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orchideae · 1 year ago

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ᴍᴜꜱᴇ ᴅᴇᴍᴇᴀɴᴏʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀɴɴᴇʀɪꜱᴍꜱ ɢᴜɪᴅᴇ.

ᴇʏᴇꜱ. Avoids eye contact when nervous, maintains eye contact when agitated, avoids eye contact due to being neurodivergent, enjoys eye contact as a means to read and convey emotion, looks down when emotional, looks up when emotional, cries openly, wipes tears quickly, suppresses tears, wandering gaze when lost in thought, holds gaze while thinking, seeks out eye contact for reassurance, seeks out eye contact to gauge enthusiasm during conversations, eyes constantly move during conversation, expressive eyes, emotions only evident through eyes, uses eye contact to intimidate, looks up while thinking, looks down while thinking.

ʜᴀɴᴅꜱ. Clasps behind back, rest in lap, fidgets with clothes, twiddles thumbs, chews at nails, pushes back cuticles, draws patterns on table/counter surfaces, makes animated gestures while speaking, only gestures to emphasize, utilizes sign language, speaks only through sign, callouses, scars, smooth, wrinkled, worn, soft, delicate, bone-y, slender, thick, vein-y, touches others while speaking, reaches out while laughing, reaches out to comfort others, reaches out to seek comfort, places face in hands when exasperated , places palms over eyes to hide when overwhelmed, rests chin in hands, taps fingers when impatient, taps fingers when nervous, taps fingers while thinking, scratches scalp, strokes chin, rubs back of head, toys with objects around them, runs fingers over surfaces while walking by.

ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ. Chews lip, chews at inside of cheek, licks lips, bites tongue, chews on straws, resting frown, resting smile, neutral resting expression, resting pout, grinds teeth, flexes jaw, covers mouth when laughing, covers mouth when shocked, covers mouth when concerned, hands to lips while thinking, covers mouth when chewing, chews with mouth closed, chews with mouth open, smirks, grins, subtle smiles, wide smiles, sad smiles, intimidating smiles, menacing grins, openly smiles, tries to suppress smiles, bares teeth when angry, lips quiver when emotional, stutters, speaks quickly, speaks slowly, good pronunciation, poor pronunciation, moderate pronunciation, purses lips, sucks in lips, holds mouth open when shocked or confused.

ʟᴇɢꜱ. Bounces leg when nervous, draws knees to chest when sitting, draws knees to chest as a means of comfort, sits on knees, sits with legs criss-crossed, sits with legs spread open in chairs, crosses legs when sitting in chairs, sits with one leg folded under the other, places feet on furniture, never places feet on furniture, sits on counters, sits on desks, sits on tables, sits on edge of seat, sits hunched over with forearms on knees, arches one knee up, sits on the arm of chairs/couches, feet on dashboard, swings legs back and forth when sitting somewhere elevated, wiggles toes when nervous, wiggles toes as a general tick, shuffles feet, kicks foot into ground, stomps feet, loud footsteps, quiet footsteps, silent footsteps.

ʜᴀɪʀ. Runs fingers through hair, tugs at hair, picks at scalp, chews on hair, twists locks of hair while thinking or nervous, smooths out locks of hair while thinking or nervous, prefers hair out of face, prefers long hair, prefers short hair, wears hair back, keeps hair down, smooths back hair, plays with other’s hair while talking, plays with own hair while talking, strokes hair to comfort others, likes having hair stroked for their own comfort, braids others’ hair while talking, braids own hair while talking, flips hair out of face, pushes hair out of face, leaves hair alone even when falling into face.

Tagged by: I stole it on the dash, but I forgot who, I thiiiiink it may have been @arlquin Tagging: @delusionaid (Wriothesley) @immobiliter (Beidou first, and if you want to do it for Navia and/or Furina too, go ahead 💙) @feilyne @maquiscursed (Kazuha!) @infernaliscor @spiderwarden @avaere (Kaveh or Itto) @lunaetis (Hu Tao!) @sortilegii (Give me that Blade food!) @electrohunter @shrineofprophecy (Ningguang) @nivuruheim — gosh, who else, @narvvhal and whoever else wants to: steal it and tag me!

#[ ooc. ] don't try to make it logical or edit your soul according to the fashion. rather; follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.#[ et cetera. ] every round of finger-guessing is a tiny adventure; and every roll of dice sends sporadic thrills down her spine.#[ the thing is-- and i should properly meta on this at length once; but she'd do a plethora of these depending on 'persona'. ]#[ i actually have a small anon in my askbox about whether she has go-to 'personas' or whether it's all these 'in the moment things'-- ]#[ and i guess consider a short response to it ahead of time here: i suspect a lot of them are in the moment. it clicks more logically imo.#[ but in essence what i mean is; yelan very much molds herself into someone that is beneficial for talking to who she needs to talk to. ]#[ and i don't mean interrogations; i mean she shows different elements herself more sometimes than she does others... ]#[ and other times it /can/ be a full persona. the thing is-- sometimes you simply need one or the other. i'll actually... ]#[ post something in a sec of rusty ryan from ocean's eleven pretty much doing the perfect thing that helps with this. ]#[ any way-- back to my point. ]#[ i tried to keep a lot of this strictly /her/; a proper glimpse into her traits 'au natural' without persona but it's also the side... ]#[ that not many see. ]#[ so hi. yes. :) ]#[ also hi hello; i've given in. i've chosen the way of the rectangle. ]

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dihalect · 2 years ago

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my department is apparently no longer hybrid, but “on-site with ad-hoc remote work”. i’m just gonna see how long i can get away with ignoring that

#txt #i do have an accommodation that says i can wfh when i have a migraine.#but when i was asking for the accommodation i guesstimated that that’d intersect with my in-person days like once or twice a month.#i do absolutely need to have the option to wfh multiple times per week.#but getting an accommodation for THAT is going to be way more difficult. bc it’s not JUST migraines‚ it’s a combination of my various psych #afflictions and not-properly-diagnosed chronic pain *and* the complex whole-body rube goldberg pain machine that is my chronic migraines.#it’s not necessarily ‘i will be in unbearable pain if i do this’.#it’s ‘i will be perpetually drained and my low-level pain will be worse snd i will have no life outside of work and recuperating from work’.#it’s also weird that they’re ending hybridhood *now*.#it’s not like we’re at a particular milestone in pandemic recovery. although our admin did mention entering a ‘busy period’.#it’s not even necessary lmao. we get by fine. we get by BETTER when we’re not all there.#oh man. i just realized. everyone being on-site is gonna make the autism/anxiety so much worse.#i honestly think this policy shift might be related to me.#bc our program director started emphasizing the importance of being onsite on x days… shortly after i started working hybrid‚ but had to wfh #on some of those days #for disability reasons.#anyway. government pleeeaaase give my old lab more money so i can go back. pleeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaazeeeee #edited

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the-weeping-dawn · 4 months ago

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Sorry in going through both outlines in a playthrough where he's finally more or less finally nicely defined as a person some lines in particular stand out, such as this one while being asked to give some advice to the kids, and I tend to struggle not to chose this but with him...

if anything it's where the idea of being out in the middle of nowhere, where he's actually able to openly say what has helped him survive, and is so used to it being seen as weak, and something which would put a target on his back, only meant to go unsaid with a small few genuinely helping at least keep those kids spirits up a bit while yes, likely being as good as dead did help burrow into whatever shell he holds up

Even if he absolutely delivered it in his genuine, not maintaining the mask of someone a little more upbeat and friendly, but deadpan, straight to the point delivery, but probably having a bit more intensity to his eyes in it than say talking Rolan into staying to give the idea of someone doing this out of wanting to do the whole hero thing....

