#fashion and advertising go hand in hand after all

[randomly--accessed--memories]

Vox and Niffty couple up so quickly that those who don't Know assume that they must've worked together under Alastor before, while those who do Know guess that they might've known each other back in their overlord days. They're both wrong though– this is the first time Vox and Niffty have ever met, they just happen to get along as if they're old friends.

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: none

↳ song: let's misbehave—cole porter and others

↳ notes: the fact i don't even care for the show and this is my second fic. save me alastor. save me.

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• It had been something of a shock when you found out that the giant joke of a hotel up the street was housing one of your oldest friends

• Alastor and you had run into each other during one of his first years in hell. A time when people still felt brave enough to point and laugh at him on the street without fear of being slaughtered

• You weren’t anything important at the time. Not an overlord or anything of the sort; just a regular sinner that died unexpectedly ended up face first on the concrete. Nothing to bat an eye at, really

• But for some reason, Alastor had been curtious to you all the same. Maybe it was the apologetic tip of your head you offered after accidentally running into him, or perhaps something else. Whatever it may be, the two of you wasted no time becoming fast friends. As long as you didn't mind the gore or screams of terror that is.

• And decades later, there you were, knocking slowly on a grand front door to pay him a long overdue visit

• Charlie and the rest of the hotel guests had been positively floored when you showed up in modern clothes and an easy-going ‘hello’, looking nothing like any friend of the Radio Demon

• “There has to be something wrong with you!” Angel Dust exclaimed, peering down at you in a stripped pink suit as he stood slack jawed. “No way Al has a normal friend. I mean none of us do either, but Alastor??”

• You think they were just shocked that Alastor had a friend outside of other overlords. And one he wasn’t using to make a deal with, nonetheless

• Husk and Nifty were the only ones that seemed unaffected by you. Not surprising, considering that you had met them both on separate occasions

• It only took one look from Husk behind his bar before was hopping out of the booth, mumbling to you that he would go get his boss. You just chuckled as he left

• Alastor was quick to materialize from behind you mere seconds later, wearing one of his larger smiles

• “My old pal! Oh how wonderful it is to see you again! It has been too long, I must say. Too long indeed!” The powerful demon laughed good naturedly . He held a hand out to you, and shook your arm with vigor as you returned the notion

• “Good to hear your voice again.” You said honestly, and smiled slightly at the familiar static pouring from his speech. He always has a way with words. “But really Alastor. Redemption? What are you up to this time.”

• “Hah! You know me too well, my dear.” He smiled deviously, twirling his staff from hand to hand as Charlie’s expression formed an offended pout behind him. You ignored it in favor of laughing with Alastor

• The demon wasted no time ushering you around the hotel for a good old fashioned walk-and-talk. It had been so long since he had last truly seen you, and there was just so much to catch up on! Of course, his events were a bit more exciting, so to speak, than yours, but the point still stands

• “— and oh how absolutely wondrous her screams were!” He cooed to himself, curling a clawed hand around the top of his staff in mirth

• “Alastor, you know how much I love your storytelling," You hummed slowly. "But mind telling me a bit about this hotel instead? Like what exactly you're doing here?”

• “Oh right! Of course!" He cleared his throat. "It all started when I saw this horrendous advertisement in one of those blasted T.V windows —"

• "Hey!"

• Judging from the shocked gasp that could be heard from behind you, Charlie didn’t take that too well

• More visits were made to Hazbin Hotel over the coming months. The more you came, the longer you stayed. Sometimes, you would just listen in on Alastor’s broadcasts like old times, or take to sitting at the bar as everyone else ran around like their heads were on fire

• Which happened more than you'd like to admit

• In the meantime, you became acquainted with all types of new faces; from a trio of bizarre eggs to the lord of hell himself

• Alastor had been very cagey that day.

• "Great to meet you, sir. Charlie’s talked about you before, and it's very nice to put a face to the name." You said politely while taking one of Lucifer's hands in both of yours to shake it. He just grinned uncontrollably response and made star eyes at the thought of his daughter mentioning him

• "Alright I think that's enough for introductions!" An irritated voice rang from beside you, practically overflowing with an aggressive amount of static

• "Oh shut up Alastor. I'm shaking the king of hell's hand. Let me have this."

[sanspuppet]

~Public sex with Ateez

short scenario for each member

- the way i wrote the imagines can result quite different but i wrote this through different days so- idk just read it and you’ll understand lol

• this is a work of fiction and obviously i have no idea what are they into so please just take it as fake scenarios

• Hongjoong

A scenario that has been going through my mind lately is going on a date with him to a fashion show, all dressed elegant and you being so feminine and attractive that he couldn’t wait long before being able to take that dress off of you. When all people are focused on watching the runway that’s about to start he’d squeeze your thighs and call for your attention, he’d whisper to your ear. “Let’s go now, i want you to go to the bathroom. Got that?” you’d blink confusedly. “But Joong, and the show?” “Fuck off, you’re the most beautiful person i could ever see tonight”

• Seonghwa

Feeling like he’d get needy especially after performing one of those nasty ass choreos they made for their tour. He’d grow more impatient with every song until the last ones where it was quite clear that he was hard. He’d be good at pretending it doesn’t annoys him, but in reality he can’t wait to get rid of it and release all of his “sexiness” using you. You’d be waiting for him in the backstage, giving him a hug right after he comes in. He’d grab your waist and squeeze it tightly and pull you towards his dressing room, while being stuck on a deep kiss.

• Yunho

I feel like you two would go on a date to night clubs and just vibe together along with the music. He’d find you very pretty with your favorite outfit and nice makeup, not to talk about how cute you looked with your cheeks flushed for the alcohol. He’d trail his own hand down his lap, trying to hide his hard-on. But after all, even if you two would fuck loudly in the bathroom, no one could hear you for the loud music… so why not? He’d simply stand up and take your hand, if you thought you were going to dance, as soon as he leads over the rest room you’d realize what are his real intentions.

• Yeosang

I don’t know if i should call it actually public sex but i feel he wouldn’t be really into that either way so probably when you do have it, it’s in his car while parked on the side road or in a park. Maybe something before meeting other people and he knows he couldn’t have you properly until you come back home, so a quickie would be nice for him. He’d unconsciously advertise you by being very touchy even if his hands should be on the wheel. Then would park somewhere at anytime and ask you to ride him.

• San

Probably this man likes very much having you take him randomly over the day, but despite this, i think he’s more into long sessions with multiple rounds. You’d tease each other very commonly but still public sex with him would happen only if the situation degenerates and the need is too hard to handle. Usually would have it in the bathroom of some members’ dorm. I think something light like just sitting on his lap or feeling the warmth of your body would turn him on so… yeah better not tease him much in public if you don’t want to be railed by him and still have to stay quiet to not being caught.

• Mingi

I don’t know why but something tells me he’s pretty much into quickies and doesn’t give a fuck if there might be public. He likes showing you off and doesn’t bother much about showing he’s attracted to you too. Like i think he would be very flirty with you even in front of other people, teasing so much that at the end, you’re the one begging him to just fuck you in a corner wherever it is. Something about him just makes me think that he’d even ask his bros if he can use their bedroom just to fuck you if you’re at their place. Or even at work, i just think that he’d love to fuck in the practice room idk why.

• Wooyoung

My thought on him is that he’d like to treat you like a princess and would love to go shopping with you. He would suggest you either cute and sexy outfits, just imagine having him sat on the little chair in the fitting room, watching you changing outfits. You stripping teasingly and smirk at him struggling to contain himself from fucking you right there in the closet. Well what can i say it wouldn’t be the first time it would happen hehe

• Jongho

Gym sex. Fuckin gym sex with him help. Just imagine planning to work out together but ending up riding him because it’s your leg day while he’s laying on the bench and lifting weights 😮‍💨 Why is this scenario so damn hot to me? Having him under you, all sweaty and you can’t tell if he’s moaning for you or just because his muscles are sore from training. Not to mention that literally anyone could run into you two, fortunately he goes to a gym where it’s likely to be empty most of the time.

taglist: @bunnyluvr25 @xonga @bro-atz @wisejudgedragonhairdo @therealcuppicake @hongjoongswifefr @sugarnspice630 @stolasisyourparent @kaimisutra @jyunhosbby @pancake-freckle @cherrycel

[capslocked]

SERENDIPITY

male reader x kwon eunbi

18k words

Before the attraction ferments, Eunbi says, kiss me properly and pull me apart. or, Where all your little tragedies begin.

-

If you want to start getting technical, you’re Minju's plus one to the gala, and that’s already a lot, a lot, a lot to unpack.

She’d gotten whipped into a bad mood that evening before you even had your shoes on, all on account of your apparent inability to distinguish cobalt from azure, and now should anyone have the wherewithal to examine the fabric of her dress, your tie, maybe with a forensic kit, they’d discover the two are not actually matching. If there was any part of you at all inclined toward keeping up appearances, you probably wouldn’t be content with a career in radio broadcast. But here you are, surrounded by actors, actresses, idols, and everyone who thinks the cut of their jaw is just a little better than everyone else’s - the kind of people who feel entitled to time in front of a camera.

Networking, is how Minju ends up pitching it to you, and now it makes the whole thing seem a lot like work and it’s actually kind of exhausting.

It’s not even an open bar either, as she had originally advertised.

You pay - get this - you pay twenty-three dollars for a vodka tonic and it comes with so much ice you’re not totally unconvinced you could build an igloo. So when everything starts to go to shit, nearing the end of drink number one, you’re not even slurring your words. Tipsy, perhaps; just slightly. To the point you can feel it in your fingers. But nothing like a good excuse.

It’s about then that Eunbi navigates her way around the bar - unnerving, enough to make the sweat grow cold.

On account of her being fucking gorgeous, you end up watching her closely: notice first that she’s carrying a pair of heels in her hand, completely barefoot, and you have no idea what that’s about, but you end up more fixated on the fact that she slides herself into the barstool on your left - which comes across as something of an omen, given that the rest are completely unoccupied. It’s only thirty, forty minutes into the event and people are still plenty busy with that thing where they fake smiles at each other until they feel like they fit in, showing, with bare minimal effort, that they too can mingle with entertainment’s elite.

Now, you don’t actually recognize her, not right away that is. The last you’d seen her, she had her hair cut right above her shoulders and its shade was a serious degree blonder than the current iteration - now curtaining her face as she studies the drink menu and flips it over several times in her dainty hands.

After a long minute, she looks up, interrupts the bartender from polishing a piece of glassware, and orders an old fashioned, substitute brandy, leave out the orange peel, with sugar on the rim. If it’s not the usual amendments that give her away, it’s the saccharine-sweet flavor of her voice, lilting in a manner that’s instantly unmistakable.

Eunbi, you’re guessing aloud, a little apprehensive, and immediately you retreat behind the liquor in your glass. She turns to you, slowly, knuckles masking the subtle quirk in her lips at first, before letting her chin rest on the heel of her palm to reveal a flash of her signature hundred-kilowatt smile.

“Oh,” she says, and she’s blinking with clear amusement that you remember her name - as if you could ever forget it, as if these run-ins were somehow infrequent; you’d only both been plotting orbits around the same star that was Minju for the past couple years. Her head tilts, lips parting to ask, “your date ditch you already?”

She’s half-right.

“You break a heel?” you ask her, nodding toward the pair of black t-strap heels she’d tossed onto the bar counter with a defeated sigh.

“Maybe.” Eunbi drags a dark lock of hair back behind her ear. It falls almost immediately back in front of her face and it ends up staying there until the bartender places her drink in front of her. “But my question first.”

For the record, there’s nothing here particularly novel worth dwelling on. It’s always some provocation or another with Eunbi, you remember now, as she holds you with a stare, eyes wide and brilliant; she sails through life all with the confidence of someone very aware of how pretty she is - knows precisely what she can get away with, right down to the letter of the law. The dress hugging tight to her isthmus of a waist is evidence of exactly that - tighter each time you look - so if you’re waiting for her to get it wrong, don’t hold your breath.

“Minju’s having a moment,” you tell her, “it’s not like she doesn’t know where to find me.”

“Hm.” She pauses to take a careful sip of her drink, running her tongue over her bottom lip as she places the glass onto a square napkin. Folds her hands in her lap and asks, “can you explain something to me?”

“If I say no, are you going to ask anyway?”

Eunbi nods to herself, dry laugh telling you it was as rhetorical as you thought. “Seriously, how is it you two are always fighting?”

We’re not always fighting, you want to say, before Eunbi makes a face. She has this uncanny effect on you - raising an eyebrow and tilting her chin as though she were disappointed; the sharp edge to her smile, half challenge, half something far less kind. It could rip truth from the most reluctantly tight-lipped of privacies. “We’re working on it,” you tell her.

“Oh?” she asks, leaning in. 

“God, you don’t have to say it like that.” The ice clinks in your glass as you toss it back, finding it lamentably empty. “You make me feel like I have to repeat myself a thousand times - we are,” you add, “we’re working on it.”

“There’s something that keeps you together, clearly,” Eunbi says, pressing her finger to her lips before fixing you with dark eyes and an easy, charming grin. 

She has you figured out, to some extent: knows how you’ll slip up for a girl with a pretty smile, prettier eyes, all the sorts of errors you’ll start to allow when you start cataloging the curves of her body, inventorying how they taper impossibly at her waist, flaring again at her hips, her fucking chest, the way they all look under the tight fit of that damn dress-

“The make-up sex really that good, huh?”

You almost, almost choke on the ice cube you’d been sucking to keep yourself entertained.

“Optimistic to think there is any,” you admit, regretting it right away - like think about it: there’s absolutely nothing good that could possibly come of that. “That’s just how it goes.”

Eunbi looks downright triumphant. More than usual. “Oh, sweetie.”

She waves over the bartender and asks him for another whatever it was you were drinking, because she’d hate to see you go dry, and as he’s turning around she shouts over his shoulder, go ahead and make it two, actually. You don’t realize it, but you’re beginning to study her, paying really close attention to all these little details - the sparkle of the bracelet on her slender arm, how it falls a few inches off the corner of her wrist as she gets her hand back in front of her face, raking her nails through all that thick, glossy hair, black as night - you don’t know what the feeling is that rears its head as you watch her, but it’s not completely unwelcome.

“What?” she asks as her eyes flick up to yours to catch you looking at her, closely, not that you’re gawking, but she lets you off the hook like you are - just gestures to the pitiful looking heel on the counter and shrugs. “It’s not like I have anywhere to be.”

To be honest, it’s not that you lack basic foresight. In fact it’s shockingly easy to predict where this is going. Because here’s a quick behind the scenes tour on how these interactions usually play out: you’ve got your excuses, your trepidations, justifiably - the reality that you’re kind of already in a pretty high profile relationship key among them. And like clockwork, Eunbi readily finds you game for some flustering. Eunbi, who lays it on thick, comments seeped in innuendo and suggestion, whose glances linger perhaps a little long to be a fascinating coincidence. Eunbi, innocence and arrogance entwined, in the filthiest of minds. Eunbi, always with her fingers twirling her hair and wearing something just modest enough that makes it feel like it’s your fault for noticing that her figure is impeccable. You’ve not actually gathered much from your brief conversations other than that she likes to flirt with you, likes it even more when you’ve got your foot in your mouth, and instead of putting you out of your misery, keeps you suspended there, egging you on - this all beyond the fact that you’ve only really managed to learn the many different ways you want to undress Kwon Eunbi.

You want her pressed up against the wall of your apartment, among other places, one of those pleated skirts crumpling to a pile around her knees as she keens for you, and your hand busy sliding up between her thighs.

You want to listen to her sighs as you unfasten each of the white buttons on one of those collared shirts that stretches and aches to keep her chest concealed, how she’d hum in delight as you trail kisses down each new inch of soft pale skin that all would unveil. 

You want her in your lap when you fiddle with the latch of her bra until her tits spill out of its lacy fabric (it’s always lacy in your head), and she’s got you gasping for air, smothered, asphyxiated, dying, ascending, it’s all so, so great in theory.

It’s just that - some way or another - Eunbi looks at you like she knows all of that. You’ve been skirting around the issue for months.

“Tell me,” she starts, and suddenly, without warning, she has you under the microscope, reeling you further into the conversation, pulling at loose threads - where is Minju right now, are you still living together, does she help with chores, can you trust her, does she trust you - she grabs a handful of pretzels and watches you intently as you try and remain unruffled, diplomatic - are you generally happy with how things are going, when was the last time you had sex - you’re blindsided by that last one, or something, but that’s out there now, in the open.

“Uh.” Eunbi purses her lips. “You’re kidding.”

You just shrug.

“How long has it been now between you two? Like officially."

“I’m surprised you don’t already know.”

“Alright.” Eunbi clicks her tongue. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“My fourth year of university, her first,” you explain. Though never before have you felt as crooked about admitting that as you do at this moment. Others had often appreciated something about the impudence of it, but you’re doubting Eunbi’s going to be one of those people.

“Young,” Eunbi states, matter-of-factly. The look on her face says she’s thinking.

“Not that young.”

“You’re twenty-seven.”

“Twenty-five.”

“You’re-” Eunbi’s eyebrow’s knit together like she’s trying to remember something. “Wait, really?”

“Does that bother you?”

“Why would that bother me?”

You’re realizing that she’d gotten closer to you, only now pulling her stool along the floor to catch up with her, and she’d started whispering into the waning space between you as though there was anyone else in the bar you’d need to shield the contents of this conversation from. “It just seems like not a lot of time to get to know yourself. If I were you, I’d be relieved.”

You can’t fucking stop looking at her mouth, glossed pink lips, cupid’s bow and all that between her dimples; your voice comes out oddly thick. “You’re not me.”

“No,” Eunbi says, shaking her head, “I'm not. Here you are, in some miserable relationship to score good karma - I’m having way more fun.”

“Easy,” you warn her, and it comes across just antagonistic enough to let Eunbi know she’s pushing the right buttons, digging in the right place; god only knows what she’ll find.

“Really.” Her fingers start skimming the bottom of your tie, like it’s nothing at all. Like she doesn’t know what might happen if she starts touching you. “Let me guess,” she continues, “A real break-up is too  inconvenient or something right now, Minju doesn’t want the bad press, not when her career is still this fragile, because let’s face it-”

“It’s complicated.”

Eunbi smirks, not bothering to hold it back this time. The way she sees it, your usual excuses are losing their efficacy, quickly: you might not be single, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t thinking about how good she looks in that tiny fucking excuse of a dress, how you’re hoping she might need to run off to the restroom later so you can see how her ass fills out the back of it, how it might look even better on the floor next to your bed - that you’re only a breath away, looking for pretext, perhaps just a little encouragement -

She rests her elbow on the counter, leans a cheek onto her fist, and angles herself against the bar so that the intoxicatingly low dip of her neckline is staring you right in the face, soft cleavage out on full fucking display. It’s not subtle. You never thought too hard about why Minju never invited Eunbi over. You’ll never need to.

“But - but I mean, I guess that’s the gist of it,” you feel inclined to add, stumbling a bit, figuring that if you steal away into the safety of your one true talent - talking - you might just resist the very present urge to reach forward and press your lips to hers. 

“You’re an accessory,” says Eunbi, unbothered, and her eyes take a lazy sweep from your face down to your waist. It’s a leer. “Though,” she murmurs, “can’t really say I can blame the girl.”

“First off, rude.” You’ve got a finger pointed to the ceiling when you say it. “Secondly-”

“Too nice for your own good, you know that?” Eunbi takes a sip from her glass, and after fixing a dark, stubborn strand of hair back behind her ear, she finds herself again in that anxious distance inches away from your nose. “Why don’t you have some fun with it?”

“Fun with what?”

“Just because you figure you’re going to go crawling back to her doesn’t mean you can’t take advantage of your-” she stops, eyes fixing to your lips before continuing, “situation.”

“Can I mention something to you?” You swallow once, twice. Now you’re both looking at each other’s mouths, breathing the same air. “You have a pretty fucked up perspective on interpersonal relationships.”

“What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?” she asks, completely ignoring the assessment. Her fingernails skate along the counter until she’s pinching at the cuff of your sleeve, and her hair falls back in front of her face again, though this time she looks into your eyes like she’s waiting for you to move it out of the way.

“What are we doing right now?” you ask, agitation just beginning to rear its head. “What are you asking me?”

“I’m bored, and you’re the only other person here.”

“There’s, like, a million people here.”

“I mean right here,” she says, nodding to the broken heel on the counter and gesturing between your chests. “Besides, I like you.”

You really could surge up and kiss her, you realize. Her lips are so close, right there in front of you, and there’s not any sort of question of whether she’d let you. The part that scares you is you haven’t a fucking clue what you’d say when the moment comes to finally pull your mouth off hers, and that’s not something you’re usually trying to sort out. Nor are you really in a blathering mood, and now you’re imagining it: Eunbi’s expression all smug and haughty, something that could inspire a good blather - uh, did you just kiss me?

“Forgive me, but I feel like I need to point out,” Eunbi adds, mildly entertained, “most guys wouldn’t be asking this many questions.”

“I’m not most guys.”

“Uh, I am fully aware,” Eunbi says, running a fingertip along the length of her collarbone, slowly, and her voice dips out if its usual airy register into something less musical, more serious: “Do you even have a clue what I’d do for a guy like you?”

“Eunbi,” you say, harshly, not that it matters; she’s going to tell you.

“For starters,” she says, and her hand is around your tie, tugging like you won’t tell her to stop, like she knows she’s gorgeous in all the most disarming ways. “I’d take good care of him, like I don’t think I could keep my hands off him. I’d be blowing him all the time - until my jaw hurt, then i’d just tell him to pick a hole and fuck a big, hot load of cum into it - hell, I’d probably let him do anything to me.”

“Tactful.”

“I’m not the one having a hard time reading between the lines.”

“That’s not - I’m not-”

“Into me?” Eunbi laughs, leaning forward, your last vestiges of personal space vanishing like a passing thought, and now she’s touching you - a hand on your thigh, higher, higher. “You want to fuck me so bad.”

The fucked up thing, beyond Eunbi being absolutely right, is that you’d rather die than try and lie through your teeth, than succumb in such austere fashion. This thing, this desire, this want, you understand it so intimately you could probably name it like you were christening it in a church. You grab a hold of her wrist, before her precocious fingers can discover how obviously right she is under the seam of your pants, and the suddenness of the challenge wipes the mirth from her face - pulls a small little sound out of her chest, leaves her eyes wide and uncharacteristically docile.

