#<>

[somethingsomethingoftime]

i dont want to!!!!

Alright. I think you’ve had enough fun, Anomia. Make your own blog.

[sceletaflores]

HEY THERE SUGAR BABY!

|| pedro masterlist || update blog || inbox || taglist || ao3 ||

ೃ⁀➷ PAIR: Harry Castillo x fem!reader

ೃ⁀➷ WC: 10k

ೃ⁀➷ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, smoking, drinking, boss/employee relationship, reader is a personal/executive assistant, very much a work husband/work wife dynamic, inescapable sugar daddy tendencies, no actual sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship despite how the title and previous tag makes it sound lmao, harry castillo is a cool boss, romcom tropes cause i’m feeling romantic, slow dancing, first kiss, heavy petting in a limo, oral sex (fem!receiving), multiple orgasms, p in v, porn with way too much fucking plot, no use of y/n.

ೃ⁀➷ NAT’S NOTE: i usually don’t like to write for a new character before i’ve watched the movie but you dangle the idea of a hot billionaire work romance in my face and expect me not to bite at it? i’m just not that strong. also i have zero idea what his actual job in the movie is, i think it’s a basic ass finance bro wall street type job and that bores the hell out of me so he’s an architect because i said so. he's my barbie i can make him do what i want! this whole thing was mainly an excuse to write about my satc, carrie and big vibe slash fantasy but way less toxic. hope y’all love it, mwah!

ೃ⁀➷ NAT’S HEADPHONES: MATERIAL GIRL - Phlotilla

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

an architect and his assistant walk into a gala…

You’ve been working with Harry Castillo for four years, two months, and thirteen days.

You know this because his calendar starts and ends with you.

Your name’s not embossed on the front of the seventy story building sitting pretty on 57th street, not splashed across the cover of Architectural Digest, not signed neatly at the bottom of those pristine renderings that get passed around in glass boardrooms and land multi-million dollar deals.

But you know the build order of every project in the past five fiscal years. You know which of the project managers can’t be trusted with deadlines, which board members need their egos stroked, and every single name attached to each of the contracts spanning across five continents.

You were three years out of school and six months into a soul sucking accounting job that felt more like glorified coffee-fetching with a minor in emotional labor when Harry called. 

Well—technically, his HR director called, but Harry noticed you, or noticed your resume stacked with respectable internships and juicy recommendation letters. Or maybe it was the fact that during your third round interview, you corrected one of his junior partners on a misquoted quarterly budget breakdown.

Either way, two weeks later you were standing in a glass top floor office owned by one of the most powerful men in the city. 

And yes, you knew who he was before he hired you, of course you did.

Harry had been New York’s golden boy since the early aughts, when his first building went up in Tribeca and every magazine with a spine declared him the second coming of Frank Llyod Wright.

He was a genius, innovative. One of the youngest Pritzker Prize winners in history who got the kind of press coverage that made people think “architect” was synonymous with “celebrity”.

Now, at 47, Harry Castillo is an institution in the world of design.

Castillo Atelier is the best firm in the city, maybe even in the world, depending on which Real Estate Digest cover story you read. His name alone makes most clients practically foam at the mouth and drop seven figures without seeing a single blueprint.

You’ve been his executive assistant longer than it took you to get your shiny Business Administrations degree from Colombia, and if anyone knew Harry better than his mother or his therapist, it was you.

You have every number of his black American Express card memorized, front and back. You have every password to every account imaginable tucked away neatly in a file labeled “BLACKMAIL MATERIAL” on your desktop. 

You schedule his life down to the minute, from site visits in Abu Dhabi to dental cleanings in Midtown. You know his shoe size, the name of his best tailor's teenage daughter, which marble supplier he trusts in Verona. You know the entry code to his West Village brownstone and you’re on a first name basis with the doorman at his Fifth Avenue penthouse. 

You know he drinks his coffee black but only before noon and he switches to espresso, that he smokes Marlboro Golds even though he swears up and down he’s quit, and that when he’s stressed, he starts sketching towers with spiral staircases that’ll never pass code.

It’s morphed into a strange kind of intimacy. Not romantic, but not exactly a normal boss-employee relationship either. 

He's the kind of boss who makes you want to roll your eyes at the word, because it's not that simple—not that sterile.

It's late nights spent in his dimly lit office where he sheds his suit jacket and hands you a perfectly poured wine glass without asking when you're the only two left in the building. It's sitting shoulder to shoulder on a leather couch, going over zoning permits while his arm rests behind you, not on you, but close enough to count.

Harry’s careful with you, in a way that’s not always obvious. He buys you the books you idly mention wanting to read in passing and custom David Yurman earrings fitted with your birthstone. If he was ten years younger and you were ten years dumber, you might’ve mistaken it for something else. 

As it is, you just tell yourself he likes spoiling things that work well. Like his thousand dollar espresso machine. Like his Aston Martin. Like you.

You should feel like an accessory.

Instead, you feel like a centerpiece—like you’re the sun that his life revolves around. 

You can’t tell which is worse.

Today, like most days, starts with you getting to the office an hour before him.

You take the elevator up to the seventy third floor, unlock his office, and flick on the lights. The space is gorgeous, minimalist in a way that doesn’t ever feel cold. Floor to ceiling windows, sleek dark wood floors, and exposed beams. 

There’s an open notebook on his desk from the night before, a few handwritten notes scrawled in sharp, narrow pen strokes that he gave up on halfway through and started sketching in the margins.

You roll your eyes, smothering a fond smile as you walk out of the room and to your own desk. It’s less than six feet from his door, close enough that you can always hear clipped phone calls or the soft sounds of Prince playing from his sound system.

You drop your bag, start up your desktop, and begin triaging the day. Your inbox is in a constant state of full to the brim no matter how good you are at your job—bursting with emails from developers, calendar shifts, a client breakfast cancellation. 

The whole office smells like bergamot and bergdorf. Someone sent over a Diptyque candle and Harry hasn’t stopped lighting it. Luckily for you, it’s strong enough to keep the scent of lemony luxury permeating long after it’s been blown out. 

It’s still not enough to magically cancel out the stress of pushy demands disguised as business and city bureaucracy, but you can still pretend it is.

You’re bouncing between five open tabs and sending increasingly frantic texts to the head of operations about a late shipment of imported glass by the time you finally hear a soft ding from the elevator followed by crisp footsteps coming your way.

Harry rounds the corner holding a pastry bag, Ray-Bans on, hair still wet from the shower and curling around his ears. “Good morning, sunshine.”

You don’t look up from your screen. “You’re late again.”

“No,” Harry tuts, leaning his hip against your desk and dropping the bag in front of you. “You’re just early.”

“I work here.”

“Funny, so do I.”

“Do you?” You finally look up, brow arched. “I forget.”

He’s wearing that suit. The one that makes your job harder in the most inappropriate HR violating ways. Deep blue pinstripe with the burgundy Gucci tie you handpicked last year. It’s fitted like it had been tailored by the hands of God.

He tilts his head, peering at you over the edge of his glasses. “Is that any way to treat the man who bought you breakfast?”

Your eyes cut to the white paper bag, Mah-Ze-Dahr. You don’t need to look inside it to know what it is, a twenty dollar pistachio crunch croissant. Your favorite.

You don’t have time to respond before Harry drops his glasses on your desk, settling into the chair across from you. “Remind me never to take a meeting in Soho before noon again.”

You set the bag aside and continue typing with a soft shake of your head. “You said that last week, and the week before that.”

“And yet I keep doing it.” He rolls his head on his shoulders with a soft sigh. “That’s insanity, isn’t it? Doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result.”

“That’s Einstein,” you say, pointedly ignoring the way he’s looking at you. “Maybe you just like the punishment.”

Harry huffs, amused. “I pay you too much to psychoanalyze me.”

You open a new tab, click on a high priority labeled email and turn your screen in his direction. “Yet you don’t pay me enough to deal with your ex-wife’s lawyer hassling me before seven.”

That certainly gets his attention, his spine straightening as he leans forward, squinting at your screen. “She didn’t.”

You nod, resting your chin on your palm as his eyes flit over the lengthy body. “She did.”

You watched the divorce unfold like everyone else. It was loud, expensive, and painfully public. She was a former model turned gallery owner with a sharp tongue and better connections than half the industry. When she aired Harry out in New York Magazine the tabloids had a fucking field day.

The headlines were vicious. Castillo’s Castle Crumbles. From Manhattan’s Favorite Power Couple to Demolition Duo. Architect of His Own Downfall?

“Christ.” Harry sighs, leaning back and running a hand through his hair. “She promised she’d keep you out of this.”

“She lied.” You turn your screen back around, grabbing a pen to quickly scrawl the lawyer’s number across the front of a Post-It. “She wants her name off the Lakewood project or she’ll go to the press about the Montauk property.”

He drags a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fucking hell.”

You slide the Post-It note across the desk. “Don’t shoot the messenger.” 

He doesn’t thank you, not out loud, but the way his eyes linger on the note before he tucks it into his jacket pocket says enough.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says, and it’s almost a throwaway comment—but his voice dips a little, gets low in that way that always makes you want to chew glass or scream into a designer throw pillow.

You shrug. “You say that a lot, but I don’t see any new raises.”

His grin is lazy, charming. “You know I’d bankrupt this company to keep you.”

You roll your eyes so hard it should count as cardio. “Please don’t. I like having dental.”

Harry laughs—really laughs—and it’s unfair how good it sounds, how it worms under your skin and stays there.

You turn away, forcing the warm feeling in your stomach to the back of your mind, and pivot. “You have a conference call with Dubai at eleven, lunch with the Fairstein developers at Cipriani, and there’s some plans in the Berlin file that still need to be signed.”

Harry nods once, shifting into business mode at the drop of a hat. “Well, I’ve got my marching orders.”

He checks his watch, stands, and straightens his jacket with a lazy kind of grace. You hate the way your eyes catch on the curve of his wrist, the way the cufflink glints in the morning light. Custom Cartier, a gift from some foreign diplomat client last Christmas. You remember because you signed for the delivery. Wrapped it, even.

Just before he steps into his office, he pauses. “I mean it.” His voice softens, and for a flicker of a moment, he looks at you like he’s trying to tell you something without saying it out loud. “This place doesn’t work without you.”

You glance up, heart skipping in your chest, ready with some practiced quip, but he’s already gone—door shut, his silhouette framed behind the frosted glass like a shadow you can’t shake.

This is how it always is—business talk sugarcoated in flirtation, or flirtation buried under years of knowing exactly how the other one works. If he weren’t who he is, and if you weren’t so damn good at ignoring how often he looks at your mouth when you talk, it might’ve gone somewhere dangerous already.

Instead, it lives in the margins. Like the ones he doodles spiral towers into. Like the ones in the secret planner buried in the very bottom drawer of you desk where you write down things like:

Remind Harry to eat something before 3.

Book flights for Hong Kong.

Don’t fall in love with your boss.

That last one’s underlined. Twice.

The rest of the morning floats by, you busy yourself with three different screens and sporadic bites of croissant and sips of coffee until one of the newer interns shows up with the mail.

You thank her and flip through the small mountain of envelopes until one catches your eye. A sleek black one with loopy silver lettering on the front. To Castillo Atelier, with a familiar logo stamped on the corner. You rip the gold seal, and slip the card out.

The AIA New York Chapter cordially invites Harry Castillo & Guest to the prestigious 2025 Architecture Gala | The Metropolitan Museum of Art | Black Tie.

You blink, and read it three more times before a deep sigh rips itself from somewhere deep in your chest. You skim the rest, going over fine print and steadily sighing louder the more you take it in.

You really should have known, it’s around that time. Award season, charity galas, old rich people stuff. Only this year, Harry Castillo and Guest are in separate states, in separate houses, and very much not on speaking terms.

Nor will they be on them in time for Friday night, or any other night in the foreseeable future.

You stand, letter in hand. Your heels click against the floor until you’re standing just outside Harry’s office, mulling over how bad it would reflect on your part if the invitation mysteriously found its way to the bottom of your trash. You knock anyway.

“Come in,” came the reply—his voice low, rough like it always is after the lunch rush, like velvet dragged over concrete. 

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

Harry is at his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, Dior frames perched halfway down his nose as he looms over the stack of blueprints you left on his desk a few hours ago.

You don’t let yourself look at the tan column of his neck as you lean against the door. “You got a minute.”

He looks up, relaxing in his chair. “For you? Always.”

You hold up the invitation like it’s a warrant, shaking it gently. “You’ve been summoned.”

Harry’s eyes bounce from your own to the thick card stock, you watch the recognition register in his eyes. He sighs, “The gala.”

You nod, crossing your feet in front of you. “You’re being honored.”

He shakes his head with a laugh. “I was hoping they’d forget about me.”

Who possibly could?

You arch your brow. “It’s a lifetime achievement award.”

“I’m not even fifty.”

“Apparently, they’ve run out of old white men to honor.”

Harry chuckles, but it’s a tired sound. He rubs slow circles over his temples, tousling the salt and pepper hair scattered there. “Tell them we’re busy, send a fruit basket.”

You can’t explain the feeling that floods your chest, a mix of something like compassion and pity. It makes your heart ache, just a little bit. Enough to make you really feel it, enough to make you bury it before you can really dwell on why it hurts so much.

Harry puts on a spectacular front, but you know him too well. You know that the divorce has weighed on him, that’s it made him question himself. You know it was a massive shot to his self esteem, as both a person and as a company. 

You also know deep down it’s not the company that you care about.

“No.” You shake your head, making your way over to his desk.

He looks up at you, brow raised. “No?”

“No,” you emphasize, setting the invitation down on his desk. “You may think this is pointless, and that you’re too young—”

“Watch it.”

“—But you deserve this,” you finish, tapping a manicured nail on the card. “You deserve a whole room full of people fawning over you for no reason other than the fact that you’re you.”

Harry's eyes find yours again, slower this time. He doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at you—really looks at you. And for a second, it’s too much. Too focused, too quiet, too…tender. It’s the kind of look that makes your skin prickle, your stomach twist. 

But you don’t flinch under the weight of his stare. You never do.

He leans forward, resting his arms on the desk. “Okay.”

You blink. “Okay?”

“Okay.” He nods, lacing his fingers together. “I’ll go.”

It feels anticlimactic somehow. You expected more of a fight—more pushback or maybe even a snide comment about black tie events like this becoming less about the accolades and the charity and more about new wave firms bustling around like show ponies scuffling over who signed the best contract with the most zeros tacked neatly on the end.

Instead, he just says okay. Like it’s simple. Like you aren’t the reason he’s saying yes.

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious. “Just like that?”

“You make a compelling case." Harry shrugs, reaching for the invitation. “Besides, you know I love it when you compliment me.”

You huff, shaking your head, but you can’t fight the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth as you lean on his desk. “You’re ridiculous.”

“So I’ve been told.” Harry nods, but he’s smiling wide enough to outdo your own.

He looks down at the invitation, scanning over the text languidly. He hums as he reads, dragging his thumb across the raised font. 

You let yourself watch him, cataloging all the details you’ve already memorized a thousand times. Your eyes trace the shape of his brows, the deep set lines that fan out from the corners of his eyes, the strong arch of his nose, the soft curve of his lips.

When he’s done, he taps it against his palm once and looks back at you. “And who, pray tell, is coming as my guest?”

You tilt your head. “I can get you someone,” you offer, even if the words make your stomach churn as you say them. “You want blonde or brunette? Bashful debutante or discreet NDA?”

Harry doesn't answer right away.

He leans back in his chair, looking at you like you're a puzzle he’s not quite finished solving. Like you’re a building he’s still sketching, still drafting, still trying to figure out if the foundation can handle the weight of what he wants to build on top of it.

“I don’t want someone,” he says finally.

The words land softer than you expect, but they still hit like a hammer to the chest.

“You should bring someone,” you deflect, professional, clean. “It’ll look good. The press will be there.”

“I’m aware,” he says, still watching you. “Which is why I don’t want just anyone.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Not with the way his voice sounds—quiet, certain, threaded with a dangerous kind of warmth that makes your pulse kick.

Harry reaches up to slip his glasses off his face. “I don’t want someone,” he says again, voice even. “I want you.”

He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like your pulse doesn’t trip itself up three times over.

You blink. Once. Twice. Then scoff, forcing a laugh. “Excuse me?”

“Come with me.” 

It’s too sincere, too heart stoppingly warm. 

Your stomach drops. Then flips. Then rises again in the same way an express elevator does at fifty floors a second. “Harry—”

He cuts you off. “Don’t make that face.” He points at you with his glasses, shaking his head. “You’ll look incredible in black tie. And I trust you more than any PR wrangled plus–one they’d set me up with.”

You shake your head, brows pinched. “This isn’t just some client dinner at Nobu I’m playing third wheel at, Harry. This is extremely important. It’s the goddamn Met for architects.”

Harry just smiles, squinting at you. “When have I ever let you feel like a third wheel?”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

You just stare at him, lost for words. The city buzzes beneath you, the familiar noise of traffic and life blending together.

Harry doesn’t look away, he keeps your gaze, quietly drumming his fingers along his desk. It’s infuriating, the way the setting sun bathes him in a soft golden light, illuminating the smile on his face. A smile that makes it clear he knows he’s already won.

It makes you hesitate, the weight of it. Because it would be a date. Maybe not on paper or by any certain labels—but in every meaningful, messy, deliciously complicated way it matters, it would be. 

Harry Castillo and guest, you filling the role perfectly. 

You hold his gaze for a few moments longer, dragging it out just enough to make it seem like you’re putting up a real fight.

Finally, you cross your arms over your chest with a low sigh. “Okay.”

He cocks his head, smug grin on his lips. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeat, raising a shoulder more casually than you feel. “I’ll go.”

“Really?” His tone is suspicious, but his smile doesn't budge. “There’s no catch?”

“You made a compelling case." You push off his desk, smoothing your hands down the front of your pencil skirt. “Besides, you know I love it when you compliment me.”

Harry laughs, a rich, warm sound. “I should’ve known.”

“I’ll need a dress,” you say, slowly making your way to the door. “I think the rest of the evening off should give me plenty of time to find one, don’t you agree, boss?”

Harry shakes his head, easy as anything. “I’ll take care of it.”

You pause, hand on the doorknob. “Tell me you’re not trying to play sugar daddy, the interns are already gossiping.”

He arches a brow. “If the shoe fits.”

“Harry.”

“Okay, okay.” He raises his hands in surrender, another laugh spilling from his chest to make the room just a few degrees warmer. “I’ll handle it. Trust me.”

You roll your eyes, pulling the door open before you do something stupid like smile back. “Do I really have a choice?”

Just as you go to leave, he calls your name—softly. It stops you mid-step.

You glance over your shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything else right away. Just looks at you like you’re something he’s still trying to figure out how to know, even after all this time.

“Thank you,” he says finally. Quiet. Sincere.

Your throat tightens. Not because of the words—even if you give him shit for it, he’s said them before—but because of the way he says them now. Like he means it for more than just the RSVP. Like he means it for staying. For putting up with the late nights, and the stress, and the divorce fallout, and the birthday gifts he forgets until the day of.

You nod, once. “You’re welcome.”

And then you slip out the door before the silence swells too much and gives you away.

You’re not in love with him. Not yet, but something about the way he looked at you—like you were both a solution and a problem—makes your chest ache in a way you don’t quite know how to ignore anymore.

You’ll go to the gala. You’ll wear something ridiculously expensive, if Harry has any say on the matter. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll let yourself enjoy it.

Just a little.

The package arrived that same night.

A man in a suit knocked on your door and had you sign for a box bigger than your work desk. He had to help you drag it into your hallway and denied the tip you tried to give him, assuring you it was already taken care of.

There were no labels on the box, no receipt or return address or anything other than an obnoxiously large gold bow wrapped neatly around all four sides.

Well, that and a note taped to the front. 

Your name was written in a familiar, looping handwriting that you’d recognize by touch alone. You peeled it off with careful fingers, and with more ceremony than necessary, flipped it open.

“Make them think I built you myself - H.”  

You stared at it for an embarrassingly long amount of time, not bothering to stifle the smile on your lips as you ran your thumb over the ink. You were alone anyway.

The box groaned a little when you finally opened it, layers of black tissue paper rustled softly as you peeled them back.

And there it was.

Midnight blue. Backless. Heavy silk. The kind of thing that knew how to behave under dim lights and the weight of eyes.

You could already feel it—how it would cling to your waist, slip along your thighs when you walked, turn your skin into something luminous. You didn’t even need a mirror.

Of course he picked this one. Of course he knew your size.

You reached for it, fingertips grazing the fabric like it might evaporate, still slightly dazed. There was an overwhelming aura about it—like this wasn’t just a dress, but a thesis.

A statement. An intention, signed and sealed in French seams.

And somehow it still smelled faintly of him. Not in a creepy way. In a way that made you wonder if he’d touched it before it left the boutique. If he’d looked at it and pictured you, just for a moment too long. If he’d smiled when he imagined what you’d say.

You unfolded it like you were handling a newborn, held it against your body and turned toward the hallway mirror, half laughing at yourself, heat rising to your cheeks.

You turned this way and that, staring at your reflection in the dim light, pretending—just for a second—that he was behind you, watching.

Your phone buzzed on the counter. One sharp vibration, tearing you out of your little fantasy world and back to the present.

You crossed the room still holding the dress to your chest, and bit your lip when you saw his name at the very top of your screen.

Hairy

Try not to cause a scene unless you want to make headlines. I’d like to keep your promotion rumor free, for now.

You laughed softly, thumb hovering above the keyboard for just a moment before you started typing.

You know this is deranged behavior, right?

You hit send before you could overthink it, watched the read receipt pop up a second later before the three little bubbles came to life.

They vanished, then reappeared.

Hairy

I’m aware.

But I have impeccable taste. That absolves me of quite a lot.

See you at 8.

You swore softly under your breath and set the phone down like it was overheating. 

You looked back at the dress. At the mirror.

God help you—you were going to wear the hell out of it.

Friday comes both too fast and too slow.

You glide through the whole rest of the week pretending this is normal—just another event, just another night of shaking hands and schmoozing.

You tell yourself it doesn't mean anything, but the butterflies in your stomach don’t listen quite as well.

You hardly see Harry at work, most of his time spent across town busy with clients like he always is near the end of the week. You can’t tell if it would have helped or hindered your nerves to see him before you both showed up to one of the most prestigious events held in his field, together. 

Maybe it’s better this way.

Now, you’ve spent the better part of the evening after work pacing the floor of your apartment in a silk robe, nerves reaching a fever pitch. 