#and he probalby still has the same feeling as Wyll that Shadowheart does seeing him training them and being so...kind...#bristling against it thinking that it's ineffective and having to consider his reply about it only making that cruelty develop resentment #(...and this is why he is the character there is no work around doing the grove properly...with it carying through. and needing #that moment with Alfira at Elfsong where they both made it this far...they'll.make.it.through.)#I go on a lot about this section and his back and forth between pragmatically being good vs having the last bit of light #that just had to be somewhere that he didn't have to fight as much from slipping through #...anyway the fic version of the alfira scene does have them bonding over instructors and basically having a joint sobbing session :3 #Also oof between actually editing screenshots some #and I think I used a lighter skintone than last time #he is pasty as fuuuuuuck

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waywardsalt · 5 months ago

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not tooooo sure how i think i want to go with bellum's... tone of voice? for this fic

#bc its like. theres a handful of scenes thats just him and linebeck talking via. means.#and i cant quiiiite go full abrasive like i otherwise might #and im not sure to what degree to go exhausted and defeated bc i. have things that need to happen?#like i feel like rn hes a bit too receptive to this without sounding resigned #reread the scene and i think its alright but im back to being worried about the pacing and fic length. sigh #probably going to go with linebeck is into him post game but doesnt realize it right away and its initially kinda just physical #and bellum is just curious and then ends up getting into him a little later #quite literally the talking phase here #so its like. the basic structure is game events research- post game talking - post post game going off the rails for physical interaction #i am really worried abt this getting too long bc like i feel like thats a turn off for some people but also maybe i want it that way but #also uuuggggghhhhhh yknow #whatever os far im glad to be working on this fic and ill burn through bridges and whatnot in editing ssoooo yeh #i kinda want to just dump my thoughts on this fic but i feel like iv espoiled way too much already lol #ugh whatever im getting anxious and its getting a bit late im happy that i got a good chunk done today #maybe tomorrow i can properly plot out and structure the second half so this isa bit easier and more satisfying to wrap up #salty talks

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taskforce420 · 28 days ago

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the other woman. simon 'ghost' riley.

unbeknownst to most, simon riley can be a stubborn and blind man. which is why he can- irritate you sometimes.

you and simon had been together for just over a year, everything was going well- a couple hiccups here and there, but nothing serious- that was until a new nurse had arrived at the base. naomi, her name was, she was a sweet girl, a freckled red head, with a confident attitude. sure, she was a good nurse, always lending a hand whenever someone needed it, but she was a barrack bunny. always willing to get a quick shag in with a soldier whenever possible. you never cared about her actions, that was until you noticed simon had been leaving your room every couple of nights to go out with her.

sure, he never lied, he never hid it, but he didn't realise how badly it effected you, he didn't realise he was falling right into her trap.

"'aye sweetheart, going out with naomi t'night. that ok?" simon spoke, walking towards you, pulling a shirt over his head. he smiled beneath his balaclava as he saw you sat on the bed, concentrating deeply on the book that rested in your lap.

you sighed to yourself, you tried to figure out how to bring up the topic of him and the nurse without making it awkward and coming across as if you were angry at him.

closing the book, you leaned forward towards him. "si, do you have to go tonight?" he stopped in his tracks as he looked over at you, studying your face. he was confused.

what's wrong with going out with naomi? its just a bar..shes just a friend.

"well..i don't have to, but id like to..what's wrong with her?" you couldn't believe he didn't know naomi's intentions. for an observant man, he had absolutely no idea, maybe its because he only has eyes for you; he doesn't pay attention to other women. only seeing them as friends.

you played with the corners of the book you were reading. "baby, i don't...appreciate you goin' out with her. you know what she's like, simon." he stopped what he's doing, looking at you for a moment. completely dumbfounded.

"aye?" is all he said. he sat down on the edge of the bed, looking into those eyes he fell so in love with. "i don't understand" no shit

you put your book down and sat up completely, able to talk to him properly. "for a man who has- how many years in the army- you can't see that a woman is trying to get into your pants? naomi is known for sleeping around, soap told me everything, and she's trying to do the same with you"

he stayed silent for a lot longer than what you expected.

"oh."

he spoke, before taking his phone out of his pocket and what looked like- searching for naomi's contact. you watched with furrowed brows, that's all he can say? oh?

new nurse -> edit profile -> block -> delete number

your mouth fell slightly agape as he completely removed naomi from his phone within in an instant, he chucked his phone back on the side and turned to you. he felt horrible, how dare he make his woman feel like that. he loved you so dearly, there was no need for another woman to enter his life. he had you and laswell, and as far as he was concerned that's all he needed.

"so, what do you want for dinner?" he said, removing his slightly fancier clothes and balaclava, which he is more then happy to remove in front of you. the smile that crept its way onto your lips was unbelievable, you let out a small giggle and replied softly with a,

"you.."

#call of duty #ghost cod #ghost x reader #fanfic #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #task force 141

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fushitoru · 9 months ago

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rainy days and brownies

pairing ⸺ college/modern!au: bf!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you wake up for some soft moments with your boyfriend that involves brownies (turned freaky)

warnings ⸺ smut, tooth rotting fluff, some mild angst?, gojo unfortunately mentions skibidi toilet, I think I made gojo gen z here, boob worship, brownies and baking, established relationship, oral (f!receiving), gojo eats pussy like a champ, NOT EDITED, might be incoherent to everyone except me, product of a forceful effort to escape writer’s block, rainy mornings <3, lots of intimacy, art by 3-aem, probably in the same universe as this

general masterlist

Rainy mornings with Satoru means baking.

It’s a ritual the both of you have fallen into. On a day like this, where the air smells like rain, you blearily wake up from your nap to smell the warm distinct aroma of overly sweet brownies.

The slutty brownies were Satoru’s masterpiece. Even if he did overdo the sugar, you can’t admit that your stomach was growling as you rubbed your bleary eyes and frowned while raking a hand through your head. This bed head was going to be a bitch to untangle with the hairbrush.

“AND IIIIIIIIIIIII, WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUU—“

You jumped, caught off guard by Satoru randomly deciding to pay homage to Whitney Houston. Standing up, you headed towards the living room of you and Satoru’s apartment—-not before you adjusted your tank top so your tits weren’t out and the boy shorts you chose to sleep in properly covered your ass.

“WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUUUU—-“ You cringed at Satoru’s attempt of a high note, grumpily looking at him use his chocolate covered spatula as a makeshift mic. He was in the kitchen—-shirtless, of course—-now bending over to peek at the state of his brownies in the oven. Deciding the brownies weren’t done yet, he closed the oven door and stood up once more, reaching for his phone to undoubtedly scroll through TikTok. Continuing to hum different variations of the chorus, he swiped at his phone, ignorant to your presence behind him.

You think he’s kind of sweet like this. If it weren’t for him, the both of you would never be in this position. You would always be the cold frigid bitch he saw in freshman orientation and occasionally at parties across campus, and he would be the sweet, friendly guy that all the girls would continue to fall head over heels for.

To be honest, you don’t really see what he sees in you. You’re like a Disney villain, the witch that entraps him in her webs of insecurity and jealousy, but he remains the valiant prince, fighting to get to you. When he finally has you in his arms, he kisses you into believing that you are his princess instead.

It’s obvious in the way he fought for you—memorizing your schedule, rushing across campus just to walk you to class, pleading with you to grab dinner. And each time, you’d brush him off with sharp rejections, finding excuses to keep him at arm’s length.

But when he finally had you, finally cracked all your defenses—he was never going to let you go. You could see as much; the way he proudly walked on campus with you at his side, across the main quad so he could boast that he got you. You were his, and he was fully, undoubtedly yours. At parties, his eyes would always be on you, raking his eyes up and down your figure in your nurse outfit, conjuring up the hundred and thirty four positions he would fuck you so good in, even if there were prettier girls clinging onto his arms asking for a morsel of his attention. Pettily enough, you would just need to sigh and mumble “This party isn’t fun,” to have Satoru whipped, ushering you out of the frat house while those girls glared at the back of your Halloween costume, angry beyond measure that a nobody like you has the campus sweetheart wrapped around your finger.

Loud booms of the Vine gunshot sound effect snaps you back into the present, where Satoru is snickering at some god awful brain rot. You choose to approach him, wrapping your arms around his waist and smothering your face into his muscular back.

“Hi baby,” you mumble.

“Guess which sleepyhead is awake!” He announces to the world and turns around, and your traitorous heart jumps in its chest while looking into his eyes. It’s stupid. You’re both in your PJs on a morning where the rain thuds against the window pane, blurring both the window and all outside life, suspending you both in this moment. His eyes look affectionately down to you, and he plants a wet kiss on your forehead. “How was your nap, baby?”

“It was good.” You watch him turn around again to peek at the oven, and he hums, upper arm flexing as he grabs the heavy bag of flour, dragging it closer to him. “When’d you get up?”

“Around 7.”

You shoot him a bewildered look as you hop onto the counter, a better space to observe your boyfriend. When he realized that you had woken up, he had left his phone open to give you a kiss, reel playing noises. You peek over and almost snort at what is playing.

“Satoru, why are you watching alligators get chased away by a shovel?”

He looks up from the bowl of brownie batter he was now cleaning—-with his tongue, mind you—-and grins boyishly. “Isn't it crazy how hundreds of years of evolution get destroyed by a shovel?”