“Are you sure?” you ask, collected and calm, after you’ve both realized how small her wrist fits in your hand. “Is this really the game you want to play?” 

Eunbi’s head tips onto this angle, expression perfectly cavalier. “Oh,” she says, uncorking an impious grin, “why don’t you and I go figure that out.”

-

It’s hard to focus. You’ve got it all wrong, or whatever, practically right from the jump. Your first mistake was veering toward the restrooms tucked behind the bar, where Eunbi pulled at the corner of your sleeve to shoot you a skeptical look - are you fucking nuts, there’s single occupant washrooms upstairs - her explanation was sound, probably, she lost you quickly at: “would prefer no one hear me cum all over your cock.”

The second transgression is the kiss itself, a fucking honest mess. 

Eunbi’s perched on the sink, precariously, and as much as you’d rather be smoothing your hands up her curves, you’ve got one preoccupied at her hips, steadying her, the other pulling at your own clothes, slinging your jacket to the floor. It’s this sort of callow tangle of limbs, exchange of spit, imprecise groping - fuck, it actually hurts when your teeth bump together, or when Eunbi pulls a little too hard at your bottom lip - over and over, and your mouths keep missing each other, straying off to cheeks and chins. 

You expected there to be a touch more polish to her, for her to be the kind of girl above hooking up barefoot in a public restroom, maybe even preserve any of that infamous intrigue. But those open-mouthed kisses she has leaving marks on your jaw, making welts on your neck do little to help you shrug off the impropriety here, hanging like a sorry cloud. Because you’re barreling toward something desperate and clumsy and hot and needy - so utterly raunchy in all the right ways.

“C’mere,” Eunbi says, smile stretching soft and devastatingly sweet, hardly fussing when you slip your hand beneath her jaw - it takes a moment, a touch of experimentation, until you’re together working toward a common goal. She twists the end of your tie over her wrist once, twice, anchors herself against you, and her legs open wider, a heel hooking around your thigh. The embers in her half-lidded eyes tell a story, tell you you to firm up your grip, clutch her, get rough with her, toss her around - she can take it, she can take more. 

Her chin gets set on the angle opposite yours as she starts to pull you in close, the heat in her breath coming closer, and she furrows a perfectly sculpted brow the moment she realizes it’s not reciprocal - that you’re not leaning into her, not pressing your tongue past her lips and grabbing her hair by the fistful - she squints, glowering. It’s actually not a bad look on her.

“Tell me something,” you say, skating your fingertips up her leg until they’re so close to the apex of her thigh you can feel her heat, radiating. “What were you expecting?”

“I try to never expect anything,” Eunbi tells you, and starts once more for your lips, only vexed again when you stiffen up, maintain the distance between you - stop her short at the limit of tantalizingly close.

“Eunbi,” you say, wry with dry laughter and peeking over her shoulder to the reflection in the mirror - backless; you can see the ridge of her spine from her ass all the way up to her neck when you slide her hair to the side. “This is not a dress you wear out with colleagues and friends. This is a take me home and have your wicked way with me kind of dress.”

Eunbi swallows; that’s how you know you caught her. “If the insinuation here is that I’m a slut, I’m not having any of it.”

“Why? Is that supposed to be some sort of secret?”

Her expression falls onto something rather unamused, a glib reply waiting for release at the tip of her tongue, until finally she says, “do you get off on being withholding or some other bull-”

The word vanishes in a sharp inhale the moment you press your hand up between her legs. 

“Oh god.” Eunbi’s entire body shudders, nerves bundled and tight and ready to fire at the slightest excitation. Honestly, you’re not even doing anything; you’re pushing fabric into her cunt, and fuck, Eunbi’s already this trigger-happy. The demanding, quick-tempered vixen with something to prove, and she’s already melting over the slightest touch. 

Hell, just listen in on those little stuttering breaths falling off her lips when you begin to circle your fingers, slowly, when you reach down further to where she’s so hot, so wet-

You press down and she hiccups.

“Ah, I think I get it now,” you start, watching Eunbi’s lip wobble as the heel of your palm spreads flatter and flatter over her clit, pressure indiscriminate and nowhere close to absolving. “You want me to believe that somehow, you’re a total romantic.”

Eunbi’s mouth slacks slightly as she sighs. “Aren’t we all entitled to a little fantasy?”

“Has the part where I fuck you senseless in a public restroom always worked into that?” you ask, digging deeper, drenching her underwear in her own slick. “Or is that a new development?”

“You’re really testing the limits of your charm here.”

“I dunno. I think the fact that you’re dripping down your thighs means I’m doing all right,” you say, holding onto a smirk that you’re half-sure she’s contemplating slapping off your face.

“What do you want?” she asks, shimmying her hips against you, voice softening into delicate capitulation. “Want me to tell you that I’ve been dreaming about it? Want to know that I think about you when I’m alone - when I’ve got my fingers inside me and I’m sobbing into a pillow - that I’m picturing you fucking railing Minju - picturing how your hands would feel at my waist, on my tits, around my neck - imagining just how good you’d fuck me?”

You nearly snort in amusement. “Oh, want a lot more than that.” 

“Then hurry up,” she says - before the attraction ferments. And she sighs musingly when you press your fingers past elastic, find a touch where she needs you, the unmistakable shiver of real contact. “Kiss me properly and pull me apart.”

You tilt Eunbi’s chin up and place your mouth on hers. Kissing her once, twice, until she realizes it’s not even close to enough, drawing in to kiss you back that much harder, all unknowing and candid - like she never once cared for subtlety in her methods of seduction.

Almost absentmindedly, your fingers had already danced over her entrance, rubbed and touched and felt and begun to push. And god, she’s so incredibly wet - not that the push isn’t slow, so unhurried you can feel Eunbi wanting to cry out in frustration as you get deeper, feel her squeeze onto you, just a knuckle inside her, then a second. She barely manages to hush out a complaint into your lips when you drag them back, returning the perfect roughness in your fingers to her clit and applying all this agonizingly-too-gentle pressure. Do anything, she said - said she’d let you; could’ve said, fuck me, ruin me; should’ve told you, no idea what I really want other than for you fuck my brains out, so please take off your clothes and help me figure it out -

It’s actually kind of adorable, that she has to break her lips away from yours to ask for more.

But only a loud, smacking kiss and the length of a heavy exhale later, Eunbi’s tongue slides into your mouth, slipping gently against yours, and flicks up at your teeth as you press the curl of your index finger back inside her. She cries gently, this pitchy little feminine sound, just when you fuck her open with another. You could take all the time you want, you reckon, just pretend Eunbi’s not already all wound up and needy - pussy soaked and hot and begging beneath loose fabric - pretend she isn’t wrapping her slender fingers around your wrist to hold you firm, keep your fingertips present and reliable: something she can buck her hips into, something she can fuck until she’s gasping for you to stop.

“Fuck.” Her moan hums right into your mouth, thin, stretching out on a broken breath as the pad of your thumb skates over her clit, again, again, lighter, barely a touch this time, gentle and tender, and, well, conflicting - because look, everything about this is such a fucking awful idea - you’re going to walk out into a sea of judgement with kiss-swollen lips, hair disheveled and bothered like you’d trekked through a windstorm, with Eunbi hanging on your waist, knees wobbling and perfectly complicit to the crime. 

You’ve given the thought barely a moment’s attention when Eunbi’s grip on your wrist goes white-knuckle tight, like she can taste the apprehension on your lips. She tugs on your tie, hard - don’t stop, come, closer - like she’d literally die if you stop fucking her with your fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” you say in the spaces between these stinging, deep kisses into her cheek, her jaw, letting her body slump forward when you let go of her waist and start sliding your hand up her flat stomach, scrunching and furling the material of her dress up around her hips. She totters a moment, feet barely reaching the floor how you have her balanced on the lip of the sink, but you can’t help it: you need to get a hand up, higher, over her ribs, onto her chest -

Eunbi gasps the moment your fingers sink in, loudly, and you’re not even going to try and give her an explanation - fucking christ, her tits are incredible.

“How messy,” you tell her, enjoying how it makes her cheeks start to burn red, and with just that, you’re sure, with fingers becoming fast and frenzied. It’s audible, the slick on your hand, working through the thick of her heat, the tension in her clench. “So fucking messy, I bet you’re close baby, so close - close to cumming on my fingers.”

She purses her lips, chin tucked into where her collarbones meet, and closes her eyes. You think she’s readying some riposte, some quip to needle, something she’d lid her eyes and smirk first to tell you with poison laced in her voice, seethed in sarcasm, in spite. 

“I mean, Eunbi, look at you,” you drawl huskily, an effort to lure the words out of her, “and I haven’t even gotten my mouth on you yet.”

Her whole body sighs, a concerted effort; she’s panting, sinking her teeth into her lip, and it happens so suddenly, near all at once - those elegant lines in her face starting to twist, betraying that usual sculpted visage of perfection - at the end of a squalling stretch for air, she starts to beg. 

“Please,” she mewls, escaping her lips pliant and meek.

And fuck if that’s anything like the bite you’ve come to expect, the serrated edge of the girl who was amusing herself just moments ago with how you rattled and ruffled from behind a glass of liquor - Eunbi, all cunning and guile - jesus, it’s not even close:

“Oh, god, do it, do it, use my pussy however you want, fuck, want it so bad-” Her hair is falling into her face. Skin getting hot and dewy with sweat. She told you earlier that she’d kill you if you ripped her dress, said you had the look of a dress ripper about you - and now she’s looking at you like she might kill you if you don’t. “-anything, I’ll do anything, gods, please just let me cum.”

“Baby,” you murmur against her neck, a pet name you’re slipping into a little too easily. The possession, the way you say mine, you promise it’s all instinct. “Who could’ve ever guessed you’d be this needy?”

The pale column of skin beneath her jaw reveals more of itself to you the faster you drag your fingers through her cunt. She’s recovering from a curl of your digits against that spot that might just be able to get her screaming, and then it’s your thumb: each circle around her swollen clit reducing her to little more than ragged breathing and that causeway of a word, pleading, please, please, please.

You’d spent more time fantasizing about this than you care to admit, though when you tug the neckline of her dress down, free her breast from beneath the tight fabric, roll your thumb over her nipple, and pinch, it’s clear this is nothing like you imagined. It’s so much fucking more: her face winding into a look of equal parts pain, pleasure, eyes scrunching, lips hanging open - she can’t even say anything when you pull harder on the dress, pull her other tit up to your mouth and start to suck, hard - a heavy moan, whining; she doesn’t tell you to stop.

“Do it,” she demands, gulping for her next breath. “I’m so close.”

You haven’t written it off yet, but you also haven’t the slightest idea how she’ll come back from this one, flirting with the boundary at desperate and pathetic, responding to your touch, your fingers, your mouth like you’d spent a lifetime studying what makes her tick. This might be the only time between you that you’ve ever stumbled this close to anything like an upperhand, you recognize, and you’re not going to pass up an opportunity like it, milking it for all it’s worth:

“You ever have someone do this to you, Eunbi?” you ask her when your lips break all that cruel suction around her nipple - it’s red, swollen, aching, and it’s a great start. The throb between her legs isn’t growing any less urgent either, pulsing vigorously onto your fingertips and leaking all over your hand, her thighs, it’s so fucking sloppy and hot and that perfectly submissive expression on her face just looks so, so good on her. (You’re really leaning into it.) “Fuck you with one of your dresses bunched up over your hips? Take you into a bathroom and get you moaning and panting until you admit you’re a total slut? Fuck, I could do this until you can’t remember your own name, pull your underwear back up your legs all soaking and messy-”

“No,” Eunbi says, exasperated, and she chokes on her voice when your thumb digs harder into the puffy lips of her cunt, pushes this exact pressure on her tender clit. You don’t think her eyes could get any clearer, needier, until she starts shaking her head, saying, “you - you’d be the first.”

She practically blue-screens after that, words getting lost somewhere in the pangs of her own agitated pleasure. And like putty, sinking backward into the counter, you spread her legs open wider. Press a kiss into her forehead, skin all hot and sweaty. She almost loses it right then and there when you start reminding her she’s gorgeous, how good her name sounds on your lips, so pretty when she cums like this and then- 

Oh.

There she goes. 

“Fuck, you’re - god, fuck, I’m - fuck.” Eunbi hisses out your name, panting for air, and her brittle words fall straight to the floor, smash against the tile, and shatter into a million pieces. Cumming, she adds, two or three times for good measure, and you hold her firm, hold her still. Keep her from sliding off the sink so you might even kiss her hard. Feel her come undone.

Maybe it’s the praise; more likely the tempo of your thumb tapping against her swollen bud, again, again. The only thing you know is that the sound of it alone - over the squelch of your fingers fucking her through it, slow and tender like you have all the time in the world - see, that’s a masterpiece in and of itself. 

Eunbi’s chest rolls and twitches as you draw your fingers out of her pussy, soaked, clenching at nothing, and drag them up along her waist so she can feel just how much damage you’ve caused, that for all her sloppiness, it’s because of you.

“Here,” you say to her, with two sticky fingers at her jaw, “I know you want to taste yourself.”

Beyond the visual in front of you, you’re kind of stuck on how impetuous, impulsive, how utterly lewd it all is - opening her mouth and fitting your fingertips between her teeth. You scissor your fingers, let her lick her own slick off your you, and when you press her tongue down behind her teeth she starts to suck. It’s delightful, you think, she’s so gorgeous and somehow, flushed and fucked and sweaty, she looks perfect. Never been so stunning.

“Such a good girl,” you tell her, almost maliciously.

And it’s instant - Eunbi sinking further into the counter, her shoulders slumped to the cold mirror, knuckles knocking the bowl of the sink. There’s a hum coming up from her throat when you say it again, getting stuck on your fingers until she spits them out and looks at you with wide, tear-filled eyes, all glassy and brilliant, like you know the answers to all the riddles of the universe. Okay, so maybe it really is the praise, you realize, a weakness, a loose thread, you might never be able to stop yourself from pulling at it. You’d never want to.

“Been so patient, haven’t you? Your pussy is fucking creaming for me Eunbi, so fucking messy, you poor thing.” You’re lifting her panties to the side, assuring her in half sentences and leaving the rest to the sound of your zipper coming undone. “Gonna fuck you now, get my cock in this pretty little pussy of yours, don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you baby, just be still and hold on for me-”

“God.” Eunbi startles at the touch of your cock running over her slick, and she starts blinking back into reality, legs bracketing around your hips. Do it - she’s gathering an angry fistful of shirt, pulling at your tie, clamoring for you, all desperation, no composure, as if your mistakes were made for her - do it, do it, and she breathes your name against your mouth, lips trembling, “please.”

Days, weeks, months maybe, the conclusion’s long foregone, inevitable: your cock sinks straight into her cunt.

Jesus. Fuck. Where to start? Eunbi’s eyebrows twist, lips part - with just a wicked, sharp breath of air, she immediately comes undone. So, that might be as good a place as any.

You know by the way she melts, the way her body is coiling tighter around you, clinging to you like you might be able to hold it all together - like you’re not fucking her open, pressing deeper inside her, hotter around you with every passing inch.  

“I cannot believe,” Eunbi starts, voice shredded, and the rest of it is so incoherent, so blathering and baleful, that you’re altogether unsure if it’s in protest of you ruining her cunt, or if you’re not ruining it enough. Even though she’s so unbelievably wet, she’s every bit as tight, and you end up prompting this unattractive groan from her throat when you motion your hips forward, just a fraction, before pulling back again. “Oh my-”

You’re trying not to laugh but it’s slipping out quietly, and Eunbi just glares at you, the vibrations from your diaphragm going straight between her legs, where she’s still throbbing and unduly sensitive. A few disheveled strands of her hair end up in your mouth as she fidgets about in your grip. A few more as you ease in further - until your balls are flush against her ass and Eunbi has both ankles hooked around your thighs. Beyond the sweltering heat of Eunbi’s cunt, you’ve got thoughts, photographically vivid, racing through your head: you lifting her small body up, getting your hands under her thighs and pounding her without remorse - turning her over and bending her over her sink, watching her tits bounce in the mirror, face wracked as she cums like that, and you’ll get there - just that right now, seating yourself in her pussy and nuzzling your face into the crook of her neck is more than plenty to hone in on.

“Fuck, your cock, it’s-” Eunbi sputters, and it takes a beat to even realize you’re completely inside her, right to the hilt.

And you aren’t making any more sense of how she trembles than of the fusillade of curses tossed in your general direction. Her legs remain locked behind you, holding you motionless - making it difficult to not laugh at her inanity on display, squirming graceless beneath you.

Incredible, is the conclusion you both come to as her cheeks flood again with color, and you start circling your hips into her, moving as much as the confines of her legs - the inelegant entrapment - might allow.

It’s almost cruel: Eunbi gasps when you end up brushing against her tender clit, and you pause, thinking- 

(Like this, half naked, dress bundled around her waist, you can take whatever you want. Every now and again you look up and see your reflection, see yourself towering over Eunbi’s lithe frame - oh, the options - they’re nearly endless.)

-she simply growls at you when you inch her hips forward from where they’re perched and do it again.

“I can’t fuck you unless you let go,” you tell her, ducking down and finding her breast with your mouth. 

“If I let go,” Eunbi starts, and her voice is jagged with strain, breath steadying, “are you actually going to fuck me, or are you just going to keep teasing?”

“Oh, Eunbi, believe me.” You’re kissing up her chest, her collarbones, pressing your lips sweetly to the hollow of her throat. “I’m going to fuck you until you’re screaming, promise.”

Eunbi holds her gaze to yours, tips up her chin, and says, half daring, “I’m holding you to that,” and as her bind loosens, she tugs your face towards hers by the bottom of your tie. Hard - it’s hardly even a murmur as she leans in, pressing your brow to hers - harder. A rhythm emerges in your hips against hers, though it only complicates the demands: more, please, need it, don’t stop.

But the drag of it is amazing, your cock gliding through the wet heat of her cunt - squeezed tight onto you and fitting you like a glove. So tight, as if she’d been made for you, incomparably coiled around you, and it’s even more perfect as you start to truly fuck into her. Fast and deep and assuring you’d stay true to your word, that you’d get her fucking screaming with it. Each time you pull back and slam into her again, hard enough that she shifts half an inch toward the mirror, you’re listening to that wounded noise, keening out of her chest, punctuated by the way she shudders, bracing against you.

“God,” you rasp through gritted teeth, stealing a delighted moan as she spreads her legs wider for you, stealing several more. “This pussy, fuck, is incredible, Eunbi” - she’s so wet and turned on that you just fucking rail her, that she lets you, that she loves it, to the point where you’re reminding yourself to breathe - “what a good little cocksleeve you are, you’re so fucking wet.”

“Better?” Eunbi is struggling to stay upright, jaw slacked and slumping against the mirror like a puppet cut from its strings. “Better than her, right?”

“Hm,” you say, and the hesitation alone is enough for the corner of her mouth to pull up into a tiny smile. Something she knows she can hook into, something she can work with. “We’ll just have to see.”

There are tears visible at the end , and her words are quickly becoming slurred and mixed up as your fingers turn threats into reality, bruises at her waist, her thighs, her tits, her neck - you’re marking her like she’s yours, like it isn’t dangerous, like it doesn’t spell trouble for both of you. So when she musters the strength to perk up, look you straight on while you pound her cunt recklessly, and meekly say, “be honest,” it’s far too impossible to deny her anything.

“The best, Eunbi,” you start. She doesn’t know where the lip service starts, where it ends, but just hearing you mutter out her name is enough to get her swooning.

It’s not that you don’t understand the irony, that Minju is downstairs somewhere telling a hundred people she doesn’t know where you are, looking pretty and put together, and you’re saving your honesty for this girl, breaking her further to pieces with each thrust her into tight, sweaty body, each stroke into her sloppy, aching hole. You do understand it, and when Eunbi starts whining, sobbing, moaning, you just can’t be bothered to care. “So perfect on my cock, baby, now be good for me - show me how perfect this pretty little cunt is, want you to cum again for me, want to see what a mess you can be, Eunbi.”

You end up with a hand underneath her, the other in the lose waves of hair behind her head, fingers splaying out against the base of her skull, and - fuck, the new angle you settle into when you pull her tiny body up onto your cock, not to mention the depth - it’s wanton, lustful, it’s thoughtless: you’re fucking her so hard and fast that all she can do is throw is her arms around your shoulders and weave curses into her ragged breathing, thinning, threadbare, “oh fuck, oh, jesus, fuck yes, there, your fucking cock, just like that, fucking christ.”

She barely even has one foot on the ground, toes dangling onto the tile, you realize after you finish chastising her dirty mouth. Completely at your beck and call.

Not that it was ever going to make a difference. You fuck her harder, until she’s shaking with it, until she’s crying out, embarrassment long forgotten. She’s so fucked, breathy moans turning to screams, to whimpers, seams cracking into fissures - you’re not hurting her, but fuck if that isn’t the boundary you’re daring to cross. You bottom out in her pussy, over and over; you’re destroying it, ruining it, and she’s clinging to you like wet clothes, like it might soothe her, like her life depends on it.

Eunbi moans when you draw your hips back and nearly leave the perfect heat of her cunt. And when you bury yourself back into her, she writhes.

You look up from the shadowy spot where your cock is disappearing between her legs, and her eyes are flaring again, teeth sinking into her lip as you seek out her chest and start playing with her tits. There, she wants to say, eyelids hooded and voice purring, that’s more like it. But your thumb flicks at her nipple, pert and pointy, coaxing out a quieter reaction - quiet beneath the haggard recoil her body makes in order to sheathe your cock, the gentle tremor at the end of each thrust, stomach muscles contracting under your hand. It’s too much. She only closes her mouth. Lets it fall open again. Sighs.

“You’re going to cum again, aren’t you?” you ask, breath landing hot against her face, agitating the flush in her cheekbones. “You’re going to cum all over this cock.” It’s in those eyes; she’s so incredibly close, but Eunbi holds fast to what shred of dignity hasn’t since vanished out of sight, throat working hard to swallow, and she shakes her head, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

In fact, she’s murmuring nonsensically at you, and for a moment you see a hand on her neck, thumbprint searing into her throat, but the image fades as she moans again, hips jumping, palm slapping the sink. It’s the want, the need, for everything you have to give her, want for you inside her, maybe forever more - and want and want for anything that might release her pleasured agony. It’s fucking filthy.

So bend, you tell her, don’t break.

(You’ve never fucked anyone like this either, you think, not Minju, not anyone - fingers skating up the ridge of her back, face buried in the hair falling over her shoulder, taking careful note of how you’re taking Eunbi apart. 

