldn’t be bothered to do anything, especially shower, as the thought of facing his reflection in the mirror was unbearable. Different emotions swirled inside him like a tornado until they ultimately consumed him before he finally dozed off.

He thought he could trust you, thought you knew him well enough to understand why he wanted to keep this part of himself hidden from you. The night he first told you about this job, he put on a mask — like he always did — and put on his best act, playing up his arrogance despite how scared he felt. When you told him that same night he wasn’t anything worth falling for, and that you could be together only until you found something better, he felt as if his heart had shattered for the first time in his life.

That was the night he realized a mask couldn’t protect him from everything. Especially his own heart.

It wasn’t intentional — liking you this much hasn’t been exactly enjoyable. It simply happened. Because you were the only one who ever chipped away at his impenetrable wall and saw the closest thing to the real Hyunjin, yet still chose to stay.

You hadn’t stayed because of his looks; you two never cared about impressing each other.

You hadn’t stayed solely for the sex; you two often got together simply to enjoy each other’s company.

Hyunjin couldn’t be blamed for assuming you had stayed because you knew him. Not the mask he wore or the persona he showed to the world — the real him.

But tonight, even among all the designer clothes and expensive drinks, he felt as if you had just witnessed him at his lowest. And he could only hope you still chose to stay after that.

You’ve barely been awake for an hour when a knock echoes through your apartment. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, because there’s only one person who could be at the other side of the door.

After your jealousy-clouded brain made the asinine decision to sleep with Minho, you’ve locked away any and every thought into a pretty little box inside your mind. You didn’t want to think about what you had done because you knew the remorse would slowly erode your mind. You certainly didn’t want to think about Hyunjin, as even the faint memory of his eyes from the previous night would dig at your heart until it shattered.

But there was nowhere you could hide outside of your mind.

Hyunjin is quiet as you open the door, and he remains quiet as you two sit together on your couch. Your tea sits forgotten on your coffee table, and you focus on the swirls of steam rising from your mug as you endure his silence.

You force yourself to speak when your tea finally goes cold.

“I’m sorry,” you simply say.

Hyunjin’s hands tug at the sleeves of his sweater, and he sucks in a shuddering breath. “Why did you come to the club without telling me?”

“I was angry at you,” You bite your lip, knowing your reasoning is ridiculous. “Because of the date…” you trail off, and Hyunjin turns to face you, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since he walked into your apartment.

“So you thought coming to my work would be a good idea?”

You shrug, instinctively looking away as you feel the intensity of his eyes on you. It was just like when you first met him, only it made you ashamed instead of flustered. You missed that initial lightness, but you knew that was long gone now. Sorting out your issues with Hyunjin was necessary if you ever hoped to have a healthy relationship. If every conversation turned into an argument that would only be avoided through sex, there was no point in dragging this on.

“I wasn’t thinking,” is all you can say.

Hyunjin scoffs. “That was kinda obvious.”

The biting tone in his voice makes you rise to your feet, shaking your head. You put as much distance between you and him as possible.

“What? You wanted me to be rational when I thought you were just playing with me?” You throw your hands up as you blurted out, exasperation consuming any remaining trace of pride within you. “When I thought you were having fun acting jealous and proposing dates only to come up with shitty excuses to shut it all down?”

“Playing with you?” Hyunjin mirrors your words, eyes narrowing as he closes the distance you had created. “I thought you knew me enough to know I mean it when I say something. I wanted to go on that date with you, and I was fucking jealous. That night you forced me to listen to you fuck another guy made me wanna punch my fucking wall.”

You open your lips, but no words come out.

You’re embarrassed. Going to The Siren wasn’t the first childish thing you had done out of spite because of Hyunjin. But your anger was never directed at him. It was always you; for allowing yourself to become so attached to him and like him so much that it drove you mad.

Going on that date simply to rile Hyunjin up, showing up at his job because you felt entitled to when your mind insisted you had been wronged — that was all you and your stupid mind being incapable of accepting the fact that you have fallen for the guy you swore would never be of any significance to you.

The guy you so proudly declared unworthy of falling for.

“Are you really not gonna say anything?” Hyunjin lets out a weak laugh, and when your eyes meet again, his expression leaves no room for doubt this time. Sadness swims freely in his eyes while they well up with tears that he vigorously fights to hold back. “I thought you knew me,” he reiterates. “Thought you stayed because you knew…” He trails off, shaking his head.