”Your feed is not normal,” you shake your head, keeping a stony face as you continue to scroll through his TikTok. In fact, it’s hilarious—-the things he got were weirder than one could dream, with toilets producing heads of men taking over whole cities. You’re not sure what that means about your boyfriend, but you accept it as you watch the nonsensical video.

“Wait,” he makes his way over to you, standing in between your legs. “Is that skibidi toilet?”

“What the hell is that.”

“Baby,” he whines. “You don’t know the lore? I don’t know if I can be with you for any longer.”

Your bite back a grin. “And subjecting me to hours of FNAF backstory wasn’t testament to how much I love you?”

Before he could whine back, you noticed he had some leftover chocolate on the side of his mouth and leaned over to lick it. Humming at the taste, you grabbed his hands and took in his brownie coated index and middle finger into your mouth.

He frowns. “Are you trying to seduce me into forgiving you and giving you more brownies?”

You laugh softly and give him a soft smooch on his shoulder. “No, silly. If I ate any more than half, I would have diabetes.”

He grabs the back of your hips and pulls you closer into him, nuzzling his nose against yours. The physical contact rubs at your nerves the right way, firing off that emotional part of you that makes you think loving him is so easy. How lucky you are that he’s chosen to give you his love.

His god-awful alarm blares—same annoying sound he keeps hitting snooze on for his 7ams—and the moment breaks as he reaches for the oven mitts to pull out the brownies. The aroma hits you instantly, making your mouth water. Satoru blows dramatically on the brownies, pouting and mock-yelling, “Hurry up and cool down! My girlfriend wants to eat you.” You can’t help but giggle. Once Satoru finally decides they’re cool enough, he grabs one and offers it to you. “Make way for the choo-choo train!” he snickers, guiding the brownie through imaginary tracks, a shit-eating grin on his face, before plopping it into your mouth.

You can’t help but let out a soft sigh as the brownie melts on your tongue, its warmth enveloping your senses. Rich, velvety tones of chocolate overwhelm your mouth, with each bite releasing a symphony of deep, indulgent flavors that linger long after the brownie is fully swallowed. “Wow, this is actually good.”

He pauses, brownie and hand held in mid air. “Why do you sound surprised?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug innocently but stick your tongue out to him regardless.

Popping the brownie in his mouth--but not before sending you a pout---he brushes his hands together to remove the brownie crumbs as he makes his way back in between your legs. The way he settles between them makes you all too aware of the heat of his groin encompassing you. He lazily drags his eyes up your figure, but not before settling on your outfit. His eyes then flick down to watch his hands trace the hem of your tank top, and your eyes follow his hands, a little dizzy by the action.

You’re always a bit sensitive in the mornings, and before this day, you and Satoru’s interactions have been limited to a kiss before he runs for his 7am and then doing college work until 3am, where you’re both too tired for anything particularly frisky. So, yea, you are kind of pent up---and judging by the bulge that’s starting to form in Satoru’s sweats, you assume he is too.

You put your elbows on his shoulder blades to give him head scratches from behind and lean towards his jawlines giving small kisses. You can feel him close his eyes, purring silently like a cat, and underneath your hands, his back and shoulder blades tense and relax as you rake your hands over his scalp.

“This new?” He uses his index finger to snap the strap of your tank top against your shoulder, using his mouth to given open mouthed kisses to your collarbone.

“Mhm,” you hum, a little deliriously at that---he’s begun to trail down, mouth working at the swell of your breasts.

He slowly pulls the collar of your tank down, down down down until your breast pops out. His eyes trace the swing urgently and groans. “I missed these, sweet girl.”

You gasp sharply when he puts it in his mouth, tongue swirling around the nipple. Satoru’s always been a boob guy, joking about his hands being your bra to support “those mommy milkers.” Right now, he’s doing just that; groping the hell out of them and giving them kisses, as if they were God’s greatest creation.

As much as you were enjoying your boyfriend’s boob worshipping, you need more. You were throbbing in want of contact on your pussy, and you made sure to relay just that. “Toru, I need more,” you whined.

“God forbid a man appreciate nice boobs.” He rolls his like the sassy man he is and parts with your nipple like lips after a messy and wet make out session. Your breasts are gleaming with his spit, a string connecting your nipple to his lips. He trails his face down your torso, making his way down to his knees until he was facing your crotch.

You whine and clench your thighs together to draw his face closer to the space between your thighs. He looks up at you and coos, giving your inner thigh a kiss. “I can smell you from here, cutie.”

His statement reminds you that you’re not too wet in the mornings. As soon as you wake up, some of your morning sessions with Satoru require the aid of lube to ensure no pain. Irritation flares at you at the thought that you might need to leave your position to grab some l—-

Oh.

“What the hell. I thought you wet your pants,” Satoru giggles. The finger running through your folds glides messily, as you both marvel to how wet you are. You’re also on another plane; you haven’t felt his touch for weeks, and the feeling overwhelms you as the squelches your pussy makes echo throughout the kitchen.

Satoru gives you a kiss on your neck. “Baby, can I?” You deliriously remember that he’s lightly circling his finger around your entrance and when you finally give him the okay, he pushes in.

Both of you groan at how tight you are. “Satoru,” you moan and proceed to bring him in for a kiss as he pistons in and out of your pussy, curling them just the way you like and making you see colors.

“Pretty, pretty girl,” he groans. “Left my baby so pent up.”

At that, all you can do is nod and whimper in agreement. All that leaves your mouth are gasps of his names and oh my god’s because he’s making you feel so good.

And then, you almost scream as you feel him blowing hot air onto your folds, leaning down to give teasing kitten licks around your clit, but not directly on it. His tongue drags up and down until he finally stops it right next to your clit as if feeling the sensation of your pussy throbbing, echoing your fastened heartbeat skin-to-skin while drooling.

Frustrated, you try to move your hips, but Satoru grabs them to stay in place. He’s so close to the place you want him, but he’s stationed in one place, spit flowing down as his tongue is still and his dark eyes are staring at you as if enraptured by your struggling.

“Satoru, please lick my clit,” you moan wantonly, begging for him to change his position.

But Satoru Gojo wouldn’t be Satoru Gojo without some teasing. “What was that, baby? Avoid your clit? You got it.”

“No,” you sobbed, grabbing onto his hair and directing his tongue to your clit. This time, he relents, sucking the bud into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks, making you see stars.

But soon, his quick and fast lapping turn into lazy licks, and you get frustrated, grinding against air and pussy oozing out wetness as Satoru keeps his tongue outstretched in front of you but not close enough to make contact with your skin, teasing. You hate the feeling of your pussy throbbing and the inner thighs and pussy wet with your slick, lacking the sensation you needed to finally climax. “Oh my god, Satoru, please make me cum.”

“I don’t know baby, you sound pretty commanding to me.” The motherfucker shrugs as if he has nothing to do with your dilemma and starts trailing kisses up your inner thigh. His touches were close to where you needed him most, making you ache for the sensation of his wet laps against you.

“Please, baby,” you beg. “You feel so good, you’re making me feel soo good. I love you so much. Please let me cum.” You’re full on sobbing, hips writhing to get any sensation in.

Satoru, at your display, seems to give in, because he’s coming in once more, giving you a sweet little kiss on your clit. You nearly ascend.

He’s diving in, making a rhythm of dipping his tongue into your entrance and coming back to give sloppily wet laps on your clit. It’s when he groans while his tongue is inside, hot air and vibrations needily simulating your clit, that you come up with a gasp. You roll your hips, Satoru giving you little licks to help you ride out your orgasm.

For how hard you came, you’re bucking your hips frantically, body on a mind of its own as you almost fall off the counter. Satoru has to grip your thighs to prevent that potential injury and rubs soothing circles on the outside of your thigh as you pant, wetness and sweat likely painting the counter beneath you. It’s not until your breath returns back to it’s normal pace that you notice Satoru’s head against your thighs, looking up at you with lovesick eyes.

You’re probably giving him the same look back, you realize, given he made you ascend to heaven and back. He gives an affectionate kiss to your mound, moaning corny shit like “Your pussy tastes sweeter than the brownie.”

And then he stands up, knees popping on the way back up, and despite your fucked out state, you can’t help but giggle. “You old man with the popping knee caps.”

He glares at you playfully, but you know his expression too well to know there’s no real offense in it. “Hey. Rude to say that after I just made you cum your brains out.”

”And you’re about to get the same thing,” you purr, putting a hand on his hard-on. He hisses but looks at you with lust blown eyes as he grabs the back of your thighs to carry you to your shared bedroom.