How you might ever put her back together.)

“Shit,” she cries out sharply, spine arched and straining against you as - fucking finally - her orgasm rips through her. You’re watching carefully as you fuck into her quivering pussy, listening mostly, once the pressure starts to build behind your eyes. There’s your name torn from her lips (oh god), and how she starts to tremble (oh god), trying to draw you (oh god) deeper inside her while she (oh my fucking god) lets it flood through her.  

It’s a lot to take in. Near impossible to focus on any one thing. For fuck’s sake, even the smell of it is divine, of perfume and sex and vanilla and sin.

You’re grabbing Eunbi’s waist again, so hard she yelps, lips parting, struggling for breath every time you fuck her tight little pussy onto you, but she can’t quite say anything. Not yet. Your cock is still too hard, throbbing madly inside her, and she’s near the point of simply collapsing. 

You touch her mouth, tip it gently closed. And the docile way she looks up at you is a reminder that you had readied a quip, something about the mess between her legs, that she’s flustering and incoherent and sobbing and how it’s so unlike her. But it’s gone now. Lost to the lust and need crackling in your own brain, you figure. You’d been daydreaming a mile a minute about fucking Eunbi on a good day, and now you’re seeing her here, like this.

It takes the velvety drag through her cunt, once, twice, you’re pounding her so fast, not even trying to hold on, shortening your breath, biting your cheek, counting out the strokes - three, four, five -“Come on,” Eunbi manages in the spaces between her soft, bitten back moans, “do it, wanna feel that big cock fuck a creampie deep inside me, wanna feel your hot cum leak out of me.”

You really could. Because she feels fucking unbelievable, and now you’re imagining it: getting reckless and stupid and filling her perfect little pussy with all your cum; risk it, get her pregnant, you tell yourself, fuck it deep enough inside her to make it a certainty - the mental image alone is enough to send you over the edge. You’re sure of that. It has before.

“Eunbi,” you stammer, “this pussy feels… I’m gonna-”

“I know,” she murmurs, “I know.” Her eyes are glassy, mouth cocked back, half-smiling. “Do whatever you want.” Five foot nothing of immaculate pulchritude and irresistible peril, she looks pristine on the end of your cock, tits in your hands, brow sweating, mouth opening, telling you to cum, to do it, want you to cum, just fucking use her.

“Fuck,” you spit, slipping your cock out of her at the last moment - fucking into your fist - cumming. Messily. Explosively. Eunbi still choking for air in fits and starts, your other hand still wringing her waist.

Though it can’t be more than a few seconds, the difference between you releasing that load inside her and the way it instead winds up everywhere else: in her panties, against the swollen lips of her pussy, the crease of her thigh - how some leaks and spills down her leg, onto the floor beneath the sink. There’s a dress ruiner in you after all. “God,” you add, fighting exhaustion, and Eunbi simply crumples against you, kissing you like you’ve never been kissed before - a long, smooth slide of her lips that leaves you both gasping in its wake.

“So.” Eunbi’s hand is between her legs, assessing the damages, accounting the cum all over her and soaking through the fabric of her underwear. She just raises an eyebrow at you, charming, challenging. “You came all over me.”

“What, you really think I’d cum in you?”

Her eyes squint, and her nose scrunches. It’s winsome, in a way. 

Sure, she’s kind of a disaster - the once-carefully-styled waves of her hair are in tatters, makeup running in every direction, tits hanging out of her bra and spilling over the top of her dress, still barefoot and completely unfazed by it. Dismantled is a good look for her, even if she doesn’t appreciate it: reaching into her purse, this emergency kit of wipes, a mascara brush, lipstick. Raring to do a little triage.

“Yeah,” you insist, “you’re out of your mind.”

The droll laugh she gives you when you finally let her go is not antagonistic either, but as with a lot of those things Eunbi does, the click of her tongue, the haughty expressions, the mannerisms, they were all becoming less threatening and more fetching - possibly more now that you’ve seen the face she makes when she cums.

“I think it’s just force of habit.” Having slid from the sink and onto the floor, Eunbi pitches up on her feet to kiss you again, and you don’t try to fight it any more than if she had beaten you in some sporting game and extended her hand to shake yours. When she pulls her lips off you, she adds, “which, you know, serendipitous and all that.”

“Thanks for the ten-dollar-word.”

“Lucky,” she reiterates.

“I know what it means.”

“If I had to guess… Minju doesn’t let you, does she?” And it becomes immediately apparent to you what Eunbi’s playing at. She’s got her teeth sinking into the long game, anticipating that you'll cross your arms, tell her never again: that thing at the gala, the kissing - we can't.

“Can you stop.”

“Does she?”

“Um,” you say, considering carefully for a moment which half-truths you want to tell, which ones you already have. “No, she does.”

Eunbi shifts her body a little, toward you, but not quite close enough to touch you - she’s bending slightly at the waist to scoop her tits back into her bra, her dress. The corner of her lip quirks further, and she asks, completely unrepentant, “does she let you cum in her ass?”

Your throat clicks, swallowing - you can’t even imagine it well enough to begin to know how to lie about it; bashful, everything obvious and on display - so, yeah, you are kind of fucked.

-

“Your shirt isn’t buttoned right by the way.”

“Here,” you say, still stuffing fabric back into your pants, “stand in front of me in case someone we know happens to come around.”

Eunbi crowds you to the wall, almost too aggressively, and she watches a staff member of the venue walk by carrying a platter full of shrimp tails and used napkins. “You’ve got cum on your pants too.”

“One crisis at a time, okay.”

“What are you going to tell Minju?”

“Nothing.”

“I mean… what is your approach, like when we get over there and-” Eunbi takes a step forward, fitting so perfectly beneath your chin, looking up like she’d discovered something worth marveling at. “Oh my god.” She laughs out loud. “How did I get a hickey under there?”

With just one finger returning to her waist, far gentler than the last time it’d been there, you push her back ever so slightly. “I’m just going to be myself.”

“Hm, bad idea.”

“Oh, alright then.”

Eunbi clutches a hand over her chest like she’d been wounded. “I just mean you’re kind of a nervous wreck.”

“I’ll be fine,” you tell her, now properly buttoned, and sliding out from her small-yet-surprisingly-overbearing presence. “And I told you, I bruise easy.”    

“Yeah, no kidding.”

-

History, is the word you’re looking for. Minju and Eunbi have history.

It always starts the same way:

A kiss to one cheek, the other, and the two are immediately falling back on placid smiles and the kind of laughter that seems at a glance to be genuine and real. Almost theatrical, the performance. 

Though Eunbi’s always had that chip on her shoulder - says she knows what it’s like to be young and pretty and famous - and when they’re together Minju always manages to draw from this near-infinite supply of bashful and modest. Actually, that’s more or less her whole thing. 

The mistake you figure, if anyone were to ask you, which no one has one yet - the mistake is in thinking you’re the only one that knows Minju can’t stand Eunbi. Even though she does a great job of hiding it, you might be singular in regards to who gets to hear Minju go off in the privacy of your apartment - arrogant, vain, conceited bitch - but you’re not alone here. No, no.

Because Eunbi - who is perfectly aware just how much disdain Minju has for her - catches your stare. And instead of being content with how you’ve found the ideal spot to stand off to the side to avoid this whole minefield of a situation, she waves you over. Way too enthusiastically.

That has always set her apart. She would invite mischief, if she thought that it would set the scene.

-

It’s not more than a week before your paths cross again. Perhaps you’re tangling with fate. Perhaps it’s out of your control. Perhaps, you consider carefully, that’s more convenient. You see her first: waiting for a cab at the taxi stand outside the broadcast studio, cardigan sliding down around her shoulders, verily bedraggled in the wind.

The ends of her hair are in the corners of her mouth, and those long shadows cast from the evening sun dance across her face to paint those features baroque, build an image serene and stately - statuesque.

(She’s stunning as ever.)

That Eunbi is even here of all places is a coincidence, but her dimples deepen when her eyes meet yours, like she’s finally found something she was long looking for. “How serendipitous,” she says to you again, smiling.

“Right.” You grimace back, self-effacing. “Lucky.”

“You know,” she says after a moment, “our apartments really aren’t that-”

“Far,” you say, seeing the conclusion that she’s leaping at, and the next to make things become extremely complicated is Eunbi, which is so her that it makes your fists clench in your jacket pockets without realizing it.

“It’d be cheaper, I’m just saying, if we split a cab.”

“What if I told you,” you say, after a long while, “I get reimbursed for the commute either way.”

“Do you?”

“No,” you end up saying, bluntly.

“So, purely a hypothetical,” she suggests, leaning into your personal space, and your eyes drop immediately, past her bare shoulders, past the neckline of a matching top, pointedly to her knees beneath a pair of denim shorts. Her whole outfit is simple, but with a figure like hers, clearly intended to provoke a reaction, one that you’re not going to give her. You’re above that. 

“Yeah.” You tilt your head. “Sure.”

Her finger’s tapping at her chin, and it’s sort of cute the way she does it, making the gesture seem about half as patronizing as it should be. “Then just for good company’s sake?

“You-” It comes out uneven enough to get you chuckling to yourself, kind of nervously. Her eyes light up as you swallow back on your drying mouth - a beacon, lighthouse in a storm, safe harbor, siren’s call and all. Your gut is trying to tell you, danger, and then suggests you dive in headfirst. “You might be giving yourself too much credit.”

“Just entertain the thought for me.”

“Like a hypothetical, you mean.”

She laughs, and it has her eyes crinkling at the corners. Likable, you think immediately. Beautiful, right after that, and coincidence, as it were, ends there - just as abruptly.

You’ve made many selfish decisions in your life, but climbing into the back of that cab might be the most out of all of them - Eunbi just smiles when you arrive next to her. You never stood a chance against that, probably. It’s the Orpheus thing. The monkey’s paw thing. It’s not possible to lean out of a moving vehicle enroute toward collision, stop the wheels from spinning when they’re already spun, and unmake the wish. 

The blur of passing street lights streak across Eunbi’s face and present it to you in broken images, cycling like phases of the moon, until finally, an overpass sees everything go dark, and you feel her small body slide across the backseat, the heat in her chest as she presses into you.  

Her lips are featherlight upon yours, gentle and trepid. For the first time, she seems unsure, as if she didn’t think this would happen. Then once more, with a taste of desperation and sinking into the dark corner of the leather seat, she kisses you like she knows you, pulling tight onto the collar of your shirt like she knows you’ll kiss her back - like she knows that all you’ve been doing, at the end of the day, is delaying the inevitable.

-

Eunbi’s apartment, actually, is rather modest. More different, and less however you expected.

The walls are painted alabaster, not white, which is only a color you recognize because Minju had waffled between that and eggshell for weeks before tasking you to paint three of the four walls of your living room - only later to realize she wanted something darker as you were priming the fourth. There’s a small powder room by the door, a tiny closet overflowing with jackets and coats and all sorts of outfits you’ve probably stripped off Eunbi in your head a thousand times over - and what the space lacks in size, more than makes up for in the massive set of south facing windows, benefit of an open layout, daylight warm and diffuse.

Well, at least that’s how you imagine it. The sun set while you weren’t paying attention, your thoughts, hands, lips, all preoccupied in the back of the cab, so you’re left with only the recessed lighting, dimmed down to dreamlike allure.

Not that you've ever been one with an eye for detail. No, Minju will happily corroborate the fact. Your talents start at your wit, end at your charm. But it’s just where you’re at - head tipped over the back of the sofa - you’ve got your eyes anywhere besides where Eunbi’s kneeling in front of you, head bobbing up and down between your thighs. 

In spite of your plans to fold her over any surface sturdy and horizontal, you ended up like this, jeans not even half way down around your thighs. On instinct, you’re threading your fingers through her silky hair, though you can feel the glare she shoots up as you tighten your grip and start to pull. It’s not that Eunbi takes issue with you fucking her face inherently. It’s nothing like that at all.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” you murmur softly, voice wrecked. “You take my cock so well. Your smart little mouth was made for this, wasn’t it?”

Between messy kisses in the cab, the lobby, the elevator, while fumbling for her keys, she’d detailed to you all the things she wanted you to do to her, how she wanted you to fuck her, how she was going to make you cum. See, her mouth is gorgeous, even more vulgar, and she wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip: you’d understand exactly what that mouth could do. 

Because there’s the angle you’re now both familiar with, that you can fuck her apart, get her flushed, faltering and fucked into perfect submission until you steal your own release - that you’ve been running the memory back all damn week - but she figures you ought to know that she can make you cum without you ever needing to lift a finger. And given how sure she is running her tongue all over you, sucking your cock, mouth hot, unashamedly sloppy, fingers curled around your shaft in strokes of genius-

Fuck, she probably will.

Not that you’re one for understatement, mouth falling open as you sigh backward into the upholstery - feels amazing, you’re explaining to her when you’re not chewing your lip, so good at that, a little more, your mouth baby, fuck, it’s incredible. Like she doesn’t already know. 

Eunbi just slides her lips down your shaft so perfectly in response. All that wet suction near fatal. But it’s not what gets you to swear audibly, a low rumble from your chest that says she’s on the right track. It’s the look on her face: pouty pink lips cushioning your cockhead, parted around your shaft, sinking further now, back at the top again, spit drooling from the corners of her mouth. Her eyebrows are upturned, and when she hollows her cheeks some - lifts her eyelids and fixes that gaze on you - her irises are gleaming in juxtaposition, this doe-eyed girl blinking up at you, innocently, like she’s not taking your cock further into her mouth, fucking you until she chokes. 

Those eyes half-lidded, unknowing, and staring straight into you- 

She’ll make you cum, they read, blinking, deep in her throat. Her lashes flutter. She coughs. You’ll cum more.

Though for your part, it’s not like you’re aren’t handing yourself over to the sensation either, indulging in everything Eunbi’s mouth has to offer, what more you’re sure still to take. It’s hot and wet and her tongue is even better licking around the tip of your cock than it was pressed flat underneath it - you’re settling into it, just starting to rock your hips up to meet the softness at the back of her throat, and she nods her head down twice more, bathing more of you in her spit each time, sputtering. You’re not the easiest to take, but she’s almost casually contented, or something more smug, the uppish look of a girl who's never backed away from a challenge - who will happily go for more - and without fuss, she takes your entire length between her lips. 

“Oh, fuck me-” you mutter, going speechless the moment she starts to suck.

And with her nose to your belly, Eunbi is straining, fighting for breath. It’s not an accident that she’s making a total fucking mess, drool and precum dripping down your shaft. She’d take more of you, wet on her chin, on her fingers, she’d pull you further into her little mouth, like she’d have it no other way. Still, her tongue licks nonchalantly past the seal of her lips, laps at your balls, and you think you’re going to lose it when she realizes it’ll get you to shiver, how you won’t ask for more, but she can just keep doing it again, again.

You bury your face in your hands as you suck in your next breath. You’re leaking cum actually, only a little, and Eunbi just keeps blowing you like you aren’t.

Fantasies will never work again, not after this, because for all the times you’ve imagined Eunbi’s lips around you, you’ve never come up with anything remotely close. It’s not even clear if this talent of hers is natural, god-given, or if behind each of her coy expressions and holier-than-thou moments of proud eminence she’s secretly an insatiable cockslut, but man, the girl is really good at sucking cock.  

Maybe the tricky part about this, if you even want to begin to get into it (you do not) - allowing yourself a small taste of intimacy has sparked this want for so much more. Even when things were good, Minju wasn’t getting her mouth on you like this. You can’t put your finger on it, the last time you’ve had anything as satisfying as the press of Eunbi’s lips around you, this mess of dark slippery hair bobbing up and down in your lap lazily and unbothered, mouth making all these wet noises like she’s yours and nothing more - like she never will be - and fuck, it’s irresistable. Her tongue curls around you again, and she makes her jaw go slack until more spit drools down the length of your cock, lathering in her fingers and twisting around your shaft - it scratches at itches you didn’t even know you had; nascent itches, silent ones, itches cloaked as something else.

Your breath stutters, stumbling into an embarrassing little moan after Eunbi pops her mouth off your cock, and a fleeting trick of a grin rushes across her face. She picks up on where you’re at instantly: “Aren’t you, like, kinda quiet?”

“There’s a lot going through my head right now,” you tell her, and that’s something she knows she can play along with, reveling in how you swallow at nothing when she hooks her hand behind her back and frees her bra from her shoulders. Her tits settling perfectly into place. “Just to be clear,” you sigh, “I’m going to cum in your mouth if you keep doing it like that.”

She tugs your jeans all the way down to your ankles. Arches an eyebrow. “And?”

“It’s called being decent, just something I'm working on.”

“Oh,” Eunbi says, returning her grip around your cock. Her hands are tiny, stacked one on top of the other, and she pumps them slowly, knowing that the abundance of spit and precum in her fingers makes it feel amazing. Every little flick of her wrists every bit as unbearable. “Now you care about decency; the guy who’s cheating on his-”

“Watch it,” you say, rough, “I could go without the reminder.”

Eunbi’s grin flickers a little wider. “Still the guilty conscious, huh?”

You think on it, a moment too long probably, because on one hand, she’s right. On the other - “I’m not going to say it’s guiltless.”

“Okay simple,” Eunbi shrugs, and pulls herself away from you, suggesting, “just touch yourself.” 

That’s one way to go about it. You wonder if this is the logic her brain operates on daily. It’d explain a lot.

“That’s like getting away with it on a technicality.”

“It’s an orgasm,” Eunbi tuts, “you’re not robbing a bank.” There’s a brief silence while she brings her palm up over her eyes, peeking through her fingers. “Here, see, I’m not even looking.” 

“I’m going to go ahead and just point out that you’re suggesting I jerk off in your living room.”

Eunbi’s hands drop to her sides, before tracking up her ribs and holding her breasts together into a cleavage that is way too inviting for anyone’s sake. You’re enchanted. Beguiled, maybe.

“Or.” Her gaze tapers in on something. God only knows what exactly your tell is; the quirk in your brow, the slightly-more-than-usual-avoidant gaze, something about your lips, the way you’re biting them - that’s where she seems to have honed in. And she’s smoking you out, completely. “I could probably just fuck you with my tits.”

That’s true. She could. And when that developed thought eventually coheres, you sigh profoundly.

She tips her head, interpreting the silence, and the small, wanting groan you make as she starts smashing her breasts closer together between her hands is definitely audible. Here, she’s telling you, with your cock, I know you want to. Even her lips are slanted into a subtle, knowing shape, steeped in all her femme-fatality, before finding the other smile she wears that pretends like it doesn’t know what she’s doing to you. “Is that what you want? You want your cock between my tits?”

“How exactly are those two things interchangeable?” you start, which isn’t anything even in the neighborhood of a no, so Eunbi simply leans forward, raising her chest between your thighs and teasing the sensitive part of your cock with just a brush of her nipple. Grazing down you, it’s hardly any contact at all, but the way you twitch suggests to her you’ll probably never recover from this. 

“Well.” Eunbi’s expression is lit aflame with revelation. “I’m just working in the space, thinking about things someone else could never do for you - things I could do for you.” 

For one thing - of which there are many - it’s a hell of a departure from the Eunbi who was sobbing against the bathroom mirror begging you to cum inside her. You can hear it. Her voice has the quality of a type of: victory. 

(Like she’s just come up with the most brilliant idea in the world. Which - maybe.)

“It’s perfectly normal you know,” she adds, almost as an aside, while trapping your cock between her breasts. “Literally everyone asks me to do this.”

You’re disarmed more than you realized, only able to nod along. Eunbi laces her fingers together, straightens herself, and right after passing her tongue under her top teeth to shoot you a smile, starts moving up and down against you. The way it feels, filthy hot and suffocatingly amazing, fuck, you’re letting out a sound that’s the bastardchild of a laugh and a whimper. You’re stunned. And the way it looks - your cockhead escaping her tits, disappearing again - is almost, almost the best part. 

“You’re, like, so hard right now,” she says, deservedly confident, and sliding her tits up around your cock again, she tilts her chin, trying to goad it out of you. “Should I let you cum all over these tits? Like, you’re already throbbing, honey.”

Let you cum, she says. If you weren’t struggling to cope with everything - every pass of soft skin smothered around your shaft sending you further to wit’s end and threatening to abandon you there - you’d recognize the writing on the wall: you’re in the palms of her hands, figuratively, literally. You’re in trouble.

“Oh, is that it?” she asks again. “Should I?”

“Fuck.” Without even thinking, you’re spreading your knees wider, inching toward the edge of the sofa, aching to get deeper between her cleavage. “Fine, yes, fuck-”

“Unh-uh,” says Eunbi flippantly. 

See, she’s enjoying this - eyes hot and radiant with authority - she’s enjoying this more than you. Her fingers relax, letting her tits fall around down onto your thighs. The pressure she was letting you enjoy, wrapping around your cock and making you speechless, starts to dwindle to something less brain-numbing. It’s unexpected: the lipstick around her mouth is smeared slightly, mascara under her smoky eyes still in disarray from how you’d had your cock in her throat, and now she’s the one taunting you.

“No, I’m serious,” she adds, “I want to hear you say it.”

Her brow furls immediately when you open your mouth, like she’s already very aware of what you’re going to say, and equally unimpressed.

“Say you want me to make you cum with my tits.”

“Eunbi.” Your voice comes out dry, damaged. “Please.”

“Hm?”

This wasn’t quite how you had pictured it when you’d seen Eunbi leaving the studio, looking like an angel, smiling like the devil; when she batted her lashes at you outside the taxi stand; when she clung to you and kissed you in the backseat of the cab; when that escalated the moment you walked through her foyer; when she dropped to her knees and started at your belt, your zipper, all without missing a beat. This is different. This is you, being desperate. 

“Please, with your tits Eunbi, fuck me with your tits.” 

Jesus. Now you know how that sounds. And the words are clear enough given the circumstances, but she’s staring at you expectantly, waiting for more. Waiting for you to concede. Waiting like you have no choice - “please, Eunbi, please make me cum, fuck, I need it so bad.”

“Oh.” Eunbi gathers herself again around your cock. Tighter. Triumphant. She laughs dryly and says, aloof, “good boy.”

-

(Here’s how it goes:

Eunbi has your cock vanished into her cleavage, again, and every soft slide of her breasts coaxes a reaction out of you - some quiet, others louder - coaxes more precum from where your cock is aching, leaking. She adjusts her fingers, moves her palms in further, makes her movements more precise, faster, tighter- 

It’s probably not a good sign of mental hygiene that you’re wilting so fast, that you’ve given her so much power so quickly, but the way she has her tits around you is fucking staggering.