Your phone is blowing up from its spot next to you on your vanity with calendar alerts and panicked texts from Harry about the misplacement of a single Prada tie he just has to wear even though he has hundreds of others to choose from lining an entire wall of his walk-in. You know that, you’re the one who hung them.

You do your hair and makeup on what feels like auto–pilot, the playlist you put on to distract you playing softly in the background until your phone lights up again, buzzing with a text that cuts through the static like a wire to your nerves.

Hairy

Found the tie, crisis averted. 

Just need you now. Be there in 15.

You take a deep breath, exhaling through your nose and sending a quick thumbs up before you're standing on shaky legs.

The dress has been hung safely on the back of your bedroom door since you unboxed it. You take a second to just stare at it, before reaching for it with reverence, like touching it too fast might break the spell of the whole evening. 

It slips from the hanger like water through your fingers, the fabric heavier than you remembered, or maybe that’s just the weight of new expectations.

You slide it on slowly, smoothing it over your hips, tugging the zipper up with a practiced hand. It fits perfectly, almost like it was made to your exact measurements.

Your reflection stares back at you in the mirror. You barely recognize her. Poised, elegant, flushed with anticipation. You look like someone who belongs next to a man like Harry Castillo.

The thought alone makes your pulse thrum a little faster.

You swipe on lipstick last—something deep and sultry, a few shades bolder than you usually wear, because tonight is different.

You’re not just the assistant tonight. You’re his date. Sort of. Kind of. Not really.

But he asked you to come, he wanted you there, with him.

The buzzer sounding from your door slices through your thoughts.

With one last deep breath, you grab your phone, your keys, and the clutch you’re borrowing from a fashion editor you sometimes get drunk with at Bemelmans, and you walk out the door.

The click of your heels echo as you make your way down the hall to the elevator.

Harry is the first thing you see as the doors to your building slide open.

He’s leaning against the limo waiting for you, the door open next to him as a cigarette dangles between his fingers. He looks like he stepped straight out of a GQ spread. His Kiton suit fits him like a glove, the charcoal velvet hugging broad shoulders and tapering at the waist like it was stitched directly onto him. 

You make your way down the stairs until you’re standing on the pavement. Harry looks up at the sound of footsteps.

The cigarette stops halfway to his mouth.

For a moment, he just stares.

You can feel his eyes on your body like a caress, ghosting from your heels all the way up to the Cartier necklace he bought you after you saved a merger in Thailand, resting gently on your collarbones. 

The silence stretches, taut like a violin string.

You clear your throat, fighting the urge to squirm on the spot. “Is it too much?”

Harry blinks, like the sound of your voice broke him out of a trance. “No,” he breathes, shaking his head distractedly. “It’s perfect.”

Your heart lurches in your chest, fluttering wildly like a Monarch trapped beneath a mason jar. “You don’t look half bad yourself, Castillo,” you murmur, trying for playful, but your voice comes out too soft, too breathy.

He smiles at that—slow, crooked, absolutely devastating. The kind of smile that makes your knees a little weaker than heels this high should allow.

“Well,” he says, flicking his cigarette into a nearby trash can. “We’re already late, we might as well make an entrance.”

Harry offers you his hand, and without thinking, you take it.

“We might as well.”

The Met is bathed in glowing opulence—decked in gold and white, chandeliers like constellations above you. There’s jazz swelling from a live quartet near the Temple of Dendur and the room comes alive with it.

You glide through marble halls on his arm, greeting developers and designers and too rich donors who want nothing more than to be photographed with nights' most respected attendant.

Harry is a natural here—effortless. He laughs, he charms, he plays the part of the adored genius.

You also play your role perfectly.

You smile. You exchange polite hugs and shake hands. You whisper names into his ear just before he needs them. 

The two of you work the room like a well oiled machine. Not a screw out of place.

“You do realize they all think I’m sleeping with you,” you murmur as you pass a table full of ancient structural engineers throwing pointed looks at the two of you.

“Let them,” he says, not missing a beat.

“Isn’t that bad for business?”

Harry looks at you sideways. “Who’s going to call us on it?”

You don’t answer. You don’t look away either.

There’s champagne, and a brief moment where a reporter mistakes you for his fiancée. Harry doesn’t correct her. You do, of course, all while violently fighting the heat crawling up your neck. You don’t miss the way his mouth quirks when you do.

Dinner is some overly fussed beet amuse-bouche followed by lamb you barely taste. You’re seated next to Harry at the center of a table surrounded by board members and art world fixtures who all speak in the same Upper East Side cadence that makes everything sound like a question and an insult.

But Harry listens to you. He lets you finish your thoughts. He asks you what you think of the new public art installation in Battery Park and snorts when you call it “egregiously derivative” even when the rest of the table frowns.

“You’re such a snob,” he murmurs, voice low against the shell of your ear.

You smile behind your glass. “And yet here I am, slumming it with my boss.”

He grins bright enough to rival the candle light. “Lucky me.”

At some point, about halfway through a debate about the authenticity of modernism in design, you notice the way his knee brushes against yours under the table and stays there. You don’t move. He doesn’t either.

It’s become a theme. The touch. The contact.

Harry kept his hand on the small of your back most of the night, it was practically glued to the spot before dinner began. This is no different, except for the fact that this touch is hidden. It's shielded from the prying eyes of members and photographers and reporters. 

It’s just for you.

The awards are handed out shortly after. 

Harry’s name echoes across the room to rounds and rounds of applause. The speech is short, tasteful, elegant, moving. He stands under a golden spotlight and says something about legacy, about cities and their hearts and how architecture is just the blueprint of human longing.

You watch him from your seat at the table, heart caught in your throat. He looks radiant on stage, confident and alive in a way you haven't seen in months.

You clap until your palms sting.

When the speech is over, he doesn't have a foot off the stage before many of the other attendees swarm him. You let out a slow breath as you watch him receive hugs and kisses and claps on the back.

You only slip out onto the terrace when everyone at your table has left to join in, clutch in hand.

The cool night breeze is a welcome escape, soothing as it blows across the bare expanse of your skin and seeps into the rich fabric of your dress.

It’s not that you weren’t enjoying yourself, that you weren’t enjoying watching Harry. You just found it, almost hard to breathe all of a sudden. The range of different emotions swirling through your stomach certainly didn’t help, but that was a problem you could repress and compartmentalize for sometime in the near future.

You’re maybe five minutes into your emergency cigarette when he finds you, your heels kicked off as you sit on a marble bench.

“You never smoke.” he says, setting his award down next to you and plucking the cigarette from between your fingers, taking his own slow drag. His lips seal directly over where your own were just a second ago, circling the ruddy lipstick stain wrapped around the filter.

You look out to the city, exhaling a steady stream grey. “I also don’t usually wear a custom made, six thousand dollar dress or fake laugh at old men who won’t stop calling me ‘darling’ while they openly stare at my tits.”

Harry hums at that, amused, the smoke curling lazily from his lips as he tips his head back to look at the sky. “You handled it like a pro, you were brilliant tonight.”

He holds out the cigarette, reddened embers float down from the tip, losing color as they fall until they’re nothing but a black speck on the pristine sea of white beneath your feet.

You take it, your fingers brushing against his. “I’m very good at pretending.”

His eyes shift to you, the kind of look in them that settles somewhere deep and heavy in your chest. “I know.”

There’s a beat of quiet between you, filled only by the wind brushing through the terrace hedges and the distant echo of jazz from inside. The city glimmers out past the railing, a mirage of light and motion.

You clear your throat, raising the cigarette to your lips. “You didn’t have to come find me.”

“I know,” he says again, softly this time. “But I wanted to.”

You turn to face him fully. “Because you couldn’t remember Natalie Rebuck’s name, or because you were worried I’d throw myself off the balcony?”

He doesn’t smile. He looks at you too seriously for either of those to be one off jokes. “Because you’re the only person I wanted to see.”

That stills everything in you. Just—stills it.

There’s nothing ironic about the way he says it. It’s not teasing, not playful. Just a quiet truth. And somehow, that’s more disarming than anything else he could’ve said.

“You saw me fifteen minutes ago,” you manage, your voice not quite as sharp as you want it to be.

“Yeah.” He shrugs and says it again, slower this time. “And I missed you.”

It’s that same tone. Soft, reserved. Gentle enough that it makes you feel like the only person in the world and sick to your stomach all at once. The cigarette hangs limply by your side, dwindling to nothing between your fingers. You wonder, idly and far too late, if you can even smoke in a dress like this.

The silence stretches on like taffy. You’re just about to respond when the music starts up again inside. It’s something old and very romantic. Maybe Sinatra, or Ella. You can’t quite place it.

Harry seems to, perking up instantly. He glances through the open door, where many couples inside are pairing off and filling the dance floor one by one. He looks back at you, eyes glinting dangerously under the terrace lights. “Dance with me.”

You can’t help the laugh that bursts from your chest, eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“I just won a very important and highly coveted award given out only once every single year.” He takes a step closer, offering you his hand. “You’re telling me I don’t get one dance?”

You shake your head, inching back the tiniest bit. “I don’t dance with my boss.”

He winks, warmth sparking to life in his eyes just beside the glow of the lights. “Good thing I’m off the clock.”

You stare down at his outstretched hand for a second too long, lips parted in soft protest, breath caught somewhere behind your ribs. There’s something so deeply unfair about the way he’s always been able to make you feel like the only woman in a city of millions. Even now. Especially now.

You give him your hand.

You still hesitate even as you stand and slip your heels back on. You glance at the terrace doors and wearily eye what feels like a sea of people. “Out here?”

“No,” he says, turning your hand over in his and brushing his thumb along your pulse point like it’s nothing. “Inside. Just one song.”

You hesitate again. Not because you don’t want to, but because you do. Too much. And that terrifies you.

But then his hand tightens just slightly around your wrist, grounding you. His palm is warm, and you realize—of course he knows. He always knows. Knows how to read a room, read a blueprint, read you. Better than he probably should.

He tugs gently, and you let him lead you back inside.

The terrace doors hush closed behind you and the city disappears, replaced again by the ambient, golden warmth of the Met’s grand hall. You weave through the swaying bodies with ease, like they part from the sheer energy you must be oozing as you find a spot in the center of the room.

Harry draws you in close.

Too close for coworkers. Too close for anything you could explain away come Monday. But not close enough for the ache it sparks low in your belly. One hand finds the dip of your waist, the other laces your fingers in his. His touch is elegant. Familiar. A little too knowing.

You slide your arm around his neck and let him sway you into the rhythm. You’re too aware of every point of contact. The velvety fabric of his tuxedo beneath your hand. The graze of your thigh against his leg. The way he smells—Tom Ford, Tobacco Vanille. But there’s something else, something hidden under it that’s just Harry.

The rhythm is slow. Intimate. His hand is an inescapable plane of heat on your back, just beneath the dip of the dress, the pad of his thumb draws tiny, absent circles against your spine.

He hums the melody under his breath as you move together, you can feel the deep rumble of it against your chest.

“You’re trembling,” he says suddenly, quietly—whispered against the shell of your ear.

“No I’m not,” you lie, pulling back to meet his gaze. “It’s probably the nicotine.”

Harry laughs, the corners of his eye crinkle endearingly as he does. “Is it?”

You nod. “It is.”

The music hums all around you, but you hardly hear it. It fades away into the soft air of complete nothingness, same as all the people around you wane and dwindle until you’re almost certain you and Harry are the only two left standing.

You can’t break away from the weight of his gaze, drawn to it like heavy metal to a magnet. His gaze sweeps across every inch of your face, like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“You look so beautiful tonight,” he murmurs, so softly it nearly melts into the melody. “You always do, but tonight…” His voice tapers off as if he can’t quite land on the word. He doesn’t need to.

“Harry…”

He shakes his head. “I mean it, you are absolutely gorgeous.” He spins the both of you slowly, his eyes never straying from you. “And that’s the least interesting thing about you.”

It feels like a physical blow, but it lands in the softest way possible. His words washing over your skin feels a million times more luxurious than the miles of silk encompassing you.

You wonder if this is how it starts—not with fireworks, but with slow dancing in a museum full of strangers with your boss whispering something like worship in the space between you.

It’s nothing. It’s everything.

“Well,” you reply, voice shaking and almost far away. “You did hire me because my resume reads like a Vogue spread. You said it yourself, the firm doesn’t work without me.”

It should ruin the moment, bringing up work—where your relationship actually stands in the real world, outside of this fantasy of a night—but Harry doesn’t let it.

He just shakes his head, brows pinched together like he’s deep in thought. His hand tightens around yours, he’s so close now that you can feel the steady beat of his heart. 

Can he feel yours?

“When I look at you, and I think of all that you are…” Harry trails off again, the chocolate brown of his eyes shining under the twinkling lights as he holds your gaze. “That doesn’t even cross my mind.”

Your breath stutters, and you know—you know—that if you speak, it’ll all come tumbling out. Everything you’ve been trying not to say, not to want. The feelings you’ve tried to laugh away or roll your eyes at or bury under hundreds of deadlines and calendar alerts buzzing from two separate phones and all the plethora of ways you’ve told yourself this can’t happen.

“I…”

And then he kisses you.

And then you can’t speak at all.

It’s slow at first, but not hesitant, not unsure—deliberate. Harry kisses you like he’s been carving space for it, like it’s been trapped in him for too long. His lips are soft, but sure, coaxing rather than claiming. 

His hand slides from your waist all the way up to cradle your jaw, leaving behind a trail of heat along the plane of your spine. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, you can feel the faint callous left behind by countless pens and pencils.

Your hands bury themselves in the soft curls of his hair as you melt into his body. It’s so simple, the shift. You’ve spent so long running, so long lost in the dark waters of denial that you almost can’t believe how easy it is—how perfectly you fit together.

It’s like the last piece of a puzzle finally falling into place, slotting into all the others that came before it.

Harry exhales shakily, lips barely parting from your own. “Christ,” he whispers, forehead touching yours. “You’re—”

You kiss him again before he can finish.

His lips part under yours with a sigh that borders on desperate, and the heat crackles between you now, undeniable. Dizzying. When your mouth opens to him in turn, he groans low in his throat, like the first taste of you has broken something open inside him.

Slow becomes hungry. Your hand slides to his jaw, thumb brushing the rough edge of stubble. He tastes like champagne and citrus and the heady edge of smoke

The kiss turns molten under your fingertips.

You feel it in your knees, in your chest, in your core—the sharp, sudden ache of need blooming within you that has nothing to do with polite society.

When you finally pull apart, it’s only because air insists you do.

Harry rests his forehead against yours once again, his eyes still closed when yours slip open. His cheeks are flushed, his lips slick and smeared with the barest hint of your lipstick. You can feel his breath puff over your skin in short, quick pants that you match.

He opens his eyes, and your knees nearly buckle at the look in them. His pupils are blown, wide and black as ink under the lights. Your pulse is a drum in your throat, beating just as loud and fast in your ears.

He swallows hard. “We should leave.”

Your voice is barely a whisper, but it’s just as firm. “Yes.”

The ride back to the office is a blur.

You’re not even sure how Harry got you out of the Met so quickly, how you made it past the new swarm of admirers once again trying to shake his hand or take a photo or congratulate him.

The limo was already waiting by the time you made it out the doors. You barely remember the valet, just the cool feeling of the seats beneath your thighs and the sharp click of the partition going up behind Harry’s head.

His eyes pin you to your seat, hot and heavy and impossibly dark as the hum of the engine carries you through the city, velvet wrapped and haloed in streetlight.

He hasn’t even touched you yet, not really, but your skin feels like it’s blistering beneath your dress—your pulse high, your thighs pressed tight together in anticipation that makes your stomach twist and flutter.

“Come here,” Harry says, voice low, rasped from restraint and heavy need.

Two words. That’s all he says.

Your legs move before your brain catches up, straddling him in the backseat like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hands come to your waist as you settle into his lap, and fuck—he’s hard already, thick and burning a plane of heat against your high.

“You have no idea,” he breathes against your neck, mouthing at the skin just under your ear, “what you do to me.”

“Tell me,” you whisper, even as your eyes slip shut, hips rolling forward instinctively against him

Harry groans—deep and pained and real. “You walk into a room and I can’t think. Not clearly. Not rationally. It’s all static, it’s all you. Your eyes, your mouth, your fucking mind—” He nips your jaw, tongue chasing the sting. “You kill me.”

You moan, your hands digging into the strong muscle of his back. It draws a ragged growl from Harry’s throat, his fingers twitching on your hips.

“Are you wet for me?”

You’re nodding your head before you even realize it. “Yes.”

He curses under his breath, burying his nose in the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder. “I haven’t even touched you properly, and you’re already making a mess.” His voice is rough velvet, soaked in lust. “What do you think that says about you, sweetheart?”

“That I want you,” you breathe, already half-gone. “So fucking badly, Harry.”

Harry lets out a slow breath through his nose, his touch slides down your thighs, bunching your dress. “What I want…” He trails off, slipping his hand under your skirt. You gasp as his fingers skim the waist of your panties. “is to spread you open, taste how needy you are. I want to make you come with my mouth before I even think about fucking you.”

His fingers brush over the soaked center of your panties and he groans, low and dark. “Fuck.” He presses the pads of his fingers into you through the fabric—just enough pressure to tease, to leave you gasping. “This all for me?”

You whine, high and light in the back of your throat as you nod frantically. That’s not enough for Harry.

His eyes narrow, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Use your words, baby. Who made you this wet?”

“You,” you whisper. “You did.”

“That’s right.” He slides the lace aside to run two fingers through your folds slowly. Your hips jolt, and he grins against your throat.

Your head drops against his shoulder, hips bucking against his fingers. He holds you in place with an iron grip, not letting you grind down for friction just yet. You feel the twitch of his cock beneath you, straining against the fabric of his tuxedo pants.

“Harry—” you gasp, breath breaking as he circles your clit with the barest pressure. Just enough to tease.

“Mm, I know,” he murmurs, kissing your throat. “I know what you need, but not yet. I want you squirming by the time we get to the office. Can you be good for me and wait, hm?”

Your stomach clenches in anticipation, your cunt throbbing between your legs. You’re not sure how much more desperate you can get, grinding on your boss in the back of a limo while his hand is up your skirt seems like the highest form of desperation. 

Still…

You nod—barely—because your throat is tight with need, but Harry clicks his tongue.

“I said use your words.” It’s not mean, the demand. The tone of his voice. It’s strong, rich with the same power and authority you’ve seen countless times over the past few years.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I’ll be good. I’ll wait.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, brushing his mouth over your jaw like he’s proud of you, like he’s already rewarding obedience.

He keeps his hand there the whole drive—just resting. No pressure. No movement. Just the heat of his skin against your soaked center, the weight of his hand where you need it most, while the city blurs past the tinted glass. It’s maddening.

Every bump in the road jolts you slightly. Every turn shifts your hips, makes his fingertips graze your clit. It’s not enough. It’s torture. You bite your lip raw trying not to move, not to grind down and take what you want.

It would be so easy, you’re pathetically close to the edge as is. 

But you told Harry yes, breathed it against his shoulder in soft surrender. 

You promised to be good, and you’re dying to see what it gets you.

Getting up to Harry’s office is a mess of stumbling feet and frantic hands that refused to stop touching any longer than they have to.

Harry kisses you against the door, your back pressed to the frosted glass. His mouth is hot and hungry and unrelenting, like he’s trying to make up for the months of waiting with every glide of his tongue.

You’re the one who breaks away just long enough to fumble for the keycard clipped inside his jacket, but Harry’s already sliding it free with one hand while the other stays around your waist. 

The lock beeps open and you stumble through the door, breath ragged, dress askew. Harry kicks it shut behind you, his lips never leaving yours as he walks you backwards until the tops of your thighs hit his desk.

You barely have time to gasp before you're lifted—effortless—onto the surface of his desk, papers fluttering to the floor beneath you as he spreads your legs apart with both hands.

“Lean back,” he says hoarsely, helping you as your hands fumble for balance. The cold glass of the desk kisses your palms. “Let me see you.”

Your dress is hiked up around your waist, pooling all around you like ink, your thighs parted. Harry looks at you like he’s starved. His eyes drag up your body like a man measuring the cost of ruin and deciding to pay it gladly.

He makes quick work of his jacket, only needing to shuck it off his shoulders after you made quick work of the buttons back in the elevator. He collapses back into his chair with a shaky breath, sliding in between your legs. 

His hands find the waistband of your ruined panties, eyes glued to your core as he peels them down your legs. “Fuck,” he mumbles, running his index finger through the wet mess that greets him. He kisses the inside of your thigh once, then higher, and higher. “So beautiful.”

His mouth is on you in a second—hot, wet, consuming.

He licks a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, groaning like he’s tasting something decadent. 

“Shit.” Your moan is loud, hips jolting off the desk. “Harry—”

“Christ,” he groans against you. “You taste—Jesus. I could stay here all night.”

He takes your legs in his hands, throws them over his shoulders and he devours you—there’s no other word for it. Messy, greedy, reverent. His tongue works in tight, filthy circles, alternating pressure, pulling gasp after gasp from your throat.

He sucks your clit, slow and deep, lips sealing over it and pulling it into his mouth. His tongue flicks once, twice, and your hips jolt off the desk.

“Fuck, yes—right there—don’t stop—”

His hands spread your thighs wider, thumbs digging into soft flesh as he groans into you, like you’re the thing getting him off.

Your head falls back with a cry, hands burying themselves in his hair. “God—Harry—”

“That’s it,” he mutters against you, voice vibrating into your core. “Use my mouth. Take what you need.”

You don’t even realize you’re doing it—rocking forward, grinding down on his face like it’s instinct. His nose bumps your clit perfectly, the stubble on his jaw sending aftershocks through your skin. He hums with satisfaction, like he knew you’d lose control, like he wanted it.

You’re already squirming, already close all over again. Your head lolls back as you cry out, desperate and high and wanton.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice muffled. “Right here. I need your eyes on me, honey.”

You do.

You look down and see him between your thighs, hair mussed, lips slick, eyes nearly black. He’s never looked more beautiful. Or more ruined.

Your fingers tighten in his curls, yanking—he groans like he likes it, grinding his mouth harder against you, tongue flicking over your clit until you cry out, arching into his face.

“Harry—Harry, I’m gonna—”

“Come,” he commands. “Let go for me.”

And you do.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave—sharp and blinding. You cry out, thighs trembling, nails digging into the wood of the desk as Harry keeps licking you through it, gentle now, savoring every second.

Only then does he pull back, licking his lips like he’s just finished dessert. He rises to his feet slowly, towering above you.