Yes, rainy days do mean baking with Satoru, but not without intimacy with your even sweeter boyfriend in bed.

general masterlist

comment or reblog to let me know your thoughts! I appreciate all of them <3

a/n lol this was a bitch to write. this might be a word soup or salad or whatever for all readers and that’s ok! I’ve written this primarily at 1am so…

eugh ok im going back to writing ch5 of bridgerton!gojo and fixing the em dashes in this post when i wake up LOL

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hollandsangel · 1 year ago

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move over | m. sturniolo

okAY here we go this is my first sturniolo fic please be nice to me i am afraid

ps if you’d like to be tagged in any (possible) future fics comment 🍜

summary: matt needs a bigger bed

wc: 1k

warnings: matt x fem!reader, cursing, nightmares? no description really, just funny and fluffy 🫡 all the triplets are in it but reader is dating matt!

..does anyone remember that one video where matt said chris never sleeps in his own bed? well…

gif by @mattsturnioloarchive !

you feel yourself slipping back into consciousness, and you can tell from the soft, pale blue light of matt’s bedroom that it’s morning. matt’s fast asleep behind you, resting on his stomach with you tucked up into his side, his right arm slung over your waist. you’re already upset that you have to pee, the idea of crawling out of the sleep-warm bed and leaving your boyfriend’s cozy embrace is not an appealing one, but the nagging in your bladder won’t go away.

with a sleepy sigh you stretch your arm out just enough to the tap the screen of your phone, the numbers 8:23 glaring back you. you still don’t have to be up for another hour and a half, which you think is an acceptable amount of time left to lay in matt’s arms and snooze a bit more, even if you don’t really need anymore sleep.

it’s a bit tricky to clamber out of bed without waking the sleeping boy next to you. trying to keep from dragging the duvet with you when you slide out. you tuck matt back in properly before you wander off to his bathroom. softly, you click the door shut, and it, along with your sleep-hazy mind, muffles any sounds coming from outside the bathroom.

for once, chris slept in his own bed, knowing you’d be sleeping over and nick was editing the video meant to go up later this afternoon early into the morning. it’s too early for him to be waking up on his own but something stirs him into wakefulness, his heart beating a little faster than it should be.

matt had woken up for a mere second when you slipped out of bed and hasn’t fallen back into the depth of his sleep, waiting for you to come back. he’s just barley alert enough to hear shuffling from down the hall, getting louder until the person responsible is standing at the crack in the door.

“matt?” chris whispers, peeking into the bedroom.

matt groans and rolls over just until he can see his brother over his shoulder, “what, chris?”

“i had a fucked up dream, dude,” chris says, padding further into the room, “where’s y/n?”

matt turns a little closer to his brother, facing him now, “bathroom,” he mumbles, “what was it about?”

chris is still standing in the middle of the room, phone held loosely in his hand, “you got into a fuckin’ car accident, a really bad one” he admits, feeling a bit foolish and juvenile for running to his brother after a bad dream, “can i sleep in here?”

matt’s face softens and he rubs his eye, “yeah, ‘course.” he says, watching chris slowly walk towards the bed, “that’s her side,” he says though when chris tries to lay where you had been.

chris fakes a scowl and matt makes a face back, sleep still tugging at his mind. the two of them lay back down, back to back, tugging the covers over their shoulders.

you finish washing your hands and shut off the bathroom light. rubbing at your eyes, you make your way back to matt’s room, looking forward to sleeping a bit longer. upon wandering in you’re met with more than one body under the blankets, making you stop in your tracks.

“chris?” you wonder outloud, stopped in the door way.

matt answers before his brother can, “he had a bad dream,” he explains to you, face smushed into the pillow, leaving the words all muffled and extra groggy.

“sure,” you say, as if chris sleeping in matt’s bed doesn’t surprise you (it doesn’t). dragging your feet over to your side of the bed to matt, where he’s taking up a bit too much room. “move over,” you tell him when he peels the blankets back for you. he shuffles back with a little too much effort and you climb back into bed.

once you’re settled matt scoots a little bit closer to you to make more room for the three people now in his queen sized bed, but also because he never passes up an excuse to hold you a little tighter.

you doze in and out, matt’s soft breath against your neck keeping you a little bit dazed but not quite enough to lull you back to sleep fully. it must be nearing 10 am now, more bright sun spilling in from the cracks in the curtains above the bed. you think chris is awake too, hearing breathy little chuckles every now and then. you reach for your phone, deciding on a mindless scroll through instagram.

after a few minutes it sounds like nick has also woken up, his footsteps audible in the bedroom above. you hear him coming down the stairs, and you think he stops in the kitchen until his voice fills the quiet halls.

“chris?” he asks, standing in his brother’s empty bedroom, confused as to why he’s not in bed.

“in here,” chris speaks up, waiting for nick to press the door open.

he does, standing at arms length with a skeptical look on his face, almost afraid of what he might find. “um…hello, what are you doing in here?” nick asks, finally crossing the threshold.

“he had a bad dream,” matt says into your shoulder, startling you. you didn’t know he was awake.

“i had a bad dwream,” chris says in that stupid pouty voice that drives all of you insane, no doubt looking at nick with puppy dog eyes.

“oh…kay,” nick says and you laugh at the suspicion still evident in his tone.

“did you see the tik tok i sent you?” chris is laughing but stops abruptly when matt kicks him in the calf, which makes you giggle into your boyfriend’s arm.

“yeah, but i’m a bit more preoccupied with the absurdity of the three of you in matt’s bed right now,” nick says in his distinct deadpan drawl, which only makes you smile more.

“c’mon nick you might as well join us,” you say, earning a loud, over exaggerated groan from matt, his arms tightening around your waist.

you think nick must oblige because he doesn’t say anything for a second, coming closer to the bed.

“move over, dummy fuck,” he says to chris, who laughs out loud and scoots closer to matt.

“i hate them,” matt whispers in your ear.

tags! @mattsturnioloarchive @averysbestyears

#matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo blurb #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo drabble #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo x you

6K notes · View notes

hwajin · 5 months ago

Text

☆°. — aphrodite ; hhj

genre: smut, fluff

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

wc: 4.4k

warnings/ content: established relationship, hyunjin is very needy and obsessive, body worship (feet stuff..... hear me out y'all), oral (f receiving), SLIGHT foot job HEAR ME OUT Y'ALL, also not edited because i'm lazy

author's note: okay. you all need to hear me out because i didn't know this fic woul dabble into unknown territory but trust me it's NOT a feet kink kinda fic it's a body worship fic!!!! don't let the mention of feet stop you from this fic pls i swear it makes sense with hyunjin ( @astraystayyh can confirm i converted her). also this fic is inspired by so many different things i can't name them all, but one of them is this song.

Your body registered the deep grunt before your brain properly did; you tensed, the hairs on your skin standing straight, your core tingling with delight. You gave the man in your bed a curious look, one eyebrow raised; and you almost sighed out in response. Hyunjin was in nothing but boxers, your blanket – long smelling of him, or a mixture of you and him, or sex and him – lazily draped over his lean body, not necessarily to cover him but just because it was there. And it was barely covering him, in the first place; revealing his entire upper body and one leg which he couldn’t hold still, digging it into your mattress, or stretching. His shaved head was buried in your pillows – also holding his scent, reminding you of the times you pulled it close to your body and breathed it in whenever he couldn’t stay overnight – and he looked tortured, somehow. Laying on his side but writhing, half of his face hidden in the pillowcase before he sighed out hopelessly, and threw himself on his back. His body tensed with the movement, abdomen clenching and revealing muscle, shoulders protruding, the skin there stretching thinly, and it gave you the godliest sight. And then he looked at you. Finally. Deep eyes locking with yours, reading you, pleading you, begging you for something yet unspoken. But you could tell he was; his telltale puppy eyes, his blown out pupils, his quivering lip. His scrunched, full brows. Not only could you look at him forever, you also knew he wanted something. Something from you.

You cocked your head, stopped in your work – assignments you needed to complete, deadlines you had to meet, and Hyunjin had complained about it plenty when you had left the bed to sit at your desk. His hand had not let go of you until the very last moment, tracing your curves while you had stood up and put on a shirt of his, having been thrown to the floor mindlessly last night, or earlier that day, you weren’t quite sure. Time was hardly ever separable with him, minutes becoming hours becoming days, and nights, and you never knew when one ended and the other began. Hyunjin’s fingers had caressed your body up until the very point you’d been unreachable to him, and you had felt his touch linger on your skin, hot and scorching, when you sat before your laptop. You had also heard his moans and grunts of protest, but you had done your best to tease at him; despite everything in your body screaming to just slide back into his arms, warm and long and inviting, steady.