As he turns to leave, you instinctively reach out for him. After nine months of knowing each other, you hold his hand for the first time.

“I do know you, Hyunjin,” you blurt out, squeezing his hand when he refuses to look at you. “I stayed because I know you. Beyond your rankings, beyond that club, beyond this damn wall you built around yourself. At least a little bit, I know you.”

He takes a deep breath before his eyes lock on yours again. “I feel like you’ve been tearing down brick by brick of my wall.” He’s the one to squeeze your hand this time. “I kinda fucking hate that.”

You attempt to stifle a chuckle, but it escapes your lips nonetheless. Hyunjin smiles.

“I’d love to know you even more, beyond this mask you wear all the time,” you confess. And you’re tired of hiding behind your own mask, so you tell him, “It’s tiring feeling like I only know half of who you truly are when I already like you so fucking much as it is.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widen, surprise eclipsing any trace of his initial sadness.

“What? You like me?” He sputters, and you bite your lips as a smile spreads on your lips.

You cannot believe this is the same Hyunjin whose ego made you want to punch his face.

“Well, no shit,” you chuckle. “Why do you think I put up with you for so long? Don’t you think if I was looking for something better, I would’ve found it already?”

Hyunjin’s lips crash into yours before you can say anything else, his fingertips barely brushing against your skin as he cupped your face.

Your lips part for him, and a low hum resonates from his chest. You wrap your free arm around his shoulder, your hands still tightly intertwined, and pull him closer to you. It’s an awkward position, but neither of you is willing to unclasp your hands.

Hyunjin’s tongue glides languidly into your open lips, making you clutch at his arm as your mind goes dizzy. You had never kissed like this — always too impatient and lust-drunk to savor the feeling of each other’s lips properly.

It sends your entire body ablaze.

He’s pulling away far too soon, tugging at your bottom lip with a small smile.

“I’m not something better, but I’m gonna be,” he mutters against your lips. “For you.”

But you shake your head. “Just let me in. You’re already more than enough.”

In order for your efforts to work, you and Hyunjin established three crucial rules: absolute honesty, open communication, and no fucking until significant progress is made.

You start slowly, with that unfulfilled date that had been the catalyst for you two finally confronting your feelings.

Hyunjin was nervous. The few times he’s gone on dates, his mind was set on wrapping it up as soon as possible to take the person home. It didn’t matter where they went or what they did; every date inevitably led to his bed.

This time was different.

You certainly weren’t expecting to have a picnic on a Saturday afternoon. Your surprise was evident as your eyes widened at the sight before you: Hyunjin, standing at your door with a picnic basket and a digital camera slung around his neck. When you jokingly commented on how that was the most un-Hyunjin thing you had ever seen him do, he nonchalantly shrugged.

As you two sat together under a tree, however, he told you he’s always loved picnics. Growing up near a park, picnics became a family tradition that started when he was just a kid and still happens whenever he visits his parents. The silly smile that was etched onto your lips lingered throughout the entire day. Hyunjin’s closed-off nature made that small piece of information feel like a precious gem you had just collected. It was far greater than any of the pointless conversations you two had in the last nine months.

It felt like watching another brick from his once towering wall shatter to the ground.

Hyunjin quit his job at the club a month after your first date.

He didn’t elaborate on it at first, simply telling you it felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. You had now learned it was best to give him space, as his tendency to shut himself off only worsened if he felt pressured. Deep inside, Hyunjin yearned to share every little detail about himself with you and hear your own stories in return. However, years of keeping everyone at a comfortable distance hindered his ability to open up without feeling vulnerable.

So you only pulled him into a hug, running your hands through his hair as he let out a heavy sigh. You two then set off for your date at a bakery close to your apartments, with the subject seemingly forgotten.

Until Hyunjin suddenly told you the entire truth under a lamppost in front of your building. He whispered that he didn’t want to go home yet, and you found yourselves sitting on the sidewalk as you listened to his story. You weren’t exactly shocked at the information dumped on you, but it still made your heart sore. He was taken advantage of because he longed to feel accepted, to feel loved.

During the elevator ride, you could tell Hyunjin was struggling to hold back tears with every ounce of his strength. You know he was eager to be alone when he pressed a weak kiss to your forehead before heading towards his door. So you reached out for his hand once more and pulled him toward your apartment despite his protests.