“Beautiful,” he pants, voice rough and heartbreakingly earnest. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You can barely breathe, your chest rising and falling with every sharp inhale. But you still reach for him, pulling him down by the collar of his shirt. “Please.”

Harry doesn’t hesitate. He undoes his belt with one hand, the other bracing beside your head as he kisses you again—filthy, deep, you taste yourself on his tongue. “I need to be inside you,” he says, voice wrecked. “Now.”

You shift, moving to turn onto your stomach.

“No,” he says sharply, hands tightening on your hips. “No, I want to see you.”

Your lips part on a soft breath, something dangerous squirming to life under your skin. “Okay…”

The sound of his zipper rings in your ears, and you glance down just in time to see his cock freed from the soaked cotton of his boxers. It’s thick and flushed, rosy tip already slick with precome. Your breath catches when he strokes it once, twice, eyes pinned to your cunt like he’s imagining exactly how you’ll take it.

“You ready?” he asks, soft again, lining himself up with your shaking entrance. “I need you to say it.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “I want you, Harry.”

He pushes in slowly—so slowly—and your back arches, a shocked moan catching in your throat at the sheer stretch of him. He’s thick, unrelenting, and your body clamps down around him greedily.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

You gasp, nails digging into his arms as he fills you. “Oh god—Harry—”

“That’s it,” he groans, teeth gritted as he bottoms out. “That’s my girl. Taking me so fucking well.”

He doesn’t wait long after that. The first thrust is slow, the second is harder. By the third he’s fucking into you like he can’t get deep enough, the desk creaking beneath you, the sound of skin on skin filling the dim office air.

You clutch at him, gasping as he hits every spot that makes you see stars.

Harry fucks you with purpose, with hunger, but he never loses that softness—his thumb on your cheek, his lips pressing kisses to your jaw, your shoulder, the hollow of your neck, the swell of your breast. He cradles your head in his hands so you don’t knock it into the glass.

It’s all too much. Too much and not enough. 

It feels like home, like this is where you should have been instead of running every chance you got, like a coward. Your hands dig into his shoulder, his name falling from your lips over and over.

“Yes.” He kisses you again, bruising and messy like he’s trying to taste the way it sounds right off your tongue. “Say my name.”

“Harry—fuck—Harry!”

“That’s it,” he growls, fucking into you faster now, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the office. “You’re mine now, aren't you? You're finally going to let me have you?”

“Yes—yes—oh my god—”

“Say it.”

“I'm yours, Harry—yours—fuck, I’m—”

He pulls you tight against him, fucking you so deep it’s like he’s imprinting himself inside you. “Come for me, sweetheart. Show me how good I make you feel.”

You come with a sob, clenching around him, unraveling completely beneath his weight and his words and the unbearable sweetness in his eyes as he watches you fall apart.

“I’m gonna come,” he grits out, thrusts growing erratic. “Where do you want it, sweetheart? Tell me.”

“Inside,” you whisper. “Want to feel it. Please, Harry…”

That’s all he needs.

He spills inside you with a groan—deep and raw—thrusting once, twice more before spilling into you, his mouth dropping to your shoulder with a quiet, reverent moan of your name.

New York’s skyline shines through the window, bathing you both in a shimmering light. 

The only sounds filling the office are the light, gentle breaths as you both come down. The dull hum of the city underscores it, muted and fuzzy around the edges.

Harry’s hands don’t stray from your hips, his thumbs absentmindedly draw small circles over your bare skin. The night plays through your mind in flashbacks, each snapshot of all the moments where things shifted like a slideshow behind your eyes.

The stairs of your building, the touch of his hand on your back, the looks from across the room, the terrace. 

“Fuck,” you say suddenly, raising your head off the desk in alarm. “Harry, your award. You left it on the terrace.”

It’s quiet, until his shoulders start to shake and the unmistakable sound of laughter fills the space between you.

“It’s not funny!” You slap his shoulder, but you’re still smiling. “That was the whole fucking point of tonight.”

Harry lifts his head, meeting your gaze. “Was it?”

You look back, puzzled. “Wasn’t it.”

Harry chuckles again, shaking his head fondly. He leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, slow and indulgent. “I’ve already got the only thing I wanted tonight.”

Your heart does a small, dangerous thing in your chest. “Well, this is definitely going in my yearly review.”

Harry hums. “I look forward to reading it.”

You don’t muffle your laugh, you don’t turn your face to hide your smile. You only raise your hand, carding your fingers through the sweaty curls laying on his forehead. 

Harry turns his head, pressing one last kiss to your palm.

You’ll email the AIA tomorrow, for now, they can wait.

MINI NAT’S NOTE: if you would have told me a year ago that i would be writing for a pedro pascal character in a movie that chr*s ev*ns is ALSO in, i would have laughed in your face, HARD. oh how the sands of time can change us.

anyway this actually wasn't the harry fic i originally wanted to post. i was working on something completely different when this idea manifested in my brain and i immediately jumped ship…but in my defense this is the fastest i've written something since the semester ended so ofc she's being uploaded. thank you so much for reading, love you!

[nanaslutt]

hear me out.. gojo w a mommy kink

oh em gee nonnie………

i wasn’t sure if you wanted sub or dom gojo but i hope you like what i cooked up :p

pls enjoy<3

contains: fem reader, mommy kink, use of ‘mama’, ‘mama’s’ as well, unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it), coming inside, bully!gojo, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, rough sex, a liiiiitle cervix fucking, squirting, stomach bulge briefly mentioned, begging, whiney!gojo

MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

it honestly started as a joke, maybe less of a joke and more of him testing the waters per say, “yes mommy” he chirped, humor and teasing laced in his tone when you asked him to take out the trash one afternoon

when you didn’t protest against the name, not giving him a usual snarky remark, he turned around to look at you, not expecting to see your blushing face, fidgeting from where you stood in the kitchen, looking embarrassed at the nickname he called you,

unbeknownst to you while you stared at your feet, a smile full of mischievousness was creeping onto gojo’s face, lightbulbs going off in his head

ohhh this is fucking perfect, he thought

he never knew how to bring up that he wanted to try this with you, it’s not like you would’ve taken him seriously anyways, he can picture how the conversation would go vividly in his mind,

but gojo was more than slightly to blame for the frequency in which you dismissed him. satoru was incapable of being serious to save his life

all thanks to his little ‘joke’ you were now currently in this predicament:

gojo’s massive palm shoving the side of your face into the mattress, tears and spit smeared on the sheets below you, other hand braced on your lower back, pushing you into the meanest arch as he fucks right into your gspot,

“you like that mommy?” he cooed, “like when i fuck your pussy like this? huh?” he teased lightly, laughing at the loud whimpers getting knocked out of your lungs each time his hips pulled his thick cock out of you only to bully his angry tip back right into your walls, rubbing you just right,

he was giving you the meanest backshots, feeling even more aroused than normal from not having to hold back this side of him anymore, “asked you a question mama’s,” he repeated, emphasizing his need for your response with a mean thrust,

“y-yeah f-feel ‘s good toru,” you moan out between his deep thrusts, “squeezin me so good mommy, fuuuuck.” he laughs when he feels your cunt start to pulse around him for the fourth time that night, “you gonna cum? you- o-oh fuuck.” words getting cut off at the intense feeling of your cunt gushing your squirt out around him,

“haaaaa, didn’t even warn me that time mama.” he grit his teeth, fucking you through your orgasm with newfound vigor, hand coming down to rub quickly back and forth against you clit, making your juices spray all over the bed underneath you,

“toruuuu, ‘m sensitive g-give me a second p-please.” you manage to stutter out, crying out when he doesn’t let up his assault on your overstimulated cunt, “nooo,” he moans pouting his lip down at you before smiling, “don’t think i wanna,” he finishes, leaning over you, moving his big hand off the side of your face and onto the bed next you you for leverage, other hand coming up to go grip your jaw and smash your lips into his,

he hums against your open mouth as you protest his malicious thrusts, fucking you like he’s trying to poke a hole through your guts. the new angle pushing his impossibly big cock ever deeper, kissing your cervix in painfully pleasurable thrusts,

“feel good mommy? huhhh?” he breathlessly whispers into your mouth, doing most of the work in kissing you as you were too fucked out to put in any effort. his tongue slipping into your mouth, sucking your lip into his and biting it between his teeth as he groans, “you feel me in ur stomach mommy?” he questions with a grin when he sees your shaky hand slide under your body to press against the bulge in your tummy,

“s fucking deep ‘toru p-please,” you begged, not really understanding yourself what you were asking for, but he just nods and hums agreements into your mouth, “m gonna cum inside you now.” he babbles against you lips, losing his sensibility bit by bit the longer he’s inside of you, butterflies flying around in his stomach when he feels your soft pussy clench around him tightly every time he uses the nickname, glad you’re getting off on it as much as he is,

“tell me you need it mommy, tell me- fuck- tell me you want me to fill this p-pretty pussy, need you to say it,” he’s gaping into your drooling mouth. your eyes having trouble staying forward in your eye sockets with how much pleasure you were getting from this,

“give it to me t-toru please, give it to me.” you somehow got out, barely coherent to someone if they were a foot away, luckily for gojo he was pressed against your face, whimpering ‘uhhuh?’’s repeatedly into your mouth, “cum inside mommy,” you slurred out, feeling his sloppy thrusts speed up,

loud echos of your wet cunt filling the room as he stills inside of you, whining and groaning out profanities hearing you call yourself by the nickname he was so insistent on, hips stilling deep inside you, cock feeling like it was inside your womb as he humps his sensitive dick against your ass,

“o-ohmygodd f-fuck meeee.” his whiney voice cries, rotating his hips in circles and simultaneously massaging your gspot while he lets the last spurts of his cum shoot deep inside you,

pushing his torso off of your back and leaning back while he pulls his still hard cock out, seed spilling down the back of your thighs as he spreads you pussy with his thumb to get a better view of it drip out, “fuck mama,” he laughed, biting his lip at the mess he made out of you, “gotta hear you call urself mommy again,” he smirks, pushing his sensitive dick back inside you, making you both gasp, “made me cum so fucking hard.” tipping his head back, breathing heavily as he steadies both his hands on your hips,

“not letting you leave till you have me shooting blanks inside this pussy,” he giggles into the air, you had no idea what you were in for.

[lonelystczennie]

Dating Chan Headcanons

Chan x Plus Size Reader

Summary: Headcanons for boyfriend Chan w a plus sized partner

Warnings: swearing, slightly suggestive, not proofread

A/N: Guess who remembered this blog after like 6 months!🎉 Thanks to @bethanysnow for supporting and encouraging me to finally write this hc series. These hcs are written with plus sized partners in mind, but most points could apply to anyone regardless of size. Hope you like it, lmk if y’all want part 2(or the nsfw version)!

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Dating Chan is incredibly soft. Everything with him is comfort and gentle intensity and the two of you learning to feel safe with each other.

He would definitely be friends first. Even if he fell head over heels the very first time saw you, he would instantly friend-zone himself, bc he worries about how busy he always is and thinks you deserve someone ‘better’ who can give you more time and attention.

He’s also very slow to fully put his trust in people I think. He’s had his trust betrayed and been let down really badly in the past, so it takes him a while to let the walls down enough to let you in.

Once he lets you in tho, he’s fiercely loyal and protective of you. He’s always on the lookout for your best interests and making sure he’s there for you if you need to talk or a shoulder to cry on. Lord help if he catches anyone disrespecting or talking shit about you, he can make them shrivel up with just a look and a few choice words.

He won’t dare hear you talk badly about yourself either, turning any disparaging comments around to show you how absolutely amazing he thinks you are. He takes every opportunity to call you beautiful, even using it like a nickname for you(it’s honestly rarer to hear him call you by your actual name than a petname, lol)

He still flirts and teases you tho, even when you’re still just friends, because there’s no real harm in it right? Not if it makes you smile.

He’s actually a terrible flirt tho, because he will start out trying to be smooth and seductive and making you flustered, but then you both just end up blushing or dissolving into giggles cause y’all can’t keep it together(I think he would legit play the pickup line game with you like he used to on Channie’s room)

He has a habit of making you flustered without even realizing it sometimes. Like the way he gently guides or moves you with a hand on your back, always so careful and respectful. Or how he bites his lip absentmindedly when you’re talking, not realizing just how distracting the small action is(once he does tho, he does it all the time bc he’s menace)

He’s naturally very cuddly and affectionate with people, but once one of you manages to fess up and admit you like each other, he turns into the softest, cuddliest teddy bear you’ve ever met. He’s always hugging or holding onto you, and it’s not even a suggestive thing majority of the time, he just takes a great deal of joy and comfort in feeling you close to him.

Acts of service is also definitely one of his love languages, he loves getting to take care of you, especially in more domestic settings. Like you will come home from a shitty day at work/university to find your laundry done and him in the kitchen cooking you dinner. He loves when you take care of him as well, tho he has a hard time admitting it at first.

Sleeps better with you by his side, and has stolen your sweaters or hoodies on multiple occasions to sleep with when he has to go on tour or be away from you for long stretches of time.

Strong AF and loves to show off for you(anyone else remember those bubble messages where he said he trains to be strong enough to lift Stay?? Like I died??) he loves flexing the fact that he can lift you or move you around with ease.(don’t dare ever say that you’re too heavy for him, because he will take it as a challenge and will do his damnedest to prove you wrong)

Like he is lowkey obsessed with your body, he loves how soft and warm you are, how your figure fits against his or presses him into the bed when you’re on top. He also loves that he can be a lil rougher with you, not having to worry about breaking you if he manhandles you a little bit(or a lotta bit hehe)

You learn firsthand the differences between Chan, Channie, and Christopher.

Chan is soft and comfy, he likes to surprise you with little kisses whenever he passes you and still acts like the goofy lil bean that you fell for when you were friends.

Channie is extra sweet and clingy, nuzzling into your chest when he’s tired after a rough day, wanting nothing more than to be cuddled and called sweet names. He’s not afraid to bust out the aegyo to get your attention and make you smile.

Christopher however is quiet and intense, dark eyes that follow your every move and is constantly not-so-subtly trailing his hands over your curves, murmuring thoughts in your ear that make your knees weak.

Overall tho, he’s just a big softie who adores you and will do anything to make you smile. He’s your best friend, bodyguard, personal therapist, and ultimate hype man, and no matter what else is going on in your worlds, you know you have each other.

Taglist:

[ynnova]

Hello! Wanted to start off by saying that I love your posts. I follow your soloist OC and your writing blog too and I love all of your writing and visual edits! I don’t see much idol reader content so I think this blog is so much fun!

Are there any viral moments of yn from the Will to Power tour? Times where yn had atinys going feral during performances? Maybe some fun moments with the members on stage or funny interactions with atinys from send off? Or maybe even cute/funny moments with the members at soundcheck/sendoff (you don’t have to answer all of these if you don’t want to!)

Also, are there any viral/iconic moments of yn from Wanteez? (Going through a wanteez drought and currently rewatching episodes)

Thanks for taking the time to write for us and for sharing it! Excited for all your future posts!🫶

( 🪩 ) A BREAKDOWN OF Y/N DURING WILL TO POWER TOUR (AMERICAN LEG )

iconic moments aka atiny going feral :

THE LOOKS!! you never failed to serve when it came to outfits. be it for soundcheck, during, your solo stage, or during the ending.

it was just look after look after look

you even altered the official tour shirts by cropping them or adding ribbons to them (you've done this with past tour shirts so you're continuing the tradition at this point)

you also rocking the strapless shirt that was released with the tour merch... atiny were so shocked that you and your stylist managed to have everything stay in place.

the dance break between you and wooyoung which had atiny dying – your closeness sending atiny reeling

dying your hair red and debuting it at the phoenix concert

the entire stadium singing 'cosmic' during the new york show and you revealed later that it was so loud that you couldn't hear the music or yourself

lightinys turning pink during your solo

they turned other colors too during your solo but a lot of atiny thought the pink was super pretty

the 👏 vocals 👏 always 👏 hitting 👏

YOU SUDDENLY BREAKING OUT THE SEXY BODY ROLLS

both atiny and the guys were going crazy over it

you simply breathing, trying to catch your breath, and the entire stadium loses their minds

you smirking and atiny start barking

moments with the members :

jongho, yunho, and mingi pouring water on you at the la day 1 concert and soaking you

you then immediately going up and hugging wooyoung after and getting him wet as well

you confessing that you have matz memorized and so the boys make you rap part of it and you do which then makes you flustered

fans also caught seonghwa and hongjoong smiling as they watched you

probably the most iconic moment with you and another member is when san kissed you during 'dancing like butterfly wings' at the arlington show

you were so stunned in the moment and multiple atiny caught it from different angles and it went viral right after the show was over

hongjoong accidentally proposing to you during duluth day 1 and atiny absolutely losing their minds over it

you were having an outfit issue and seonghwa – who was three members away from you – effortlessly helped you without saying a word before going back to where he was standing

ateez and atiny singing 'happy birthday' to you at the new york show (your birthday was the next day) and you crying while jongho is singing a high note in the background

mingi smashing your face in the cake right after and wooyoung doing it again two minutes later

during an end ment, you were on the verge of tears but turned away so atiny didn't see you cry – as you cried, yeosang came up and gently hugged you and hid you from atiny's view and cameras.

jongho letting you baby him JUST ONCE by squishing his cheeks

you constantly flirting and teasing the members during the ments or performances

you using atiny's phones to take videos and selfies with the members

soundcheck moments :

san coming up and backhugs you while you sing and you immediately lean into him as you do so

you playing with mingi's hoodie strings while he raps and the two of you dancing

you and yeosang accidentally wearing matching outfits but he tells atiny that it was planned

you and hongjoong posing together and showing off your matching tattoos

you reading a sign that says "y/n! who's sexier? you or wooyoung?" and you immediately mouthed 'me!' while pointing to yourself

calling atiny "baby" and "love" at multiple soundchecks which make them lose their minds

wooyoung kissing your cheek and you kissing his in return and leaving a mark on his cheek

another atiny had a sign that said "y/n do you have a boyfriend?" and both you and san read it

you laughed at it but san frowned and made a thumbs down as he pulled you to him and walked away

sendoff moments :

looking at wooyoung with disgust whenever you see him try to eat a kirby plushie – he did it on purpose cause he knows you love kirby

an atiny commenting on how great your butt looked in the pants you were wearing and you turning and smirking at them

atiny telling you to say 'hi mom' and you instead say "hi mommy!"

an atiny gifting you with a beaded bracelet that said "sanyn" and you wearing at the next concert for the encore stage

you constantly calling every atiny cute and complimenting their outfits

and then smirking when you make them flustered

you posing with different plushies

the other members actively photobombing your photos

and you looking at them with disgusted each time and other fans catching it

your manager stressing every time you cuss with the fans

"you look so fucking pretty y/n!" "you're so fucking pretty too!"

you asking an atiny if they had a good time and they said no, so you said "good" in response with a straight face

[cybermindz]

charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary ─┈ · · · charles didn’t get on the podium just for the trophy, he wanted the extra bonus that came with it—you.

contains ─┈ · · · 18+, dubcon-ish, smut : p in v, unprotected sex, soft-dom!charles, whinysub!reader, exhibitionism, oral & fingering, size kink, mating press!!, lots of kissing, multiple orgasms, usage of pet names (e.g. pretty girl, good girl, baby, mon amour) wc : 3.1k

a/n ─┈ · · · this is a reupload bc my dummy head accidentally deleted my blog (no i don’t wanna talk about it 😞)

“Charles we can’t be doing this here.” you mumbled against your boyfriends lips—who seemed to be in a haste. He currently has you trapped against the wall in his driver’s room, wasting no time in sealing his lips with yours, longing for the taste of you since he saw you enter the paddock to greet him this morning.

“‘S all your fault.” he begins to lightly pepper a trail of wet kisses from the corner of your mouth down to your jaw.

“Mine?” scrunching your eyebrows together in confusion a breathless laugh comes from you, “What did I do?”

It was a genuine question—finding it amusing how his mood shifted from neutral to aroused after watching him change into his race suit. Ah. The way you were eyeing him switch into his red apparel must’ve got him all flustered and the provocative outfit you wore didn’t aid his case in the slightest.

“So pretty, can’t contain myself.”

“Thank you.” you responded meekly, not trusting yourself to utter anything further because of the pathetic noises you may let out. He’s already got you wanting more, aware of what to do to have you in a daze.

You hook your arms around his neck while his own held you in place by your waist. When his face travel down to your throat, Charles’ lips latches onto the smooth soft skin of your neck, licking and sucking gently—a blotch of purple surely forming but it was the least of your concerns with the way he made you feel at the moment.

His teeth begins to lightly graze your plush skin before sinking into it without a warning, hard enough to almost break skin, making a hiss and whimper of sorts tumble out of you. The heavenly sound had blood rushing straight down to his cock. He’d hate to admit the effect that you had on him however, his current actions were enough to speak for itself.

You were divine; so irresistible that his infatuation with you grows more every single day. The way your body molds into his only spurs the sense to fulfill his desires. It clouds his brain, it’s all he can ever think of when he has you like this. So pliable, so sweet and oh was he obsessed.

“Your skirt is too short,” he mumbles with a groan, all the while still assaulting your neck, “Could practically see your panties when you sit down.”

“You shouldn’t have been looking,” you try to tease but your own voice comes out rather weak and shaky upon feeling his breath tickle your skin, goosebumps now rising, “W-we have to stop.”

He completely ignores your feeble declaration—opting to return his lips on yours, greedy and hurried. This time he slips his tongue into your mouth—the muscle dancing along with yours and exploring the wet cavern skillfully. You don’t think you could get enough of it, he was unmistakably a first-class kisser that it almost had your protests die down, almost.

Charles grumbles when you push at his shoulders, your attempts nearly futile because of how he firmly presses further into you. When you manage to pull his face in your hands you look at him for the first time since his ambush on you. The sight before you left you lightheaded; he was panting just as much as you were, lips slightly parted and glistening with your combined spit.

Contemplating your next words, you deliberate if you wanted to continue or put a finish to this, “Charles your race starts in 30 minutes.”

Your statement doesn’t waver him in the slightest, this had you on edge. The thought of being caught with your boyfriends tongue down your throat was not one of the things on your to-do list today. But feeling high off of how his body pins into yours, the scent of musk mixed in with his cologne intoxicating your senses has your head buzzing. The notable anxiousness about the possibility of being discovered vanishes bit by bit along with the little sanity you had left.