And your body was screaming now, too. He looked so adoring, so comfortable. He looked so desperate looking at you, chest heaving with his breathing, as if to tempt you on purpose, as if to navigate your attention towards it. To the smooth skin of his body, his prominent collarbones scattered with love bites, his hardened nipples. It wasn’t cold in the room.

You caught his face again. If he’d noticed you staring he didn’t let you know, and you broke under his gaze, eventually.

“What’s up babe.” The tone of you voice didn’t ask a question, and you chuckled when he groaned again and let his hand drag over his face. Utterly tortured. So dramatic. You rolled your eyes with a smile even though he couldn’t see, too busy being tragic. He huffed out, looked at you again.

Suddenly shy; you thought you caught him blush.

“This song makes me so horny.”, he muffled into the pillow, turning in your bed again, stomach now hidden, exposing his back instead. He had barely spoken the words when you started laughing, brightly. You registered the song playing on your speakers, one on your joined playlist, the deep bass and sensual melody filling the room, the echoes and lazy voices setting a nice mood if combined with the vanilla scented candles you had lit, the dim lights you had turned on. The sunset you had opened the blinds for. You laughed because it was absurd. Because Hyunjin looking so pained, so desperate and tense because of a song was amusing; but it made sense.

Of course he would get horny over a song. Of course he would remember how you had stood between his legs just hours prior while he sat on the closed toilet seat, only a towel wrapped around his waist while this very song was playing from your phone. Of course he would remember how you had dried your hair right in front of him, chest inches away from his face, how he had tried to continue the oh so innocent conversation you had started, adamant to look into your eyes, to look up, to not let himself get distracted, how he had grown weak and started kissing your breasts, instead, eventually. As if he’d been bound to. With the song setting the mood hours prior too, how he had started letting his fingers dance upon your outer thighs before finding your core, asking for permission with big, dark eyes. It made sense that he would remember how you had sighed his name when the tongue of his had found your nipple, when his free hand started softly caressing your sides, your waist, your hips, cupping your chest, licking you, kissing you, fingering you so softly only minutes after you’d had made love in the shower. And in bed before that. And on the couch in your living room before that.

Of course Hyunjin would remember how the song had played every time your lips clashed together, when his hands found your mounds, intertwined with your fingers, when your scent, your taste met his mouth; he was your hopeless romantic, after all, always caught on the mundane, fixated on the very nihil and it always meant the world to him. A song. Of course a song would mean the world to him; if only it reminded him of you.

But still you laughed. Teased him. Because sometimes you liked to, and sometimes you just couldn’t let him distract you, as much as you would want him to. You watched his writhing figure, but couldn’t for too long; the muscles in his back spasmed with every bass in the song, and his arms tensed when he let them disappear beneath the pillow, hugging it. Something about it was sinful, suggestive. You imagined your own body there, between his arms, in place of the pillow, how his face would lay on your stomach, how his hot breath would fan over your skin, how good he would make you-

“Don’t laugh at me.”, he whined. He hadn’t seen you stare. Thankfully. He would have been the one teasing long already, and you converted your eyes back to your laptop. Deep breaths. Taking deep. Deep. Breaths.

“It is kinda funny, you have to admit.”, you breathed, huffing amusement past your nose. If you weren’t looking at him, teasing was far easier. And then he groaned again, deep, a little raspy, and it reminded you that, no, it was never easier with him. Your ears were as much slave to his eros as your eyes were, his voice as tantalising as his body was. He tsked, and you heard him ruffle again. “It’s not… fuck…”, he sighed, and a magnet pulled your eyes towards him. His own ones were buried in his elbow, as though hiding his face from you would make him less embarrassed, or less horny, or gave you less a reason to laugh at him. His brows scrunched, and he hummed before his body moved. Before his hips rolled a little into the mattress, into your mattress; at least that’s what you think they were doing. You couldn’t tell for sure under the thick blanket, but you knew him enough to guess. You knew the patterns of his muscles enough to recognize it, and you almost copied him, almost rubbed yourself against nothing, onto thin air. Another hum, and he moved to turn around again.

“I’m so hard.” This time he said it with a self-deprecating laugh himself, hiding his face in his hand, and you wanted to lick it, each of his fingers, reminded of how he had pushed two of them past your lips under the shower. How he had looked at you while doing so. How he had fucked your mouth with them, slowly, making you gag on digits so long with eyes so hooded and dark that you had come moments later. You were sure the chair beneath you was wet now. Your panties sure as hell were.

He looked up at you from beneath his lashes. Fuck. Hyunjin turned to his side, to face you, to be closer to you; his face contorted in pain or pleasure then, you couldn’t decipher, but it had the same effect on you anyways. One arm of his reached out, falling over the edge of the mattress. Calling you silently. Tempting you.

“Please, babe. Come back to bed.”

You considered it. Your work wasn’t even half-way done and it was calling you, your laptop screaming your name loudly, but Hyunjin was screaming it louder. With his eyes, with his body. With his fingers that reached you, fanning over your shivering leg. Lulling you, intoxicating you.

You considered it, but you only smiled at your lover. “I have to finish this, love.” You weren’t lying. But you wanted him at the very edge. Not normally the one to behave the way you did this moment, but you enjoyed it. You enjoyed the whine which tore through Hyunjin’s throat, frustrated and dissatisfied. As if you were all the salvation in the world. As if you were the only one capable of releasing him from the depths of hell.

“Please. It hurts.”

His words were but a whisper, pout written over his features, lips so plump and pink and you thought you heard him downright pant. Maybe he was at the very edge already, had been for longer you initially believed.

You chuckled, feigning coyness, pretended to understand whatever the hell you had written on your Word Document when you looked at it again. The words were a blur, the meaning more so; you only felt Hyunjin’s fingers on your leg, pleading.

“I have to finish this, babe. You can… relieve yourself. Can’t you?” Giving him a bashful look over the shoulder, and it was Hyunjin’s turn to laugh now. A deep laugh, not so much amused as surprised. He turned to lay on his back again; when you glinted over at his body, you believed to see the faint outline of his erection when the blanket betrayed him. He let his palm smooth over his body, over his stomach down to his abdomen, looking sultry while doing so, his body tensing due to his very own ministrations. He knew you were looking at him; and you really, really shouldn’t have. Because there was no way you would finish your work now.

“Oh yeah? You would like that, wouldn’t you? If I touched myself?”

As if to emphasize his words he let his hand wander further down, palming himself over his boxers. You could only half see, the blanket covering him mostly, but you saw enough. You saw his veiny hands on his sex, alluring, calling you when he gave himself a squeeze which tickled a moan out of him. You hummed in response; neither affirmative nor negative, and you heard Hyunjin turn around in your sheets again when you discarded your eyes from him completely. Felt his fingers on your calf again. Felt his hand – warm, slightly sweaty, trembling – close around your ankle then, suddenly, catching you off guard. He turned you around in your working chair and pulled you closer by your leg, and you giggled when you faced him, his face by your feet you rested on the edge of the bed, hand still enclosing your ankle.

Something deep, something in the pit of your stomach fluttered when you watched Hyunjin look up at you. When you noticed how his touch felt on your skin. How it ignited you. How it weakened you. A gasp turned to a breathless chuckle when Hyunjin’s lips connected to the foot he yet held in his palm. One kiss atop it and his hand slid slightly upwards, up your calf, up where he knew you were sensitive. Always along the inner side, with fingers delicate, with touches featherlight because he knew you liked the way it tickled. He caressed your foot with his lips, giving it wet kisses. Along every inch and he loved the way you tensed beneath his touch. He loved to watch your brows furrow when he gave your toe a kitten lick before kissing it, lavishing, bathing in the feeling of you. In the intimacy you provided. In the fact that you allowed him to love you like this, so openly, so desperately.

So obsessively. Hyunjin would say that a lot; that he was obsessed with you. Obsessed with everything about you. In between kisses he would whisper it into your ear, or mumble it into your neck before biting down at the skin there, or sighing it into your pussy when he couldn’t seem to disconnect from it for hours. You would hear it so often, and yet you never grew used to it. Initially, you failed to understand just how obsessed your lover was with you; because the first time he had kissed your foot – his hard erection had been deep inside you and one leg of yours had lay atop his shoulder so he could reach even deeper, and he had pecked it, mindlessly, as though a bodily instinct, a biological reaction – you had flinched, drew back your leg in surprise. He had apologized, you had reassured him. Had confronted him later, though; because you had been perplexed.