That night, Hyunjin struggled to suppress his tears until they ultimately overflowed out of his eyes and down his cheeks as you held him on the couch. Before you knew it, tears unwittingly streamed down your face as well. It was as if your emotions were a mirror image of his.

Another brick down.

You discover Hyunjin’s love for photography by accident.

Everywhere you went together, his camera was draped around his neck. At first, you paid little attention to that detail. His job consisted of being in front of a camera; it wouldn’t be outrageous to surmise he simply enjoyed documenting his daily life. You teased him about it one day as he stopped in front of a flower shop to snap yet another picture. He shrugged, casually telling you he’d been taking pictures since his teenage years, later majoring in photography before dropping out of university.

Unable to tame your nagging curiosity, you urged him to show you his pictures. Nestled deep inside his wardrobe were several boxes filled with photographs he had taken over the years. Most captured the simple beauty of ordinary places and simple things, like the pretty flowers he saw at the shop you walked past, but some showed people candidly laughing while immersed in the happiness of their daily lives in parks or museums.

He wore an unabashed grin on his lips when he opened another box, this one containing around ten developed pictures of you. Among the small pile of photos, one catches your eye: your smiling side profile beaming at a group of kids, a hand shielding your eyes from the sun. You turn the picture around, and the words “First date. I was so nervous, and she was so pretty” are scribbled in black sharpie. Hyunjin groaned beside you, telling you he just jotted down something stupid without much thought. It made you smile like a kid.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a weak chuckle, “I never show them to anybody. None of them are really good, anyway.”

You furrowed your brows at his words, studying his face for any hint of sarcasm. His pictures were beautiful, perfectly depicting how happiness and mundanity often blended into one unbeknownst to people. But Hyunjin noticed, with his camera always ready at the right time for the perfect shot, even with things as small as a snapshot of your first date.

“They’re amazing, Hyunjin,” you told him matter-of-factly. “This is the kind of thing you’d find in art galleries. I can’t believe you keep this talent hidden.”

He shrugs your words off at first, taking a photo in his hand and studying it for a few seconds. His lips curve into a small smile, shyly at first, until his face is beaming as he looks down at his work. You can’t help but smile along, noticing how his cheeks blushed for the first time since you met him.

Another brick down.

In two months, you and Hyunjin went from meeting only at your apartments to going on weekly dates and from pointless bickering to actually understanding each other. The more he opened up, the more you found yourself being vulnerable around him as well.

You learned Hyunjin’s confidence was truthfully a part of him; he simply played it up to a maddening degree to protect himself. He is a confident man, but he’s certainly not the egotistical idiot you once believed him to be.

Your suspicions about him secretly being a softie were also confirmed as you witnessed him cry nearly every time you watched the romance movies he sheepishly confessed to loving. At first, he would sniffle, rubbing his eyes and clearing his throat, before excusing himself to the bathroom. A few movies later, he allowed himself to openly cry in front of you for the second time. He’s proven to be a certified crier since then, often laying his head on your chest and silently shedding tears while you played with his hair.

At the end of the day, Hyunjin was a flawed, complex person like any other. He wasn’t always soft and sensitive, but he wasn’t only a cocky and smug little shit, either.

You found you loved both sides of him equally.

Your rules proved to be exactly what you needed, as you only felt closer to Hyunjin each passing day.

But a particular rule became your number one enemy after a month.

Your pent-up sexual frustration seemed to escalate with each passing day, fueling an increasing desire to just say fuck it and climb on top of Hyunjin. It certainly didn’t help that he was even clingier now, long limbs always tangling with yours when you lay on the couch, or his warm body pressing against you while you were cooking. Not to mention that you listened to him livestream every weekend. You opted to wait in his living room — because watching him would just be masochistic — but it felt like you had been transported back in time. Sitting alone for hours and listening to him moan was still as torturous as the first time it had happened. Even if you touched yourself to the sound of his voice, it was never enough.

You knew what you needed, but you have been essentially blueballing yourself for a month now.

As you two lie on your bed, watching another sappy romance movie, you can feel the heat rising inside your body, like a thermometer reaching its peak. You were fully expecting Hyunjin to cry, but this movie turned out to be far more erotic than romantic. His persistent need to have his lips on you — be it with a kiss or with lazy nibbles on your neck — also certainly doesn’t help your suffering.