“Aw, don’t worry, I’ll make you cum so fucking hard.” Eunbi moves her tits up your shaft. Lets them fall again. “Just relax for me.”

Her dark hair is falling slightly out of place over her ears as she looks down and presses her out tongue out, licking gently at where you’re appearing over and over from her soft breasts. Oh, she knows exactly what she’s doing, you think, even though there’s not an ounce of culpability in her face. You’re so unused to seeing Eunbi appear so guileless that you nearly don’t recognize her. 

But once you feel the smooth skin of her chest become so wet and slippery with her spit, your precum  - once she’s settled into a reliable motion to fuck you with - her eyes lift their focus from what’s just beneath her chin. Get themselves fixed right on you. 

“It feels so good doesn’t it?” The smirk that finds her mouth is lethal. “C’mon. I know you want to cum.”

You can only nod, breath panting.

“Cum on these perfect tits, baby. Cum for me.” Her brow is cocked, voice lilting straight into seduction. “Cum-”

Eunbi’s name sticks to the roof of your mouth as you shoot a rope of cum past her collarbone. You send more all over her chest, hot and sticky and shimmering in pale white, and as soon as she slowly slides her chest up again, you drain your balls into the warm wrap of her tits. A truly satisfying mess. 

You stare for a moment, wondering, if she’ll open her mouth and swallow you again - all given the way she’s looking at your cock, hungry. But she simply tilts her chin and lets your cum splash onto her neck.

She has her hands pumping you lazily against her clavicle, cooing while she gently fuck out the final, tired vestiges of your orgasm with little flicks of her wrist: “oh, there, look at all that, and it’s all for me.”

Once your knees stop shaking and your breath starts to level - once Eunbi releases you from her warm, wet cleavage - she draws a shiver out of you with her tongue, run up the length of your sensitive cock, and she’s left kneeling there, covered in your cum, with her palms upturned like she’s waiting for someone to give her a towel. It’s you, and it’s her, and there’s something about the image of your cum splattered all over her chest, shining and slippery between her perfect tits. You get your hands on her waist immediately, pulling her up into your lap, her slick, sticky chest sliding against yours, and you devour her mouth greedily, licking hungrily past her lips.

“You are something else,” you say finally, now sunk back into the couch to fully take Eunbi in. “All sorts of party tricks.”

Eunbi preens, utterly satisfied with herself, and she reaches down behind her to your cock, aching in pained pleasure, aching for more. You flirt with the heat that radiates from behind her underwear, grinding against where she’s become hot and wet and needy. She laughs, and the sound turns to a pretty little sigh after she pulls aside her panties and seats herself onto your cock. 

“Oh, you have no idea,” she says, and she starts to move.)

-

It’s never supposed to become a habit. It’s never supposed to be anything at all.

At first? Once a month, and it’s unprompted; then it’s biweekly, then it’s once a week, then it ends up biweekly again in the opposite direction; there are these little text messages back and forth that you’re learning to decipher - hey, they usually start, you up? or you wanna help me move some furniture? or this is crazy, but i cooked way too much ramen? or been horny all day, so like, come over and fuck me? 

Some of them, you puzzle out, are easier to decipher than others. And falling comfortably into that category are the nudes she sends you in the middle of a fucking workday: 

Eunbi’s standing with the backside of her unfathomable figure facing the bathroom mirror, denim cut offs slipping down past her thighs-

(Fuck. Shit. You drop your phone and it lands face down in a way that makes you scared to check for damages. Luckily, it is unscathed. Mostly.)

-denim cut offs slipped down past the cheeks of her ass. Her torso is twisted in profile, a white linen shirt draped up over her shoulders for ceremonial purposes, gaping open at the front in an effort to cover nothing at all. Underneath that is a plaid swimsuit top for god knows what reason - a pair of large silver hoop earrings, perfectly done eyelashes, and hair far too styled to be gearing up for a swim - then it’s her thumb, hooked under the string that looks to barely be holding the tiny thing together. The picture is taken at nearly the precise moment: she’s pulling up on the bikini top, to the point that her tits look ready to fall out and let gravity return them whence they came. 

How she managed it, you’ll never know, but it’s got fantasies come to life immediately. Eunbi whimpering and coming apart, Eunbi stretched out in that bikini top, Eunbi stretched out without it - you nearly drop the phone again.

The text that follows is shameless, complete with a winking emoji and extra letters in all the right places: maybe tell minju you’ll be home late for dinner.

All of this, and suddenly you’re feeling less oblivious about it. You and Minju are at that point. These are your death throes, a swan song, performative; you’re that kind of couple.

-

You realize there’s this thing that Minju always says. 

You’ll often catch her in passing, between your hectic schedules or in her spot between the cushions of the sofa curled up in a blanket and reading another romance novel. She’ll ask you how your day was, or what it’s going to be, and you’ll tell her what you always tell her.

“Nothing,” she responds as you press a dutiful kiss to her forehead, “I’m just thinking.”

-

But what else is there to say?

There’s Eunbi’s apartment, the usual scene of the crime. There’s the backseat of your car, sometimes the front seat of hers. There’s no lack for nooks and crannies in the production studio. You fuck Eunbi. Eunbi fucks you. All of it rabid and increasingly frequent and most of the time it gets seriously freudian.

“Inside me,” Eunbi gasps, twice. Her chest is flushed, stained again with your cum, sticky strands of it bridging between her tits as they wobble and shake beneath you. It’s all routine, and none of it anything you could ever tire of. The way you’re fucking her, every deliberate thrust something you can hang on to forever - buried inside her hot, tight velvety cunt - it should be aspirational. And you’ve got her here so frequently, so selfishly, so perfectly. With her knees folded up to her shoulders as you ride the motions of the bed springs. 

Maybe it’s curiosity at play, to see how far either of you will go. You’re crushing her in more ways than one. It’s hot and filthy and she’s loving every moment of it. You’re pounding her sopping cunt into a swollen, cummed-in mess - more and more as you fuck her further into the matress. “Do it, baby,” she cries, unashamed, “want you to fill this pretty little cunt again, need you to fuck me, use me, need you to breed me - use this pussy however you want, it’s yours, so cum in me over and over until i’m just your little cumdump and nothing more-”

God, you want to give her everything she wants, all of the time. Your hips ride into her again, deep and making her features skip past all the usual coy expressions. And god, she is so fucking tight - maybe you will.

“Just like that, don’t stop.” Eunbi is panting, nails digging into your shoulder blades, and she holds your face to the crook of her shoulder. Her voice comes out in airy gasps, shaking and quivering as you rock her entire body beneath you. You pound away at her pussy, and you fuck her, and you rail her so reckless she starts to cry out, until she’s begging, pleading for you to fill her pretty little cunt.

Even though you should at least hesitate, you don’t. You can’t. You shouldn’t.

Hips grinding against hers, cunt clenched and dripping onto your cock, you do.

You need her.

-

But what else is there to say? It’s not that you don’t do your fair share of thinking either. Though none of it productive, admittedly. You’ve got all these images, photographically vivid, of Eunbi running through your head. The things you’ve done to her, the things you want to do to her, the things you will do to her. 

It starts to get in the way of your work.

“I’m sorry,” you say, caught daydreaming one day. “Could you repeat that for me?”

Sitting across the table from you is Jo Yuri, a mutual friend. She knows everyone, and she’s on your radio show, talking about relationships. “What I’m saying is this: I’m not sure what it is about men that make them think women are so unsolvable, like we’re constantly changing the rules.”

“They’re not simple,” you offer in contention.

Yuri turns her head onto her hand, adjusting her headphones, and leans into the mic. “They’re not complex either.”

But, they are complex, you think to yourself as Yuri continues on her with her point. They’re complex in the way they want you to touch them, the way they want you to hold them, to kiss them; some of them complex in the way they want you to choke them, slap them, get your mouth on them and make them cum over and over-

“If it’s less subtle than a brick to the face,” Yuri says, gauging your lack of a reaction, “it’s probably for your own good. That’s what I think.”

-

Neither of you cry when Minju breaks up with you on a Friday. You know, like officially. Neither of you shout or throw things or do anything that you could put in a tell-all book in your later years.

So that’s that, is the last thing she says to you.

Whatever the opposite of cathartic is - that’s the vibe.

Her publicist finally sends a letter to Dispatch. Apparently the time is right. Or she’s stopped caring. You don’t know. The article that ultimately arrives doesn’t drag you through the mud, but you don’t come out looking all that great either. And as it turns out, surprisingly, the most tragic part about being dumped on a Friday, aside from the fact that every fool that is doom scrolling twitter knows about it, is it’s impossible to get new furniture delivered until the following Monday.

“Jesus,” Eunbi says, sliding past you and into your near empty apartment. “This place is super depressing.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say, tepid. “There’s been photographers watching the door to the lobby for hours.”

“I was just passing by. Saw the lights were on.”

“Yeah, well, I mean I’m here.”

“I see that.” Eunbi smiles simply. “Was all the furniture hers?”

“We replaced a lot of stuff as time went on. Didn’t match her decor.” You lean against the door frame. “Or so I’m told.”

Eunbi does a spin in your living room, finger to her chin. “Looks like she left you a coffee table.” 

“The movers said it didn’t fit in the truck.”

“Ah.” Eunbi crosses her arms, and the quiet smile on her face grows just an inch. “Serendipitous, ain’t it?”

-

“Hey,” Eunbi says, from the passenger seat of your car. “Would you say… are you feeling anger?”

“No.”

She taps away at her phone in a few more moments of silence. The turn signal’s click click click punctuating each one, semi-dramatically.

“Hey,” she says again, turning toward you.

“What?”

“How about this, are you feeling depression.”

You pause before you answer. “No.”

Her mouth finds a subtle twist, almost like she’s pouting. “Are you feeling, I dunno, bargaining?”

“I’m not in grief, Eunbi, if that’s what you’re working toward.”

She sinks into her seat, disappointed somehow.

“Oh, that’s the first step by the way: denial.” Eunbi unclicks her seatbelt, and leans over the console as you pull up in front of a hotel. “This article says that soon the emotions you’ve been hiding will begin to rise. You’ll be confronted with a lot of-”

“Stop.”

“Stop what?” she asks, blinking deceptively in an almost comically innocent way.

“Psychoanalyzing.” You shut the car door a little too dramatically to be of any help hammering home your point. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Fine?” Eunbi murmurs, just low enough for you to catch, “you’re living out of a hotel. And denial is not just a river in Egypt.”

“Why don’t we analyze how you’ve got a real talent for getting under my skin.”

“Oh.” She laughs, eyes bright, cheery. “So we are angry.”

“You might want to be more careful.” You’re wandering into familiar territory here. This thing, the needling, the goading, is it on purpose? Your intuition suggests yes, perhaps. A wealth of experience tells you absolutely.

“Is that so?” she asks, interested and daring and dangerously pretty in the shadows of the parking lot.

“Who knows, maybe I end up getting a little rough with you.”

“Oh darling,” she says, and part of you isn’t too keen on her getting so intimate with you. There’s another part of you that is. “I’m hoping you get a lot rough with me.”

-

The way Eunbi perches inelegantly at the edge of the bed says a lot. Her legs are wide open and she’s grasping backward at a set of pristine hotel sheets, cumming over and over on your fingers, maybe a little too easily. She’s even giving you those eyes, watery and irresistable. Of course you’re past all that, well familiar with the act, how deceitful it is of her to act so innocent.

So you bring your mouth onto her pussy and make her do it again. Telling yourself it’s what she deserves.

In fact, when the barrage of oh god’s and moaning and panting finally subsides, she ends up laughing, bubbly cute, in exactly the way you’ve grown fond of. It’s almost strange, you think, to be so used to the sound. But when Eunbi finally uncovers her face from her hands, her expression is pointedly not amused, all need and lust and want - she’s not playing around - simply the way your name comes off her tongue could make you melt. “How do you want me?” she asks, “you can’t just leave me like this.”

Fuck, how don’t you want her? It might have been careless, giving someone like you creative liberty - you’re imaging everything. You want her on her knees, you want her ass in your hands, you want her riding you, beneath you; there’s a million and one things you’re thinking about her tits alone. Then there’s the other liberty. That you’re not checking over your shoulder, worrying, anxious, that kernel of shame hidden away somewhere inside you no longer growing as you get your cock inside her. You’ll make her scream your name, beg you to cum. She’s yours, and you’ll remind her who she belongs to. You’ll take all the time you need. 

“Stand up,” you end up telling her, and after one of those liquid thoughts finally coalesces into something more rigid, “over by the window.”

“Yes sir,” Eunbi says, huffing a smug laugh. Though whatever faux confidence she thought she discovered vanishes without a trace considering her knees are already wobbling, barely able to support her. Some part of her must be able to sense it: you’re worked up, feeling something. She likes you that way. Likes what it makes you do to her. The fact is, to be truly content - being held down and pounded into, filled so full and fucked apart - it’ll take just a press of her thumb on the scale. 

See, Eunbi knows you’ve been holding back. Knows you’ve been flirting with the boundaries she’s dared you to cross. With a little encouragement, she knows you will. 

You saw this coming. And to be frank, you’re going to ruin her.  

“Take your shirt off,” you say, slipping seamlessly into instruction, “socks, underwear, strip.”

It is breathtaking, the way Eunbi ultimately turns her figure around against the pane, hands running up the glass and stretching above her head, ass poked out and shimmying her hips. She’s right there, waiting for you to grab hold of her, to press kisses into her shoulders, her spine, to pump your cock into her, to cum in her deeper and deeper-

And with much less to say, she finds that shimmy again, the round of her ass proffering. Her patience waning.

“You fucking better,” she says, and her elbow’s bent, finger’s pulling at her ass cheek. Look, this pussy, it’s yours, no one else’s and you made it so, so wet. You almost can’t believe that she’s even real - all curves and sharp angles in the right places, a face like that - you should be at her feet, worshiping her, and you will, in a way: you’ll grip her wrists tightly into your fist and sink your fingers into her waist until you’ve got her bruising and breaking. And that’s just a scratch at the surface.

Eunbi’s pupils are blown, mouthing into her shoulder, “I need you to fuck me.”

The tension in the room hardly stretches more than a few moments, you’ve got your cock out, you’re slipping into Eunbi’s soaked cunt, pushing deep, thrusting deeper, bottoming out - “you perfect fucking slut, Eunbi, so needy aren’t you? Begging me to breed you over and over-” You’ve spent the last god knows how many many months hiding away and stealing at something you weren’t supposed to have. Spent even longer pining for something you’ve never had at all. Your hips snap again, harsh contact against her ass, skin milky white and soft, unblemished and delicate - and when you settle into this harsh tempo, railing Eunbi up against the window, you figure you’ll address all that. 

See, you’ve got no ticking clock in front of you. Consider how time starts to slip when you’re inside her, seconds to minutes, minutes to hours, you’ll take as much you can: time to bring her her home, keep your cock in her for a day, two days, three days, keep cumming in all her holes-

“Fuck,” Eunbi sputters, arching her back further, tension building in her spine, in her cunt. The reflection in the window shows her bottom lip start to tremble, and she opens her mouth, repeating it, like it’s all she can remember how to say. “Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

You slap her ass, hard. Handprint vibrantly pink and staring back at you. You kiss her shoulders, you pound her little cunt into consummate submission. I want other people to know, Eunbi’s entirely incapable of telling you right now, drool cornering in her lips. Want everyone to know how good you fuck me, how you own me, how I’m your personal cumdump and forever will be.

You mark her up, like she is yours, hand at her neck, in her hair - you start to pull.

“Yes?” How you’re holding her, how you’re fucking her - it’s physically imposing. You’re towering over the woman, face bent upward and reaching further as the grip you’ve stolen of her silky hair only ever tightens. You can kiss her forehead, but you don’t. You tease her instead. “Aw, you’ve got a look on your face like you have something you want to tell me, Eunbi.”

All too simple, your thumb lands on the pucker of her asshole. And she cums, just like that.

It’s unholy. The overstimulation has tears welling in her eyes, gorgeous, wide, glassy and brilliant. She’s not meant to take this kind of treatment. Reverence, adoration, that’s her usual faire. And she can hardly believe when you bring your hand down her ass again - can hardly believe that you’re fucking her within and inch of her life and wrecking her like you are.

Each thrust sends her voice higher and the lines of her body rippling faster, bending further. Its beauty in resonance, profundity in motion: the soft skin of her ass shaking against your hips, tits swinging against the window. Your hand snakes across her flat stomach, feels her panting for breath, traces her ribs and up towards her chest. Those little whines make it out to be something selfish. Mewling gasps for air make it seem like you aren’t giving her exactly what she asked for. As if you’d ever give her anything less. 

Fuck. She’s a hot, moaning mess of a woman. She doesn’t even roll her hips back onto you or fuck herself on your cock; she doesn’t need to. You’re destroying that little pussy, and once you start palming the heavy shape of her breast, you’re letting your fingers sink into all that profundity. 

“Please,” finally slips out of her, though she’s unable to add anything in that thin, wilting voice. There’s plea in it, the sound steeped in protest, in penury, in poverty; you’re fucking her and you’re fucking her apart - cock buried deep in her cunt - you never expected to have to piece her together this early.

“Tell me,” you demand, callous, right at her ear, “please what? Please pound this perfect little pussy of yours until I cum? Please fill you with a hot load of cum because what, you deserve it? Is that you want, Eunbi?”

“Please, cum-” Her words vanish like a hot breath against the glass. She’s blathering, eyes falling half-lidded in this amazingly sexy way that almost feels intentional. “Want to feel you cum. Fill me up with cum, please, please, please-”

“Oh, Eunbi,” you drawl, right into the crook of her neck. It makes her shiver. She’s not a princess, curses woven into her breath, but she’s selfish like one. “I’m not going to cum in this perfect little pussy-”

It all happens so fast: you drag your cock out of her cunt, and if you weren’t pressing your fingers into her waist, holding her tighter, you think she might collapse. Maybe you were closer than you realized, moments from draining your balls in her pussy, because when you lay cushioned between the cheeks of her ass, your cock just starts to spill - hot cum weeping from the tip and making a mess of her soft, creamy skin, over the puffy lips of her pussy, across the tight little rim of her asshole.

“Good girls get bred, Eunbi,” you say, voice drying, sensitive, and so far from where you started. “You told me to be rough with you baby. I’m thinking I might cum in this perfect fucking ass. Should I?”

Eunbi’s face is flush against the glass, hands reaching back in response, spreading herself for you. Some part of her knows what you want, and she knows how bad she wants it too. “Please,” she begs, swallowing down on these hoarse uneven breaths, hiccupping between them - “need it.”

You can feel your tip tease her rim, where she’s still impossibly closed and waiting. The cum leaking from your cock is wet and slick and slippery, and with a fist curled around your shaft, realigned, angled down, you slip in.

There aren’t even words for it, how it all comes together. How she comes apart.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, recognizing Eunbi’s weight shift around you. “I’m going to fucking own this little asshole, Eunbi.”

Eunbi’s responsive mmm runs ragged. Face in profile against the window, tits smashed against the glass, you watch her eyes screw shut and her eyebrows draw together - you think for a moment, as you so often do, that you’re hurting her, blazing past safewords and pressing your cock too deep, too fast into her tight ass. “Go,” she tells you, and without even flinching, gets her fingers underneath where you’re splitting her in two, gets them wet with the slick of her cunt and in between your balls, gently. “Want you, please, this big cock.”

Your eyes water, and you start to thrust.

“Baby,” you whisper into the lobe of her ear. For once it’s all slow, sloppy and soft. It’s sin at your waist, fucking her open slowly, pumping into her ass again and again until it’s all so slick she can take you further. But you’ve got your fingers in her hair, preening loose strands back behind her hair. She’s so pretty all the time, and with her face twisted in unbearable pleasure, she’s outright gorgeous. “So good for me, Eunbi, such a good little cumslut aren’t you?”

Eunbi’s voice crackles into broken whimpers, like her lungs are waterlogged and flooded. She steals a hand away between her thighs, and starts ghosting her fingers over her clit. Anything more than that and she’d probably go up in smoke. (If it’s anything like you, cock pulsing with blood and hot as flame, you are about to lose it.)

“Fuck,” she says, grinding out the consonants in your name like she’s crushing them under a boot, “I can’t believe how good you feel, I can’t, I can’t-”

You knew, had always known, that you had - however subconsciously - enticed fate by letting yourself get to this point. Maybe it’s a perfect slowburn, this history, dotting commas and periods in your memoirs, and here you are, pounding at Eunbi’s asshole so fast that she’s stuttering.

“I can’t, fuck - thank you - fuck - feel you throbbing in my fucking ass - love being your cocksleeve,” she hisses, and her body has practically all but given up, knees buckled out, arm dangling at her side, tears streaming down her cheeks. It’s just that she never expected it either, that you’d be pleasing her by fucking her like a toy, so unrepentant she’s sobbing messy, all sloppy and pleading, more, please, harder, faster.

“You like this cock tearing your ass open, Eunbi?” you ask, pushing the hand she has hidden at her cunt out of the way, “you like being such a perfect slut for my cock, don’t you? You weren’t kidding, you’d let me do anything to you.”

“Please, don’t, you’re gonna make me - again,” she squeals, lip wobbling, mouth hung open. You push her hard against the glass, until she straightens out, and your finger is gliding through the slick of her cunt, knuckles knocking the window and honing in on her swollen clit - you’ll make her scream. “Oh god, fuck, oh god, fuck, fuck, fuck-”

Serendipity is about chance meetings, convenient covers. Life has a way of dropping the world in your lap without you having to do anything. It’s Eunbi’s picture-perfect face, wrecked and twisting as she cums all over your thighs, rolling her hips and fucking her ass onto you - it’s that when she cums with her puckered entrance stuffed full of cock, she squirts everywhere. Lucky, is the watchword you’re sitting on, and of all places, of all people, you’ve been dealt the perfect hand, deck stacked in your favor.

There’s wet splattered all over the window. Stains streaking in the carpet. Dark spots that’ll never fade.  

“Keep fucking me,” Eunbi says, head of jet black hair titled back onto your shoulders, hips twisting slow as she grinds down against your waist, moving enough to make your cock throb and pulse. “Keep fucking me, please, until you fill my ass up all the way. I’m yours.”