“No.”, he had said, “it’s not a… fetish. I just love you. I don’t know.”, upon your question why he hadn’t told you sooner if this was something he liked.

“I like that, though.”, he had breathed when you had looked embarrassed, that part of your surprise had been the sheer fact that you hadn’t prepared for it. That your feet had been calloused, wearing long weeks of work. Your nails had been cut carelessly, they hadn’t been painted. “I would have, like, gotten a pedicure, if you told me you were into that.” Hyunjin had shook his head, almost frantically. “I love the way they are right now. They’re… natural. They show how hard you work. That you, like… walk on this earth. I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

Not a fetish, you had realized then; adoration. He carried a deep adoration for your body. For every part of it. And ever since then you had understood his obsession a little better.

So you let him kiss your feet now. Because he did so eagerly. Humming against your skin, lost in you as if kissing you, tickling you, licking and lapping you up was bringing him pleasure beyond human comprehension. And you could only watch, mesmerized. Baffled. That a man so beautiful loved you. That a man so perfect obsessed over you. That he now looked up at you, deer eyes beneath deep lashes, and he was breathless, panting.

“Let me taste your pussy, please.”

You hissed at his voice, at his hot breath against your ankle, at his brows which formed a line from how much he was frowning in frustration. You hissed from the implication of his words; no, not the implication. He wasn’t implying anything; he was downright begging. Shamelessly. Openly. For something so vulnerable, something which was so intimately, so carnally a part of you. He was begging for the most carnal part, and he was doing it so helplessly. So prettily. You thought he had never looked more beautiful than this. Than when he was loving you.

You nodded with heaving chest, spread your legs on the chair, shuffled forward a little; Hyunjin didn’t even bother with your underwear. He pulled your panties to the side, quickly, as though you were granting him a wish he would have never expected to come true, jaw hanging slack with anticipation, eyes blown out a deep black. He lapped you up. He didn’t wait for another word, didn’t waste another second. You gasped when you felt his mouth on your soaked warmth, now even warmer, now that he was breathing against you. Breathing deeply, breathing hotly. Whispering a low, throaty “Fuuck.” right into your pussy which muffled most of his noises, which absorbed all of them and made it her own. Which fluttered when he licked at your clit, mouth open so widely as though he couldn’t get enough of you. As though he would never taste you enough, never stuff himself enough with you, never be close enough to you. Mouth open so widely as though he wanted to inhale you whole, not only your sex, your clit, your wetness. You. To make you part of him, to make you connected to him through some sort of outer force.

It was when he kissed up and down your lips that you lost your heart a little. It was then when you noticed he was lost in his own pleasure. That he was kissing you because he wanted to kiss you. Not because he knew you liked it. Not solely. That he was making out with your pussy, mouth latching onto your labia, wandering up to the hood over your clit and down the puffy skin again to kiss near your slit because he was losing himself in you. Because he wasn’t even looking at you. Hyunjin’s eyes were closed, shut so tight the skin between his brows was wrinkled, his jaw trembling. His breath shaking against you. His deep grunts resonating somewhere deep inside your core. Depths only he ever reached. Only he was capable to.

When you moaned his name, called it out desperately and let it materialize in the room, letting it take space in the relative silence, he finally looked at you. Finally granted you his entire attention. Finally blessed you with the sight of him; eyes bloodshot, hooded, almost sleepy. Almost as if he had awoken from a trance. Hyunjin hummed in response, knowingly. Breathed you in deeper, licked a heavy stripe from your slit up. That was for you now. Now he was pushing your buttons, pushing them so knowingly, so aware it made you dizzy. He knew you, he chased your high with you.

His hand – big, warm, steady – pushed against your inner thigh, gently but you complied. You spread your legs further, granted Hyunjin more space. More space to make you feel good, more space to show love. He sucked at your clit, watching as you threw your head back. Smiling to no one but himself because he had expected it. Your legs twitched, your muscles spasming against your will, but you let them. Your right leg resting on the mattress lazily and Hyunjin played with it. Letting his fingers slide up and down your calf, always on the inner side, until he tickled at the underside of your knee, until you whined out and he knew to wander down with his fingers again. He caressed your ankle then. Scratching your skin with his nails, a little, slightly. Not enough to hurt, only to elicit wanted reaction; a hiss, a breath caught in your throat.

You hadn’t paid attention, so you didn’t know when exactly your foot touched Hyunjin’s erection, accidentally. You must have spread your legs just a little further – it was never enough, the pleasure he granted you intoxicating and you chased it with every nerve in your body, with everything you had in you – and you had only heard the heart-ripping moan from the man. So loud it scared you at first, before you understood, before you looked down at him, at his erection, at him again. Down his body, down his toned chest and tensed abdomen and at his erection again; you were able to see the wet patch on his boxers. The desperation in his eyes when you locked them again. He had put his own pleasure to the side for your own; and if he hadn’t lied to you about the pain, then he had been hurting for quite a while. Looking at you to just ease him off the pain. Any way you wanted to, any way possible, he didn’t care. As long as you eased him off it, as long as you freed him from the torment.

It was awkward, but you tried to get past his waistband with your toe. It must have tickled more than it did anything else because you caught Hyunjin’s skin shiver, the toned lines on his stomach protruding suddenly as the muscles there tightened. But he understood. Without breaking his lips off you, without even looking away from you – hungry eyes still following your every move, every expression in your face – he freed himself quickly with one hand, and your mouth filled with water you could barely keep behind your lips. You moaned out, too; simply at the sight of him, because he had shoved away his boxers so carelessly, because he was showing himself to you so readily, for you to take him with all you had. Even if it was pathetic. Even if he seemed desperate. Even if his precum was dripping down in thick beads onto your mattress, looking like a pearl necklace was adorning him. Hyunjin rolled his hips into nothing, searching for your touch when he saw the look in your eyes. The hunger there. When he saw how you bit your lip, how you cursed out.

“You’re not hard babe; you’re basically cumming.”

And Hyunjin hummed into your pussy, eyes closing, making him see stars, more even when you touched him. Delicate foot on his tip, and you didn’t even need to move; the man started chasing his high momentarily. He was so eager, grinding against the little contact of skin you granted him, but it was enough. And you knew he wouldn’t last long. His fingers dug into your thigh, his other feeling you up, feeling you everywhere, reaching to cup your breast above your shirt, higher up then when the lack of your skin disturbed him, when he found home on your neck, closed his palm around it softly.

You let your hand slide across his short hair, nails on his scalp at his touches. There wasn’t much to pull on anymore; Hyunjin had admitted that he missed the feeling, that the only downside to his new hairstyle was the fact you couldn’t tug at it anymore. He had admitted that he missed the pressure, the sting of pain. He had mumbled it into your neck while he’d been deep inside you, the very first day after he’d shaved it, after you’d confessed how good he looked. You had pulled him closer back then, had arched your back to connect your chest with his; Hyunjin had whined when your nails had dug into the sensitive skin of his scalp, and had kissed you feverishly after.

And he was now whining without control, too. Whining at the sting of pain, whining because he was so, so close, rolling and rolling himself against you, quick and quicker and with a body so tense, so shivering, so trembling. He was whining because he couldn’t get enough of your taste, of your scent, because as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Because he felt so, so good. But he wanted to watch you. He wanted to see your mouth while it breathed his name, while it fell slack before a scream ripped through it. Wanted to see how you threw your head back, how your body convulsed against him, back arching, thighs closing, your free hand finding the one he had on your throat. Because you needed something to hold on to. Because he knew you were so, so close. He felt you shake, your legs quiver, he heard his name out of your mouth a couple notes higher, a little breathier, a little more carnal. He loved it when you said his name like that. He loved how it sounded in your mouth, sensual, pleading. Sweet.

And he came. Without much warning, but with spasms, because he just couldn’t take it anymore. Not with how mindlessly your foot lay on his now softening cock, with how hard you were groping at him; not just his head, everywhere. How much closer you seemed to need him. He couldn’t help it with how you smelled, sweeter now that you were close and wetter, oh so wet, drowning his chin in your essence, and he didn’t bother to clean himself up. He let himself be wet; let his own release stick to his abdomen, let it trickle down to his hips, let his chin be wet with you, wettened it even more by pushing himself deeper into you, nose wet too now, lips long soaked, mouth so full of you he grunted deeply, lapped you up, sucked your clit; and he felt you cumming, too.