“How about this… if you get on that podium today,” speaking again, you decide to try and stop whatever that is occurring because if you don’t, you’re afraid it’ll never end once it begins. And as tempting as it was you really wanted to save yourself the embarrassment if you both were found out. He stares intently with a bit of curiosity as you voice your proposition with careful thought, “You can have me however you want back at the hotel.”

Practically seeing the cogs in his head turn, your heartbeat sets into a rapid pace from anticipation after seeing a smile creep up on his handsome face, dimples digging into his cheeks while his mouth stretches widely.

“Mmmm you’ve got yourself a deal mon amour, but,” his fingers drags down to the hem of your skirt making you stare back at him in surprise, “30 minutes is still enough time for me to feel you up.”

Your knees almost buck from his flirtatious tone, muddled brain not fully registering what he meant until a veiny hand reaches for the band of your underwear, but before he can do anything your hand encircles over his wrist, “Charles we’ll get caught!”

Sucking in a breath and feigning to ponder he shifts himself so his face was mere centimeters from yours, “Well then I guess you’ll just have to keep quiet.”

He was too mischievous about this whole ordeal—aware that he held so much power over you, stronger and determined to get his point across.

There wasn’t anything left that you could do with his persistence so when his digits trail lower and lower, you let him. The pad of his fingers reaches your sensitive bud, circling it delicately. With your breath hitching, your back arches—clothed breasts brushing his chest, the fabrics separating both of your hot skin from touching each-other. He kisses you swiftly to swallow up all your lovely little gasps. Your expressions of disagreement surely forgotten now, it was always so effortless to please you.

Charles acknowledges that his fingers were being soaked by your wetness already, causing a low groan to transpire deep within his chest. A sense of triumph inevitably filled his body whenever he got you to submit to him with a simple ghost of his touch—letting him do whatever he desires in order to please him. Biting your lower lip to halt the sounds that threatened to spill, you braced yourself for his potential actions.

“What is it baby?” he questioned clearly satisfied, rubbing a little harsher to leave you breathless, “Got nothing to say now?”

“M-more, please.”

“That’s my pretty girl.”

Your composure slips away from the delicious friction and attention you got from him, not an ounce of shame shrouded you like it should for giving yourself up so instantaneous but you couldn’t help it. Not with him towering over you, making it seem like you were impossibly smaller than before and not when his rough fingers sent a wave of electricity through your core.

“You’re so wet, barely even had to do anything.” The coarse timbre of his voice was almost condescending, patronizing, to rile you up. Wetting his lips with a swipe of his tongue he watches your facial expressions for any discomfort only to find your mouth agape, eyes becoming bleary. So cute.

“Charles.” you whine impatiently, tugging at his wrist.

“Shhh I know, I know.” cooing sweetly at how endearing you were, he just couldn’t get enough and as much as he wants to stare and tease you like this for hours on end, he gives in, recalling the time crunch you both were in.

A shiver racks up your spine in excitement when he lowers himself onto his knees, getting himself leveled face to face with your lower half. Charles doesn’t let another second pass by, heavy hands sliding your panties down in one go and swiftly hiking up one of your legs over a shoulder, the movement authorizes him to catch a glimpse of your glistening cunt.

“God, such a pretty pussy.” he comments aloud, enabling a heat to rise up your body like a plague with embarrassment—a tint of pink adorning your cheeks from seeing how he licks his lips again this time from the view in front of his green irises.

Bunching up your skirt in one hand, he blows a breath onto your cunt, the sensation of the hot air already has you crumbling. He was drooling to have a taste. The tip of his tongue hasn’t even reached you yet and it was nearly unbearable to handle. Your fingers find its way to tangle in his hair—readying yourself, and when he finally licks a stripe up your folds your eyes practically roll back.

“Si bon goût.” (Taste so good.) he savors the flavor that floods his taste buds before diving back into your mouthwatering heat.

A moan of his name falling from you makes him palm at his cock whilst his lips encases over your clit to suck on it. The suction has you pulling at his hair, burying him between your thighs even more. Feeling your fingertips gripping onto his brown locks, nails oh so lightly scratching at his scalp stirs him up additionally. He lets out a groan into your sex, sending vibrations directly onto your bundle of nerves, producing a loud keen from you shortly after.

He draws back briskly, sending you a warning look, “Baby, stay quiet.”

The firmness of his voice causes your heart to skip a beat, you nod your head quickly without saying anything, worried of displeasing him. With your palm over your mouth, you wait expectedly for the return of his tongue, you were left surprised instead as it was replaced with his fingers, the impending sounds from your throat now being muffled.

Charles collects some of your slick with his index finger, dipping the digit into your entrance efficiently. You choked out a breath from how it stretched you out delightfully, always taken aback at how your lithe fingers were nothing compared to his, he consistently reaches places you’ve never even found yourself.

“So tight.” whispering amidst concentration, his face returns to a close proximity so that he can spit directly onto your clit. The saliva dribbles down to your hole assisting him to begin steadily pumping his finger inside of you.

“Oh god,” you remove your hand to display your gratification, “Feels so good Charles.” Though, he was moving way too sluggishly for your liking, “Need more.”

“Yeah?” tilting his head while looking up at you he smiles to himself pridefully, “What do you want amour? Tell me.”

The teasing never fails to have you shrinking within yourself; always self conscious of your timid voice breaking. But you don’t dwell on it too long this time as the minutes you have left together diminishes rapidly.

“Y-your tongue,” you stammer out bashfully solely to earn a raised brow, his facial expression reads that he was awaiting a specific term.

While he pauses expectedly at your words, you close your eyes—biting back at any remarks as your patience was running thin, “Please, Charles.”

“Good girl.”

Delving back in, he pecks your clit before flicking the tip of his tongue up against it. With your eyes screwed shut you quickly cover your mouth again. The only thing being heard in the driver’s room now is him lapping up your wet cunt.

He knew just how much force and where to lick to have you either begging him for more or murmuring out nonsense for him to stop within minutes. The stimulation was already building up remarkably, leaving you to melt just above him.

Charles can feel himself straining in his overalls now, praying that his cock calms down once he was done having his way with you. Though when his eyes scans up to devour your state, drinking in every reaction your face contorts into, he couldn’t handle it—he had to take care of it.

So while adding his middle finger into your soaked arousal, fucking you faster and obscenely flicking his tongue, his free hand palms at his aching cock.

With the stretch of now two of his fingers, the world around you begins to fade out with each ministration. Everything surrounding your sensitive body were nonexistent, just Charles and the blinding pleasure he brings upon you. It was all too much; the lewd wet sounds of him slurping and him humming as he tries to relieve himself at the same time. You weren’t gonna last long like this, especially since your abdomen was getting tighter and tighter, velvet walls securing around his fingers in a vice grip.

“I-hah!… ‘m gonna come.”

The pads of his digits curl into that sweet spongy spot so meticulously, achieving at finding it with no trouble, and with each plunge you were seeing stars in no time. Your drenched pussy squelches and echos around you so filthily and pornographicly, even he puffs out a breath—feeling like he’ll burst at any moment alongside you.

“Come baby.”

On demand, your head is thrown back against the wall and you let go all over his hand, rolling your trembling hips onto his face to get the most out of it. He works you through your spasming climax, fingers moving gradually now as you clamp down on him securely. Your stifled moans were enough for him to reach his own heavenly peak—dousing his briefs in spurts of white cum. He curses in his head hoping that it’s not noticeable and doesn’t seep through his race suit.

Droopy eyelids and strained breaths comes from you as he licks up your release, relishing the taste, legs now quivering in his hold due to the overstimulation. Post-orgasm bliss always made you look so graceful, it drives Charles to want to litter your face in kisses.

Knock Knock Knock.

In your stunned state you almost get whiplash when your head turns toward the noise. Your heart hammers in your chest in a rush of nervousness, frozen in place.

“Charles? Almost done getting ready?” A voice on the other side of the door breaks his trance and you avert your eyes to stare down at him with a frightened appearance. Massaging your thighs to sooth your worries an annoyed sigh departs him whilst giving you one final lick before pulling your panties back up, stabilizing himself onto his feet again.

“Yeah, nearly ready!” he cheekily smiles at you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Be there in a sec!”

Charles jerks your chin to lure you into a deep kiss, having you taste your own essence.

“See you out there yeah?” Adjusting himself promptly, he leaves you in the room to catch your breath in shock, but not without a light smack on your ass first.

His morale was certainly high.

Charles got P2, and he was so damn smug about it during his time up on the podium—staring down at you with a shit-eating grin. A wink was sent your way, innocent to others around you, but the underlying meaning behind it was shared only for the two of you to understand.

Being the one that proposed this agreement had you rethinking your choices. You should’ve known better, Charles wasn’t ever satiated until you were reduced to nothing but a babbling crying mess underneath him.

And since he was in no rush with no one to stop him in this duration, he had all night to finally do the rest of what he wanted.

You were already spent—lying on your back as incoherent pleas leaves your swollen bitten lips from each thrust. The stretch of his cock makes slick from your pussy drool, the bed sheets now stained with your sweat and cum. Brain spinning and becoming mush because you’ve came one too many times tonight that you don’t even bother to keep count.

The incessant whines coming from you only encourages him a substantial amount. You looked absolutely enticing like this; mouth parted in astonishment, breathless moans leaving you every so often when he drives his hips further into you in a harsh manner. He doesn’t let up his relentlessness in the slightest either, no matter how much you whimper and push at him—fucking you like no one ever has is the only thing flooding his own thoughts.

Charles’ night couldn’t get any better, it’s one thing about receiving a shiny trophy for a wonderful accomplishment but getting lost inside of you was a far greater reward that he wishes he can have every time he wins.

“Such a good girl for me.” Mindless praises were spoken any chance Charles can muster up without sounding like he was falling apart himself. He was deranged, you felt like heaven and his gaping eyes never leaves the sight of your tight cunt swallowing him whole. When he feels your walls squeezing around his length for the umpteenth time of the night he hauls both of your legs over his shoulders, allowing him to stuff his cock to the hilt.

“Ah! too big— ‘s too much!” You shriek, small hands shoving at his stomach but incapable of wriggling away from his tight hold on your waist and with your energy depleted long ago it was useless. All you can do is claw at him, lay there, and take it.

Each stroke of his cock pounding into that pleasurable spot lying far inside causes your legs to tremble. He tries to distract the burning knot threatening to snap in your abdomen by pulling you into a searing kiss. The angle was dizzying, the way he was buried into you has your legs straining as they push against your chest. Only making you whine out increasingly by how impossibly deeper he got.

“Feels good, doesn’t it baby?” he smiles into the kiss, aware that you are unable to form a proper sentence without sounding like you were weak.

“Can’t- please! Ngh!—no more,” you shake your head, hanging dangerously close to the edge that it hurts, “Can’t come anymore!”

Sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth to stifle the guttural moan that tries to bully it’s way out of his throat, the head of his length twitches from your struggle to hang on.

He tuts his tongue in disapproval, “Mon amour, I know you can give me another.”

Bouncing off the walls of your shared hotel room were sounds of skin slapping against eachother along with your loud sobs of pleasure. The pace to fuck you dumb doesn’t let up, but when your cunt clamps around him, Charles furrows his brows at how awfully tight you got, slightly constricting him from moving.

“You look so pretty when I fuck you like this,” his thumb searched for your throbbing clit at once, rubbing tight circles in hopes to help you find that blissful release, “C’mon baby you can do it.”

As if we’re instinct, your back bows off the bed, body completely seizing up as your orgasm hits unexpectedly in a silent scream. He halts his pelvis sensing your sex quivering around his cock snugly, focusing on applying more pressure onto your pearl, massaging it more vigorously for your juices to gush all over his stomach and muscular thighs.

“That’s it!” he laughs in awe, “That’s a good fucking girl.”

“S-stop! No more!” You cry out, having enough of the overwhelming euphoria, hands clutching at his wrist to slow down. He seemingly took pity on you, noticing the overstimulation becoming too much so he tones it down touching you now leisurely, alleviating the torture.

You were given some time to come down from the mind breaking high, labored breaths returning back to its original state. When he pulls out his flushed cock from you slowly a shuddering hiss leaves his mouth because of the sensitivity. Still shaking from the aftershocks you set your legs down onto the mattress staying there in absolute bewilderment.

You thought it was over until you detected your weak limbs being maneuvered in little to no difficulty, being brought onto your stomach.

“You didn’t think we were actually done, did you?”

The silence was deafening before his tip nudges at your entrance again. You were foolish for making this deal indeed.

© 𝐂𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐙. please refrain from plagiarizing any of my works. reposting on other media platforms is prohibited.

— reblogs, comments, & feedback are appreciated!

[dolliedyhard]

🔪Jeff The Killer Headcanons🔪 [PART 1]

I think is about time I posted my headcanons for him! BOY I did not plan this post to be sooooooo long, I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY OMGGG!!! I LUV HIM SO MUCH (  ੭꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)੭ ᰔ. I might have to make this into a multiple part series on my blog. These are all hc’s for adult Jeff, I have completely different ones for when he was a teen and I’ll make one for teen Jeff later on. None of these hc’s involve his relationship with Dollie or other pastas, this is all about him. All of this is SFW. Enjoy <3

‼️TW: mentions of self harm‼️

♥︎A/N: btw this is my first time making/posting hc’s so plz don’t jump me if they’re bad- (/ _ ; )

♥︎Appearance & Attributes♥︎

He’s 25 y/o

6’4

Straight

White American

Full name is Jeffery Woods. I’ve always liked his name the way it was so I’m not changing it.

Muscular and lean. He’s got more of a sleeper build tho.

Despite being lit of fire he managed to heal his hair, it’s healthy now.

He loves keeping his hair long. He’ll never CONSIDER cutting it short. His hair is one of his favorite parts of himself.

He for certain wants his hair to be down to his waist one day

Hair type is 1c

Jeff’s hair is naturally brown. When the “incident” happened the fire made his hair temporarily black. (Ik that’s not how real logic works but cmon let me have fun >:c)

After a few months his hair went back to brown

Now he dyes his hair black bc he prefers it that way.

His tattoos don’t mean anything, he just got them because he thought they were cool.

He smells like incense and ash most of the time.

If he decided to finally wash his clothes then he smells like clean laundry.

He doesn’t wear cologne, he’s never cared for it.

He showers like twice a week. For the rest of the week he just wipes himself down this a cloth.

At least he uses a soap cloth (oh thank GOD)

When “the incident” happened his face scars would constantly bleed and wouldn’t close.

It was really sensitive and if he smiled or laughed to hard it would gush out again.

It took multiple years for the wound to permanently close.

It’s completely healed now it’s just deformed skin

The scars on his body are from fights, him doing stupid shit or self harm.

He’s not hairy, some underarm hair but that’s all

His veins are most visible in his forearms and hands

I don’t have a voice claim for him (YET!) but his voice is pretty deep and it has a raspy sound to it

He has dark circles under his eye from staying up for days at end

He got some sharp ass canine teeth. In my AU he got bit by a vampire. He didn’t get turned into one bc the transformation was stopped right after his vamp fang came in.

Warm to the touch. Doesn’t matter what season it is, his body manages to retain a significant amount of body heat.

His skin is very pale due to lack of sunlight and frequent blood loss.

♥︎Personality♥︎

When meeting him for the first time he comes off as an asshole.

He insults everyone and it’s hard to hell if he’s joking or not.

And if he’s really pissed he’ll get REAL creative with the insults.

Swears like a sailor

He’s distant and off putting to people that aren’t in his circle.

He loves showing off and will do it no matter what. Even if the circumstances are dangerous.

Jeff loves stroking his ego, it’s so obnoxious but he could care less.

Lowkey thinks he better than everyone

LAWD he’s handsome and he knows it

Doesn’t care about ur personal space

Will creep up on u to whisper shit in ur ear to scare you. And other stuff like that.

Gives people the nastiest stares of all time. And I dare u too say something to him about it, he’ll square TF UP.

Says some really offensive shit but he doesn’t care if you get upset because of it.

And he’ll say it loud and proud no matter how much of a dumbass he looks like saying it.

Jeff’s one of the most defiant proxies in the mansion

He listens to NO ONE and hates more than anything to be bossed around.

Though he partially listens to Slenderman, yk, bc he has to so he can live in the mansion. Masky too bc he’s Slenderman’s right hand man.

Can’t laugh like a normal person to save his life

Like he’s literally out of breath, red face, everything

“How do I befriend him?!?” I hear you say

Like I said before he loves his ego being satisfied so u could just blow smoke up his ass.

But to him you’ll be more like a “fan” than a friend.

And he will just use you for his benefit. He’ll step all over u since you’ve shown ur willing to be submissive to him ＿|￣|○

Show him you’re not to be fucked with but not to be intimidated by.

For Jeff it’s more about if you guys get along and have a good time together than having the same interests.

Jeff only plays favorites if he has a crush on you

Oh boy is he one petty motherfucker… He holds grudges over anything with anyone and is very vengeful.

He’s quick to temper too. He’ll go into a rage induced episodes and they can last for days at a time.

That’s due to his IED (Intermittent Explosive Disorder) and just him being a fucked up person.

He also has BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder)

He’s not trying to manage his IED by being more laidback and comedic but that’s not really helping.

Not a big fan of animals. So if you were to ask him what is fav animal was he wouldn’t say any.

♥︎Interests♥︎

Wannabe lead guitarist

He’s not good enough to be the lead but his ego says otherwise.

He owns a sick ass guitar tho

Started out being emo in his early teens, now he’s more of a metal head.

(I don’t know much about nu-metal or any metal at ALL so I can’t rlly say who his favs are. SORRY IM AN EMO FUCK AT HEART OKAY???)

Listens to goth music occasionally too

Loves going to concerts no matter who’s performing

If you happen to bring up a band he’s seen live before he will 100% without fail say “I saw them live at _!” And will proceed to info dump about what went down.

Even worse if they were in their prime when he went.

Fashion wise he dresses alternative but it’s nothing fancy.

A band tee + hoodie or jacket, jeans, shoes (cons, or boots), for accessories belt and some spikes bracelets. That’s about it :v

And yes he does consider his piercings as accessories.

Paints his nails black on special occasions

Likes to collect weird stuff

His biggest collection is of knifes

Some of them are ornamental and some he actually uses to kill

He gets the money to fuel his collection off the dead bodies of his victims

Also has a strange fascination with history

Specifically historical torture methods & atrocities

Sometimes he uses the same torture methods he learned about on his victims.

HUGE HORROR NERD

He collects dvds of slasher & horror movies

And of course you can’t forget about the vintage TV to play them on!

He’s not a fan of snuff films or gore videos

It just takes out the art out of film making. Why should he watch uninspired shock gore for 0% satisfaction when he can go cause it for 100% satisfaction?

♥︎Killing♥︎

To Jeff killing is something he does for 3 things. Survival, satisfaction, and emotional regulation.

Once he’s got you in his grasp you won’t make it out alive.

Jeff commits the worst murders when he’s having a IED or BPD episode.

He’s not a kidnapper type serial killer

He likes to get the job done by the end of the day at the longest

He loves the taste of blood and often licks it off his knife

He thinks he can train himself to be able to taste the differences between blood types.

He just likes inflicting pain on complete strangers, it’s thrilling to him.

And it’s usually not a stab and go kill, when he first started out that’s how it was bc it was more for survival.

Now Jeff has the taste for blood. And he’s got some horrifyingly creative ways to extract it.

Nowadays you’ll be lucky if it’s a stab and go. His goal is to make sure u feel the agony, every. second. of. it.

He would never consider hurting someone close to him, that would severely fuck with him.

Since the murder of his family he has no one. So he cherishes the few people close to him a lot more than he used to.

He’s never had any regrets about any of the many murders he has committed.

The one and only time he’s ever felt bad about inflicting violence on someone is his older brother Liu.

♥︎Vices♥︎

Jeff is a regular smoker (hence why he smells like ash)

He’s able to blow different shapes out of smoke

Prefers cigarettes over anything else

Hates vapes tho, he think they make you look like a massive pussy.

He’ll flat out refuse to fw you if you whip out your fruity-tuti flavored e-stick when yall go on a smoke break.

Jeff’s not a big drinker

Drinking just ups his already high sex drive to the max and he acts like a complete idiot when he’s drunk. Then after all that his hangover is fucking hell.

At the most he’ll get a bit tipsy cause the boost in arousal makes sex tenfold better.

Jeff’s never done any hard drugs and doesn’t care to.

Who needs a drug addiction when you have a murder addiction?

Okay so about the self harm earlier…

♥︎A/N: Btw in my au Jeff had a much shitter life than the og Jeffery Woods so all of this with context makes sense.

Jeff doesn’t s/h anymore but did it heavily in his teens before he went crazy.

His life was genuinely a miserable hellscape that was picking at his sanity and at every turn it only got worse.

His mother and father didn’t care about him at all. The only person that actually cared and loved Jeff was Liu. But Liu rarely showed any affection towards Jeff so it didn’t really matter how Liu felt about him.

No one knew what Jeff was doing to himself up until he ended up in the hospital with the gashes on his cheeks.

You have reached the end. TYSM FOR READING!!!

I hope you enjoyed reading my headcanons, and I will be doing more hc’s in the future for other creepypastas.

Stay frosty❄️ BAIIIII!!!!!!!!!!!

[nburkhardt]

Was at Disneyland today and had a thought:

Disney cast member Steve being the one to escort Corroded Coffin & family around the parks. He’s trying very hard to stay professional and not give into Eddie Munson’s flirting.

He manages to make it the whole day with it, even if he really wants to. Steve isn’t ashamed to admit that he finds Eddie hot (he especially loves the pet names that fly out of the man’s mouth “hello honey pie!”)

The real problem is the next day, because of course the band has a multiple day pass. Normally Steve switches between jobs/areas, he was supposed to be working with Robin at Haunted Mansion, even already wearing the uniform when he gets told that he was requested by the band (more importantly: Eddie requested him)

Luckily he has another uniform with him and changes, apologies to Robin about her having to work with Keith again before heading to meet up with the band again.

But at the meet up point, he finds only Eddie there. With a lousy excuse for the other guys not being there. (they didn’t want to spend another day watching Eddie flirt, they went to Knott’s Berry Farm instead)

Steve is still professional though, because he doesn’t want to lose his job (Robin would kill him, especially since she keeps getting paired with Keith when Steve’s somewhere else) So, instead of out right flirting, he does give change up the normal gimmick/speech and at the end of the day, pretends not to see Eddie slip his number to him.

(It comes out months later on twitter. Fans go wild and try finding Steve at the parks not realizing he and Robin no longer work there. The two of them being folded into Corroded Coffin’s PR team instead.)