You power through as you watch the love interests making out while Hyunjin lightly presses his lips to your neck, his body all but caging you against your bed. But the moment the couple heads to the bedroom, hastily undressing each other with heavy pants and sighs, you absentmindedly part your legs. Hyunjin is hovering above you before you can make sense of what’s happening, your laptop carelessly thrown to the side. His body pressed against yours, fitting perfectly between your thighs, as his darkening eyes bore into you.

“Hyunjin,” you have half a mind to say, “Our rule.”

He simply nods, and goosebumps ripple across your body when you feel his hardening member brush against you.

“We made progress,” he states with a grin. “You even let me into your room now.”

“It’s not enough to justify fucking again.”

As much as you were desperate for it.

He swallows slowly, nodding and bending his face to yours. “But our rule says no fucking,” he reasons. “If I make love to you, then it won’t even count.”

“Love?” You whisper, and the thermometer shatters as he presses a long kiss to your open lips.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin smiles between kisses, brushing his lips against yours. “Love.”

It’s not a clear confession, not a beautiful I love you whispered between kisses — but you know Hyunjin, and the sincerity in his voice says everything.

Your fingers clutch at the fabric of his shirt as you pull him even closer to you, and he promptly presses his mouth against yours, his tongue teasingly gliding across your bottom lip. Each roll of your hips ignites the heat within you like scorching lava, your desire swallowing you entirely after so long of craving this.

His tongue presses against yours, effortlessly taking control of the kiss, capturing your bottom lip with his teeth before releasing it and traveling toward your jaw. He sucks the sensitive skin into his mouth with a hum, drawing out a whimper from your lips while he moves down the column of your neck. Smiling against your collarbone, Hyunjin alternates between harsh nibbles and soft kisses, leaving blooming rosy spots on every inch of your skin. He travels toward your chest, his hands slipping under your shirt and brushing your skin before tugging off the fabric.

Hyunjin’s hands cup your breasts, your nipples tightening under his attention, and his lips move down your body, placing kisses from your chest to your stomach. His hand eagerly kneads the soft skin of your chest while the other pinches your nipple, rolling the sensitive nub between his fingertips.

“I missed this,” he whispers, voice muffled against your skin, and you let out a shaky breath as a response when his fingers toy with the waistband of your sweatpants. “That was a stupid rule.”

“Shut up.” You let out a breathy laugh. “It was a great rule, it helped us make progress.”

“Fuck progress,” Hyunjin groans, tugging your sweatpants off.

He wastes no time hoisting your legs over his shoulders, causing you to shudder and goosebumps to ripple through your body when his lips close around your clit without warning. His tongue licks long stripes up the length of your slit, his fingers spreading you open so he can lap at your arousal with a low hum. Hyunjin’s thumb rubs circles around your clit as his lips find your inner thighs, sucking and biting at the skin, leaving another blushing trail of his yearning for you.

His tongue delves into your wetness, savoring you with tantalizing, pleasure-filled groans that travel through your cunt. The insistent throb between your thighs intensifies, your hand tugging at his hair and your hips rolling into his touch as you arch your back. Hyunjin’s fingers dig into the skin of your thighs while you reach your peak, his teeth pulling your clit gently as you come with a broken cry.

Your cheeks are flushed, and your eyes are heavy with lust when he looks at you, his firm grip keeping your legs over his shoulders.

“You still think that rule was great?” Hyunjin gives you a lopsided grin that almost has you rolling your eyes, only he presses one last kiss to your sensitive clit, rending you unable to do anything but mewl and tug at his hair. He chuckles, pressing his lips to your inner thighs once more, his eyes still locked onto yours.

You needed him closer, his strong arms surrounding you and his scent enveloping your senses until you felt dizzy. The mere thought of his cock has you clenching, arousal trickling down your slit, and you tug at his hair harshly with a whine.

Hyunjin climbs over you again, tugging his shirt over his head in one fluid movement and crashing his lips into yours, the taste of your release swirling in your mouth as your tongues meet.

“You’re so fucking needy,” he chides. You simply hum, his thick length brushing against your core as he leans down to kiss you again.

“You’re one to talk,” you smirk, breaking the kiss and rolling your hips up into his erection. Hyunjin scoffs, his hands capturing your wrists and pinning them over your head, his eyes darkening as he looms over you.

There’s no more push and pull between you two during your daily lives, but it’s something you hope never fades away during sex. You’re sure Hyunjin’s need to have control, coupled with your taste for riling him up, will make sure that never happens.

But Hyunjin has no intentions of making you beg tonight — not after so many weeks of making himself cum to the thought of your pretty cunt, knowing that damn rule kept him from actually having you.