And he finally looked up at you, needed to see you. And the sight was heavenly, wishing he could look at you forever. When you were like this. When you moved like this. When you felt this good; felt this good because of him. Because of his mouth which drank you up, cleaned you, inhaled you. Your eyes in the back of your head, your face contracting, your jaw tightening so hard that it shivered, that your lips quivered with it. You were flush, your hair all over you; knowing you, Hyunjin was sure you wouldn’t like the sight of yourself, wouldn’t understand why he grew hard again simply watching you. Why his breath caught in his throat when you looked at him, lashes damp, lip spit-laced, and whispering your name because it was “Too much.”. Just because Hyunjin could never stop when he started. Because he never got enough of your taste, long after you finished. Because he always drove you over the edge a second, a third time, only until his jaw pained him, when his lips went numb. When his heart filled with you so much he swore he couldn’t take it; and yet swore greedily, swore selfishly, that it would never be enough.

@es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @ppiri-bahng @cherrrywon @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @junebug032 @noellllslut @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife

#hyunjin smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #hwang hyunjin smut #stray kids hyunjin smut #skz imagines #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin imagines

1K notes · View notes

halovians · 15 days ago

Text

࿐ ♡ ˚ . 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞. — 𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒙𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒔. ˒ ⊹

syn. where professor anaxagoras teaches you how to touch yourself properly. (3.1k)

cw. fem reader / shameless porn w absolutely no plot 2 be found / teacher x student dynamic (but its only briefly referenced tbh) / vaginal fingering / oral sex (f!receiving) / overstimulation / pet names used; good girl, starlight, my dear

love, oak! HELLOOOOOO we are so freaking back omg. what started out as what was supposed to be a wee little drabble ended up a monstrosity a little over 3k words (which like isn't much tbh but it's alot for ME!!!). i fear i'm a little rusty so i apologize if the writing is rough around the edges, but i just had to get this out of my freaking head. i listened to death by glamour on loop while editing this. also crossposted to ao3 here!

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI. NSFW UNDER THE CUT.

“So you’re coming to me for help with such a thing?”

Anaxa’s sharp gaze meets yours, pinning you in place. Your shoulders hunch slightly on instinct. Even with only one good eye, his stare is incredibly intimidating.

“Well— yes?” Your voice wavers with uncertainty.

Anaxa clicks his tongue, unsatisfied with your answer.

“If you’re so unsure, then I’m not quite convinced you truly need my assistance with anything at all.”

Anaxa’s office is quiet. Private, which is good for a conversation of this nature. Various candles flicker amongst shelves of books and side tables cluttered with research papers. Outside the window, the incessant night sky glimmers, stars winking down upon the Grove.

Silence sinks between you as his words register.

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you shake your head and cast your gaze towards the floor. Your voice escapes you in almost a desperate plea, “No, no— That isn’t it, I just-!”

“Look at me.”

Anaxa’s inflection is stern, but not cold, as he cuts you off. The command in his tone forces your eyes back up, clashing with the pale blue and magenta of his. The gold detailing on his eyepatch glints in the soft glow of the candlelight.

A pause. This time, when he speaks, it is gentle—uncharacteristically so for him. “What is it that you need?”

(You’ve always known the professor had a soft-spot for you, but it always takes you by surprise when it properly manifests. When it becomes something so glaringly obvious.

You suck in a breath. Your heart thumps traitorously beneath your ribs.)

Anaxa’s unusually soft tone causes your shoulders to slump, tension seeping out of your bones in a slow wave. There’s a beat of silence as you manage to steel your nerve. Repeating your request feels humiliating in a way, but at this point, you’re a little desperate.

“I need your help. With... with climaxing. I can’t on my own, and I’m so frustrated.”

The words fall past your lips before you can properly rethink it. Your face flushes with heat—with embarrassment—

Anaxa leans forward, arms folding on his desk. His soft chuckle stirs you from your whirling thoughts.

“And why, pray tell, are you seeking me of all people out for this?”

His question takes you by surprise. You glance away briefly, shame curling low in your stomach like smoke, but the sound of fabric rustling and a chair creaking draws your attention back to him. Anaxa stands slowly, a calculating look about him as he stares down upon you. He doesn’t say anything—he simply waits patiently for you to find the words you wish to speak. Your hands clasp together in your lap, and you find your resolve buried deep within you. The smoke dissipates.

“I trust you, professor,” you finally say. You mentally curse the way your voice warbles faintly. “You are the only one I’d ever think to go to with this sort of… issue.”

Anaxa makes a contemplative noise—something between a hum and a sigh. Slowly, he steps around his desk, fingertips dancing along the wooden edge.

“Just me?” A pause. “Not even Phainon? I know the two of you are.. particularly close.”

The mention of your best friend makes your spine stiffen. His head angles just slightly as the silence settles like dust. You carefully consider his question; then, you shake your head. Your voice comes out breathless, but unwavering: “No— just you.”

And there’s only truth there in your statement. With Phainon… you’re sure he’d be eager. He always is, when it comes to lending a helping hand. But this isn’t the sort of problem you plague best friends with. Maybe in another universe, another cycle— but not this one.

No. In this one, it is you and Anaxa. He is the one you crave the most.

A hint of a smile pulls at his lips—barely there, fleeting as a daydream. He beckons you with a finger. “Come. Sit on the desk.”

The night sky’s light filters through thin white curtains, bathing everything untouched by candle in a soft silvery glow. It casts Anaxa in a sort of ethereal halo, silver gleam and gold candlelight flickering against each other; it’s a sight you have a hard time tearing your gaze away from as you rise to your feet. But he waits, patiently, as you situate yourself on the cool wood of his work desk.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you have to shove a few papers and pens out of the way. Something clatters to the floor suddenly and you flinch, but Anaxa isn’t even bothered. His attention remains solely on you.

You swallow slowly, begging your nerves to settle down. Something like anticipation buzzes like static beneath your skin. Your eyes squeeze shut.

When you open them next, Anaxa is there in front of you.

Close. So, so very close.

You squeak despite yourself.

“Nervous, are we?” He observes.

“A little,” you reply.

Your candor draws an amused chuckle from Anaxa. Your heart flutters again— utterly traitorous.

“You have no need to be,” he says quietly. “It’s just you and me.”

He studies you for a beat, his eye drinking in your form. Slowly, so achingly slow, he reaches a hand out, brushing his knuckles along your jaw, across your cheek. He’s gotten so close now, his breath mingles with yours. His scent wraps around you, like parchment and sandalwood and something deeper— a hint of something citrusy, maybe. You feel lightheaded.

You shiver. Anaxa smiles.

“First,” He starts softly, as if trying not to startle a deer. “I’d like you to show me how you touch yourself.”

Your lips part slightly in surprise. Anaxa’s smile does not waver—in fact, it grows a little wider. Smug, almost.

His head tilts just slightly, pale green hair shifting with the movement. Your fingers twitch as you tamp down the urge to brush the stray strands out of his face.

“Right now—?” You stammer.

“When else, my dear? You’ve oh so bravely made your request—now it’s time to follow through.”

Your throat bobs as you swallow thickly. He’s right—if you were brave enough to ask, then you are brave enough to listen.

So, you don’t verbally respond. Instead, with trembling fingers, you slowly brush the fabric of your dress up your thighs, exposing the skin to him under the soft candle glow.

Anaxa’s tongue darts out briefly to wet his lips. Your gaze meets his, but his gaze is on the slow reveal of your flesh. Without warning, he places a hand on each knee, urging you to spread your legs. His hand is cool against your heated skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake as he lets them drift further up your thigh.

He doesn’t go much higher, though— he’s very intent on seeing how you pleasure yourself first.

Then he’ll think about touching you. If only to satisfy his own selfish cravings.

Your breath hitches as the silken fabric of your panties is revealed—already damp, soaked with the proof of your desire. There’s a satisfied gleam in Anaxa’s eye as you peer up at him.

His thumb brushes across your inner thigh, gentle sweeps meant to ground you in his presence. But really, it just makes the ache between your legs worse. You squirm a little.

“Don’t be shy, starlight. Go on.” Anaxa murmurs. No— he rasps. The anticipation is killing him, and if your eyes were to drift lower, you would see the way his cock strains against his pants— aching, wanting. All for you.

Alas, your attention is on something else entirely:

Starlight. The pet name shoots straight through your beating heart, a cupids arrow tipped in a sweet poison. And the way he sighs it, stars above; it’s like the blasphemer has finally found his faith, and he finds the truth nestled in the space between your ribs.

Your lips part, a little dumbfounded. It shouldn’t be affecting you like this. Anaxa shouldn’t be affecting you like this. Yet here you are, thighs slick with want, face flushed with heat.

He’s going to be the death of you.