Yours, yours, yours, she stammers on, failed and wrecked on your cock. Malleable and pliant. Ruined. 

“This tight little ass of yours, Eunbi,” you mutter, drawing sharp breath after sharp breath, “is fucking unbelievable.”

It’s yours.

Her body twists, torso turns into you, and you get your mouth on hers, moaning and mewling on the same hot, damp air.

“Good girl,” you whisper against her lips, and with a final kiss to her temple, you fuck into her hard - hands snuck up to hold her breasts and keep her still, hips snapping fast, faster, faster-

When you finally explode up into Eunbi’s ass, she makes a noise fucked and faltering even further than you. It’s desperate and debauched and only staunched by the fingers you slip past her lips. She bites down, but you’re too far pitched into the reality of pumping cum past Eunbi’s tight entrance that you can’t be bothered to care.

“Fuck, Eunbi.” Your voice is sneaking through gritted teeth. She’s tiny against you, body slender and hot and milking your cock. A flash of muscle, a quiver, a pucker, and she’s got you reeling. You think about getting your hand around her throat - fucking her again - but the look her face is so pristine and contented. You have her like putty in your hands, like you could bend her, mold her, break her, and when you instead bring her face to yours in this lazy, clumsy kiss, lips sliding and her tongue licking into your mouth, you know you’d never need to.

See, she’s so dismantled, completely stuffed with cock, and still, with it leaking everywhere you can feel it run hot and sticky, it’s perfect. 

The hotel room isn’t big, and until this exact moment, had been so filled with sex that the the sounds of it echoing back and forth make this sudden quiet into a silence puzzlingly calm. Her features relax, into something a little more befitting her reputation. She’s sweaty and wet and you did your part, you fucked her and fucked her up, you realize, she’ll return you the favor later. 

You hold your breath, watching the beauty mark on her cheek raise and lower with every panted-out breath, mesmerized-

And with just the slightest shift, Eunbi’s mouth closes into this tiny, satisfied smile.

“You came inside my ass,” she says out loud. She tries not to laugh, and then she does anyway when you slide your cock out of her. “You just came - in my ass. Look.”

It’s almost unfathomable, that you just fucked her until she was sobbing, pushed your cock into her ass and had her uncoil like she did, the window, the carpet. Like a fucking disaster. It’s almost unfathomable that she’s got her hands spreading her cheeks open toward you and presenting the mess you’d made like it was something to be proud of, and after all that the mood of the moment shifts a little more intimate, a little more sentimental.

“You’re trouble,” you tell her, tilting her chin up under your fingers.

“Right back at you,” she says, and she pitches onto her feet until you kiss her again.

-

(It happens.

Time passes. You work on a new show. You move into a smaller apartment. It reeks of passed time. Maybe it’s the humidity of early sobriety, hanging and palpable. You can hear ticking in clockless rooms here.

It’s been years since Minju dropped the bombshell on the media. You recovered, mostly. Years too since you’ve seen Eunbi.

Sometimes the people you wanted as part of your story are only meant to be a chapter. You could probably stitch that into a frame and sell it to the kind of crowd who’d buy words in a frame.

You don’t.

Instead, you end up a little older, not in any meaningful way. You’re not wiser or any shit like that. Just older.)

-

You interrupt the producer of your current gig, a pretty middling radio show in a pretty mundane time slot. “What do you mean by new cohost? Like I’ll be working with another human being?”

He nods.

“Like every week?”

Nods again.

“Does he have a name?”

“She,” he corrects, writing judiciously at the clipboard permanently in his hands. Scowl on his face, pencil in his ear, clipboard in his hands, that’s how you know he’s in charge. It’s a whole look. He untucks a blank envelope from the disarray of papers in his hands, saying, “she dropped this off for you too.”

You turn it in your hands twice, until you see the cursive penned into the top right corner. Memories, stinging trifling things rush back to you, all at once: you see her face, her eyes are closed, she’s smiling, she’s a thought you’d tucked away for good, and now you’re wading through it like you hadn’t. 

Serendipitous.

[bella-goths-wife]

“No arguing princesa” Valentino commands as his grin drops “we don’t want to get Vox involved, do we?”

Different anon but may we get how Vox shows ownership over his pet like how we got with Velvette? Despite how pathetic he is with Al, he still seems to be in charge of the Vees canonically. He and Vel passes the one brain cell to each other lol

How does Vox show ownership over pet reader

Warnings: forced ownership, forced affection, abuse, markings, non consensual tattooing, burning, exploitation, Valentino,

Vox is the one who runs the Vs

They would never be able to survive a day and keep the businesses going without him, velvette is too prideful and Val would waste all their money on drugs or whores

He lets them think that they are all equals, but he knows that he is the one who runs them

And sometimes when they get on his last nerve, he wants a subtle reminder that he is more powerful than them

And that’s where you come in

You are the one thing they want, and the one thing they can’t have

Vox may allow them to spend time with you and pretends that you are owned by all of them, but they all know that Vox owning your soul makes him your true owner and you his pet

And the other two demons wish every day that they got their hands on your soul before him

So when the other two Vs anger him, he will bring out a reminder of who truly owns you

He’ll do this by stating that he ‘desperately needs’ your help that day so you couldn’t work with the other two, and you can’t refuse because he literally owns you

This will piss the other two off massively, but if they dare confront him about it he’ll instantly up his game

Suddenly whenever the other two Vs are around you two, he pulls out the soul chain and yanks you towards him

Sometimes he’ll even make you sit cross legged on the floor in front of his feet like a dog while he holds onto your chain like a leash, all while making direct eye contact with the other two Vs

If he wants to show your ownership off to the public, he will decide that it’s time that you should be put on an advertisement for voxtech

So there are hundreds of billboards with an advertisement of you holding the latest voxtech gadget with a fake smile and voxs hand on your shoulder

He liked the photo that the photographer took for that advertisement that he got a smaller copy put in a frame and it sits on his desk or on his nightstand

He liked it so much that he decided that you should be photographed with all of the Vs for a ‘family picture’, but that’s a whole different post

He’s also made voxtech gadgets names after you as a ‘gift’

When I say named after you, I mean they called it the ‘pet’ brand

They don’t know your actual name well enough to name something after you

But all musical type of gadgets like headphones or music streaming apps will part of the voxtech ‘pet’ brand

You are literally the face of this brand by the way, but every time your photographed for an advertisement you’ll be dressed in voxs colours and Vox will always be in the photo with you

I also believe that while he is with you and there are other demons around, he will be extra affectionate

He will give you excessive paternal affection as he wraps his arm around your shoulder or he holds a hand on the back of your neck

This way people know to say away from his daughter assistant

I also believe that the Vs will have at some point forced you to be tattooed with a V on the back of your neck, in a similar fashion to how farmers will brand their live stock or pet owners will have their pets chipped

But Vox will take it further and insist that the tattoo ink be a colour of his choosing, and he chooses a dark colour that will look black unless the light shines directly on it

Once the light is on it, the tattoo will be a shimmering blue similar to the blue of his suit

He’d make sure your tattoo is always showing whenever you do an advertisement with him, so he’ll force you to have your hair in an updo

He’d also definitely use his electric shocks to burn you enough to leave a mark on you

He’d claim that he hadn’t meant to go that far, but he’s lying through his digital teeth

He’d leave handprint marks on your wrists or shoulders because of him letting himself electrocute you enough to burn you so you could have very present burn marks on you

He can’t help that the ever present marks are a reminder to you that your owned and you need to behave and can also be a way to channel his possessive desires

Tag list so far :)

@lilyalone @repostingmyfavs @corvid007 @the-faceless-bride @buttercupfangirl

[realcube]

hiii my sweet toe bunny😍😚🤎 i have an upcoming gigahuge exam bc it will determine whether i have to go to school for another whole damn year or not so im getting the stress hornies big time!! your requests seem to be open for some reason?! good writers like you are usually busy with a flood of them so i can never request anything😭 but anyways i was gonna throw you this little peanut, a classic really: size kink with lev! dont even know if you write for him lol, couldnt see it on ur profile🥲 i think he’d have the size kink more than any of us ever could, i just feel like he goes crazy especially if its a much shorter person. bc having a size difference from far away is one thing, but being right next to the person and interacting with them and putting your hand on their back and realizing you’re nearly twice their size… is another.

feel free to ignore this pookie butt im soo sorry if this is too specific or something ☹️☹️ writing is hard and getting inspired by someone elses idea is even harder, so yeah. stay hydrated and keep emitting gamma rays☃️

LEV HAIBA + SIZE KINK

a/n → not the sweet toe bunny 😭 stress hornies is so real, sorry for replying so late rah. but i hope your exam went well. or if you haven't sat it yet , good luck and i hope this helps :) also thank you so much for i compliments i can'tttt aaa 😩 wc — 2.5k

tags/tws → size kink (ofc lol), petite!reader, breeding, vaginal, fingering, oral (giving), frenching, petnames, semi-public, pregnancy implications & no beta

you've seen haiba lev before, in magazines and on billboards. sometimes even on television, promoting luxury perfumes in advertisements or modelling designer clothes on the runway.

you knew he was tall — most models are — but it was only when you saw him in person that you realised how truly big he is, how he towers over everyone else on set.

you work as an intern for a famous fashion brand, and you met haiba during a photoshoot he was doing for their new office wear campaign. your job was mostly fetching food or drinks for the models; making sure they were comfortable at all times.

the first interaction you ever had with him was when you were handing out water bottles to the models as they walked onto set, and as soon as you saw his huge frame saunter in, you almost froze from shock. he flashes you a polite smile and mouthed a quick "thank you" as he followed the director to where ever she was leading him.

and though it was brief, that was enough to have you fixated on him for the rest of the photoshoot. you were attentive to your duties but still so mesmerised by him. his lean figure and silvery hair. you had always known lev haiba was exceptionally attractive — he's a model, for fucks' sake — but something about seeing him in person made you feral.

and little did you know, after he first saw you, lev kept an eye out for you too. admiring from afar how hard you worked, and making sure to flex just a little bit more for the photos whenever you were nearby. he just thought you were so cute.

you assumed this whole situation would end as a little temporary work crush. you can fangirl over him for now and blush whenever he smirks at you from across the room, but once this shoot was over, he would never think of you again, while you'd go back to seeing his face plastered nearly everywhere and fantasize about what could've been.

but that wasn't lev's idea. he was used to pursing what he wants.

when the shoot is nearing completion for the day, lev has a long conversation with the photographer and is one of the last models to leave the set.

you were tasked with helping the models remove the designer's clothes, if they needed it. thankfully the majority of them didn't and by the time lev entered the changing room, all the others were leaving to go home, and you were wishing them a safe journey.

"excuse me, ms?" you hear a voice call from the changing room, followed by lev stepping out from behind curtain. he was previously wearing a full suit, but you can see he's shedded the black blazer and was now in only the fitted white shirt, black trousers and dress shoes.

he was looking down and fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, "could you help with this, please?" he asks with an awkward chuckle.

lips slightly parted at his unexpected inquiry, once the initial shock fades, you hastily nod and guide him back into the changing room, and this time you enter with him.

it's a confined area but still somewhat big. there's enough space for the two of you to stand, a stool, a clothes rack and full length mirror. he stands before you while you work on unbuttoning his shirt, starting from the top.

"sorry for asking you do this. the buttons are just too small for me." he holds his hands up as a size comparison, and they're undoubtly big.

"it's okay," you stutter, not daring to break your intense stare with his buttons because you know if you were to look up at his face, you might die. "i know these can be very fiddly sometimes."

"exactly." he nods in agreement.

it takes you quite a while to even reach his mid-torso because your hands are shaking so much from being in such close proximity to a celebrity you admire so much. and not only that, but you're literally taking his clothes off. and lev takes notice of his and comments, "nervous?"

your eyes widen and you freeze, heart jumping to your throat. eventually, you're able to squeak, "kinda."

"why?" he laughs, but not in a mocking way. he's genuinely confused as to why you'd be scared of someone like him. it's funny because people usually praise him for being very friendly and approachable.

"you're just.." your voice trails off, trying to think of a way to explain yourself without sounding offensive. "intimidating, y'know, in stature."

lev laughs even harder this time, "woah, that takes me back to when i was in high school. people used to be scared of me because i was the tallest kid in class." he explains, and you detect a hint of pride in his tone.

"that makes sense." you muse, continuing to work on his buttons but it becomes increasingly difficult. especially as he captures your chin between his fingers and pushed your head up so you meet his fiery gaze.

"doesn't make any sense to me." after soaking up your cute flustered expression, he glances down and sees you've only got one button left to do, so he prompts, "go on."

since your fingers are already latched onto it, you're somehow able to undo it without looking. he then releases his grip on your chin so he can slip the shirt off, hanging it up on the adjacent rack.

now shirtless, he turns to you and hums, "your turn?"

lips pressed into a line and heat burning your cheek, the only response you're physically able to give is a meek squeak accompanied by an eager nod. which doesn't even begin to encompass your enthusiasm but perhaps that's for the best.

he smiles at your agreement and grabs the bottom of your top and pulls it off in one swift motion, leaving you standing in your bra in front of him. and before you have a moment to process any of this, he slips one arm behind your shoulder and his other hand reclaims its spot on your jaw to manoeuvre your head upwards, so it's ready to receive his kiss when his lips suddenly come crashing down onto yours.

despite your tact, now that his lips have locked with yours, you find yourself melting into his touch and moving your against him rhythmically. your bodies — though vastly different in proportions — arching into each other desperately.

while one hand sloppily undoes his belt and pulls his cock free from the designer trouser, the other hand on your jaw slowly moves to hold your cheek as the two of you kiss fervently, then it shifts up to your ear, then tangles itself in your hair which he uses to gently pull you away.

you whine quietly at the seperation, missing his hot lips against your own, and he smirks at your reaction. eyes glued to yours, he rasps, "you want it, pretty?"

he motions downwards and you bite your lip at the sight; his size alone is enough to leave you dumdfounded and nodding pathetically, eager to hop on to his monstrous length.

"good girl. think you can handle it?"

"uhuh." you whisper, shaky hands wandering down to take hold of him, and he lets you. in fact, with his grip on your hair, he yanks you down until your face is mere inches away from his tip, "taste first."

with hesitation, you drop to your knees and graciously accept as much of him as you can into your mouth, though that is barely even half. lev still appreciates it; the warmth of your mouth causing his breath to hitch. his cock even twitches at the sight of your cheeks puffed out, struggling to hold him inside.

when his tip prods the back of your throat, it causes you to gag a little, so you immediately jerk away from his cock and cough into your arm.

a concerned look crosses his features and he lightly rubs your back to aid your coughing, "ah, sorry." he apologises, as if it was his fault his cock was so huge that you were gagging on it.

"it's okay." you grate once your coughing fit has calmed down, throat still a bit dry.

he offers you his hand to help you stand up, "c'mon, cutie, that's enough teasing." he reassures you.

you place your hand upon his and as he guides you to your feet , you can't help but notice how big his hand is compared to yours. your thoughts suddenly becomes flooded with fantasties of what you want those big hands to do to you, which he notes by how your touch lingers for a couple moments extra after he lets go.

identifying what your longing for, he presses his lips against yours once more, engaging in a heated make-out while his hands wander down to unzip your jeans and tug them off, leaving you in only your underwear.

while he creeps in tongue into your mouth to make for a french, his long slender fingers rubs your labia through the fabric of your panties, amused by how wet you are already. "still think you can take it?" he basically breathes into the kiss, parting for barely a second to mutter his inquiry.

you reply with an affirmitive moan into the kiss. and just in case that wasn't clear enough, you hook your leg around his hips to give him better access.

he gladly slides the damp strip of material out of the way and sticks his two fingers into your hole, silently snickering at how you writhe at the stimulation of his fingers alone. but you can't help it; they're just so long at push against your walls in just the right way that makes your needy pussy flutter.

the wet noises from your pussy fill the changing room, shortly followed by your stifled moans — afraid other staff might be nearby to hear. his palms rubs against your throbbing clit, as his fingers shallowly thrust inside you. the minimum amount of stimulation needed to make you squim.

lev simply stares at you, enchanted by how your tight hole clings to him, and how the size of his palm compares to your pussy. it's like he could scoop you all up in one hand; hold you tenderly in his hand like a precious doll.

"sweet girl.." he idles, fingers stirring inside you, "fit me so well."

just as he says that, a hiss is drawn from you at how he harshly pulls his fingers out of your hole.

"bend over for me." he commands nicely, and without a second thought, you turn around and bend over, positioning your forearms against the changing room walls to balance you. while you do this, lev has already hooked a finger under the lace of your panties and dragged them down until they fell to your ankles.

his fingers rubbed over your labia, occasionally teasing your clit and soaking up your slick with each seductive movement. his other hand worked on aligning his cock with your glistening hole, until the bulbous tip was prodding against your enterance, at which you let out a low whine of confirmation.

however you didn't fully understand the capacity of what you were giving yourself up for until it was halfway stuffed inside you, contorting your plushing walls to accomodate his massive size and creating a slight buldge in your abdomen. truly it had knocked the wind out of you and despite him no longer being crammed down your throat, you were still choking on it.

as you writhe and mewl in attempt to cope with the intrusion, lev pauses and takes a moment to admire your figure beneath him. how you're so kindly bent over for him, and your tight cunt is struggling to accept his cock.

you were just the right size. with you bent over, he was still tall enough to place his hands on the wall above you, essentially capturing you under him. his sweet angel ready to take him all, and he couldn't help his eagerness to give you what you want.

before he knows it, his hips start to move autonomously against yours, ramming his length into sopping pussy repeatedly, making a lewd squelching noise with every sharp thrust. the volume of which made it clear to anybody nearby what was going on in this changing room, though you didn't have the power to try and silence it, as the hot arousal pooling by your pussy was the only lubricant that facilitated lev's entrance into you, and main reason it was possible for him to move within your homey walls.

his dick stabbed into you over and over, while his slender fingers drew lazy circles over your clit. you were trying your best to stay hushed in fear of being overheard, but lev didn't seem to care. he was allowing the moans, profanities and obscene exclamations to flow freely off his tongue with out a care in the world for who might hear.

"fuck, cutie, so tight." he squeezes the flesh of your ass, then lets his hand wander up so it rests on the small of your back. he's just so much bigger than you, if he wanted he could probably pick you up and fuck you at his height so he doesn't have to bend his knees so much. it's a miracle you're even able to fit him all inside that petite little pussy.

it gets him so hard so see you like this. stripped bare and trembling under him, stifled moans brewing behind your lips and legs trembling as his colossal dick thrashes against your insides. relentless and bruising your cervix with each fervish thrust. completely fucked out from being impaled by his dick, your arms have given out which levaes your cheek pressed lazily against the wall of the changing room. the cold plastic making contact with your skin, hardly enough to combat the waves of searing pleasure he sends rushing through your quivering body.

"can't take it, huh?" he leans over you, his breathy words tickling your shoulder, "too much for this little pussy? too big for my sweet girl?" mindless dirty talk spills from his mouth as his eyes squeeze shut and he basks in the warmth of your walls clamping down on him.

and he pries them open again only so he can get another look at your shaking body, struggling to take him all but persevering. and with the friction of your hole , along with the sight of your small waist held in his soft hands, it wasn't long until lev finished inside you, spilling his hefty load within the confines of your gummy walls.

his cock was pushes out in the process, which made you sigh of relief, but with his hand already positioned on your clit, he was hasty to stuff his fingers right back into your creamed pussy, causing you to gasp.

"sorry," he whispered, straightening his posture and shuffling back, "just don't want to get any on my trousers. they're designer." he chuckles to himself, meanwhile you are still bend over with his load filling your insides; fully exposed and panting.

"maybe i should've used a condom." he muses, playfully curling his fingers, resulting in an erotic moan departing from your lips.

lev laughs heartily, as though he had just cracked the funniest joke, "nah. raw's more fun." he yanks his fingers out, leaving you to feel the full force of his cum stirring within you, "who knows, maybe next time i come back here, there will a tiny version of me."

he places a final kiss to the nape of your neck before heading to pick up his shirt, "and i don't just mean tiny because of your genes."

[narcolini]

white room - pt. 2

johnny davis x gn!reader, 18+, canon typical themes and language, 4.3k words, 2 of ? part one here a/n: tw for reader talking about their dad being dead (sorry pops) & thankyou darling kay (hausofmamadas) for the gif <3

Your idea of nice and his idea of nice are two whole different things. Not to say it isn’t a nice place, you know, it’s cute, but it isn’t nice nice, in the fancy kind of way. Which is probably your own fault for letting so many hotshot advertisement guys take you out and getting you used to it—and that’s no good at all, cause all they wanna do is impress you into sleeping with one of them, and all Johnny wants to do is eat pizza by the slice. Apparently.

He says “they got the good stuff here” as he holds the door open and by the time you’re sitting with a pie in front of you, yeah, you gotta say, it’s a Hell of a piece. So cheesy you gotta stretch your whole arm up to get it away from the plate, and when Johnny does it, you hook a finger around the stringy bit and pull it right into your mouth. Half thieving, half flirting. You figure he won’t mind so much about that, considering how good you’re looking for him, and he don’t. He’s even smiling as you chew it up. 

“You said you work in an office?” he asks, before taking a big bite of that piece you stole from. Washing it down with a Dr Pepper too, cause this place is too family friendly for anything other than a good old fashioned soda pop. 

“Mhmm. One that does them ads in the paper and on leaflets and stuff.”

“You write ‘em?”

“I wish,” you drag out, fighting the urge to roll your eyes all the way into the back of your head. “I sit in meetings and take notes, then I sit at my desk and I type up the notes. Then I go take it to my boss and he says, ‘thanks, doll, ‘nother meeting at twelve’. Then it all goes fuckin’ round again.”

He snorts, cause you’re funny and he sees it, not like those other guys. “You don’t like it then?”

“Oh, I like anything that pays me to do nothin,” you say. “The other week, they gave me overtime to sit and watch the phone incase some big important call came through. Well, that thing didn’t ring once, not from the moment I sat down, to the second I got up. Easiest buck I ever made.”

He blows out again, laughing over the neck of his pop, and you put the corner of your own slice into your mouth. You shouldn’t talk while you’re chewing, and you don’t ever do it, promise, but you’re nearly done with the eating part when you ask him, “And what d’you do?”

Well, you’d’ve thought you’d asked him the answer to the universe from the way he’s thinking about it. You wait for him and he takes another drink, then another bite, and then he itches his jaw with the end of his thumb, though no-one ever gets no itchy jaw like that, and says, “I drive trucks.”