~

… please don’t ask me what cast members do when they escort people around. I’ve never done that. I just saw a few groups of people with one and thought “that would be a fun fic idea” and well, I’m heading home now and decided to write this out hahaha. If anyone wants they can use this!

Taglist under the cut! (Also in the replies)

@spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @bookworm0690 @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @strangersteddierthings

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Off to a good start this year, managed to read lots of fics in January and I hope you enjoy them too!

I've also tried to complete the @feedthefandomfest fluff and smut bingos this month, with varied success. A line complete for smut but fluff was all over the place, let's not look into that too much! Cards are at the bottom of the post alongside by non-fic reading roundup for January

Fics in pink are for the fluff bingo, fics in red are for the smut bingo

Azriel

Made for Him by velarisdusk (AO3) 🔥 (Free space - Dollification)

Bucky Barnes

Aftercare by @thyme-in-a-bubble 🔥(Short and sweet)

Against the Rules by @ellemj 🔥 (Shameless smut)

Bed Chem by @tom-whore-dleston 🔥

Birds of a Feather by @jobean12-blog (Love confessions)

Butterflies by @wolvietxt

Corruption by @fanfictiongirlie 🔥 (Oral sex)

didn’t know if you’d care if i came back by @nickfowlerrr (cuddling)

Dirty Mind by @sergeantbarnessdoll 🔥 (Fingering)

Don’t Mess with My Girl by @ofstarsandvibranium

Eyes on Me by Sellitonceremony (AO3) (Fluff and smut)

Fangs and Spells by @vunblr 🔥 (Public/Semi-public sex)

Golden by @aquaticmercy (Couch cuddles)

Imagine... (‘this snowmaze seemed fun until I got lost’) by @drabblesandsnippets 🔥

Needs and Wants by @ellemj 🔥 (Sex Pollen)

Pillows on the Floor by @noonecareslol (Domestic fluff)

right where i need you by @nickfowlerrr 🔥 (Fluff and smut)

Kink: Somnophilia by @gremlin-girly

Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanov

Oh, What You Do to Me by @missmorwen (Soulmates)

Cassian

Held in Silence by velarisdusk (AO3) 🔥

In the Firelight by velarisdusk (AO3) 🔥 (Size difference)

Plank You Very Much by @illyrianbitch

Sweet Surrender by velarisdusk (AO3) 🔥 (PWP)

The Weight of Expectation by velarisdusk (AO3) 🔥 (Dom/Sub)

Clark Kent

Wait a Minute, Are You Jealous by @hederasgarden

Eris Vanserra

Strings of Devotion by velarisdusk (AO3) 🔥(Pet Play)

Loki

Liberties by @lokisgoodgirl 🔥 (Sex magic)

When the Ball Drops by @mochie85 (First kiss)

Poly/Multiple Partners

Being mated to ... with Azriel, Eris & Lucien by @fieldofdaisiies 🔥

birthday girl by strawberrybrat (AO3) 🔥 (Bat Boys/Feyre) (Double Penetration)

First Night by @buckets-and-trees (Stucky x Reader) (Romantic fluff)

Shadows and Steam by Abyssqueen (AO3) 🔥 (Bat Boys x Feyre)

When the Stars Bear Witness by velarisdusk (AO3) 🔥 (Bat Boys x Feyre) (Threesome)

Sergei Kravinoff

for all that he’s rough, you're soft. By @dearhargrove (Sleepy cuddles)

In the Hunter's Arms by @moonlight-joy

Kraven's Temptation by @omgkatherine01 🔥 (Rough Sex)

Steve Rogers

Steve & Photographer Reader by @imyourbratzdoll 🔥 (Daddy kink)

[lovelyhan]

— ode to you ⟢

if there's one thing you've learned from all the lives you've spent together, it's that jeonghan isn't always someone you'll end up wanting. he can be crass. he can be secretive. he can be nothing short of vexing. but in the end, he's everything you need him to be.

or: 25 lives in which you find and don't find jeonghan.

★ FEATURING; jeonghan x gn!reader

★ WORD COUNT; 6.9k words

★ TAGS; reincarnation, multiple lives, pining, angst, suggestive scenes but no smut, sooo many tropes

★ WARNINGS; mentions of blackmail, implied murder, implied depression, mentions of puking/vomiting, mentions of car accidents major character death

★ NOTES; i was supposed to work on my collab fics but i feel like i've gotten a little rusty w my prose so i wrote this as a little writing exercise of sorts :D i've written for other fandoms in this format before and i thought it was high time i did the same for seventeen with my ult of all ults <3 i hope you enjoy!

this is inspired by tongari's 25 lives

★ PERMANENT TAGLIST; @cheolhub - @pretty-trustme - @just-here-to-read-01 - @Idkmelkro - @dejavernon - @venusrae - @jyiiscool - @jiniesclub - @junhui-recs - @bldelaine - @featmia - @fruitzcup - @hoeforhao - @candidupped - @billboard-singer - @caratochan - @novalpha - @dahliatopia - @0717luv - @shiveringgaze - @toruro - @mixling-blog - @minnie-mouser22 - @homerunhansol - @mirtaspace - @ti–red - @zzucculent - @woozarts - @rubyreduji - @mozellerra - @lllucere - @cheolzip - @jjjzzzz - @lissiesykes - @jeonride - @meowmeowminnie - @colored-confetti - @partiallyinfluencial - @speaknowlwt - @flwrshwa - @lilylikesthat - @aurorahongg - @whippedforjihoon

★ JEONGHAN TAGLIST; @yoonzinoooo - @scandal-in-bohemia - @bias-recs - @lunaryoongie

01. the very first time i remember you, you are blonde and you don’t love me back.

One strict rule that you make sure to uphold with all of your clients is that business comes first before all else.

You're a well-known freelancer that lands gigs left and right from high-end fashion brands and magazines alike. The only way your career managed to survive in such a cut-throat industry is because of the strict professionalism you never failed to maintain.

That's until you meet Jeonghan for the first time.

Fluffy blonde hair framing his face, curling just along the edges. Slanted eyes that crinkle just a bit whenever he smiles. And a lazy grin that betrays just how nonchalant he is about the entire thing. Like he knows he's gorgeous he is and how everyone else in the vicinity is aware of the fact, too.

You've worked with a handful of people with breathtaking features in in the past, but there doesn't seem to be any word in any language that could encapsulate just how mesmerizing Jeonghan is.

For the first time in your career, you find yourself wanting to reach for the subject being captured by the lens of your camera. Just to make sure he was an actual person and not some doll crafted from fine silk and porcelain. The fact that he's modeling with a bouquet of lush flowers does little to your peace of mind.

But your innate professionalism overrules whatever nonsensical desires your sleep-deprived brain could conjure in that moment.

Once you're satisfied with the material you've come up with, you're quick to dismiss Jeonghan and the rest of the team, and call it a day. You have another shoot to oversee in less than two hours and you'd like to avoid the rush hour traffic if you can.

Yet, despite your urgency, you stop halfway to the door to the studio—casting a sidelong glance at the person who's supposed to be one of your temporary colleagues and none else.

"Jeonghan," you call out, his name tasting bittersweet on your tongue. "It was nice working with you today."

He barely glances up at you from the soft glow of his phone screen, not even a smile spared your way.

"Yeah, sure."

02. the next time, you are brunette, and you do.

Yoon Jeonghan is the biggest menace you've met in your life.

Not only does he keep stealing your parking space in the office basement and plucks off the last brownie in the pantry during break time, but he's after the promotion you've been vying after for months, too.

Needless to say, he's public enemy number one in your eyes, and all your colleagues are well aware of the scorching rivalry you two constantly waged in the workspace.

But on the night before you're set to present the proposal that you swear up and down would make your superiors choose you over that sniveling prick, the Devil himself swoops into your cubicle with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Do you really not see it?"

You frown at him as you shove your laptop into your bag with an air of irritation. "See what? That they're going to select you for the promotion? I don't, actually. That's why I'm—"

The words promptly melt on your tongue when Jeonghan forces a hand on divider separating your space with the others—trapping you with a sleazy look on his face. His dark brown tresses fall across his piercing eyes but you force yourself to hold your ground.

In the midst of it all, a moment's worth of familiarity crosses your mind.

Blonde hair styled to perfection. A bouquet of flowers just as beautiful as the man that models for them.

How long has it been since then?

"Can't you see that I'm only doing all this to get your attention?" he chuckles. "I've always known you're a bit slow on the uptake, but you might need an extra push in the right direction."

You gulp nervously. "W-What's that supposed to mean?"

Jeonghan shakes his head, amusement dancing across his features in a way that makes you want to smack him, if not for the laws imposed on the land.

"Have dinner with me tonight and I'll withdraw from the competition" he propositions. "How's that sound?"

...Isn't this blackmail? It definitely sounds like blackmail.

But despite knowing that you should just bring your knee up to smash into his family jewels, your face heats up with the implications of his offer instead.

An offer that you begrudgingly accept.

03. after a while i give up trying to guess if the color of your hair means anything.

"Really?"

Jeonghan grins when he steps into your apartment sporting his newest dye job. You're perfectly aware that idols these days get the most outrageous hair colors, but you didn't think his stylist would be daring enough to pull off long purple hair for Jeonghan just a few months after his group's debut.

Over the years, Jeonghan cycles through a lot more colors than you'd ever thought he'd be willing to try. Blonde, pink, red, brown, silver—all of them, he pulls off with grace.

Even when his idol days are over, he still gets bouts of wanting to march into the nearest salon for another makeover, and you rectify this by just buying the cheapest bleaching kits online despite his whines in protest.

"Our stylist noonas would've been alright with a house call." He pouts just a little as you force him to sit still. "It might come out all patchy."

"Do you have so little faith in your partner's bleaching skills?" you huff, dipping the brush you have in one hand into the bowl of sharp-smelling bleaching mix in the other. "Your stylists noonas charge a fortune, too. We're better off doing it ourselves."

Jeonghan laughs. "You act like we can't afford it."

Turns out, you fucked up the portions of your little bleach concoction and your harmless session resulted into googling first aid for bleaching burns and soaking Jeonghan's scalp with coconut oil for the rest of the day.

"Sorry," you mumble as you help rinse out the oil the next morning. "Do you want to contact your stylist or head to a salon instead?"

Despite your wary disposition, Jeonghan merely breathes out a chuckle, taking your hand in his as he meets your eyes in the bathroom mirror.

There, two rings glimmer in the morning light—the one he shares with his twelve brothers and the one you slid onto his index on the day of your wedding.

"I've been through worse, love. This is nothing," he insists before pressing a soft kiss across your knuckles. "Let's just let my scalp rest for a few days before we dye it, okay?"

You shake your head with a laugh. Really, what are you supposed to do with this man?

"If you insist."

04. because even when you don’t exist, i'm still in love with you.

"You got my name wrong again."

In the middle of packing a takeout bag for the food delivery guy waiting in the corner of the café, you look up to some familiar college kid standing in front of the counter with a furrow on his brow. A regular, maybe.

"Sorry?" you ask, brain a little too frazzled to make sense of what he was trying to say.

Said college kid shows you the underside of his cup—the name Jeonghan scribbled hastily onto the material.

"My name's Jeongin," he sighs. "I've been coming here everyday and I swear, you always get it wrong."

"Well, I'm so sorry, Jeongin, I'll make sure it doesn't happen again," you manage to wrench out before calling out to the delivery guy, saying the order was ready for pick-up.

Funnily enough, you end up living together with Jeongin by some twist of fate. Your shoes are lined up with his outside the apartment, toothbrushes lying in the same cup in the bathroom, and you even steal his hoodies every now and again.

But what you don't tell your boyfriend of five years is how you still dream of the man whose name brought you together in the first place.

A man who you don't get the pleasure to meet in this life, much like a dozen others that came before.

05. i remember most fondly those lifetimes where we get to grow up together

In the past (though its definition is a little...unique in your case), you were convinced that just because Jeonghan is the sole singularity to which your existence is anchored to, that doesn't necessarily mean you'll get to have him and him alone in each life.

Yet in this one, you're fully convinced that he's the only person who'll ever have your heart.

It's on a cold, winter afternoon when you realize that you're in love with the boy that showed you how to cross the monkey bars in elementary school. The boy who gives you his packed lunch whenever you forget yours at home. The boy who taught you how to pick locks so you could sneak into his father's liquor shop and get drunk behind the counter.

Jeonghan has always been a fascinating person in whatever life you meet him. But now that you've got a taste of what it feels to grow up alongside him—witnessing him transition from a snotty kid to a troublesome adult—you can't picture yourself wanting anyone else.

He's rightfully startled when you confess your feelings merely minutes after having realized them. You've lived through this endless cycle of meeting and parting ways enough times to know that there's no room for uncertainty.

And each time he accepts you with open arms, the relief that washes over you feels like the first time all over again.

06. when i share my secrets and sorrows and hiding places with you.

There are times when you're the one who doesn't remember the lives you've lived in the seemingly endless cycle.

When you meet Jeonghan in this life, it's with shoulders carrying the weight of emotional baggage and dreams that have been crushed right before your eyes. It's an understatement to say that you're inexplicably drawn to him as if he's a beacon in the dark. But even if you're yet to remember, Jeonghan has always been easy to trust. Easy to fall into.

One night is particularly heavier than the rest. Your meds aren't kicking in the way they're supposed to and it's raining much too harshly to pay your comfort person a late night visit.

Yet when you call your boyfriend as you choke on your own tears, he's at your door in half an hour—paper bags full of all your favorite snacks in hand with a smile that feels like a ray of sunlight amidst a raging storm.

But he's quick to drop all of it and pull you into a hug when he sees the mess you are in the living room.

"I'm a bad person," you sob into his chest, clinging to the fabric of his jacket as he placates you in his tender embrace. "I'm s-selfish and always just think about myself. I've done so many terrible things, Hannie... How could you even love someone like me?"

Jeonghan doesn't answer right away. He calms you down for the better part of an hour before rising to get you a glass of water in the kitchen. Your boyfriend watches with quiet attentiveness until the look on your face tells him that you're ready to talk again.

"So what if you're a bad person, love?" he murmurs before planting a kiss on your forehead. "Tell me every terrible thing you did and let me love you anyway."

Despite yourself, you let out a soft laugh. "Which cheesy pocketbook did you pull that one out of?"

"Hey, I drove for thirty minutes in the rain and this is how you thank me?" He huffs before reaching for a bag of chips he haphazardly strewn across the coffee table, tearing it open and offering you a piece. "I read that on Pinterest, by the way."

07. i love how you play along with my bad ideas

In many, many lives, Jeonghan is not yours to love.

And that's okay. There isn't a fine print stating that because you're blessed (cursed?) to meet him in each lifetime, you're meant to be together against all odds.

Fate is fickle like that—so unpredictable that you never really know how to act whenever you do cross paths with Jeonghan eventually.

Still, even if you're not destined to be lovers, you can still love him in other ways.

Like helping him sneak out of his third period lecture so he can come watch local street performers hold a fundraising show in some underground bar. You do all this because he once told you that he wanted to support them in any way he could.

If only Jeonghan could see the grin on his face that gets wider with each dancer that takes the stage, he wouldn't have a hard time wondering why it was so easy to fall in love with him.

"So when's the next time you'll help me sneak out of a lecture?" Jeonghan asks as the two of you head back to campus at a mellow pace even if Jeonghan's next classes starts in ten minutes.

You hum as if genuinely contemplating. "Maybe after you do me a huge favor in return for this one."

Your shoulders bump together as he lets out an easygoing laugh. As the late afternoon sunlight filters through a canopy of trees and onto your best friend's face, you feel a tug at your heartstrings that urges you to pull him in for a kiss.

But you don't.

08. before you grow up and realize that they’re bad ideas.

"Are you sure this is safe?"

Jeonghan's voice sounds considerably spooked when the amusement park staff locks in the over-the-shoulder restraints. The buzz of excitement from other visitors rings in your ears and he seems to be the only person that isn't looking forward to being on a rollercoaster.

"You act like this is the first time you've been on one." You roll your eyes. "Just relax and feel the wind on your face, yeah? If it gets too much just hold my hand or whatever."

You should not have offered in the first place because by the time the you've made two trips around the wildly looped tracks, you're convinced Jeonghan has already cut any and all circulation to your fingers with how tightly he's gripping your hand.

But still...you can't deny that it feels a little nice to be needed by him.

09. (and in our lives together i have many, many bad ideas.)

“Do I know you?” 

Jeonghan makes the mistake of blurting out those very strange words when he catches you sitting right next to him at the bar. You startle when he breaks the ice, fully convinced you're the one who had to initiate when you deliberately slid into the stool to his right.

Amused, you study him without much of a real expression before the tension in your posture melts into gentle laughter.

“No,” you say with a tone that suggests you're making fun of him. “But we could get out of here so we can get to know each other better. What’s your name?”

A dozen expressions flit across Jeonghan's face in mere seconds and you would've laughed again if you didn't know the reason behind the perplexity of his reactions.

“It’s Jeonghan. But you can call me…”

Before he can get the rest of the pick-up line out, he promptly throws up all over your outfit.

10. when we meet as adults, you're always much more discerning. I don't blame you.

"Again."

Your sweat beads across your forehead and drips onto the floor as you catch your breath. Palms braced across your knees, you look up to your mentor with a resentful glare.

In this life, Jeonghan—who was considered part of the 'anemic line' in his group eternities ago—is now one of the most well-known choreographers in the industry and would probably put Soonyoung to shame with how much of a perfectionist he is when it comes to your routines.

"Can't I get a five-minute water break?" you plead.

"You can get one when you think you deserve it," he says flatly before crossing his legs. "Do you?"

Much to your chagrin, you're just as much of a perfectionist as he is in this life. You shake your head with a guttural sigh, forcing yourself back into position despite your muscles aching for a break.

You don't miss the way Jeonghan smiles at your display of determination, but you don't let yourself think much of it either.

11. yet, always, you forgive me.

Jeonghan is upset with you.

He has all the right to be, really. You promised that you'll leave enough candy bars from your Trick or Treat haul to last both of you for a week, but you ended up overeating while binging your afternoon cartoons and now there's only one stick of chocolate left in the hollow, pumpkin-shaped bucket.

"I'm sorry," you murmur. "Do you want to go to the candy store to buy some more? I can break my piggy bank if—"

"No, you're saving up for that new game on your Nintendo DS, right?"

The fact that he actually remembers that makes you gape at him. "Um, yeah, but it's no big deal. A candy bar is only worth a few—"

Not giving you any leeway to speak any further, Jeonghan grabs the last candy bar inside the bucket—tearing the packaging open with his teeth before breaking the chocolate in half in the middle. Despite his annoyance, he hands you the other half with a small pout.

"Then just keep saving up so we can play it together," he grumbles and even when he's barely eight years old, it comes so natural for him to show you how much he cares about you.

12. as if you understand what’s going on

"Do you go here often?"

You flash the stranger who's speaking to you a befuddled look—not expecting to hear a line typically used on you in bars at your father's yacht club, of all places. He's wearing tattered jeans and an atrocious pink flannel over an equally tattered shirt. You wonder if he's just going for an odd aesthetic or if he's in dire need of a closet makeover.

"No. I'm just waiting for my father," you tell the man honestly before glancing at the boats docked by the pier. "He bought another yacht that I'm sure he won't even think of after bragging about it to his friends."

The stranger laughs. "I know how you feel. My old man's just as materialistic as yours sounds."

Oh. Maybe he is just going for an odd aesthetic with his fit after all.

"Wouldn't have thought you were a nepo baby, too," you snort before kicking a lone pebble into the water—watching it sink into the depths until it's out of sight. "I thought you were one of the boys that maintain these things while their owners completely forget about them."

"Hmm, I can be anything you want me to be," he chuckles and even if you've only met this guy five minutes ago, something about his laughter sounds so oddly familiar.

"The name's Jeonghan, by the way." The not-so stranger smiles and the feeling that you know him from somewhere intensifies tenfold.

"What's yours?"

13. and you're making up for all the lifetimes in which one of us doesn't exist

You like to think of yourself as an independent person.

You've crossed literal lifetimes in the strangest rendition of immortality that you've never once read in all the books you've deigned to pick up in this never-ending eternity. It's only natural for you to be self-sufficient.

But when it comes to Jeonghan, you always get to refamiliarize yourself with what it feels like to be lonely.

There are things about him that you consider irreplaceable: the curve of his easygoing smile, the warmth of his slender fingers, and the touch you yearn for constantly.

You're perfectly aware that you don't need Jeonghan for all these lives to gain some semblance of meaning. In fact, it's in the lives where you don't meet him that you get to learn a thing or two about yourself.

But when he is there, when he's the reason you get out of bed everyday, you simply think that a second of being with Jeonghan in the flesh is worth more than a lifetime in his absence.

14. and the ones where we just, barely, never meet.

Your phone is pressed into your ear in the middle of the grocery store because your good friend Joshua thought it was the perfect time to rant about his insufferable boss.

Being the lovely person that you are, you let him talk your ear off as you parse through the cabbages on display—wondering which one you should bring home for salad night.

"He's such a fucking prick, you know?" Joshua groans out the same sentence for the third time since you picked up his call. "No wonder his wife is having an affair behind his back. That's karmic retribution if I've seen it.''

"Shua, have you ever considered just resigning instead of making me your therapist?"

"I have, it's just that finding a new job is way more of a hassle than dealing with my asshole boss everyday," he grumbles. "But about the therapist thing—thanks for always listening to me. I know I can be annoying at times but you always put up with it any..."

Joshua's voice fades into the backdrop of your mind when you spot a flash of pink in the corner of your eyes. You instinctively turn your head in the direction of a stranger running towards the exit of the supermarket—wearing an atrocious pink flannel that you would recognize anywhere in any lifetime.

You briefly apologize to Joshua before ending the call, shoving your phone into the pocket of your jeans before leaving your push cart to chase after the figure receding from your line of sight.

You just barely catch him hopping onto a bus when your instincts lead you to further outside. You would have sprinted for a ride, had it not been for the children that obstruct your path with a little game of tag.

By the time you finally shake them off, the bus has already driven past the intersection—snuffing out the candle, leaving you in the dark.

15. i hate those. i prefer the ones in which you kill me.

You've watched a dozen serial killer documentaries in your lifetime—well, lifetimes. They always start the same way: a psychopath with a way with words charming his next unsuspecting victim into their utter demise.

While you absolutely did not know that this life's Jeonghan will turn out to be a crazed lunatic that gets off on seeing another human being's blood on his hands, it doesn't really change the fact that your heart is still tethered to him despite.