He tugs his sweatpants out of his way, one hand still pinning your wrists to the mattress. You bite your lip at the sight of his cock hanging heavily, tantalizingly close to your sopping cunt. Hyunjin strokes himself hastily, clearly having grown impatient, precum dribbling from the ruddy head of his cock and easing the glide of his fist.

The swollen tip slides against your wetness, and he lets out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to yours. The delicious stretch as he presses inside has your hands instinctively reaching out to him. But his grip on your wrists only tightens, keeping them in place as he leans into you, stretching you further with a hiss.

“Fuck, I missed being buried in your cunt,” Hyunjin mumbles, and you moan as his teeth nip at your earlobe. “Always so tight, like you were made for me.”

He sheaths himself inside of you completely, and you arch your back with a groan as his cock twitches inside your sensitive spot.

“Made just for you,” you choke out as Hyunjin slowly thrusts into you, agonizingly slow and deliberate movements making you dig your nails into your palms. “Hyunjin,” his name dissipates into a whine as he pushes his cock in and out of you languidly.

He chuckles against the shell of your ear, and you wrap your legs around his torso, rolling your hips faster against him. The drawn-out moan that escapes his lips has your cunt clenching and leaking more arousal around his length.

“D’you still like the sound of my voice that much?” He hums, and you nod with a sigh. His slender fingers wrap around your throat, squeezing lightly. “Yeah? Like it when I moan in your ear?”

He finally picks up the pace, pulling back before snapping his hips forward. His lips swallow your moans as he kisses you once, his hand finally releasing your wrists and digging into your hips as he pumps his cock into you. He leaves a trail of wet kisses along your sweaty skin, tracing his tongue along the marks he left earlier.

“You’re mine,” he groans against your skin. “Been dying to say this for so fucking long.”

You gasp at his words, your body jerking when he slips his hand down to circle around your swollen clit. “‘M yours,” you whine, “Fuck me like I’m yours. Please—”

Hyunjin groans, your words igniting a fire within him, and his hips fall into a ruthless pace, pistoning his cock into you while his fingertips expertly stroke your clit. The hot coil of desire in your stomach tightens, finally breaking as your climax surges through every fiber of your being, a million stars bursting behind your eyelids.

“Fuck, you always feel so good,” Hyunjin rasps out, his movements shifting into a messy tempo. “Gonna fill you up, okay?”

You nod with a whimper, your overstimulated cunt clenching around his cock as his thrusts remain unrelenting. With a low grunt that ripples through his chest, Hyunjin’s hips slam into yours, his cock twitching and his grip on your throat tightening. He paints your insides with a final testament that you were his.

He stills on top of you, pressing featherlight kisses to your cheeks and lips, his cock softening inside of you as you stay that way for a while. When he pulls out, his fingers promptly smear his cum over your cunt as it leaks out, two digits thrusting his release back into you with a contented hum.

“Can we still fuck now that I found something better?” You ask him with a grin, and he laughs, burying his head in your neck.

Your mind is wholly clouded with bliss — both from your orgasm and the feeling of love that courses through your veins. You inwardly laugh. Hyunjin fucking you in your bedroom had definitely not tainted it. He had basically transformed your bed into a sanctuary.

Hyunjin helps you shower, gentle hands wash and caress your body before coaxing your third orgasm out of you under the soothing cascading water. He makes you a cup of your favorite tea the way you love it — which he made sure to memorize — and insists you two finish watching the forgotten movie before going to bed. It feels awfully domestic, and it would be a lie to say you hated it.

That night, you fall asleep beside Hyunjin in your bed for the first time; inside a little sacred space you are slowly building with him.

It was never your intention to be his. You were certain Hyunjin was the type of man who would never allow himself to be vulnerable, to truly fall in love with someone without his ego getting in the way. By keeping him at arm’s length, you believed you were guarding yourself from inevitable heartache.

Behind his cocky smirks and self-assured words, an amazing man hid himself out of deep-seated fears of rejection, unworthiness, and not being loved for his true self. Each day, he allowed glimpses of himself to shine through the cracks in his fortress. He became an enigma you were dying to unravel because you knew he was worth it.

Because you knew him.

And unbeknownst to you, Hyunjin has been yours all along. From the moment you walked into his apartment with a scowl and frustration-filled words, it was as if his heart became wired to crave you. He was simply hoping and waiting for you to become his as well.

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