“Yeah? I figured riding bikes was your job.”

Johnny don’t really say nothin to that, which he does a lot you’re finding. Thinks a sort of a look and a noise like he’s saying something is a fine enough answer for anything that he doesn’t really wanna answer. Like a whole third of your conversation so far has been just that—you talking and him listening, sure, he’s good at that part, but then he hums or something and it’s right back to you talking again. 

Must be how he likes it though, cause he ain’t stopped you yet and you could talk for the whole world if they wanted you to.

“What’s your deal?” you ask, after watching him eat an entire slice without saying a thing. 

“My deal?”

“Yeah.”

“I gotta have a deal?”

“Everyone’s got a deal.” You look at him, really look at him, take all the lifelines and scars in like you never put your eyes on him before. Find yourself staring at his hands too, at the tan line there, or the missing tan, you guess, right there on his ring finger. The rest of him’s done up in that way like he’s been out in the sun too much, all except for that one little bit. The shape of a thing that’s not there no more. “You married?” 

You wanna know, and you’re not afraid of asking about it, cause if he is this is gonna be a real easy fix. You out the door, him taking the bill. 

He sighs, long and slow, then wipes his mouth with the screwed up napkin from next to him. “Divorced,” he says.

“Kids?”

“Two girls.” Which explains the pizza place. He don’t know what nice is anymore, unless you can take a kid there and make them real happy about it.

“Do they like you?” 

One of his little eyebrows tweaks up at that, then sinks again into a mean frown that you’d hate to be on the real end of—cause he don’t mean it now, he’s just prickly about talking about it. You can tell. And who can blame him, you’re asking a lot of questions in the same sort of way that your mother hates so much. No manners, she says, no patience neither.

“Yeah,” he tells you, “they like me.” Then his hand and that napkin comes waving over the table at you. “What—what is this?”

You shrug, not hiding nothin. “Just getting a look at you. Figuring you out.”

He sniffs. Nods. “You gonna go and type all this shit up later?”

You’re thinking he means it like a dig, like you should feel some type of way about the sort of person he’s accusing you of being, but it’s got you smiling still. Cause he’s talking now and with real character too. “I might do. Been a while since I heard something really worth typing up.”

“And what’s yours,” he grumbles, pissier than usual, “what’s your deal that everyone’s gotta have?”

“Dead Pops,” you tell him, and you say it so quick that all the attitude drops right off of him. 

His head shakes—just the one time. “What’s that mean?”

“Well it means he’s six feet under, Johnny.”

“No—why’s that…you didn’t like your old man or something?”

“I liked him fine. Just never saw him enough and then he went and died before I could make it up to him.”

For some reason, he nods like he gets the feeling, but his eyes are all of a sudden shy of looking at you, like you might be upset at him for asking in the first place. You think the noise he makes is him trying to say sorry, or passing on his condolences, but no man you ever met has had any kind of manner when it comes to being sensitive, so you figure that’s the best he can do.

“He was from round here,” you say, “that house of mine was his first, you know.”

Another nod.

“Thought coming back would help me feel like, I don’t know, like I was connected to him or something. Like it might make me feel a little less lost.”

Then his eyes are up again and he don’t look so scared of upsetting you no more. “Did it work?” he asks. “You feel better now you’re here?”

You hum a little, like you need some time to think up the answer that’s been screaming at you since you unpacked the very first box. “Nope.” You shake your head, real sure of it. “Turns out, it just makes you fuckin’ lonely, living in a dead man’s house.”

He lets out a big long breath at that, like he’d been holding it in, and you get to smell the cigarette he smoked half an hour ago, right in front of your face. “Yeah, alright,” he says, “that’s a Hell of a deal.”

You smile. “Now you’re gettin' it.”

He points at the empty bottle in front of you. “You want another one?”

On all them other dates, this is where you’d say no thanks, I’ll take a ride home and an early night, if it’s no bother to you. And every time, all those other guys would be very bothered by it, might even make you pay for your half and a cab too, but not one part of you wants to find out what Johnny’d say to all that. You don’t want another pop and you don’t wanna go home neither. For all his quiet, and his funny ways—like he don’t always look like he wants to be talking to you—you’re finding him awful good to be around.

Makes as much sense to you as it makes no sense at all, but sometimes it’s just like that. People you can be yourself with, you know. People who make you wanna be so much like yourself, that it makes you feel all crazy about it. 

So you tell him that, in a sort of a way. You say, “I’ll be honest, Johnny, I’m feeling like something a little stronger,” and he smiles real big at that.

_________

Then you’re in another bar, and it ain’t the bar you said you didn’t wanna be in, but it is a bar that’s full of Vandals still.

Well, not full, guess you could count five of them if you wanted to. Six including Johnny. And they are all hanging about in that one back corner, while you and him got a standing table somewhere in the middle, so you figure he’s not really broken his promise all the way. Just twisted it a little. Plus with the noise of the place, you can hardly make them out above the rest of it, so you set your eyes on him and forget about them. Who knows, right? This whole town could be swarming with those biker guys, but you ain’t never noticed it before cause you ain’t never noticed him before, and that’s not exactly his fault, is it? 

He’s standing real close to you too now, to the one side of you, instead of opposite like in the pizza place, and you can feel the heat coming off of him like fire. Like those big ones in your Grandpa’s house at Christmastime. All flame and soot and crackling warmth that you wanna put your hands into. 

Something about it makes you a little erratic, makes you blurt out another question with even less manners than usual. And it’s a real mood killer too, “So why’d you get divorced?” you say. 

You asked him that, you really did, and while he’s thinking about how to take it, you drink down half your beer in one big stinking gulp. If your mother could see you now? Jeez.

“You really gonna ask me that before I’ve even…?” He points to the beers, well his beer, cause yours is still in your hands like you’re scared he’ll take it from you. “C’mon,” he says.

He’s got a point, sure, but also you been here a minute and it don’t seem like it’s your fault that he hasn’t taken a drink yet. Too busy smoking one of them cigarettes again, and smirking at you like he finds your dumb mouth all kinds of charming, when he should be judging you like a real gentleman would. 

“You don’t gotta tell me,” you say, shrugging with it.

“Hm.” Another answer without answering—and this time, it kinda sorta bothers you.

He puts the smoke between his fingers, to take a long sip of his beer, and you find yourself reaching across to take it from him. Not a smoker, but you can smoke if the company does, you know. Which happens to be a lot at work, cause those office guys go like chimneys when they’re thinking, on and on and on, until the room’s full of the stuff. And then you don’t even need to have one yourself because you’re puffing it as much as they are, right, but it’s nice to feel included still.

This time, you’re only doing it to give you something to do, and give him something to look at while he thinks so much about all the things he don’t wanna tell you. Which seems to be doing the trick just fine.

“Didn’t work out,” he says, right when you think he’s over it, didn’t work out. “That’s all it is.”

You tap the ash off, feeling him stare as you take a drag and blow it away from him. “Well if your girls like you still, that must be most of the truth.”

“Nah, that’s it. That’s the whole truth, nothin’ else.”

“Alright then.”

“What, you don’t believe me?”

He’s getting antsy, prickly all over again. “I believe you,” you tell him, looking at him all serious like, his face right there next to yours. “Marriage is a crazy complex thing, right? I guess I always assume it takes more than ‘didn’t work’ to put it to bed, but if you say yours didn’t, then it didn’t. Who am I to know?”

He doesn’t nod or do nothin, he just squints back at you and says, “Were your parents divorced?”

You laugh, and it’s sort of rude, cause it’s right in his face. Probably felt the gust of it straight into his mouth. “There you go, treating me like a kid again,” you explain, and he frowns like he don’t get it. Funny, all that wisdom in his big old head, and he can’t seem to work out what you mean. “You figure I couldn’t be old enough to have a marriage of my own? Had to ask about my parents instead?”

And you got him, caught him with his hands all red, cause he gets fidgety with it. “Well have you?” he asks.

You pout to hide your smirk. “No.”

Then his frown is swapped clean out for a laugh, and that smile that you’re sorta growing fond of. “So, just cause I didn’t know that about you, yeah, I’m treating you like a kid, am I?”

“Yeah.” You’re leaning in real close now, shoulders touching and everything. “I would’a liked it if you thought I could’ve had a marriage, and a divorce, just like you, Johnny.”

“Ah, right. Alright.” His head dips a little, and he’s looking all over your face like he’s hungry for every word you ain’t said yet, his voice in almost a whisper. “So how was your divorce?” he asks.

“Oh, awful.” You flash your eyes big, so dramatic. “He took everything I had—and all ten of the kids.” 

He hisses with his teeth, really playing along with it. “That’s a mean fuck right there,” he says, and if you’re honest, you kinda wish you weren’t lying for a sec, cause hearing him say something like that, real ex-husband or not, it kinda does something to you. Makes you giddy in a teenage way. 

“That’s what I told him,” you say back, but you don’t sound serious no more, you’re all breathy and quiet like you’re losing your guts. “Lucky we’re both single again, huh?”

“Lucky," he says, “yeah.”

Boy, you could’ve sworn the whole place went still. Every noise fell away like you were the only two people in there.

And he’s looking at you in that way, the eye contact, you know, in that real eatable way that makes you want take him home right now, or better yet, right into the bathrooms at the back of the bar there. But that’s crazy talk. That’s really real crazy talk. That’s the kind of thing you regret when your heads pounding the next day, and you don’t remember how that tap shaped bruise got onto your asscheek, never mind wether or not you’re seeing the guy again.

So, being good about it, you move your eyes from the door to the group of guys you been ignoring this whole time, and you ask him, “So when are you gonna introduce me to your little friends?”

He goes like a statue—minus his forehead, of course, that thing scrunches up like he lost you for a minute and he’s having to really squint just to see you again. “What I gotta introduce you to them for?”

“They’re your family, ain’t they?”

He holds his hand out, and it takes you a second to realise he’s asking for the cigarette back, the one that’s nearly gone, burning away in your fingers still. You give it to him, half thinking to apologise for wasting it, but he just plops it right back into his mouth like it’s nothin. He gets one pull out of it and then smushes it, dead, into the ash tray. “S’a lot, for a second date, no? Meeting the family.”

You laugh almost. “You counting last night as the first?”

“I’m counting pizza as the first,” he says.

You can’t help it, you’re still smiling at him, and blushing a little too. “Something bout that feels like you’re cheating me outta what I deserve.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” he says, all careful like, “we can count this whole night as the first, if you want, but I don’t bring first dates to the club either.”

“Fine.” He wins. “Then let’s call this one the second, whichever way you wanna look at it, and I still wanna meet ‘em.”

“Nah. Not—not today.”

For the first time in your life, you don’t feel like pushing until you get what you want. He’s still messing with the butt of that cigarette, spinning it round and round in the ashtray, so you figure he got a reason behind that skull of his, and a good one too.

Well, you’re willing to pretend like he might, anyway. 

“Okay. How about some names then? So I know who to picture when you’re telling me your stories.”

His lip quirks up. “You wanna hear my stories?”

“Oh, all of ‘em.” You nudge him, elbow to elbow, and drop your head onto your shoulder, in that real cute way that makes your hair bounce, just to look at him. “Please, Johnny?”

He lets go of the smoke with a sigh that doesn’t really mean what he wants it to mean, and crosses his arms on top of the table. “One on the lefts Corky,” he says, nodding that way. “Then Wahoo, Cal, Cockroach.”

You follow his direction, all good and quiet and listening, and put the names to the faces as best you can. Only then he stops and you have to poke him, “And that tall movie star on the end?”

He waits like he’s thinking about it. “That’s Benny.”

“Just Benny?”

“Yeah. Just Benny.”

But that don’t make no sense to you, cause all these guys are never just anyone, unless they’re someone important, you know, everybody’s got something in a club like that. “He don’t got some funny name too?” you ask, and Johnny shakes his head. “Why not?”

“Cause he don’t need nothin—he’s just, some people are just…” He shrugs, screwing his brows a little. “He’s just Benny.” 

“And you’re just Johnny.”

Who’s just humming in reply now, saying yeah without using his words cause he don’t need to, and you keep letting him be about it.

“Well,” you start, now that neither of you are looking at those Vandals no more, “what name would you give me?” 

He doesn’t even try. “I dunno,” he says. 

“C’mon, Johnny. I know you know, if you thought about it, you probably named all those guys.” Minus Benny. Just Benny.  

He groans like you’re really troubling him by asking for it and reaches for another smoke from his pack. “Let’s see,” he says. Now he’s thinking. “I guess, something short.” The lighter flashes by his chin then goes away again in a snap. “Something like Lips.” 

First time he’s left you speechless. Really cotton mouthed and speechless. “Lips?” you repeat, and you hate to say it, but you’re almost squeaking. Lips?

“Mhmm.”

“Why’s that?” you ask him, more serious now than you have been this whole time, so close that you could burn your nose on the end of his cigarette. “And don’t say cause they look nice.”

“Even if it’s true?”

You laugh like you can’t believe it. “I don’t care if it’s true, that’s not the answer.”

This guy, he has the nerve to smirk like he’s winning, and he shouldn’t be doing none of that until he can give you a real good reason. “Alright.” He lifts his shoulders a little, all innocent like, with the smoke snaking up between you. “Then it’s cause you, you know, you…”

“Yeah?” You nod, pulling it out of him. “Go on.”

“You like to talk a little, you know.”

“Oh, I do?”

“Yeah, you do.”

And you’re not offended but it keeps going like you are, with a laugh stuck behind your teeth. “Always going on, am I?”

He smiles, easy like he’s not even got to try no more. “Got some real lips on you,” he says. 

You snort, big—so attractive, puffing it out your nose like that—and set your head on your hand. Elbow going right into some sticky spill of God knows what, too. “I don’t know if I hate it, or love it,” you tell him. “Feels like an insult and a compliment all in one.”

He points with his smoking finger, but not much cause he knows how close you are, just like you know how close he is. So aware of it, it’s making you breathe funny. “That’s how you know you got a name,” he says. “Half the guys, yeah, they hate what they get called, but no-one ever says anything about it.”

“Well we know I will,” you tell him, and then you’re both laughing. Real close, real warm, laughing like you’ve known each other years, not days—and Hell, it ain’t even that. You guys only just hit the twenty-four hour mark. It may be the most successful date-slash-dates that you’ve ever had, and it’s not even over yet. You don’t even have the guys full name or number.

“Your beer’s going warm, you know.”

Oh. You haven’t even touched it, or thought about touching it, since you started that whole thing about his divorce. But his own bottle goes up and back, then down again, empty, all while you’re watching him do it. So you push him yours after, letting him finish that one too. 

“You better get me a new one, then,” you say, while his lips are on the end still, cause you haven’t had enough of him yet. “Unless you wanna take me home?”

He stops for a second, half-way about to leave with a money clip already in his hand, just to look at you with a sort of smirk, sort of curious thing in his eye. Then he says, all low and cool with it, “That code for somethin?”

Well, you feel like you made a monster. He’s starting to get all sorts of familiar and now you’re him, you’re the wolf in that damn bar. 

“No,” you say, sounding like the liar that you sorta feel like you are, “it’s whatever. I didn’t say you’d be coming in now, did I?”

He laughs out his nose and nods like you said everything he wanted to hear, though really, you’ve got no idea what he wants from you. No other man you’ve ever said that to has cared to ask what you mean by it, even if you wanted it to be something or not, they always assumed it was meant the way they wanted it to mean, but not Johnny. Johnny looked more scared by the idea than he looked excited. Like he thought he was about to have to let you down all gentle like, slow and careful so your feelings didn’t get hurt. 

“I’ll get us some more,” he says, leaving for real that time, and his hand’s on your back until he’s too far away for his fingers to reach. 

It’s only when he’s gone that you figure he must’ve told all those guys to ignore you and him, just like you’d decided to ignore them, cause the second he’s gone they’re looking right over at you. Wahoo, Corky, all of them, but not that Benny. He either don’t care or hasn’t noticed, and for some reason or another, that makes you like him the most. Only one of them that can keep his eyes on his own nose and outta your business. The rest are bold enough to stare like you don’t see them, even talking and laughing the way boys do when the teacher goes for more chalk.

You try not to care but it’s starting to really itch. You’re rubbing your arms like they’re crawling all over you. 

“Here."

And Thank God he’s back. You take the beer and drink it like you’ve had nothing but sand in your mouth for days, which makes Johnny smile like you’re crazy, but you keep going. “That family of yours got no manners,” you tell him afterwards.

He doesn’t even look. “Yeah, yeah they’re like that,” is all he says about it. What a hero, right? He takes a sip of his own drink then wipes his lips dry with the back of his hand, and he catches you staring at him, but he says nothin about that neither. “You doing anything on Friday?” he asks.

“No.” Then you’re smiling and forgetting all about the rabble in the back. “Well, I wasn't until right now, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

He nods. That’s exactly what he’s getting at. Seems like he’s thinking to take up your whole calendar, one day at a time, and you’re not feeling like doing a damn thing about it. Go figure.

_____

part three >>>>>

tagging: @drabbles-mc @hausofmamadas @hoodeddreams13 @businesscalamity @literally-lani

[bunnie-online]

just ask. {A.S.}

juuuuust thinking about (modern!)anakin being your boy bsf (and roommate) catching you coming home from a verrrry disappointing dick appointment

part two

warnings: MINORS DNI 18+, suggestive, possibly ooc ani, fem reader

it was 1 am, you fully expected Anakin to be asleep, doing this 'walk of shame' in front of him would be exactly that... shameful. you has just had one of the WORST hookups of your life with some dude you met off tinder a couple of days ago, he was alllll talk. the definition of 'sounds to good to be true'

he didn't know ANYTHING about the female anatomy, like seriously, he basically dry humped you and rolled over. lame.

you unlocked the door of your shared apartment, opening and closing the door as quietly as possible, as not to wake Anakin. to your surprise he came walking into the living room with a mug in his hand. he was in his usual pajamas, blue and black plaid sweatpants and topless. you tried not to stare but your gazes always seem to linger when it comes to Anakin. "Hey! Thought you'd be home tomorrow?" he tilted his head in that adorably innocent way he always does. his mannerisms never matched his face, or body for that matter.

"Ah noo" you chuckle and cast your gaze downward. "Oh? Your date didn't go well?" he asked again this time raising his eyebrows with the word 'date'. he might look and sometimes act innocent but Anakin was far from it, he knew what your intentions were for the night. "Ugh, not at all." you roll your eyes and set your bag down by the door. "This dude was soooo lame." you whine.

"Aw, poor thing" Anakin says in a joking tone. "C'mere, I made some tea" he offers. "Since when do you drink tea?" you laugh "I like to pamper myself from time to time!" he said feigning offense, clasping his hand over his heart in a classically Anakin fashion.

"Tell me what happened." he sits in the bar stool at the kitchen island after handing you a cup of tea. "Ani, I don't know, it's embarrassing." your face turns pink. "Please I know about the thing you did in middle school. I think I can handle this" he laugh at you cringing from that horrid memory from your pre-teen years. "Oh you know you can't bring that up all willy-nilly Anakin!" you swat at him. his beautiful laughter filled the air

"Okay so I was going to hook up with this guy-" you start. "Shocker." Anakin smirks, interrupting you "one, rude. two, shut up. three, anyyywayys, I was going to go hook up with him and it sounded sooo promising because, damn can he talk himself up. He was so good with his words! And we get down to it and dude lasts like, two minuets! Anakin, I wish I was joking.." you bury your head in your hands out of frustration (mostly sexual). "That's the third guy this month! Like can men just be honest if they're mediocre at sex?!"

Anakin chuckles. "Blows my mind that there are guys out there who're putting up false advertisements for dick." you toss your head back and laugh "false advertisements is CRAZY" you laugh harder and Anakin joins you. "Did I lie?!" he jokes again, earning another laugh from you. "You got a point" you agree with him.

"Seriously though, that's a shame. I'd never lie like that." he takes another sip of his tea. Your mind starts swirling with questions. 'what does he mean by that?' 'I wonder what he's like in bed?' 'he has to be huge, right?' "Like honestly that's so fucked up." his voice breaks you out of your thoughts. "This sounds personal for you, what're you doing? Handing out trash dick or what?" you laugh. he chuckles again. "Hah, no. But if I was, I'd at least be honest about it."

your eyes widen but you regain composure quickly. "Oh? And what makes you so confident?" you smirk at him, wanting a rise out of him. "Well, I'm sure some of the girls weren't crying because I was dishing out bad dick." he smirks. "Wow you sure are cocky." you say with fake confidence hoping he wouldn't double down. your hopes were crushed when he stood up. he made his way behind you, placing both of his arms around you, resting his hands on the counter trapping you. he leaned close to your ear. "You know, you don't have to act out for me to prove it to you. You can just ask." his voice completely changed. you have never heard Anakin speak in such a low, sultry tone. you noticeably shivered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i highhhh key wanna finish this tomorrow bc it's midnight and i'm SLEEPY

~bunnie

[aiizenn]

busy. kento nanami.

ₓ˚. ୭ cw: fem!reader, jealous!nanami (rough and slightly mean) ,slight degradation, alcohol, praise, fingering (f! receiving) masturbation, no actual sex but still juicy

in my nanami era! it was about time i wrote for him.

summer was here.

as you walked out to the backyard, the warmth of sun rays touched your skin. the laughter from a certain pink haired and white haired bothering the ever so black haired dull boy. the twins, a very cheerful nobara and miwa in the pool talking about the latest fashion trends. the quiet yet annoyed toge laying on the ledge lounger listening to the other seconds years rants. the polite utahime keeping her cool from listening to mei's money rambles. and to the corner of the pool is found the luscious blonde man, drinking beer.

besides the warmth, he was the reason behind putting the mini summer floral dress on. secretly wishing he would throw you into a room and shove his cock inside your dripping pussy.

the white-haired man ran towards you, taking the beverages from your hand—helping you out. he flashes you a flirty smile along with a wink, in return you chuckle; placing your hand on his shoulder. your small interaction is not missed by the blonde man, gripping the beer bottle just a little tighter than before, making his knuckles turn white.

a gentle breeze rushes past you, causing the hem of your dress to lift. the incident doesn't go unnoticed, nanami’s eyes were on you the whole time, making his jaw clench.

the pink-haired boy gets up and opens the chair for you, such a gentleman. “you look beautiful.” he says, giving you a sunshine smile. followed by another compliment, this time it’s from the blue-eyed man. “right? i picked that dress for her” you shake your head at his blatant lie and thank the boy for his sweet compliment. then gojo’s hand lands on your lower back, playing with the fabric of your dress. “when will the food be ready?” asked the dull boy. “it should be out soon” answers geto. “which reminds me, i need the seasoning.” he says as he places the tonsils down. “i’ll get it” standing before he moves any further.

once in the kitchen, you look around for the seasoning. found neither in the drawers nor the counter, so you look in the pantry. bingo! you’re about to head out, until a strong grip wraps around your forearm, shoving you into the storage room.

the dim lighting from the window hits you, and you are met with brown eyes, those eyes that you are all too familiar with. but this time, for the first time, you couldn't read them…anger? frustration? his breath was heavy and his slick hair was now disheveled. he was caging you in between his arms, against the wall.