He still smiles as sweetly as you can remember as the tip of his knife glides along the column of your throat. His voice is just as comforting in those lives where he'd never forget to kiss you good night right before going to sleep.

"You're such a pretty little thing, aren't you?" Jeonghan murmurs. "But you'd be so much prettier if you just lay still."

The last thing you remember seeing is the angelic look on his face as if he's the one who'll personally escort you to the next life.

You don't particularly mind.

16. but when all's said and done, i'd rather surrender to you in other ways.

It's only amidst the post-orgasmic clarity that you realize how much of a fool you are.

These quick trysts you share with Jeonghan are brief. He invites you over under the guise of something that isn't sex for the sake of propriety, only to pull you into his apartment and kiss you until stars danced behind your eyelids.

He's flicks the cigarette he's having on the ashtray as he complains about a coworker he's been trying to get with for the past month. She likes playing hard-to-get, but I like her so much that I don't really mind? Is that weird? Oh, do you want a smoke, too? Sure, let me light you a quick one in a sec—

You're a fool because you've spent dozens, if not hundreds of lives chasing after him—whether you yourself are aware of it or not.

To Jeonghan, this is a life he probably won't remember in the next. To you, it's another inescapable death sentence.

"Maybe you should drop the nice guy act," you suggest before taking a drag of your own—not caring how the ashes stain Jeonghan's crisp white sheets despite his protests. "Showing your true colors is what got you to land me, you know."

"And we all know how much of a catch you are." He winks before killing his cigarette on the ashtray.

You're about to respond with an eyeroll until he plucks the cancer stick off your hands as well, disposing of it the same way he did with his own. When Jeonghan maneuvers himself on top of you again, you let out a withering sigh.

"Maybe I should just date you instead," he giggles before leaning down to nip at your ear, slender arms coiling around your waist. "What do you think?"

"You already told me before that I wasn't your ideal partner, asshole," you remind him with a huff.

Jeonghan hums, a noncommittal sound that seems like there's something else layered underneath. "But what if I told you that already changed?"

It's enticing—the possibility of getting to have him again when you couldn't really call him yours right now. But you know better than to take things that aren't meant for you.

At least, not in this life.

"Stop saying silly things and just fuck me already," you grumble, already tugging off his boxers. "Then you'll delete my number right after so you can finally get with the woman of your dreams. Got that?"

17. even though each time, i know i'll see you again, i always wonder

You've always looked forward to summer.

No more grueling classes. No more deadlines to catch up on. Summer means you get to go back to your hometown for a few weeks, unwinding in ways that your usual schedules don't quite permit you to.

Summer also means you'll get to visit Jeonghan again.

Your mother already has food and flowers prepared in advance—saying Mrs. Yoon kicked up a huge fuss when she found out you were going back home this weekend. You receive the news with fond laughter, noting how the flowers Jeonghan's mother picked out are reminiscent of the ones he held in the very first life you met him.

"I'm graduating next year," is the first thing you tell Jeonghan when you arrive, popping open two ice cold sodas before settling yourself on the grass in front of him. "Can you believe it? Four years of college, just gone in a flash. If you actually went through with your performing arts scholarship, you'd know how I feel."

"I'm thinking of getting a job here instead of the city. You know, so you won't feel too lonely without me," you chuckle, the moisture of your drink beading across your fingers. "Although, your sister keeps insisting that they give you plenty of company already and that I should chase after my own dreams first. She's starting to sound a lot like you, you know that?"

Jeonghan doesn't respond. Of course he doesn't. But you can almost hear his stilted laughter in the warm breeze anyway.

You place the flowers and the cola in front of his gravestone with a bittersweet pang in your chest. But before the tears can get the chance to escape, you turn on your heel and leave the cemetery altogether.

You didn't always look forward to summer after the accident that took the love of your life away. But knowing that your best friend—your soulmate—would simply be waiting for you in the next life, things became much, much easier.

18. is this the last time?

"Don't go..."

Jeonghan murmurs the words between drunken hiccups as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. You chuckle, smoothing your hand across his sweater-clad back as he clings to you like a koala.

"Hannie, what do you mean?" you whisper as you glance at the mess of empty bottles you'll have to clean up from the coffee table once you put your boyfriend to bed. "I'm not going anywhere."

He pulls away from you briefly, puffy eyes glistening with tears as he lets out a shuddering sigh.

"I had a dream that you left me for some guy named...Jeongin, or whatever," he mumbles. "I promise I'll treat you better than anyone else. Just don't...leave me."

In some way, he remembers. Not everything because even you don't completely recall all the lives you've lived. There's too many of them now, most of which are too painful to think about all over again.

But this is the first actual instance where Jeonghan unknowingly hints that his past lives stay with him even beyond death, and it makes you wonder if he'll start to remember the others in time as well.

"I won't, Hannie," you whisper, weaving the words into a promise that you'll be sure to keep in the next life, and the hundreds of lives that will inevitably follow.

"I won't."

19. is that really you? 

There are lifetimes where you try, but it just doesn't work out.

Sometimes, fate carves both you and Jeonghan into mismatched pieces of two different puzzles, and he doesn't even try to convince you to stay as you quietly pack away your belongings in dull brown boxes. The tension in your movements tells him that you knows he's watching.

"I'm not getting back together with you, if that's what you're wondering," you rasp. "If you love your job more than me, then I'll be the one to see myself out." 

Jeonghan manages a sad smile that you completely miss—having been so caught up with your frustration with him to look. You thought that in each life he ends up becoming a world-famous idol, it meant that he'd also live all of his days with you by his side.

But things aren't always that simple, and Jeonghan merely stands in resignation as you shut the door to both his house and your heart. 

20. and what if you're already perfectly happy without me?

When you took up a job as an events coordinator, never in your wildest dreams did you expect to be planning Jeonghan's wedding, of all things.

He doesn't seem to remember you and you don't really fault him for not recognizing someone he's met literal lifetimes ago. Not when he's obviously so enamored with his current fiancé.

"We were interested in the deluxe package on your website," Seungcheol, his intended, breaks the ice after the formal introductions, showing you a screenshot on his phone. "Is this inclusive of a lights and sound system or will we have to outsource those somewhere else?"

You nearly miss what Seungcheol was asking you—too caught up in how beautiful Jeonghan looks today. He's grown out his hair longer than he usually does and it's half pinned behind his head.

When it takes you a while to respond, both his and Seungcheol's gazes flicker with confusion before your heart sinks with how in tune they are with each other.

"Y-Yes, lights and sounds are already included in the package." You compose yourself with a warm smile. "But you might be interested in the royalty package. This would give you access to..."

21. ah, but i don’t blame you.

"Baby, I'm sorry."

Jeonghan looks like a kicked puppy sitting at the side of the hospital bed with how apologetic he is. You want to tell him that it really is no big deal but with the lower half of your body temporarily paralyzed, you can't really say that's the case.

"I shouldn't have insisted that you come to the music show when it was raining," he groans. "It's a miracle you managed to swerve out of the truck's way."

You wonder if he remembers the life where you lost him to an accident not so different from the one you narrowly escaped last night. The absolute fear in his eyes the moment he saw you covered in casts and bandages is reminiscent of the time you received the phone call informing you of your boyfriend's passing.

But you don't make it a habit to ponder too long about lives that have long come to an end. What's important is now, where you're still living and breathing and able to remain by his side.

"It's not your fault, Hannie," you murmur as you reach out to pet his head with some difficulty. "I shouldn't have gone past the speed limit in the first place."

"Well, you wouldn't have to do that if I wasn't being so pushy about you showing up," he sighs in defeat. "Tell you what, I'll pull out of all our comeback schedules until you can walk by yourself again."

You frown at him. "What? No! Your managers are going to kill you."

"They will, but knowing you'll be all alone while you recover will kill me inside too."

Jeonghan isn't usually this cheeky with you, so you keep this memory tucked away in your consciousness for as long as you can. Knowing there's no talking him out of it once he's got his mind set, you shake your head with a defeated sigh.

"You better take care of me like they do in those five star nursing homes then."

22. i’ll never burn as brilliantly as you. 

Your favorite lives, you think, are the ones where he lights up the stage and the entire world as an idol.

He's happiest in these kinds of lives. The bond he shares with the rest of his bandmates transcends even the love you've harbored for him through lifetimes, and if there are people you'll gladly surrender Jeonghan to, it's those twelve boys that will always be his brothers no matter what.

"How was that?"

You're in the middle of giving out stage directions for the next round of performers when Jeonghan walks up to you with his signature, lazy smile. He's sweat-stricken with a stutter to each breath he takes, but he makes himself appear just as composed as he wants you to think.

"Breathtaking as always, Jeonghan," you decide to humor him—knowing that the sooner you give him a compliment, the sooner he'll leave you alone. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to—"

"Will you be busy after the show? I wanted to cook dinner for us at home."

A panicked look seizes your face when you gesture for him to keep it down. Your eyes dart around the vicinity—idols and their stylists running around backstage in preparation for the next segment of the show. None of them seemed to have picked up on Jeonghan's little slip of the tongue.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" you whisper sharply over the sound of another fellow stage director paging you in the south entrance. "Anyways, I have to go, Hannie. And please don't go blabbing about our relationship where you shouldn't."

When that idiotically handsome smile doesn't fade from his lips, you know things won't exactly go your way as usual.

23. it's only fair that i should be the one

At some point, you stop counting altogether.

The lives you live with and without Jeonghan blend seamlessly into each other the longer the cycle repeats itself. It doesn't hurt as much when you don't find him, but your heart still gushes with relief when you do.

And yet there are instances where you try to spit in the face of fate itself. Instances where you decide that you don't want to be chained to Jeonghan anymore. That the lives you live belong to you and that you won't let some otherworldly force dictate the course of it any longer.

One day in the summer, in some petty attempt to cheat your way out of fate, you decide to date your next door neighbor.

Sujin has the same eyes as Jeonghan—it’s something you can’t really look past. Maybe that’s what makes it so easy for her to wear down your defenses without breaking a sweat.

But the moment the thought crosses your mind, you wipe out every similarity until you can’t see them anymore. They almost look the same apart from gender, but Sujin is so different from Jeonghan, that for a while, you forget about the burden you've been carrying all this time.

One day in the fall, Sujin talks about meeting her brother for dinner, and you don't really ponder about it—agreeing without a hitch.

But that’s only the first of your many mistakes because the man who walks into the restaurant is Jeonghan. Sujin’s brother, the person who’s kissing your girlfriend on the cheek, is Jeonghan. 

“Did you know that Sujin never shut up about you when you brought her the housewarming gift?” Jeonghan snorts before ordering a glass of wine. “Hmm, you look kind of familiar, though… Have we met before?”

“No,” you respond almost instantly.

It doesn’t work. Your master plan of waging war with destiny is rendered utterly useless when Jeonghan bruises his way back into your life. Where Sujin managed to ease herself past the walls you've put up after a few weeks, Jeonghan tears them down in half the time his sister took to pick you apart. 

One day in the winter, Sujin breaks up with you, and in spite of the coil of emotions twisting in your chest, you watch her pack her things and move back into the apartment across the hall. 

One day in the spring, there’s a knock on your front door that you're in no hurry to answer. You stare at Jeonghan with equal parts irritation and relief when you see him there. His grin reminds you of flowers unfurling as he stares back with a challenge in his eyes.

A challenge you loathe, but one you can never refuse.

24. to chase you across ten, twenty-five, a hundred lifetimes

“Don’t you ever get tired?”

Your head is resting on Jeonghan's lap when he poses the question, and you think the fact that your eyes are closed is already an answer on its own.

You used to think you were cursed. Maybe you've incurred enough bad karma in your very first life to provide you with a steady stream of misfortune in the next few million lives you're destined to live.

That could be the reason why you have to live all these lives, meet all these people—rinse and repeat. Is this how the gods are punishing you? Is there anyway to atone for sins you can't even remember committing anymore?

Though…when you open your eyes and see Jeonghan staring out into the distance, you have a hard time thinking of him as a punishment. 

You sit upright and stretch out your limbs. There’s a kink in the back of your neck that might be resolved by a good night’s sleep, but you offer Jeonghan a hand before you can think about it any more.

“No,” you answer as you twines your fingers together, pulling him back to his feet as he spares you a loving smile.

“Not really.”

25. until i find the one where you'll return to me.

"That bouquet's really pretty."

Jeonghan glances behind him with a confused look—frustration clear on his face from trying to get the new stove he had installed in your kitchen last week to start. When his eyes land on the beautiful spill of flowers bundled up in a vase on the dining table, his features soften with fondness.

"Those are the flowers I had when you met me the first time, right?" he chuckles before taking a seat next to you. "The one where I was a 'prick of a model who wouldn't even bat you an eyelash'?"

Your chest bubbles with laughter at his description. You've grown more and more comfortable with telling Jeonghan about the lives you've shared in eternities that have long unspooled, and just when you feared he'd treat you like someone who escaped an asylum, he instead took all your words to heart.

He doesn't quite remember them all on his own, but when you bring up little pieces from old memories you do manage to dredge up, he's able to complete the pieces of the story to form a coherent picture.

Maybe that's what Jeonghan is to you—someone that isn't exactly necessary to have in your life, but someone who makes it infinitesimally better.

If there's one thing you've learned from all the lives you've spent together, it's that Jeonghan isn't always someone you'll end up wanting. He can be crass. He can be secretive. He can be nothing short of vexing.

But he can also be kind, considerate, and present in times when you need him the most.

In the end, he's everything you need him to be.

And you couldn't ask for anything more.

⟢ end notes: me: this is a writing exercise, the word count: pushing 7k :') ok so this wasn't proofread even in the slightest so if you spot any mistakes and errors, no you didn't <3 thank you for joining me in this very self indulgent train of delusion!

[vrystalius]

hello! your halloween event sounds super cute, can i please request going trick-or-treating with gyutaro shabana? 🩷🩷 love your work and really admire you as a person and a writer, please take care!

Trick or Treating with Gyutaro.

The only day of the year where he can feel a little more confident in his own skin.

Pairing: Gyutaro x gn!reader

Gyutaro was staring at you while you were leaning closer towards your mirror, trying to paint the birthmarks of his perfectly onto your face. You wanted to match with him while going out to trick or treat, much to his surprise. He thought you might be ashamed to go out with him or go out with Daki. But after asking his sister if she’d like to go out, she bashed him for treating her like a child. He beat himself up for upsetting his sister like that, so you suggested you two could go together! Gyutaro looks a scary and special, like a really cool costume! What he would’ve taken as an insult any other day was now perceived as a compliment. The excitement especially started bubbling up in his stomach while watching you try to match him so badly. You spend hours trying to mix up the correct foundation colour on his palm until you finally managed to kind of recreate his skin colour.

After an hour of work, you and your boyfriend were finally matching! Although your posture and body type is not exactly the same, the resemblance was still there. Now all you two have to do is wait until the sun goes down and he is finally able to leave to house. But until then, Gyutaro has gotten awfully cuddly. He didn’t bother to explain why the sudden affection because you were to distracted trying to shield your face to not smudge your make-up. He couldn’t stop staring at the black spots and markings you copied. They made him feel like you two were bonded now, like soulmates. You had a piece of him marked on you now, even if it is just temporary and supposed to be a scary costume, it still made him feel all warm and fuzzy how hard you were trying to imitate his marks.

After night finally came, Gyutaro kept snickering and laughing at the sad excuses of costumes some random kids put together. Your boyfriend also found immense joy in scaring toddlers. He straightened his back to make himself even taller and would flash his teeth, giggling and silently showing off his sharp nails. Those poor kids ran back to their mother or to wherever they came from. Why are there even kids in the entertainment district?

You were a little envious at how much candy Gyutaro was scoring. His success was either because people found him to have a very convincing costume (with his waist looking so inhumane and his skin looking so sickly all over his body), or because he was silently threatening the home owners to hand over all of their remaining sweets. That way you can enjoy the most amount and no other stupid kids can eat them. Maybe you can hand out some candy in Daki’s brothel if you don’t want to keep the multiple buckets of candy. Gyutaro saw how little candy you were getting in comparison to him and proceeded to slip some over into your bucket everytime you’re not paying attention. It was making him happy seeing your eyes lit up when glancing into the bucket and finally noticing how your amount increased by a lot. That last guy sure gave you a lot of candy, huh? Or at least that’s what your boyfriend made you think to keep you happy.

“Here, t-take my stuff. I can’t eat it anyway… B-But can I watch you sort it through though? I wanna s-see what kinda candy I can get ya for the f-future…”

I’m going to be real with you, one of my closest friends has the EXACT same pfp as you, and when I saw the notification that you started following me, I thought you were her 😭 I was really confused and scared for a day or two XD (my friends aren’t aware of this blog yet). Also, don’t be shy to send in some requests for this event! <33

Anyways, I love Gyutaro, but also EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3

Here’s my event masterlist 🎃

Here’s my Trick or Treat event 🎃

[galene-gothic]

SCAMS, KINDNESS AND VALUE OF MONEY & SERVICE

Hello everyone, I’m not much of a blogger besides tarot but recently, I feel the need to share my thoughts about whatever the title says. I grew up in a poor family with a single mother. I was fortunate enough to have been able to go to a fairly prestigious school until the tenth grade after which I had to drop out due to my sister being extremely sick and my mother struggling to make ends meet. That’s when I started this blog. I was able to complete my +2 through online education due to your assistance and my own hard work. Those who liked and reblogged my posts helped my current clients find me, and many of them purchase from me as loyal customers even to this day which I’m obviously very grateful for. I haven’t even been able to start university yet because I’ve been taking care of my family financially which means working as a full time tarot reader for now. I’m only 19 going on 20 this year so I think that while I should not take any time for granted, I also don’t stress out unnecessarily about education because I am more focused on what I’m currently doing for now i.e. making money, strengthening skills and saving money. Seeing all my batchmates being able to go to school while I was not able to used to break my heart back then.

I was scared of being seen, of being asked what I was doing because what was I supposed to say? That my mother couldn’t afford to educate me any longer? People aren’t very sensitive when it comes to other’s struggles and I was not interested in giving them anything to underestimate me for. At some point, I started getting sick a lot due to my declining mental health but my former best friend told me that I would struggle less if I accepted things as they were and I managed to do so. It’s unfortunate that my mother got sick as well. She needs blood every six months but for the rest of the six months, she’s more or less okay except for weakness but I never once asked for huge donations or anything of that sort. Maybe it was pride, maybe it was overestimation or just a lack of faith in humanity but I felt like I would just provide service that would be valued and earn money through it to look after myself, and my family. I do not want you to take this as a sob story because I’m mentally and emotionally doing pretty well, and am really grateful plus always have clients wanting to purchase from me. My point is that while it’s okay to ask for donations and offer them, you should ask for proof, and if anything doesn’t add up, you’re allowed to not want to donate because your money is valuable and while kindness, and humanity are important, that money could do better in a place where it’s actually needed.

There are many scammers who victimise themselves in order to loot your money. If someone is able to provide a service, they can try and earn their lot. In fact, they should. You’ll be doing them a favour because how long are they going to survive off donations? At some point, they need to learn how to not be a victim of circumstances. I didn’t mention it earlier but I’m speaking as someone who was physically, mentally and emotionally abused as a child because my mother didn’t really have an emotional punching bag nor a companion. She probably felt like she lost her youth raising her children and resented us for it. I didn’t want to speak on this because healthcare is something that everyone deserves and I’m all for kindness. I found it very dramatic and sketchy that a single person was claiming to have multiple issues including, physical abuse, sexual abuse, chronic illnesses and injuries but decided not to question it much because there was a point during which everything was falling apart in my life as well and I needed empathy, support, and kindness and didn’t even have the strength to reach out for it but it breaks my heart that there are people who work on a single reading for several days and even weeks if they’re on the longer side just for someone else to get all that money for free because of a sob story of theirs.

I understand that accusations hurt and my post is not intended to hurt anyone but I would like for the accused reader to post or DM proof i.e. the medical papers alongside an official identification certificate or card of some sort and simply just be transparent about what it is that is going on. I am not interested in accusing someone who claims to be sick but if you’re asking for financial assistance from those on the app and the community, I hope and believe that you understand why you owe it to them to be transparent, to simply provide any sort of proof. For me, I wouldn’t have been posting this but hearing someone say that their illness can’t be treated in UK when it’s at least the top twenty countries when it comes to healthcare is what got to me. I come from India and it is a developing country where healthcare services are lacking so I’m not trying to offend anyone, I’m just saying that if anyone is receiving money from others, they owe them proof and transparency. Plus, if it is a scam, those who truly deserve and need these donations won’t get it, and it will be difficult for us to trust such calls for help in the future. Continue supporting causes but you’re not a villain for wanting tangible proof first because the money you donate is either your own or someone else’s hard earned money. Let’s deal with this situation level headedly with compassion as well as reasoning. Thank you for reading. Much love and take care 🫶🏻.

[causeilikelix]

new to the blog but abt those felix throughts 😍😍 felix whos so tired of the members calling him innocent and babying him. yea its nice from time to time but hes a grown man ! so he goes 100% hard dom on you just so your moans can be heard in the dorm 🫣 also he would totally cover you in bite marks and hickeys just so he can get his point across to his group 💕

now THAT's what I'm taking about skhsfdlkfjsdlkfj

Like we all know that Felix is a lil guy with too much love in his body but soft =/= sub. He's a man very comfortable in his identity and the power he holds over you. Felix just wants to make his baby feel good but he also wants to prove a point...

Smut and warnings below the cut. MINORS DNI!!!!!!

↳  Words - 2.7k (and some change)

↳Warnings: SMUT duh, Soft!Dom Felix (I'm still getting used to writing Hard!Dom anyone) and a tough of Hard!Dom Lix at the end, afab!reader, relatively vanilla, fingering (f receiving), P in V, unprotected sex (don't), multiple orgasms, exhibitionism?, hickeys

You loved his innocent vibe!  You really did!  His angelic smile and his sweet words and actions is what drew you to him in the first place.  He was nothing but romantic and sweet all the time.  The best communicator, respectful of your boundaries, always treated you like a princess.  Honestly everyone needs their own personal Felix!!

But he’s tired.  He can’t help it.  All of his friends baby him so much!  Like Changbin said himself, Felix is happiness personified!  But enough is enough.  His sweet exterior is giving him a reputation he doesn’t want.  When his friends talk about their sex lives, they always make these jokes that Felix must be a little pillow prince who takes what he’s given and lets his partner take the lead.  In fact, his friends bet, he’s as innocent as can be and maybe you and him don’t even have sex at all!