Confidence bolstered by the way Anaxa seems to drink you up like the sweetest of wines, your fingers dip into the waistband of your panties. You toy with the elastic, teasingly, before peeling the fabric away.

(And Anaxa so kindly helps—you can’t stop the way your heart leaps into your throat as his hands settle on the curve of your hips, lifting you just slightly to lessen the struggle of removing your underwear. You try not to think too hard about how smoothly he does so, or the warmth of his hands against your sensitive skin.)

Arousal makes you ache. Your pussy clenches around nothing as Anaxa guides your legs open once again, a steady anchor between your thighs. Even in the low lights, he is enamored by the sight of you. Glistening with desire. Pliant. Needy.

Your breath leaves you in a shudder as Anaxa’s hands makes themselves at home on your inner thighs. His head dips, lips brushing along the shell of your ear as he breathes, “Show me.”

He doesn’t have to say much more than that. Your hand brushes the hem of your dress out of the way as the other descends, slowly gliding against your wetness. You bite your lip to suppress the whimper that desperately wants to escape you.

Gathering slick along the pads of your fingers, you slowly circle your clit. Pleasure zips through your body, the pool of heat in your stomach slowly growing deeper with every movement.

“Good girl,” Anaxa breathes, attention raptly on you. “Keep going.”

You let out a strangled whimper, fingers clumsily rubbing faster. It’s good— it feels good, but it’s not quite enough, like there’s something missing…

Anaxa kneels, and the movement is so sudden it snaps you out of your pleasure-fueled haze. Your lips part as you stare down at him, watching as his hands brace on your thighs. His head tilts just slightly. You can’t find the words to say—how to ask him what exactly he thinks he’s doing.

Heat blooms across your cheeks. It feels far too intimate, far too much, the sight of Anaxa kneeling between your parted legs as your fingers twitch over your heat. You wonder if perhaps this was a mistake. But then he hums, pleasantly, and you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth.

“I didn’t say to stop,” he says, huskily. “Go on— resume.”

And obediently, you listen. Your fingers slip lower now, dipping into your wet heat, starting with one finger, and then two.

All while Anaxa watches.

He looks almost calculating—like he’s mentally taking notes as you tremble and whine in front of him. It shouldn’t turn you on this much. Really.

But it does. And you’re sure he’s taken note of that, too.

Your head tilts back, a low moan falling like honeyed sin from your lips as you finger yourself. And then: a foreign feeling. A brush of fingertips not belonging to you, ghosting over your clit.

“Ah—!?” You gasp, but Anaxa shushes you.

“You’re doing well, but I suppose I should do what you asked of me, hm?”

Typically, Anaxa is much more patient man—but with the sight of your wet heat in front of him for the first time, your little fingers thrusting sloppily, he feels his resolve cracking much quicker than he’d like. A hairline fissure in his foundation, fracturing further and further until he feels it crumbling away. And when it does, his hand wraps around yours, pulling your desire-slick fingers away from your cunt. He brings them to his mouth, and you watch with lust-blown pupils as his tongue darts out, tasting the wetness coating your digits.

“Anaxa—?”

“Anaxagoras,” he corrects, but there’s no real ire behind it. Like he doesn’t actually mind your use of a nickname he believed to have hated.

(He finds that he does not mind it as much if it comes from you.

He tucks this revelation of his away to contemplate later. Right now, his attention is on the pretty pussy dripping for him. His tongue swipes over his lips, savoring the remnants of your taste.)

You’re still reeling from the sensation of his mouth on your hands, but he doesn’t let you sit long in your shock, as his hands move quickly to replace yours. He starts with one finger—sliding it into your wet heat, humming appreciatively at the way your walls clench around him. You let out a weak moan.

“You’re singing so pretty for me, my starlight,” Anaxa murmurs, voice thick with desire. “Don’t worry. I believe it best to learn this sort of thing through experience. So I’ll show you how to cum—again, and again, and again.”

His fingers are longer than yours. Thicker. They reach the spots you’ve never been able to quite reach, and when his fingers brush against a particularly sensitive spot, you keen for him.

Anaxa lights up, as if making a discovery worth screaming to the world. “There it is.”

And he presses against it. Over, and over, and over, like he had promised. One finger turns into two as he slips another inside, and the stretch has you whining as his fingers pump into you. Something foreign in your belly coils tight. Anaxa is deliberate with his every movement, making sure to hit that sweet spot inside you with a cruel precision.

The tension crests to a head when he leans forward to wrap his lips around your clit.

“A—naxa!” you cry, fingers curling into the soft locks of his hair. You give it a tug, but he only groans into your pussy, tongue flicking over your clit in tandem with every thrust of his fingers.

The coil snaps.

Your back arches as you cum, hard, a soft cry falling from your lips as Anaxa chuckles between your legs. It zips through you like lightning, sudden and sharp, leaving you feeling absolutely molten in its’ wake. His fingers pump lazily, drawing you through your high.

Orgasming.. is fucking fantastic, you think. You’d like to experience it again, perhaps.. though the thought of attempting to do so without Anaxa’s assistance is a little daunting.

You curse softly, bringing a hand up to clutch your face as you pant softly. Your other hand remains entangled in his hair—you give him a soft tug.

But he.. doesn’t stop. In fact, his fingers slowly pick back up. What was once shallow, aimless thrusts meant to coast you along return to that vicious preciseness from when he was working you towards your release.

“What are you—”

You’re cut off by a your own gasp when his mouth attaches to your clit again. Your eyes widen as the sensation rips through you, sharp pleasure just bordering on the side of too much.

“I-I can’t!” You cry. “Fuck— s’too much!”

“You can. You will.”

His voice is tinged with obsession, an absolute need to tip you over the peak again. If he could, Anaxa could perhaps spend forever between your legs, playing you like an instrument to draw out the sweetest of melodies your voice could produce.

Your thighs attempt to press together, your hand pushing at him as he continues to lap at your far too sensitive clit—but Anaxa is sturdy, unmoving, positively devoted to his endeavor of making you cum as many times as you can physically manage. He simply uses his free hand to hold you open while the other continues to pump into your aching cunt.

His fingers curl inside you just right and somehow, some way, it happens.

You cum. Again. It almost hurts how good it feels.

You gush around his fingers, and Anaxa laughs, bordering on maniacal. The mere sensation of his breath ghosting over your clit makes your hips jerk, and this time he lets you push his head away. He’s satisfied—for the moment, at least.

Anaxa withdraws his fingers, studying the way your essence coats his hand. He rises to his feet as you’re left to catch your breath. Tears line your lashes as you process the fact that Anaxa has brought you to orgasm not once, but twice, in quick succession. You didn’t even know your body was capable of doing that.

Dizzy, you look up at him, watching as he runs his tongue along his digits. When his eyes catch yours, all offers is, “I enjoy the way you taste.”

“Don’t say things like that,” you huff breathlessly, heat blooming across your cheeks.

Anaxa simply shrugs and turns to the side.

“Just observing.” He pauses. Then: “I’d like to study you more. Your body. The way you react. I find you fascinating.”

You blink at him—still feeling a little hazy from the brain-shattering orgasms he just inflicted upon you, it takes you a moment to realize that this is his way of asking if you’d let him do it again. If you’d let him continue to touch you in ways you’ve never let anyone else touch you before.

You slowly close your trembling legs, smoothing the hem of your dress back over them—where did your panties go?—and tilt your head as you process his statement.

You don’t think you’d mind baring yourself to the professor.

“Okay,” you say softly. At the sound of your voice, Anaxa turns back towards you. His face is carefully schooled into neutrality, but there in the depths of his eye, there’s a glimmer. Something warm. You fold your hands in your lap to prevent yourself from fidgeting. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

Anaxa’s lips split into a smile, ecstatic at your agreeance. He approaches you again, the tops of his thighs brushing against your dangling legs as he looks down at you.

“Fantastic. Then— we shall continue to meet in here during the Parting Hour.”

You hum in agreement. Out of all things you had expected to occur this evening, establishing a routine of meeting with Anaxa for what was essentially nightly dick appointments was not one of them. You blink up at him curiously.

Suddenly feeling rather bold, you ask, “Will you kiss me?”

Anaxa blinks down at you— taken by surprise, you note none too smugly. There’s a pinkness that rises to his cheeks, faint, but against his pale skin it’s easy to notice. You smile.

“I suppose I can,” Anaxa finally murmurs, cupping your cheek with a hand. The way he caresses you is gentle. Perhaps a promise of things to come.

And with the stars as your only witness, Anaxa leans forward, pressing his lips to yours.

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