“nanami, what’s wrong?” coming out as a whisper. he tilts his head to the side and scoffs. “what's wrong? well, let’s see sweetheart. you’re being all giddy with satoru, playing along with his teasing and flirting—touching him. letting him do the same to you, his touch lingering on you longer than it should. you're walking around with a big smile, laughing with no care. while wearing this skimpy dress, advertising to everyone that you want to be fucked like a little slut.” he breathes in. “so sweetheart, why don't you tell me what's wrong?” he finishes.

it was probably not the right moment to think about it, but you were liking this side of him. he was always so neat and well put together, always had composure. but the person in front of you looked like he was breaking with every second that passed. so you decide to play a little. “what do you mean? i’m just being nice to ‘toru, he’s my friend after all.” you say with a tiny smug. “ toru? you have a nickname for him now?” he said baffled.

his hand moving to your waist, sliding down to the small ruffles of your dress. his fingertips touching your thigh, that touch alone sending vibrations to your core, a sensation that satoru’s touch could never do. his thick fingers dance as they reach your already drenched folds. “does ‘toru know how wet you get? does he know how to touch you? or how you don’t wear any panties?” making small circles on your clit. the small contact making you jolt, placing your hands on his shoulders.

fuckk.

the roughness of his digits added friction to his vulgar movements. you felt the build up in your lower stomach, closing your eyes in bliss. “does toru know what you look like when you're about to cum? does he know the way your toes curl, and hole clenches when you’re at your climax? or where your sweet spot is? hmm?” the pace of his fingers make you mewl. the feeling causing you to look up; nanami's lips landing on your neck, leaving ghost kisses. “you're going to keep me busy, butterfly.” his hoarse voice echoing in the small room. he halts his movements, and takes you in.

you looked unworldly, your lust hazed eyes and heavy breath made him feel something inside. all he did was touch you and it had you all flustered and pent up. “you're going to cum, but not on my fingers” that’s when his beer bottle comes into view. as you look at him and back to the bottle in his hand, your cunt tingled. . .knowing exactly what he was asking of you.

“you're going to make yourself cum on this. on your own.” the seriousness in his tone making you squeeze your thighs together. “go on, butterfly. let me see what you can do. you’re a big girl, yeah?” you take the bottle from his veiny hand—the seasoning long gone—lifting your dress as the cold air from the a.c hits your pussy.

aagh.

you see the blonde man making his way towards the back wall—wanting to get a good view of you. your hand shakes due to his intense gaze. his intense gaze that makes you melt. your knees come in contact with the cold tile floor, placing the bottle under you. lowering yourself down, you feel the cold glass in your wet walls.

tch “look at that. it went right in, such a filthy whore.” his harsh words stripping you naked. the wetness of your insides made more than just the tip slide into your cunt. the unfamiliar feeling was enticing, the shaft of the bottle was so deep in you, you could practically taste the beer. it takes you a minute to adjust to the weird yet enthralling sensation.

“move. now.” the sternness of his voice only making it harder to get anything done. not wanting to upset him you move up, while holding the bottle down. the feeling of the bottle was pleasant, but you wanted him. you wished that it was his cock going in you, not his bottle. your small whimpers filled the space between both you, the chatter from outside overlapping your whimpers. that’s when it hits you, your friends are outside, one wrong move and you could give yourself away. the idea of being caught made the situation more exciting, yet you covered your mouth causing muffled noises to come out.

the squelching noises below you were so lewd, you were riding a bottle in front of the man that’s made you cum countless of times. it all felt unreal. “just like that, butterfly. ride that bottle. cream all over, leave your filthy juices in it. so when i drink from it, your little toru looks and doesn’t have the slightest idea it’s his little friend’s cum.” the dirty praises add more pleasure to the pressure on your stomach. your movements are now faster, your breasts bouncing with every breath and thrust.

nanami's lust-blown eyes were fixated on your pussy; your pathetic moves made him want to tease you. he noticed how you were growing steadily lost into your rhythm, your thighs moving farther apart, placing more of the bottle in you. your drooling cunt visible to him, taking in the item so well. “touch yourself” he demanded. the hand that was once covering your glossy lips, was now on your glossy clit. you start with small circles, trying to mimic his movements from earlier. the size of your fingers not making up for his thick ones. the pace of your swirls rise, the tingles clearly present, soft curses falling from your plumpy lips.

“good girl”

those two words alone were enough to make you moan, though combined with cold glass—who’s nanami's lips were once on—and the motion of your fingers on your aching clit, your whole body shook. it was clear that you were close, that much was obvious. your movements were feeble as the bumps of the shaft touched your walls.

the knot in your stomach was getting too intense; you wanted to cum, but you so desperately needed his permission. subconsciously you knew that you needed his authorization, and nanami knew that you were aware of it; making the bulge in his shorts grow. with every second that passed your breath hitched. swollen lips, decorated by your saliva, giving them a glossy look. . .to nanami you looked heavenly.

“cum for me, butterfly.”

your dignity was long forgotten, your mouth opened, while your eyes turned practically white. the knot that was presented was now gone, your bouncing was sloppy, as your knees trembled, almost giving out. your orgasm was like no other, this certain climax was different. gushing out, convinced this was the hardest you’ve cummed before.

“good. . . good fucking girl” you hear his voice and footsteps getting closer. he kneels down and meets you eye to eye, his eyes still dark, as if painted black. “you’re dripping everywhere, butterfly. i can’t wait to taste those sweet juices of yours.” your inner thighs were covered with your cream, the sight itself was erotic. nanami's large hand lands on your face, and you nuzzle into it, feeling his warmth. his thumb strokes your cheek, then on your swollen lips. what he does next is unexpected. he kisses you. it was rough yet sloppy, dominance clearly shown. his lips were soft unlike his fingers, the feeling adding undeniable pleasure. and you let out more of your juices you didn't know you had.

“guess you weren't done, little one. now be a good slut and clean up after yourself.” smiling against your lips. nanami gives you no mercy as he tortures you by retrieving the bottle, leaving you hot and bothered. the only thing you hear is the a.c running, and your loud heart beat. . . it takes you awhile to pull yourself together. a few minutes pass before you make your way back. as you exit the door to the backyard you are met with multiple pairs of eyes. “are you okay? what took you so long?” asks satoru. you’re attention is caught by the blonde man, who is sitting down in his usual spot. you answer gojo while keeping eye contact with nanami.

“i was. . . busy.” you answer. the edge of nanami's lips rise as he places the bottle in his mouth, the bottle that contains not only the beer but your juices. drinking it infront of everyone. the seasoning definitely forgotten.

[kkanabel]

caffeine addiction ❃ annoying bakugou ❃ chapter 3 Bakugou Katsuki x Reader / Coffee Shop! AU directory/m.list

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After Bakugou nitpicked at the amount of caffeine you had, he started to give you warning looks when you’re starting to drink too much. It was as if a bartender was watching a patron that tends to drink himself blind-- except you’re drinking coffee and you’re one espresso shot away from a full-blown heart attack. 

Thus, you’re sitting at your usual table with a peach lemonade, tapping your feet on the ground as if you’re waiting for something. It started to become entertaining. When Bakugou looked at you, he saw an angry pomeranian that had its toy taken from them.

When you looked at Bakugou, you saw an evil mother pomeranian that withheld the toy for your own good.

It was strange-- you hardly knew each other. Even then, this rando barista was withholding something that would make him money. All for the sake of your health. It made you want to spend more money at this establishment. You wanted to rain money onto his broad shoulders (that were already covered in designer brands anyway) to show your appreciation for those who care about others.

Or it could just be for legal reasons. You’re pretty sure that you’re liable for your own decisions, but you suppose you could say that his coffee provoked you because it was too delicious…? Likely not. Worth a thought, though. Not really.

You were taking a look at sneak-peek photos of the Masaki show coming up soon. Your aunt was going to be one of the VIPs, and she invited you to come along. She desperately wanted you to be in promotion photos for Masaki, saying “I was telling Masaru about how I have a niece with a face that perfectly suits their brand! I wish you would take the option already! You have such a big opportunity to model for us, but you still insist on doing something else.”

You loved your aunt, but she still pestered you to join the fashion industry with her. While you absolutely loved fashion, the industry was just too much for you. You’ve had your fair share of models gossiping about how you’re a “fashion princess”, having one of the top designers in the world as a relative. Exposure like that is uncomfortable. You didn’t want to get big in the industry just because of the people you’re related to. If you’re going to make it big in the industry, it’s going to be by your own hand–you don’t want to get a big push just because of your aunt. 

You wanted to be fully self-made.

So, you sent an advertisement design to one of your clients, a new dating app called “Kiss, Kiss, Fall in Love”, which “innovated” a way to find love by placing you into a group chat with all of your suitors at once. It sounds extremely stupid. At least your advertisement made it look clean and professional. You pinched yourself for helping out a company with such an idiotic premise, but at least it makes you money. 

Then, you closed your tabs for the graphic design you were doing and then swiped over to your tabs open for a handful of assignments on finance. You have a lot of shit to do today. You also had ideas for your aunt’s new line, and you were going to sketch them out and send them to her by the end of today.

Falling asleep wasn’t a problem, because you had your lemonade, a cup of ice water, and an americano next to you. Going to the bathroom 5 times in one hour may be a problem, but you ignored it in favor of trying to finish your assignment as quickly as possible. You wanted to sketch out those designs now, but you’d be too anxious doing them if you didn’t have your assignment finished. 

Drinking iced liquids during the winter helped you stay awake. You were fucking shivering, but it’s okay. Anything to stay awake. You have to get these things done. This urgency was definitely making your dark circles worse by the day, though. 

It’s fine. You’ll need to put on concealer later, anyway. You needed to hop on a Zoom call with your club members in a couple hours, and you needed to freshen up before then. For now, your hair jutting out in all directions from your messy-ass bun and how crusty you looked was fine. The only person seeing you was an extremely hot guy in the café, but it’s also fine because you’re not going to court him, and this café is basically your second home at this point.

All of this was running through your mind as you worked on your assignment, furiously typing away on your laptop to fill out an extended-response question. 

Seeing you work on your laptop was making Bakugou feel particularly productive today. 

He whipped out his own laptop to sort out details he needed for his father’s upcoming fashion show. His parents wanted him to be there so they could have a photoshoot of their cute baby in nice clothes.

Except their cute little baby was now a 23-year-old man. 

After the show, he was going to be backstage, taking photos with the models so his parents could show him off to their mutual fashion-forward friends. Since Bakugou asked them not to post his photos as promotion, they didn’t. Like you, he didn’t want the attention. But this was a little different–he just didn’t want any fame, in general. He’s already got enough attention on him from the various women (and men) coming into the café to flirt with him. His ego is big enough as it is, and the random people eye-fucking him from across his own coffee shop don’t really help. 

But at some point, he had to ask some of his employees to help him kick out some people that were getting too rowdy, and he wasn’t the biggest fan of doing that. He just wants to live his life without people drooling over him like a piece of meat. Although Bakugou made it seem like he was more proud of his good looks when someone objectified him, it made him uncomfortable at times. 

So, he was glad that you were a new regular of his and not some creep trying to get into his pants. He found himself being a little happier every time he saw you come into the café with hair that looked like a bird’s nest and a face that definitely hadn’t woken up fully.

So, with some typing to give feedback to his parents, he sent them a lengthy paragraph detailing what he thought about the setup for the show. The models’ makeup, the music, and the general vibe of the walkway. 

Next on his to-do list was to experiment with new drinks for the menu. He was getting bored, and he thought that a great way to spice up his life and his customers’ lives was to add a new drink or two to his café menu. Thus, he got to brewing and mixing. In the middle of his work, he saw someone come in from the back. 

“Hey, Bakugou!” came a chipper voice from the girl who was putting on the café apron and bringing the apron’s strings around her waist so that she could see the strings as she was tying them. “Whatcha up to?”

He glanced at Ashido Mina, one of his long-time employees. They’ve been friends since high school, and she helps out at the café from time to time to make some extra cash. Though it was difficult for him to say it to their faces, he was always really grateful for his friends helping him with this coffee shop. 

“Makin’ some new drinks. Figured we should have something new for Christmas–apart from the seasonal drinks we already have.” He looked back down at his work, crushing up a candy cane on a cutting board into smithereens. 

She silently watched him as he sprinkled the crushed candy cane onto the drink next to the cutting board. The drink was in a glass mug and was a creamy brown topped with whipped cream and the candy cane Bakugou just put onto it. Bakugou brought the mug up to his lips and tasted it. Without a word, he gave the cup to Ashido.

As Ashido tasted it, her eyes lit up. “This is good,” she praised, placing it onto the table. 

Bakugou still looked at the drink, putting a hand up to his chin whilst thinking. “It’s not quite right,” he keened, crossing his arms. He didn’t know what to change. He used one of the best chocolates on the market. He didn’t even use the powder shit that tasted like ass! He mixed together a combination of milk and dark chocolate, so it should have added the complexity he was looking for. But for some reason, the drink tasted flat. 

“Mina-san?” From one of the tables at the café, you looked at Ashido with a surprised face. Ashido returned the face, gasping when she saw you. 

She called out your name in realization, walking around the counter to envelop you in a hug.

Bakugou furrowed his brows when he saw that you did makeup and calmed the birds’ nest that was your hair in the short period of time he was talking to Ashido. Witchcraft, he thought. The fact that you even did eye makeup amazed him. Wait– is your hair curled this time? How?!

He watched as you and Ashido made some small talk when she pointed a thumb at him. “Yeah, I work here to help out this dude. Actually, he’s trying to make a new drink for the upcoming holiday season, and he’s kinda struggling. Wanna try the prototype?” Bakugou’s eyes widened a little bit. It wasn’t in surprise, but moreso… fear?

“Sure!” You chirped, making him a little more scared. He couldn’t place his finger on why. Maybe it was because it was unfinished and all you knew about his drinks were perfection? He didn’t want to ruin that idea for you. But before he could say anything, Ashido passed you the mug with the prototype drink, and you sipped it.

He tried to ignore the fact that you drank a drink that a stranger also drank, but the very tiny teenage girl portion of him went, Oh my gosh, an indirect kiss! With me and Racoon Eyes!

“Hm, a peppermint hot chocolate? It’s good, but it could use more complexity.” Out came your response, and you tasted it again. “You should add some coffee to deepen the flavor. Also, maybe flavoring the whipped cream with mint would be a nice touch.”

Bakugou furrowed his brows in confusion. “Coffee? What?”

Your cheeks started to burn a little. It probably seemed you were saying that just because you’re an addict and he knows it. “N-No, I’m not trying to change it into some coffee drink! I’m saying– I normally add a little of some instant coffee to my hot chocolate because it deepens the flavor!”

He thought about it for a moment before grabbing the saucepan with which he previously made the hot chocolate. He tossed in a little bit of instant coffee, then poured it into three paper cups for all of you to try it.

All three of you tasted the prototype beverage at the same time, and while you had a content expression tasting very nice hot cocoa, the expression that Bakugou and Ashido had was one of amazement. “It’s… perfect,” Bakugou said, mystified.

Ashido let in a wide gasp when she finished the rest of the drink in the cup and she turned herself to face you. “...are you a flavor genius?”

You chuckled and said, “No, I’m just a coffee addict."

You were sitting outside on your Zoom meeting while Bakugou and Ashido were lazing around in the café, waiting for people to come in. Bakugou was blankly staring at you. You were laughing while waving your arms around to make a point to the people in the online meeting, and Bakugou was entranced.

When he snapped out of it and turned his head to Ashido, his good mood instantly dissipated when he saw her grinning like a Cheshire cat. A very evil Cheshire cat that is most certainly up to no good.

“Whatever the fuck you’re thinking, the answer is no.” He crossed his arms and glared at her, who was now suggestively wriggling her eyebrows at him. “I don’t have time for that.”

She rolled her eyes at him as she took a sip of her peach green tea on the back counter. “The fact that you knew what I was thinking just affirms my thoughts. Plus! Why not? She’s reeeally pretty, right?” Ashido emphasized her words a little too much, but still kept her voice down in case she was bothering any nearby patrons.

Bakugou sighed and propped himself on the chair in front of the register, nursing a freshly-made latte to his chest. “I’ve got my hands busy with a café and with my parents’ shit. I won’t shoot my shot if I’ve got no bullets.”

Ashido seemed to consider things for a minute, tapping her foot and looking into space. She raised her pointer finger, “But-”

“Racoon Eyes. No.” He glared her down. 

She didn’t back down. “Not even a hi? A meager hello?”

Bakugou really didn’t have time to deal with love. He’s got other shit to do– his parents are still pestering him to join the fashion business, and he’s working himself thin with the café already. 

“You don’t think she’s pretty?” Ashido offered, looking at you sitting outside.

Bakugou scowled. He didn’t want to deal with Ashido right now, either. “I’m not fucking blind. Of course, she’s pretty. I just don’t have time for it.”

Her eyes seemed to start blinging with interest as she squealed, “Bakugou has a cru-” he placed a hand over her mouth. People were looking in their direction, confused. A relationship, never mind pursuing one, is in no way something he wants to deal with. Unless this girl started showing up in every facet of his life or something, it just wouldn’t be possible.  

But the higher powers up there have a funny sense of humor. 

(Ironically, the girl that Bakugou just started pining for had named him a god just a couple days prior.)

a/n: taglist is open! just lmk <3 stay hydrated, cuties! :D

directory/m.list

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[pancakesnake-exe]

224 FACTS ABOUT

The Stig

It is The Stig

It was originally going to be called “The Gimp”, but was renamed The Stig, which means having a bad fashion sense while being born poor

“We don't know its name, we really don't know its name, nobody knows its name, and we don't want to know, because it's a racing driver.”

The Stig wears its helmet on set and most cast members don’t know who it is.

The Stig does not know who it is because they wiped its memory when it got the job.

It is the Pope.

There is only one The Stig.

The Stig used to work in Rome[as the pope], but gave up its job to be able to keep up with its work here

It has no face

It is terrified of scouts

The drinks cabinet in its car contains 14 different types of custard

Its favourite T-shirt has a picture of a T-shirt

It is afraid of bells

It is confused by stairs

It never blinks

The Stig is kept in the cupboard when not in use

It naturally faces magnetic north

It has a digital face

The Stig has an evil twin named Black Stig who died after driving off an aircraft carrier but came back to life https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Lkh0uWFg9c

It will charge you if you attempt to remove its helmet

Its nipples are explosive

It paid a $25,000 expenses claim for some gravel for his moat

The Stig has three legs

The Stig once dreamt for a whole week straight about what Rubens Barrichello would look like in a ham slicer

The Stig is banned from the town of Chichester

The Stig is the reincarnation of Jesus Christ

The Stig bought a slightly dented white Fiat Uno from the Duke of Edinburgh

If you hold it in the wrong way, it doesn't work properly

It is 47% horse

It has 17 children due to faulty condoms

The Stig has a special pissing technique that causes floods

It once punched a horse to the ground

It has Mansell Syndrome

The Stig runs on diesel

It has a very small brain

It “has no understanding of the concept of money”

The Stig’s credit card says “The Stig” and is issued by The Bank of Money

The Stig’s favorite genres of music are: Morse code, whale songs, baroque music, advertising jingles, country & western music, sales techniques, foreign language learning tapes, ABBA but French, speeches of Margaret Thatcher, Elton John, pipe bands, vuvuzelas, national anthems, Tuvan throat singing, self help audiotapes, and “an annoying ringing sound”

The Stig has to receive awards in its left hand, as its right one is magnetic

The Stig has decided all northerners are edible

It’s mission statement is to "just go out there and drive fast"

The Stig’s opinion is worthless

The Stig has died multiple times, but the Grim Reaper is too afraid to tell it.

The extent of The Stig’s knowledge outside racing is two facts about ducks

Both facts are wrong

The three others once reenacted the journey of the three wise men, and at the end, the manger held a baby The Stig.

The next episode a month later, it was fully grown. Due to “Stigs grow very quickly, and the new The Stig was thus already fully grown.”

Stigs must be transported in delivery crates

The Stig has a fatter American cousin called Big Stig, who is a more relaxed driver

The Stig has an African cousin who only wears boots, a loincloth, racing gloves, and a helmet, has watched “The Lion King” 1780 times, ands second-best friend is a Cape buffalo

The Stig has a cousin who works as a truck driver named Rig Stig who can power slide and drift in trucks, has only one sleeve and wears special gloves, favorite song is “Forever Autumn" by Justin Hayward, and owns the world’s largest porn collection

The Stig has a red-suited Vietnamese cousin who is a communist and rides a motorcycle.

The Stig has a vegetarian cousin named Janet Stig Porter whose helmet is solar powered and wears overalls and socks with sandals

The Stig has a German cousin named Herr Stig who is identical to The Stig in every way besides having a mullet

The Stig has an Italian cousin named Bunga-Bunga Stig who wears a suit, is followed everywhere by three women, and only drives Italian sports cars

The Stig has a Chinese cousin named Attack Stig who is a kung-fu master, attacks anyone on sight indiscriminately, kicked James Lemay in the balls, beat up a large amount of the crew(even stopping in the middle of his timed lap to attack a track Marshall who accidentally entered its line of sight), and looks almost the same as The Stig

The Stig has a teenage cousin who wears headphones, wears low waist line pants showing its underwear, always looks at its phone, and made a mobile game titled “Top Gear: Race The Stig”

The Stig has an Australian cousin who lives in an open cut iron ore mine, wears dusty overalls and flip-flops, is very muscular, and has a very “large gentlemanly sausage”

The Stig has three other teenage cousins who are triplets, wear three different colored headphones and smartphones, and all have low waist line pants showing their underwear

The Stig has a Emirati cousin who looks similar to the normal Stig but wears a ghutrah on top its helmet and a huge diamond watch

The Stig has a relative of unknown association called “StigFoot” who lives in the woods

The Stig has a Japanese cousin named Ninja Stig who is a ninja, and wears a black helmet, a black ninja outfit, and has a katana on its back

The Stig has a business cousin named Business Stig who wears a red tie and a set of braces

The Stig’s father is named StigDad and wears a tank top and flare trousers

The Stig has another Australian cousin who lives upside down

The Stig has a New Zealander cousin named The Stug

The Stig has a Colorodonian cousin named Backwoods Stig who wears white racing overalls with torn off sleeves.