He’s still grumbly about it when you get to the dorm one night, just to spend a little time together in between schedules.  He greets you with his normal warm hug and a sweet peck but you can sense something is off.  

Initially you stay in the living room to continue watching the movie the other guys are watching.  It’s some action film you couldn’t give two shits about.  Your legs are swung over Felix’s lap and he’s gently massaging your calves and thighs while he stares at the screen.  You can hear a few of the other guys snickering but you can’t make out what they’re saying.  When you glance at Felix, his eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw is set.  Honestly it’s kind of hot and makes heat pool between your legs.  Let’s be honest though…. It’s Felix.  Almost everything he does can get you wet.

The boys laugh again and you note that it’s during a not particularly funny part of the movie.  This is where Felix breaks.  He pushes your legs off him and grabs your hand.

“Come on, babe, this isn’t very interesting.  Let’s go to my room.”  Felix whispered to you, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. 

Your body immediately went hot and you had a feeling you knew what was on his mind.  He dragged you to his room and tossed the door shut behind him. 

His hands were cupping your face and pulling you into a deep kiss before the latch had fully closed.  You could simply melt into his kisses.  They always were deep and full of every ounce of love in his body.  Tonight, however, his lips were urgent and demanding. 

“I need you baby, please.”  He whispered against your mouth.  The need to show his friends that he wasn’t a little boy anymore coursed through him, but he would stop if you gave the word.

“Lix, I need you too.”  You managed out between kisses, “But what about the guys?  They’re right outside and-”

“Remember what we talked about last month?”  Felix kissed down your neck and pushed you back towards the bed. 

How could you forget?  Most of the time you and Felix had sex it was very mutual.  You didn’t do a whole lot of powerplay.  Maybe a sprinkling here and there when the situation was right, but Felix loved it when sex was a mutual expression of love.  A few weeks ago he asked you about exploring power play a little more and maybe experimenting with some kinks.  One of them was being listened to.  Not necessarily the real thing, but pretending like someone could walk in on you at any moment. 

With the boys right down the hall, that one held more risk than normal. 

“You wanna try it?”  You asked.  The back of your knees caught on the edge of the bed and you sat down.  Felix weaved his fingers through your hair and bent down to kiss you.  You parted your knees instinctively and Felix settled between them. 

With him above you like this, you felt small under him.  The thrill it gave you made your heart speed up.  You gripped his slim waist to pull him closer. 

“I want them to hear you while I fuck you dumb,” Felix’s voice dropped and octave.  It sent a shiver down your spine.  You always loved it when he got like this.  When he got too horny, his voice dropped and it made you wet in an instant.

Felix’s hands made quick work of your clothes.  He wasted no time in getting you naked, leaving your top and jeans in a pile on the floor.  Even though you hadn’t expected to have sex on this visit, you still wore one of your cuter underwear sets.   Baby pink with a little bit of lace at the top of the cups of the bra and the top of the panties, made even more innocent by a tiny rose in the center of both pieces. 

Felix swallowed thickly at the sight.  

“You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”  Felix whispered.  He maneuvered you onto the bed and hovered over you.  You clawed at his shirt, urging him to take it off.  He smirked and tugged it off.  “Just say the word and I’ll stop, okay?  Until then you're going to let me do whatever I want with you, right baby?”

“Yes, baby.”  You nodded in understanding.

You groaned at the sight of his chiseled chest.  Those gorgeous, defined ab muscles and his perfect little pink nipples made your mouth water.  Everything about him was beautiful from his head to his toes.  Not to mention his cock.  Speaking of, you wanted to see it immediately.  You tried to reach for his pants but he grabbed your wrists and shoved you back against the bed. 

“No touching without permission, got it baby?”  He cooed, “I wouldn’t want to have to punish you.  I bet you’re already wet, aren’t you?  It doesn’t take much to get my baby worked up.”

Felix slipped his hand into your underwear and seemed unfazed by the amount of slick in your panties.  To be honest, you thought that there should have been more.  The sudden show of power had your cunt gushing and clenching around nothing and you needed him inside you, um, yesterday. 

“Felix, please!”  You cried, pushing your hips up into his hand.  His digits rubbed small, slow circles on your clit.  Just enough to feel good but not enough to actually get anywhere. 

“What do you want, baby?  Good girls use their words.”  Felix chided, his fingers slipping lower to tap against your entrance but not going in. 

“I want you to touch me!  Please!”  You kept your voice quiet so that no one outside the door could hear you, but that wasn’t what Felix wanted. 

“You want me to touch you?  Alright, baby, I’m feeling nice today.”  Felix kept his eyes on your face as he slipped two of his fingers into your tight hole with basically no resistance.  He watched as your face screwed up in pleasure and your lips parted in a silent moan.  “Come on you can do better than that.”

With that, Felix pumped his fingers into you.  Quick thrusts wouldn’t get him where he wanted to go so he opted for long, deep strokes that pressed the pads of his fingers onto that special spot he’d found a few weeks ago.  The ball of his hand pressed deliciously against your clit with every thrust.  You swallowed a moan and turned your head to press your face into your arm to help silence yourself. 

At this, Felix threw three quick thrusts of his fingers into you.

“Uh uh,” he chided, “I want to hear those beautiful noises of yours, baby.  Let me know how good I’m making you feel, yeah?”

He pressed a few more deep and precise thrusts into you and this time you complied with a long, drawn out moan.  Felix grinned.  He continued like this for a few minutes, pressing his fingers in as deep as possible.  He resorted to pressing his hand against your clit and his fingers massaging that spot within you. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight.  You’re drenching my fingers already.  I can’t wait until you cream my cock, baby.  Keep moaning, just like that.”

He has you clenching and cumming on his fingers in seconds.  It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he gets your thighs shaking.  You’re moaning so loudly that you’re certain that the others can hear you.  Felix smiles through the whole thing.  His eyes are dark as he watches you cum just from his fingers. 

“Good girl, there it is.  Let’s see if you can take my cock, yeah?”

“Please.”  You moan loudly. 

Felix pulls his fingers out of you and you whine at the loss.  He pulls your panties down your legs and tosses them somewhere in the room.  Next he strips from the rest of his clothes and his cock slaps against his stomach.  Precum pearled at his tip and your mouth watered.  You longed to take him in your mouth and suck him until he came but he had other plans.

“Hands and knees.  Now.”  Felix demands.  He pumps his cock a few times to make sure he’s hard enough.  How could he not be, though, as he watches you climb onto your hands and knees and present your ass and your glistening hole to him.  He leans over you and brushes his cock along your swollen folds.  “Good girl.  God, you have the most perfect ass…”  Felix palmed it appreciatively before pulling his hand back and landing a firm slap on the flesh.

“Fellix!”  you gasped when he landed a second slap.  

“That’s right, baby, remember who’s name you’re screaming when I make you cum.”  Felix’s deep voice rumbles. 

He lined up his tip at your entrance and rubbed it through your folds a few times, reveling in the way he could make you shiver every time his cock grazed your over-sensitive clit.  When you least expected it, Felix pushed his cock into your tight, warm cunt.  You both moaned out in unison when he bottomed out.  His long, thick cock filled you up perfectly.  It was as if your pussy was designed for him.  Felix swore that he could spend the rest of his life between your legs.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you, darling?”

With that, he began thrusting.  Sometimes adjusting to someone’s cock in you is a thing of myth.  You can never get used to how perfectly he fills you up.  It may not be the longest, but it’s thick and it stretches you more than anything or anyone else ever has.  His cock has a perfect little curve to it that hits that little spot inside you whenever he angles his hips just right. 

Tonight, he’s determined to get all of the sounds out of you that he can.  So every single thrust is designed to do just that.  He shoves himself into your snug heat as deep as he can go every single time.  It’s like you can feel him in your throat.  Every thrust pushes his hips flush with your ass.  He takes a hand and presses on your back to push your chest onto the bed.  

“Fuuuuuck baby, you feel so good.”  Felix moaned, “Always so warm and tight for me, baby.”

“You feel so good inside of me,”  You moan back, struggling to get your words out between Felix’s rough thrusts, “Don’t stop, don’t stop!”

“Come on, moan for me baby, show them how good I make you feel.”

As if you had a choice.  His thrusts were hard and he shifted his hips until his tip speared into that spot over and over again.  Felix had found that spot by chance a few weeks ago when he was fingering you and now he made it a point to seek it out every time.  

Felix’s hand curled around your bodies and his fingers made contact with your clit immediately.  At this, you keened and let out the loudest moan of the night.  Your cunt clamped onto Felix’s cock and he bit his lip to keep from cumming right there.  Your tight, wet heat eas driving him crazy but you had to cum first.  

He could have sworn that the TV volume lowered.

“Come on baby, cum for me.”  Felix grunted, his finger swirling around your swollen clit.

Your walls clenched and fluttered around him.  Something in your belly pulled taut and you rocked yourself back on Felix’s cock.  The extra bit of friction made the coil pull tight.  You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to let your body relax so that Felix could take over and bring you to orgasm.  Your moans grew louder and louder as you got closer.

“Yes, yes, yes!”  You cried, “Fuck, Felix!  Right there!”

“That’s a good girl, cream my cock, baby.”  

The sound of the TV in the front room had stopped all together.

The extra pressure of you pushing back onto his cock was just the right thing.  The intense pressure in your stomach suddenly released all at once.  Your legs trembled and your body shook.  Felix took over and gripped your hips tightly.  He slowly guided your hips down towards the bed so you were laying flat, continuing his intense thrusts into your cunt.  He leaned over you and pressed his lips to the back of your neck. 

“Felix, don’t stop,”  you moaned, arching your back into him to keep his dick lodged inside you as deep as possible.  

Your orgasm washed over you in waves, each one resulting in a gush of wetness between your legs.  His hips kept drilling into you diligently.  He kissed along your shoulders and neck, sucking dark marks onto your skin.  The second you rolled over, he’d give you hickeys on your neck and breasts to match these.

When he sensed your orgasm coming to an end, he slowed his hips but kept his cock lodged within your tight walls.  He hadn’t come yet but he knew he had to give you a short break before he sought his own orgasm. 

“Was I loud enough?”  You giggled,  “What was that about?”

“The guys were making fun of me, saying things like… I couldn’t be a dom because I’m too innocent, that I’m just a pillow prince and I let you do all the work.”  Felix peppered soft kisses on your skin. 

“That’s not it at all baby!  We just like sex to be reciprocal, that’s all.”

“I know, but I guess I needed a little ego boost.”  Felix shrugged.

“Well if I get to come like that every time we need an ego boost, by all means,”  You giggled, rubbing your ass back into him and making his cock slide against your puffy walls, making you both gasp.  “I think you could stand to be a little meaner, though.”

“What?  You want me to be mean to you?”  Felix stared at you with large eyes.

“Maybe a little more.”

“Oh, so you want me to call you my own little personal slut?”  Felix whispered in your ear.  That tantalizing voice of his made your cunt clench on him.  “Oh so you would like that?  I should have known you’d be a little cock-hungry slut.  Can’t go a single day without my cock in you, is that it?”

“Mmhm…”  You nodded, eyes suddenly a little teary but in the best way.  You pushed your hips back against his again.  He groaned and pressed a hand to your hip to stop your movements.

“If you keep going like that I’m gonna treat you like a little cocksleeve, got it?  I’ll stuff you with enough cum to keep you full for weeks.  You want that, baby?”

“God, yes,” your eyes rolled back at the thought of feeling even fuller than you were now.

“Then relax, my pretty slut, we’re just getting started.”  Felix growled. 

His hand slipped under you to press lightly against your tummy, the pressure pushing your g-spot effortlessly against the tip of his cock.  He’d hardly have to aim at all like this.  You let out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll fill you up ‘til your cute little cunt can’t handle it anymore.  M’ cum is all yours.”

[stars-obsession-pit]

Can do stories off art? If can't come up with fix prompt? Dp x dc could use more art.

Only do crossovers?

Try this prompt sounds interesting https://www.tumblr.com/wyvernsgale/777684760738873344/an-au-of-this-fantastic-au?source=share

So, firstly, the thing written for that prompt by @wyvernsgale:

Look, on some level, Tim gets it.

Bruce doesn’t owe him his parenthood. He had no part in the cloning process. He didn’t ask to have another kid dumped on him so suddenly after he lost his own. Passing Tim off to the foster system wasn’t an inherently unreasonable decision.

The rejection still stung, but Tim had been able to understand it. Bruce just didn’t want to take in another kid.

Except that evidently Bruce did want more kids. He recruited multiple other teenagers into his vigilante brood.

So why had Bruce rejected him?

He couldn’t get the question out of his head. Was his existence really that disgusting a thing? Was he doomed to always be alone, to never find anyone who cared about him?

Those fears had gradually worn away after he found a new family in Amity Park with the Grays. Not completely gone, but quieted down enough that he could manage them.

And then Amity Park went to hell. Well, not literally (unless that incident with the Ghost King counted), but the situation was bad. First the ghosts, then the Guys in White taking control.

Phantom was trying his best to maintain things, but it wasn’t enough. A whole team of allies was gradually coming together—beginning with Tim’s own sister Valerie after he convinced her to give the ghost boy a chance—but they were still losing ground. They needed help, badly.

So they sent requests to the Justice League.

But nobody came.

After the first few dozen, the lines actually blacklisted them for spam. Tim then reached out to Bruce directly, sending messages begging for aid.

Yet still, nobody came.

Could Batman be blocking their requests? Did Bruce really hate him that much?

Whatever the reason was, they were on their own. They closed ranks, built up their own systems of managing the issues. The GIW’s advances slowed to a stalemate. With time, maybe they’d even fully triumph over the white-suited bastards.

And then Batman had the nerve to show up and offer help. Like he hadn’t left them to rot.

Tim Gray sneered at his genetic template, not that the other “hero” wouldn’t be able to see it through Tim’e mask.

“Oh, so now you’re here. Ignoring our time of need and only showing up once we’re strong enough to potentially actually win and pose a threat to your image. How typical.”

Then, actually answering the questions from the ask: (beyond the readmore)

Stories based on art, maybe! Depends on what the art is I guess. Making actual art myself… yeah no I’m not likely to be satisfied enough with my skill level to willingly post my drawings.

As for if i would do non-crossovers: not no, but it heavily depends.

Like, I don’t feel confident enough in my depth/breadth of DC knowledge to be able to build off of many of their topics in proper detail. For instance, I know jack shit about the actual canon Flash or Green Lantern stuff, so I couldn’t see being able to write anything with a focus on them without first going through and consuming some of their source material.

Non-crossover stuff that’s purely Danny Phantom is easier for me than DC in that regard - there’s far less source material to comb through and my brain for whatever reason accepts its fanon more readily than with DC.

For other fandoms beyond those two… don’t get your hopes up high. There are a few other series I’ve posted about on this blog and would potentially be willing to write more with, but it’s a far smaller sample than my DPxDC interactions.

[officialfrevblrpage24]

Arguing with other “feminists” makes me tired, like physically tired.

It’s that feeling when my autistic brain just feels heavier and heavier, the more I keep typing and sitting up.

I’ve been spending the whole day with my friend Chanel… arguing nonstop, while managing multiple blogs (mostly History RPF related ones) at the same time.

I may hop onto Character. AI after this, or Pinterest. At least there, I don’t have to constantly argue what seems to be common sense, to others.

I don’t want supremacy over males, I don’t think that males are inferior or inherently dangerous. I believe that women are dangerous as well. I fear all humans, not just ones who are born different. Misandrists and Misogynists scare me the most, and make my head ache the most too.

I wish that I can just sleep all day and night without having to worry about waking up. I hate this weird feeling of being tired, but not sleepy.

This is very… tiring. This is tiring.

This shouldn’t be the way.

This shouldn’t be the way at all, especially in the climate we are at nowadays in the real world.

But… the internet is like its own version of the real world. People from the real world are online and-

Anyways, this was just some yapping. If any RadFems or GCs see this post, then oh well. My brain already feels heavy and I don’t have time for them.

[syluscore]

I abso-fuckin-lutely loved In the Middle! Like, it was chefs kiss.

I would like to request somethin similar to that if you don't mind. It's like a Leon x Ada x fem! reader. I know I'm a genius, right?

Also, I frickin love you're work like it's more than chefs kiss, it's total perfection😍😍😍

Fine Line

~Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader x Ada Wong~

Word count: 6239

Content warnings: fluff, angst, smut, sexual content, MFF threesome, established relationship, they're both with reader but not each other, confessions of feelings, kissing, sub reader, dom leon, dom ada, breeding kink, mommy kink, mentions of impregnating reader, minor arguing, p in v sex, unprotected sex, multiple creampies, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, strap on, pussy eating, oral (f recieving), squirting for first time, praising

Thanks for your patience anon <3

!!!!!MINORS DNI! THIS BLOG AND POST ARE 18+ ONLY!!!!!

It’s already three am when you’re finally returning home from a work trip. It was only supposed to last a weekend, but due to your boss’s fuck up, it lasted over two god forsaken weeks. 

You figure everyone will be asleep considering it’s so late, so you quietly let yourself in the back door and lock up behind you. 

You’re silently unlacing your boots when you hear voices coming from the kitchen. Your hands instantly freeze up as you try to hear who is up at this hour. 

You’re too far away to make out anything, so you finish unlacing your boots, quietly setting them down and tiptoeing towards the kitchen.

You sit quietly in the dark dining room. You’re barely breathing in your attempt to remain hidden. You don’t know why you have the urge to eavesdrop, but here you are being suspicious as hell. 

You hear a loud sigh. “How long have you felt this way?” You recognize Leon’s voice immediately. 

You can tell already this is a heavy conversation. Usually the house was filled with laughter and teasing and happiness, but tonight it was darker. 

“Since the day I met her, probably.” 

So it’s Ada and Leon talking. Your two roommates and best friends.

Leon huffs out a laugh and you’re not sure what to make of their tone. Who are they talking about? How are they feeling? What’s going on?

“How’d we manage to both catch feelings for our roommate? What’s wrong with us?” 

Your heart drops and feels like it might fall out of your ass. They’re talking about you? They have feelings for you? Both of them?

Feelings of guilt start to creep in without permission. Are you going to come between their friendship? What if they ask you to choose? Please don’t make you choose, please.

You’d never forgive yourself. You could turn around now and pretend you never heard anything. Maybe they’d drop it and never bring the subject up to you. All three of you could repress your feelings in peace.

You know it’d be fucking painful, but it could be worth it to preserve the friendships you’ve fought to maintain over the years. 

“I don’t know. I think it’s just her.” 

“What, how she’s absolutely perfect in every sense of the word? She doesn’t even have to try to get me wrapped around her finger. She says jump, I say how high. Makes me feel like a fucking schoolboy.” 

Ada laughs at Leon’s explanation and you can’t hold back your smile. 

“That about sums it up.” Ada agrees with him.

They think you’re perfect? No one knows you better than they do and they still believe that load of shit? Maybe they really are in over their heads. Leon, you can see being a hopelessly devoted lover. But you never thought you’d see the day Ada was in just as deep. And all for the same girl who’s never viewed herself as anything more than mediocre at best? It’s a hard thought to process, that’s for sure. 

“Did you ever plan on telling her? I’ve wanted to so many times, but I’ve always chickened out.” 

“Oh Leon. It’s more complicated than boy meets girl and pursues her. That’s a given basically; it’s what’s expected. But I’m a woman who doesn’t even know if she’s into women.” Ada takes a long swig of her drink and lets out a heavy sigh. 

Leon hums as he ponders Ada’s words. 

Ada’s been pining over you even though there’s a chance you might be straight? She still admired you so much to catch feelings regardless. 

It just adds to that gross guilty feeling growing inside of you.

You’d never intentionally been evasive about expressing your sexuality. You’ve always thought your sexuality and gender expression was just fluid, not wanting to put yourself into a box. Labels made things official and you’ve always been noncommittal. And somehow that has leaked over into how you identify as well.

What do these idiots see in you? 

“Maybe she’s not into men and I’m shit out of luck. If she isn’t open about it, maybe it’s because she doesn’t identify with the norm?” Leon’s voice is shaky, almost as if he’s nervous. Is he nervous? God, you wish you could comfort him and tell him everything is your fault and not his. He always blames himself, always. 

They sit in silence for a minute. It’s not an awkward silence. They’re expressing their feelings and helping each other process, so it’s a respectful silence as they try to correlate together the best words. 

Leon speaks up again, “I don’t want to come between you two. You should pursue her and I’ll back off.” 

“Don’t do that to yourself, Leon. Don’t sell yourself short like that.” 

“What are the chances she’s into both of us?” Leon speaks before he thinks, “I mean, obviously everyone would have to agree to that and I’m just spitballing ideas here-“

Ada cuts him off, “Maybe she could be. It’s not like she’s expressed her desire for a strictly monogamous relationship either.” 

Leon’s voice is so quiet you barely hear it, “Do you love her?”

His voice is so vulnerable and it feels as if that alone has split your heart in half. Is he hurting over this? How long has he been hurting?

“I do.” Ada states without hesitation. She’s so sure of her feelings for you. A single tear streaks down your cheek as the emotional turmoil tears you apart inside. 

“I think I do too.” 

You have to cover your mouth with both hands to fight back any sounds. Your body aches with the need to sob, but you won’t allow yourself to. No, you have to be strong for both of them.

“What are the chances one of us gets our heart broken?” Leon’s voice is still so small. 

“There’s always a chance. But if you love her as you say you do, you must believe the risk is worth it? For the chance that your love will be reciprocated?” 

“Fuck. She could break my heart a thousand times and I’d probably ask her to do it again.” 

They both burst out laughing at Leon’s confession. 

“I mean, what do we do, Ada? Do we talk to her about this? Do we do it separately or together? How do we even go about it? When does someone even bring something like that up?”

You can’t take it anymore. You can’t stand the thought of your best friends hurting—your favorite people in the entire world. So you abandon your hiding spot and enter the dimly lit kitchen.

“How about now?”

Leon and Ada’s heads both whip in your direction as you nervously rub your sweaty palms on your pants in the doorway. 

Once the shock wears off, Leon’s face lights up as he stands up from his stool. He takes long strides toward you before pulling you into a tight hug. 

His lips place gentle kisses in your hair as he mumbles, “I missed you so damn much.”

All you can do is nod into his chest as you pull him to you even tighter. You grip each other like the other might disappear into thin air if your grasp waivers even the tiniest bit. 

Leon’s smell and presence fully wraps around you and it’s the most comfortable you’ve felt in weeks. Has his embrace always felt like this? Has he always felt like home?

He pulls away just enough so that he can look down at you. “Did you hear all of that?”

Your cheeks flame with your embarrassment as you nod at him once again. His attention on you alone has stolen your ability to speak. As if his mere presence has you in a chokehold.

“And?” He asks, pleading with his eyes. 

All you can do is stare up at him as you try to find any words at all. Your brain feels like mush as you meet his stare and feel Ada’s burning into you.

You close your eyes and inhale deeply, forcing yourself to get out what needs to be said. Your eyes open up and you speak quickly before you can talk yourself out of it.

“I feel like the luckiest girl in the world to have both of my favorite people ever love me as much as I love them.”

Your eyes leave Leon’s and connect with Ada’s, “Nothing else has ever made this much sense to me.”

You bring your eyes back to Leon. His jaw has dropped and his eyes wide. He looks at you like he can’t believe those words actually left your mouth. You can’t stop the smile that grows on your face at his reaction. 

“So… Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna kiss me?”

Leon blinks once before he’s crashing his lips into yours. His hands are immediately cupping your jaw as his body pushes your back against the doorframe. 

Your body instantly melts at the way he handles you. The way his hands hold you to him so firmly. His soft lips dominate yours like a starved man. His firm body perfectly fits against yours. His erection jerks to life against your belly. 

You whimper as he nibbles on your lip impatiently. Your body instinctively arches into him as your head lols back, silently egging him on.

You force yourself to pull away from him, remembering the other person you desperately need as well.

“Ada,” you turn your head so your eyes lock on hers. “Please, I need you.”

Leon’s lips trail from your mouth, across your jaw, and down to your throat.

Ada stands from her stool and slowly makes her way over to you. She stops when she’s a mere inches away from you.

“I could never say no to you.”

“Promise?” Your prompting causes Ada to smirk before leaning forward and capturing your lips with hers. 

Leon pulls himself away from you so that Ada can be fully engrossed with you. Her body is instantly pressed up against yours as her lips force yours apart. She ravishes them like she’s searching for something and you hope to god she finds it. 

Neither of their kisses are gentle and it drives you crazy. Both of their lips have sent smoke signals straight to your pussy and it has you soaked within a few minutes. You want to be embarrassed, but you can’t bring yourself to feel that way. You can’t feel anything besides the throbbing in your chest, nipples, and pussy. 

Ada pulls back and stands next to Leon a few feet away from you. They devour your body with their eyes as you lick your lips and allow yourself to eat them alive with your eyes as well. 

It’s still hard to believe that was almost two years ago. Not many people understood what you were talking about when you mentioned your boyfriend and girlfriend. It bothered you for a long time but not so much anymore. Your happiness is just that, your own, so no one else’s opinion really matters. 

You daydream of that night anytime you go away, whether it be for work or pleasure. 

This time, you were scheduled to go on a work trip for three weeks and you dreaded being away from your partners for that long, but you were also excited for the project you were helping with. Both of them had offered to accompany you, but you wouldn’t allow it. You knew their jobs could require them in an instance at any given moment, so you knew that they really did need to be home and on call. 

It was a long three weeks. 

You had finally made it home again. You were exhausted from the flights and airport bullshit. All you wanted to do was crawl into any bed at all and pass out for three days.

But the second your cab driver is pulling up in front of your house, Leon is throwing open the front door and hurrying down to meet you. 

You’re pulling your suitcases out of the trunk when he comes to a halt beside you. He gently grabs the bags from your hands, shaking his head in disapproval of you doing the heavy lifting yourself.

You thank the driver, giving him a large tip for leaving you alone the whole ride. You always hated cab drivers who tried to make small talk. Like just drive the car, step on it actually.

The second Leon passes through the threshold of the house, he’s tossing your bags to the side and pulling you into his chest. You allow yourself to fall into his embrace, too tired for much else.

“I’ve missed you so much.” He whispers into your ear, “Never torture me like this again. I’ll roll over and die next time I swear. I’m gonna have to put a ring on that finger and a baby in that belly so I can keep you safe in the house forever.”

You giggle into his chest and shake your head, “You’ve really gone crazy, huh?”

“Never been more clear headed in my life.”

“Sounds like something a crazy person would say.”

He cups your chin between his fingers, “The first thing you do when you finally get home is call me crazy? How dare you?” Then he’s pulling your lips into his with a searing kiss. 

He’s the definition of a golden retriever boyfriend. 

Always wants to be next to you when you’re around. Needs to protect you and cherish you. When you’re gone, he mopes around waiting for you to get back. When you’re both home, he can’t stay away for long. Always ending up searching you out and demanding your undivided attention. Surely if he had ears and a tail, they’d be perked up and wagging whenever you’re near him. 

And you absolutely love it.

You pull your lips from his, smiling up at him. He smiles, or more like beams, right back at you. 

A throat clears from the hallway. “How was your flight?”

Your heart rate immediately picks up at the sound of Ada’s voice. 

Before you even realize it, you’re rushing over to her. You nearly trip over your own feet in your haste to get to her.

The second you’re within reach, you’re throwing your arms around her body and nuzzling your face into her neck. She chuckles and shakes her head at you in response, but doesn’t do anything to stop you. Oh no, she pulls you even tighter against her. 

If Leon’s a puppy, Ada is a cat. 

She’ll miss you while you’re gone, but never admit the words aloud. But her eyes and purrs say it all when you’re back in her arms. She won’t come barking at the door upon your arrival, but she will make her presence known. She’ll quietly demand attention, but she’ll still make you come and get her. 

Both of their devotion runs just as deep, but they each express it in such different ways. 

You hear Leon’s footsteps approach you from behind. 

“You’re mine tonight, right? I won’t make it through the night without you.”

“Fat chance, Leon.” Ada states firmly.

“I’m not letting her go tonight. Cannot, will not.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“I’m keeping her tonight.”

“Like fuck you are. I’m fucking taking her and I’m gonna fuck her so loud there won’t be anywhere in this house you could go where you won’t hear it.”

You cut into their little dispute, “This isn’t a fucking pissing contest. It’s not up to you two. I can decide where I want to stay tonight.”

“With me, obviously.” Leon says, crossing his arms with an attitude.

“Maybe I’ll just sleep alone in my room tonight.”

“NO!” They both shout at the same time. You try to fight back the smile creeping up your face, but fail miserably. You can’t help it, they really are your sweet little pets.

“Then we compromise.”

“How? What do you need?” Ada asks, cupping your cheek and making you look her right in the eyes.

“You’ll both just refuse my idea anyways.”

“Try me.” Leon says. He’s brought himself much closer to you than he was previously. His words are spoken right into your ear and you can’t help the chills that sneak up your spine.

“Can you both stay with me tonight? I missed you both so much. I’ll lay in the middle. You guys won’t have to touch or anything. I just want you both right now. I know we usually keep things separate, but maybe just this one time? For me? Then we can go back to how things usually are.” Your voice is pleading, but you don’t really care. You are pleading with them.

Silence follows for what feels like minutes, but in reality is probably just a few seconds. 

“Anything for you. I need to be with you so much too.” Leon is the first to speak. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear and you almost lean into his hand. 

You stare into Ada’s eyes again. You can tell she wants to refuse, but she also misses you so much. She might not say it aloud, but her whole body aches with the need to stay close to you. Is she willing to cross her boundaries just to stay with you tonight? Yes, absolutely yes.

“Okay.” She finally agrees and you pull her into a kiss. You could thank her, tell her how much you appreciate it, but you know she doesn’t care much for words. She’d rather you kiss her and show her how you feel.

You pull back and look between the two. “Alright. Okay. Right. I’m beat, you guys ready to come to bed with me?”

They agree easily and it’s not long before everyone is changed into their comfy clothes and tucked underneath the covers.

You lay in the middle of the bed, Ada on your left and Leon on your right. You lay facing Ada, your arm and leg thrown over her while Leon spoons you from behind. They make sure neither of them is crossing over the other, only touching you. 

Of course you’ve laid between them before, but never for the whole night. Once it’s time for bed, you usually go to sleep with one of them for one on one time. It’s always been the best way to maneuver the relationship and everyone is usually happy with that arrangement.

Tonight is a bit weird, but you’re happy to be with both of them. You’ve always liked the idea of something like this, but they’ve always wanted their alone time at night. It’s not like that’s the only time you can be alone with one of them. You’re alone with each of them often, but they’ll never have enough. Neither will you honestly.

Leon shifts his body slightly and you suddenly feel his full erection pressed against your ass.

“Leon,” you scold him, but he just chuckles.

“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I’m not the only one who missed you, you know?”

“I know, I can feel it.”

He laughs again before the room falls back into comfortable silence.

But of course it’s not long before Leon is grinding his dick into you slowly. He’s trying to be discreet, but it’s obvious to everyone in the bed what he’s doing.

“Leon.”

This time it’s Ada who speaks up and scolds him. Her voice is stern and even has you going completely still.

“Oh please, Ada. You really gonna act like you’re not as desperate for her as I am? As if.”

“I’m not the one acting like a dog in heat right now.”

“First of all-“

You cut Leon off, “Guys seriously? That’s enough. There are three sexually frustrated people in one bed right now and I don’t think the best solution is tearing each other's heads off. Knock it off.”

Leon grinds his dick into you even harder.

“So you admit it too? You need this just as much as me. Come on baby, let me fix all of your problems. Let me fuck you to sleep.”

“For fucks sake.” Ada huffs out.

“Ada,” you whisper to her shyly. She turns her head towards you, your faces a mere inches apart. “I want you both so bad. I’ve been trying to sleep and just ignore it, but he’s teasing me and I can’t take it anymore.”

She whispers back, “Do you want me to go?”

“No, fuck no. I want you to stay. I want you both to stay. I’m desperate for you and him.”

Leon speaks up, “We can make it work. Take turns, whatever you’re comfortable with. I’ll stay out of your way when you need me to and you’ll stay out of mine. It’s been a long three weeks. Whatever the princess wants, she should get. Don’t you agree?” 

Leon’s hand grips your hip, pulling your ass back against his dick. You both make pathetic noises at such deep contact.

“Is that what you want? Both of us to share you right now?” Ada asks, her hand reaching out and cupping your cheek.

“Yes. I need it.”

That’s all it takes for Ada to press her lips into yours and slide her tongue along the seam of your mouth, asking for entrance. You oblige gladly and slip your tongue against hers, whining into the kiss as Leon continues to grind into you. 

You reach back in an attempt to touch Leon, but he swats your hand away. 

“Tonight is all about you, baby doll. Just focus on feeling good, we’ll take care of you.”

You whimper into Ada’s mouth at Leon’s words. You never considered yourself to be a strictly submissive person before the two of them, but now it’s undeniable—inevitable. You can’t manage to keep yourself from following their every command. You’ll fall to your knees for them before either even has to ask. 

Giving yourself over to them is easy. It’s what they’ll put your body through, the limits both of them are obsessed with pushing, that’s… not so easy. 

Every thrust of Leon’s hips against your ass pushes your pussy into Ada. Your body feels like it’s being teased from both sides and it’s driving you crazy. This little bit of friction already isn’t enough. You need more. More what? You’re not sure, but given the circumstances, you’re not at all feeling picky. 

Leon’s mouth is directly against your ear. “You want me to fuck you just like this? Wanna scream into your girlfriend's mouth while I pound you with my cock?”

You arch your back, pushing your ass firmly into his cock. “Please. Want it so bad.”

You’re already soaked. It’s been a long, miserable three weeks without being touched. Sure, you’d touch yourself when you needed it, but you won’t even attempt to convince yourself it’s at all the same thing. Nothing compares to their hands on you.

You’re so desperate, so lost in the attention you’re receiving that you don’t realize how you’ve been sucking on Ada’s tongue consistently until she laughs. 

Your eyes widen as a blush grows across your face. You try to pull your head back, but Ada is quick to pull your mouth back to hers. She kisses you deeply before her lips start to trail across your jaw, slowly approaching your neck.

Leon’s thumbs slip underneath the waistband of your pants. Your position is too awkward for you to lift your hips to help him. But Ada picks up on what he wants and helps lift your hips as he frees you of your pants and panties, all in one quick swipe. 

His fingers are instantly circling your clit and slipping between your folds.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for us.” He groans into your hair. “Ada, feel how wet our sweet girl is.”

Ada doesn’t hesitate as her fingers toy with you right alongside Leon’s. She bites into your shoulder at the feeling of your arousal coating her fingers, a quiet moan escaping her lips.

Leon grabs your leg and drapes it over Ada’s hips, opening up and exposing your cunt for him. Ada is quick to grip your hip and hold you in place for him.

Your clit is firmly pressed against her leg. The position is emphasizing the throbbing of your needy pussy and it has you whining out your wordless pleas. 

Ada and Leon are both very familiar with your noises. They know what you’re asking for without you having to speak it out loud.

“You want me to fuck you now? So impatient. Do you need it that bad? Need me to split you in half?”

You nod frantically, the seductive tone of his voice driving you mad. Neither one of them moves or makes an attempt to pleasure you.

“Yes. I want you to fuck me.” You finally find the words, them coming out more abrasive than intended. But they don’t mind, oh no, Ada smirks as Leon chuckles at your neediness.

“You heard her,” Ada finally speaks. She pulls her mouth away from your skin so she can get a good look at your face as Leon positions his cock at your entrance.

You’re desperately clinging to Ada, bracing yourself in anticipation of his thrusts. It’s been so long, you’re all in dire need of each other. You know he’s not going to hold back; you know his pace will be brutal and punishing and holy shit do you need it so bad. So fucking bad.

Your eyes roll back into your head as he pushes his cock slowly into you until he’s completely bottomed out. His balls are rubbing against Ada’s leg, but she makes no protests. She’s too focused and absolutely enthralled with the look on your fucked out face.

Leon only holds still for a few moments before he does exactly what you expected him to. He’s pounding your pussy like he’s trying to resuscitate you with his cock. Which is very contradicting to the way his thrusts are taking your breath away. 

You stare into Ada’s dark lust blown eyes as you struggle to keep yours open. Your eyelids flutter with each shock of pleasure coursing through your body.

The harder Leon fucks you into Ada, the more friction you gain on your clit from her thigh. You’re already so close, feeling your pussy clenching around Leon’s fat cock. 

“I can feel how close you are, baby. This tight little pussy is squeezing my cock so tight. You gonna milk me dry? Gonna let me fill this pussy with my come?”

With Leon’s words, Ada is instantly sliding her hand between your thighs and rubbing her fingers against your clit so fast you can barely stand the overwhelming feeling. It’s too much, way too fucking much, but it’s so fucking good. So good in fact-

“I’m coming! Oh fuck,” you whine out as pathetic moans pour from your mouth nonstop. Your nails are digging into Ada’s shoulders and you can’t stop it. You need something to hold onto as you shake and fall apart between them. 

Leon pulls out of you as Ada lays you on your back. You’re panting, head foggy from your orgasm.

Leon climbs back on top of you and thrusts is cock into your sloppy and sticky pussy. 

Your fingers cling to the sheets beneath you as your eyes search for Ada. You notice her back to you as she heads for the door.

“W-where are you going?” you squeak out, body overstimulated as Leon continues shoving his cock deep into your pussy. 

“Be right back,” Ada turns and looks at you, seeing the unsure look on your face. “I promise.” You nod at her and she exits the room.

You look up at Leon, finally looking at his face for the first time since he’s been inside you. 

“Hi,” he smiles at you.

“Hi.”

And he finally kisses you, way too softly compared to his aggressive thrusts. You wrap your arms around him, gripping him tightly. 

You get lost in the kiss, blissfully unaware of how much time has passed. Maybe 10 seconds, maybe 3 hours. All you know is you’ll never get enough of this. You could literally climb inside his body and live there and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“I’m gonna cream this pussy. Gonna stuff you full with my come. You’re gonna feel it as your girlfriend fucks you, knowing you belong to both of us. Got us both fucking pussy whipped. God, I could stay inside you forever, fuck. I’m coming, holy shit, I’m coming.”

Leon lets out a loud whine as he comes hard. You feel his come filling you up, just the way you like it. His cock is kicking and throbbing inside of you and you feel it all. You feel it against every sensitive spot inside of you. 

Leon finally pulls out of you and his come is instantly rushing out of you, pooling on the sheets beneath your ass cheeks.

“I knew you were gonna milk me dry. Now be a good girl for Ada and take everything she gives you, yeah?”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, before he lays down next to you. Behind him stands a naked Ada with a lubed up strap-on secured tightly to her hips.

You whine just looking at how big the toy is. It’s thicker and longer than Leon’s cock, which is already fucking huge. They’re trying to kill you and they’re going to succeed. They’re going to kill you.

“Come here, princess,” Leon pulls your back into his sweaty chest. He pulls your shirt over your head, exposing your braless chest for both of them to ogle at. 

He slowly eases your legs open, wrapping them around his. Every private piece of you is all on display for Ada and she couldn’t look more hypnotized if she tried. She’s good at keeping a stone face as she dominates you, but you love when she can’t hold back her amazement with you. When it consumes her and there’s no hiding it.

She snaps back to reality and makes her way between your legs. Your hands shoot to Leon’s hips, bracing yourself again to be fucked raw. 

“Tell her you want it, princess. Be a good girl and tell her exactly what you want.” Leon instructs you as Ada rubs the lube around on the toy. 

“I… I want you to fuck me with your cock, mommy. I wanna be a good girl and come all over it for you. Can I please take mommy’s cock?” you plead and feel Leon’s cock go semi hard at your words.

“Fuck, you’re making me hard again. Look at what you do to us. You're goddamn perfect.”

You look up at Ada and she nods in agreement with Leon’s words before lining the toy up with your hole.

“Take a deep breath for me,” Ada instructs and you comply immediately. You suck in a large breath of air and hold it for a few seconds before releasing it. And as you breathe out, Ada shoves her cock all the way into you.

You scream out as your back arches into her body. Your hands leave Leon and immediately cling to Ada’s hips as she slowly, but deeply fucks you.

“Mommy, fuck. That feels so good. Oh god, I’m already close,” you whine out, holding back tears. 

“Hold it. Don’t come until I tell you to.” 

She knows what telling you to wait does to you. You fight it hard, not letting her words push you over the edge. You’ll be a good girl. You’ll let her fuck you until she’s satisfied and then she’ll let you come all over her. But fuck, it’s so hard. Your pussy is instinctively clenching around her, trying to keep her cock as deep inside of you as it can go.

You throw your head back and pathetically whine into Leon’s neck. He rubs soothing circles into your belly as Ada presses her forehead into yours. Your whole body is shaking with the need to come, threatening to combust and erase you from existence completely. 

Ada picks up the pace slowly at first, easing you into it, but it doesn’t last long. She can’t hold herself back anymore and soon she’s fucking into you brutally. 

You can’t hold back the noises constantly leaving your mouth. Between whining, moaning, panting, and incoherently babbling, you at some point start crying. Tears are streaming down your face as every muscle in your body trembles.

“Doing such a good job,” Leon praises you, lips against your hair.

“Mmm-mommy,” your voice is pleading.

“I think you deserve your reward. What do you think, Leon?” Ada questions. 

He doesn’t respond with words, but rather brings his fingers to your swollen, dripping clit. He doesn’t have to move them. All he does is apply firm pressure and your clit throbbing against his fingers sends you over the edge.

You’re screaming and shaking and quivering and crying and you can’t stop. Your body has imploded into a supernova of pure pleasure. You never want to come down, but at the same time, the ecstasy is teetering on a fine line of pain and pleasure.

Ada’s thrusts finally stop and Leon takes his fingers off of you. Your vision is blurry and your body is numb.

It takes a few minutes for you to come back down to earth, but when you do, you realize Ada and Leon are just staring at you. Almost in awe–almost in complete wonder.

“Has she ever done that for you?” Leon asks Ada.

“Nope.”

“Me either.”

You cut in breathlessly, “What?”

Leon grips your chin and forces you to look between your legs at the absolute mess on your thighs and sheets. Even Ada and Leon’s thighs are soaked and it dawns on you what happened.

“Oh god,” you gasp in embarrassment. You try to shut your legs, but the two of them work together to keep them open. 

“Are you embarrassed?” Leon teases and you refuse to look either of them in the eyes.

“You’re so perfect,” Ada praises as she massages your thighs, causing you to whine at the contact. 

Squirting, something you believed you weren’t capable of doing, didn’t just happen in front of one of them, but both of them. You’ll never live this down. 

“Fuck, I need you again. Get on your hands and knees for me.” Leon demands, but no one moves. You’re too embarrassed and Ada’s still too shocked to respond. 

“Ada,” Leon gets her attention. “A little help here?”

She nods as she removes the toy from her hips, tossing it somewhere to the side. She gets out from between your legs and sits up against the headboard. She pulls and Leon pushes you towards her, positioning you with your face between her thighs and ass up in the air for Leon.

“You wanna eat mommy’s pussy while he breeds your pussy again, sweet girl?” Ada speaks and her filthy words have you whimpering. Ada doesn’t always participate in dirty talk, so when she does it’s a special occasion. You could never say no to her when she asks so nicely.

You nod frantically before bringing your face to her wet cunt. You gently stroke her with the tip of your tongue and she bites her lip, holding eye contact with you. 

You continue to tease her, but your face falls fully against her as Leon presses into you again. Your thighs are already quivering and you have no idea how you’ll survive taking him again.

Ada runs her fingers through your hair, “Just focus on me, love. You’re doing so well.”

The praise has you sucking her harshly and squeezing your eyes tightly. You wanted to be used and fucked like this and you’ll be damned if you tap out now. You can take, you know you can, so you fucking will. Even if it does kill you.

But after a few minutes of Leon’s thrusts and the taste of Ada on your tongue, your brain turns to mush again. All you can do is lol your tongue out of your mouth as Ada grinds against it, chasing her long awaited high. 

With the way Ada’s thighs tremble and Leon’s thrusts become sloppy, you know they’re both close and you’re desperate for them to come.

You somehow find the strength to suck on Ada again as she grinds into your face and clench around Leon at the same time. When they both cry out at the same time, you know you’ve done it.

Ada’s thighs squeeze around your head, holding you tightly in place as you feel Leon fill you with his come again. You’re exhausted and once Ada releases your head, you fall face first into the sheets.

Ada and Leon share a look, before Leon raises both his hands for a high five. Ada cocks her eyebrow before shaking her head, actually giving him high fives. Leon smiles like an idiot at successfully getting Ada to go along with his antics.

Leon pulls out of you and you immediately collapse, curling yourself into a fetal position on your side. Soft snores leave your lips and they both hold back their laughs. 

“I guess I don’t mind sharing as much as I used to,” Leon whispers to Ada.

“Me too.” 

~masterlist~