The Stig has a Yorkshire cousin named T’Stig with a flat cap on its helmet and 2 dogs by his feet at all times

The Stig has its own children’s book trilogy

The Stig has a chiseled jawline

The Stig has no friends

The Stig never blinks

The Stig roams the woods at night, foraging for wolves

The Stig is wanted by the CIA

The Stig sleeps upside down like a bat

The Stig can catch fish with its tounge

The Stig appears on high value stamps in Sweden

The Stig is illegal in 17 states

The Stig blinks sideways

The Stig’s breath smells like magnesium

Two of The Stig’s legs are hydraulic

The Stig lives in a tree

It’s sweat can be used to clean precious metals

It’s heart ticks like a watch

It’s voice can only be heard by cats

The Stig has two sets of knees

There is an airport in Russia named after it

Its skin has the texture of a dolphin

No matter where you are in the world, if you tune a radio to 88.4, you can hear its thoughts

The Stig has no understanding of clouds

Its earwax tastes like Turkish delight

The Stig is a master of politics

It’s tears are adhesive

If you set The Stig on fire, it would burn for a thousand days

The Stig can swim seven lengths under the water

The Stig has webbed buttchecks

Its heart is upside down

Its teeth glow in the dark

Its ears “aren’t where you would expect them to be”

The Stig once had an affair with John Prescott

If it felt like it, it could fire Alan Sugar

The Stig has upside down genitals

If it wanted to, it could crack the DaVinci Code in 43 seconds

Its ears have a paisley lining

The Stig is banned from the Chelsea Flower Show

The outline of The Stig’s left nipple is the exact same shape as the Nürburgring

If given a truly important job, The Stig will slack off and play croquet instead

The Stig invented Branston Pickle

On exceptionally warm days, it will shed its skin like a snake

The Stig is allergic to the Dutch

It’s first name is The

If it went in Celebrity Love Island, every one would be pregnant, including the cameramen

The Stig once threw a microwave at someone

The Stig once had a vicious knife fight with Anthea Turner

The Stig has nothing to do with the cash-for-honors scandal

The Stig is a CIA experiment that went wrong

The Stig only eats cheese

If you lick its chest, it will taste exactly like piccalilli

The Stig sucks moisture from ducks

Its crash helmet is modeled after Brittany Spears’ head

The Stig isn’t machine washable

All its potted plants are named Steve

The Stig’s scrotum has its own gravity field

To unlock The Stig, you must run your finger down its face

The Stig thought Star Wars was a documentary

The Stig is afraid of Australian trees

61 years ago, The Stig accidentally introduced the Queen of England to a Greek racialist

The Stig was beheaded, but grew it back

When it slows down, break lights turn on in his butt

The Stig is bad at soccer

The Stig once lost a canoe on a beach in the Northeast

The Stig once had to do time in a prison in Canterbury, because its teddy bear was named Baby Jesus

The Stig has never sat on Santa’s knee

The Stig has never watched Moonraker on Boxing Day

After having sex, The Stig bites the head off its partner

The Stig had to give up binge drinking when prices reached $1.50 a litre

Each of its toenails are exactly the same length as a woman’s nipples

It thinks Credit Crunch is a type of cereal

Its droppings have been found as far as New York

The Stig has a full-size tattoo of The Stig’s face on its face

It is impossible for The Stig to wear socks

The Stig can open a beer bottle with its testes

The Stig sleeps inside out

The Stig once had sex with an answering machine

The Stig invented November

One of its eyes is a testicle

Its left leg gets longer when it sees someone it finds attractive

The Stig doesn’t like getting its helmet wet

The Stig invented the curtain

The Stig thinks potato chips are a type of animal

The Stig is baffled by urinals

The Stig has twelve GCSEs, all in domestic science

The Stig has been producing artificial sperm for years, even though the team has repeatedly asked it not to

On Thursdays, The Stig becomes extremely bulbous

The Stig is highly contagious of the “The Stig Flu”, which killed countless pigs in Mexico

If The Stig compensated a soldier for getting wounded, it wouldn't try to take it all back again

The Stig made someone bald once

In the Autumn, all its arms turn brown and fall off

if it wrote you a letter of condolence, The Stog would get your name right

The Stig has terrible plans involving the Moon

The Stig‘s new Christmas range of fragrances includes the great smell of Wednesday

The Stig was turned down for the job of EU President because its face was just too recognizable

The Stig has never once hit a fire hydrant.

You shouldn't go around to its house for your Christmas lunch unless you enjoy the taste of seagull

The Stig has to take his shoes off with an alum key

The Stig’s New Year's Resolution is to eat fewer mice

Its discharge is luminous

There are 17 different reasons why The Stig is banned from the North Hampton branch of Little Chef

Its favourite airline pilot is Mark Webber, or two, actually

The Stig has an irrational hatred of Rubens Barricello

The Stig is terrified the BBC will reveal its salary because its paid in hardcore porn

Some people think the Scottish released it a little bit too soon

The Stig once spent all week slowly pushing an effigy of Rubens Barricello through his desk fan

The Stig has recently been releasing pop records under the pseudonym of "Lady Gaga"

Under its race suit, The Stig also wears a red G-string and suspenders

The Stig doesn't understand the word "envelope"

The Stig is the only person in Britain not to have slept with Alan Johnson's policeman

The Stig once tore a goat in half

Its nipples are explosive

In its wallet, it keeps a photograph of its wallet

Its favourite disease it had as a child was gout

The Stig doesn’t know what dogs are for

The Stig can't eat mashed potato for religious reasons

The Stig once received 47,000 Olympic tickets, all of them for the final of women's wrestling

The Stig refuses to acknowledge the existence of Nottinghamshire

The Stig once hacked into its own helmet

The Stig is the only person in Britain who knows what B&Q stands for

The Stig once spent its $1.5 million dollar bonus on French breast implants

The Stig has 50,000 photographs of its own camera

The Stig has high horsepower

The Stig is skilled in cocktail-making

The Stig is the only person in history to buy a DFS sofa when it wasn’t on sale

Its favourite boxing venue is Munich Airport

The Stig stores all of its shoes and cassette tapes on the motorway central reservation

Following the vote on gay marriage in Britain, The Stig got engaged to James May’s lawnmower

Its convinced that Henry IV is buried under the Follow-Through

The Stig used to be a stormtrooper, but it was kicked out when it tried to eat Darth Vader

The Stig is made of rubber porcelain

The Stig’s shadow is that of a beluga whale

The Stig can play guitar with the clutch

Its carbon fibre beard is chiselled in the most streamlined way

The Stig knighted the former Queen of England

The Stig once saved the former Queen from God

The Stig can hypnotize sheep

If bothered, The Stig could swim the entire Atlantic Ocean-underwater

The Stig once co-presented a Brazilian show about blimp disasters

The Stig once actually punched God

The Stig once killed a giraffe with just its feet

The Stig has a black belt in paper maché

Some say it is five foot tall with lead in its feet

Others say six feet with tall with air in its head

....but it doesn't care what you say

The Stig has contracted every STD known to man

The Stig has large inflatable breasts to get them out of speeding tickets

The Stig is one of the protons in the Large Hadron Collider

The Stig creates miniature black holes every time he sneezes

The Stig was the one who actually pulled Excalibur from the stone and is the rightful King of England

The Stig gave birth to Chuck Norris and the mother was Superman

The Stig has no understanding of queuing

The Stig once modelled for Page 3

Its feet are made from dog leather

The Stig invented the mankini because it was frustrated with how its speedos looked on it

The Stig is the reason why The Beatles split up

And finally: The Stig has never watched an episode of Top Gear because it prefers a different show that airs at the same time

“Right, that's the track, now we needed someone who could tame it. So we got ourselves a professional racing driver who could post consistently fast lap times. We um, we couldn't do that. Now we call this thing The Stig, okay, we don't know its name, we really don't know its name, no-one knows its name and we don't want to know because it's a racing driver and racing drivers have tiny little brains and therefore worthless opinions and they're very dull; doctors actually call it Mansell Syndrome. Um, its job is simply to go out there and drive fast.”

-God probably

[plnkdemon]

mammon never takes when it comes to you. it’s always the other way around, much to the surprise of his brothers.

mammon x gn!mc (jus a lil drabble)

cw/tw: suggestive content below the cut (18+, MDNI)

his heart constricts almost painfully with how much joy fills him when you admire his new ring. he damn near goes into cardiac arrest when you steal it to slip it onto your own finger and hold your hand up to see how it glitters and gleams under the overhead lights.

despite what others may think, mammon isn’t selfish when it comes to you — only when it comes to you — because he feels so much more satisfied seeing his human so greedy for all the special and shiny things in his loot. nowadays, he’s much more excited to get goldie back because it means getting to run to you and sweep you off to the streets to go window shopping, and when your eye catches on the new Devogue coat, he gets to flash the pretty card. he wants to fuel your greed, see you showered in all of the most ridiculously priced luxury fashion and only the brightest, flashiest jewels known to demonkind.

now, when lucifer receives that dreaded bill in the mail that used to be pages and pages of mammon’s splurges, it’s much shorter (although still unrealistic). you reign him in significantly, able to reason with your demon that you don’t need ten puyairs of sneakers and yes, you love the color but if you don’t get to wear them, then there’s no good in buying them.

mammon definitely gets pouty when you manage to tug him out of a store without any bags or a receipt as long as he is tall. it’s easy enough to fix if you just swipe his sunglasses to wear them for yourself before leaning in close to tell him there’s other things he has to offer that interest you more right now.

all of that isn’t to say that he doesn’t still obsess over money and riches, he absolutely does. and he’s physically incapable of stopping the cooing and chirping that escapes from his throat whenever you present him with a prettily wrapped gift hiding the fancy watch he’s been wanting all month. but it makes him just as pleased as settling into your bed at night and seeing the shelves lined with all the shiny and glittery trinkets, rocks, bottles, do-dads, and so on that you proudly display, each and every one a gift from him or his crows. he contently combs through your hair, massages any facial oils that asmo introduced to your nightly routine, and then ensures that you’re properly tucked into bed, meticulously taking care of you until you’re asleep.

mammon loves to give, but more than that, he loves for you to take. when you tell him to sit down and be a good boy for you until you’re satiated is plenty to get him riled up, rearing with excitement. when you have him spread out across his expensive duvet so that his entire being is yours for the taking, he feels higher than the celestial realm. when you finally, finally, finally take your place on top of him, stubbornly forcing him into the impossibly tight and warm spot that you need to feel him, he worries he might genuinely pass away and not get to experience what comes next.

what comes next, that’s his favorite. he gets to watch you with hearts in his half-lidded eyes as you use his body to please yourself. sometimes, even ordering him to do the work, to make you scream, but he’s known to get carried away when it comes to you. he gets to grope and bite all the doughy, soft parts of you to hear your sweet noises, affirmations that you want him. he flourishes underneath you when you fall apart again and again, all because it means that you’re greedy for him.

all these years, he’d never considered what it might feel like for someone to be greedy and selfish all for him. he never imagined what it would be like to be the treasure sought after and possessively held onto rather than the person seeking said treasure. when you reach around his neck to clasp the pretty little chain that advertises how he is your property, mammon is little more than mush in your hands, only imagining you pulling his face closer with the necklace or your hands expertly squeezing his throat and pressing the cool gold into his skin at the same time. he feels priceless, like the crown jewels or the mona lisa or… he can’t even think right now. his sweet human makes him feel loved in a way he can understand, greed and protectiveness, from the way you immediately seek him out in a crowd to how you’re willing to fight to protect what’s yours (him).

he feels irreplaceable for the first time in his life because you’re just as careful and particular when you’re washing the shampoo from his hair, touching up his nail polish, and walking him home from his modeling gigs. when he gets anxious and overwhelmed or insecure and guarded, you use only the softest of touches to coax him into letting you back in. there’s a special smile and voice that you reserve for mammon and no one else, because no matter how many times you need to save him from drowning in his negative thoughts, you will always make sure he knows how very precious he is to you and how loved and safe he makes you feel.

[tamayakii]

another chance.

just some ficlet/hcs about an idea i had, super unedited and a mess. I wrote it at midnight :3 anyways let me know if u want more. warnings: murder, drugs; specifically cocaine, suicide,

The smell of nicotine swirls in your lungs, the pink smoke dances across your lips. The clothes cling to your sweaty skin as you stare up at Valentino, heart pounding. “Do this and I promise to let you sleep, Princessa~” he coos sweetly, his second pair of hands holds you close as the other hold your face tightly. 

“Yes Val..” You murmur, sleep… sleep sounded so good. He twirls you around to face the stage, how did you end up here again? Your droopy eyelids get heavier as you stare at the stage from the sidelines, Vaenltinos yells but its all drowned out. Just one show, you tell yourself, one show then a week of sleep. A sugary drink is brought to your lips and you grimace, 

“Drink up~” Val whispers in your ear, tipping your head back as he forces the disgusting liquid down your throat. “One show is all i need from you, shake that sexy body and show Velvettes amaazinng outfit and then you’re done.” You take a deep breath as the music begins, you can hear the crowd roar with excitement. 

“Yes val.”

Valentino had taken you in soon after your death and fall into the Sloth Ring, You were a performer in life, a popular singer across multiple countries. Your provocative style and voice had made you an icon, many credited your fame to your producer.

Little did they all know was your producer was a creep, a terrible person, just all of the negative adjectives. The only thing he could truly be credited for was your crippling depression and even worse addiction, you were under his thumb 24/7

He was the reason why you’re in hell.

One day, while coming down from a high, something snapped in you- When he had turned around as he talked about a new show in Japan, you grabbed your grammy award statue. Swinging up and as he turned around, you hit him. And you did it again, over and over again. Screaming with frustration as you bludgeoned him to death, beating his skull in. Blood and brain matter splattered across your arms and face. 

He was unrecognizable, nothing was left above his shoulders- for the first time in years, you felt relief.. Freedom even, before the reality of what you did hit you. Bile climbs up your throat as you look down in horror, you step back up. 

You killed him. You were a monster.

Your pristine white carpet was matted with blood, you trip over your coffee table, screaming in horror. You couldn’t escape what you’ve done, you can’t go to prison, what about your family? Friends? Your fans?!

Breaking down as you gaze at his lifeless body, what were you going to do! 

A horrid thought fills your brain but.. It was the only way to atone for your crimes, suddenly your tears stop and everything goes numb. Everything that you start to do feels like nothing, one moment you’re in your living room and the next in your bathroom tub, bleeding out from your wrists and empty pill bottles strewn across the marble floor.

You deserved this.

And thats how you came to hell. YOu had killed your producer and then yourself; Landing in the ring of Sloth. Your first night was rough but someone had recognize you from their time alive, inviting you to their club, where you met Valentino and just like everyone else he employed, you fell for his charms.

Instead of being a stripper/porn star/prositute, He used your voice. You were his best advertisement right next to Angel Dust, the perfect thing to promote all of the V’s. 

Velvettes fashion, Valentinos music, and Vox’s newest technology. 

For a long time, you let them move you around like a puppet, not fighting back. They let you sleep, cause when they did? They could do anything with you when you were awake. It was an easy exchange, let you sleep and they get to use you as their personal advertisement. 

Your popularity boomed, performing in Asmodeus’s Lounge, in Velvettes fashion events, you filled out stadiums and more. People wanted you. They wanted to be you but you could care less, yes; when you were alive you would eat all of this attention up but now? All you wanted was sleep.

Angel Dust had known of you, and you know of him. Few times you cross paths, you thought nothing of him; no literally nothing. Often when you did cross paths, you were too exhausted for anything. And him? He saw you once, sleeping under Valentinos wing, and for some reason, he was filled with jealousy and disgust, disgust that he was jealous.

But when he moved out of the studio, you took the brunt of Valentinos abuse, the number of concerts boomed, the drugging intensified and so much more. You often cried for sleep, sobbing for the comfort of your bed. Breaking down after performances, clawing at Valentinos legs. 

You were going on a week of no sleep, being forced to be on the move constantly. One day, when no ones eyes were on you (which was rare) you had stumbled out of the Vee’s building, stumbling across the broken sidewalk. You couldn’t tell if you were dreaming but you kept on going until you tripped over a body and passed out. 

Hours passed. Days passed.

You finally wake up, in a warm bed but.. Not your bed. You look around, blinking one eye at a time as you try to lif your heavy body. You didn’t recognize this room, “mmmnhgg… Hello?” you groan out, and something at the end of your bed makes a noise. You look over and see a black and white cat, with one eye. You gasp gently, “kitttyy..” you whisper, reaching over and offering your hand to the feline. 

“KeeKee!! There you are- oh! You’re awake!” a feminine voice squeals, and you look up. She looked vaguely familiar, ah. You knew her from the news, talking about her Happy Hotel.

“Areeenn’t you the lady who sung on the news and then fought Katie Killjoy?” you ponder, raising an eyebrow, she freezes before letting out an awkward chuckle, she rubs the back fo her neck. You give her a dead eye look, “that was fun” you monotone. 

“Ah.. yes.. But!~ my name is Charlie Morningstar!!” she exclaims, quickly pushing away her embarrassment, she extends her hand and you gladly accept it, shaking it with a small smile. You offer her your name in return, “I found you on the street passed out, so i took you to my hotel, you were asleep for a loooooong time! I was getting worried!” now it was your time to be embarrassed.

“Ah… my apologies. I haven’t slept in awhile.. But.. thank you for taking me somewhere safe.” 

Charlie is extremely happy that your awake, obviously you needed to sleep somewhere safe and ya know- not on the sidewalk!! Plus, she recognized you from your music!! She’s a liiiitttle bit of a fan- 

She excitedly tells you all about the story of her finding you, and you take her. She practically swoops you up and shows you around the hotel, and it does look quite well. Throughout, your phone is buzzing angrily on the nightstand of the room you occupied. 

“This place is amazing..” you whisper, she told you about her dream and her ambitions about redeeming sinners. Perhaps.. You could be redeemed. “Are.. are you looking for demons to redeem still?” 

“Yes!! We’re always taking in sinners 24/7! ..” she then gasps, eyes sparkling, realizing why you must’ve asked!!! “Do.. Do you want to try?!” she squeals loudly, clapping her hands. The hotel is.. A bit decrepit.. Cobwebs here n there but if redemption was something that could happen..

Well..? will you give it a try?

[melancholicstation]

The Socially Active Secretary: Chapter One

authors note: this is more of establishing of context around our main secretary girl!! our favourite pathetic catholic men (the kennedys) will come very soon i promise, all in due time. 🍺 please leave comments of any questions/likes/dislikes/all around opinions so i know if your interested!!!

pairing: robert francis kennedy female ❤︎ original character charlotte agapov (secretary!reader)

synopsis: charlotte agapov, a divorcee whom recently moved back to the states after a disastrous lovers quarrel, assumes the secretarial position to the most important man in America, but it is not he who has captured her attention, no. instead, it's his meek younger brother, the runt of the kennedy pack, bobby francis kennedy.

[1403 words]

taglist: @kennediva @absurdlyvintage

chapter two, three

masterlist charlotte moodboard rfk moodboard

(border from jenny holzer truisms 2018)

Chapter One

May 1st , 1961

There Charlotte stood, rolling on the balls of her feet, observing the woman before her in the mirror, finding her increasingly difficult to place her as recognisable. She had all the features that Charlotte understood to be her own, but she felt like nothing of the sort. Swathed in wool, to accommodate for the seemingly perpetuate damp state of Massachusetts in the month of May, and encompassed by a calf-length dress fit with double-faced cashmere in a mousey grey. Due to her contentious divorce with the English baron Hugo Cornwall, he had ordered for all her typical clothes to be held in a storage facility in Kent instead of its original location: Brookline Massachusetts. He knew how important those items were to Charlotte, and he used them as nothing more as a bargaining chip.

As a result of the divorce Charlotte had been tabloid-manhandled out of Britain and promptly returned to her mother country, the United States, and backed right into perusing the job boards in the Cape Cod Times by her alimony-avoiding, hector of an ex-husband. Hugo, at 40, knew of nothing but a life of bone china plates and private charter jets, getting by in this world from a combination of generational handouts from his godmother's situated in a nondescript European country off the coast and the humiliatingly tacky private tours he host every Saturday evening of the inherited estates cashing in a small fortune. And yet, he avoids the alimony checkers in a not so dissimilar fashion to that of his shunned family embarrassment of an uncle, who was, as of last month, avoiding taxes of in sunny Monte Carlo.

Once it became incredibly clear that Hugo was never going to cough up, and that her mother's invitation of staying at her summer house in Martha's Vineyard had a fast approaching expiry date Charlotte started to look for her next move.

Just when she had nearly exhausted all her mother's country club friends who, in a tone that could only be translated as deeply patronising stated that,

"Unemployment for such a young, american divorcee was 'in' for 1962" and that they would "call back in April to work something out"

However, April came and went, and still nothing. During the 16-month stint since Charlotte's divorce of 1961, Charlotte felt very sorry for herself and--well that's about all she did really.

Not only did getting married at 20, and it's later disillusion 8 years later, create an abstract wreckage sculpture out of her self-esteem and physical health, it stripped all prior job experience that a girl her age should've been building. After all, she could still feel her mother's fingertips ushering an 20 year old Charlotte's hands away from a flyer, held by a piece of battered painter's tape on a lamppost advertising a law school in the area,

"Oh for christ sake what are staring at now Charlotte?, you know we have caroline's recital across town, and I swear if I have to hear your aunts nasally whine one more time so help me God I will--"

Charlotte abandons her post of intense eye contact with the poster fluttering by the winds will almost instantly and returns through a soft tone "I-I'm coming now, it just captured my eye that's all."

The rest of the walk was blanketed in a soft wool of repression and thoughts better left unspoken until her mother turned on her heal, the gravel exclaiming a pleasant crunch in response,

"Don't you dare think I didn't see what you were looking at Charlotte, these are not the aspirations expected of a future baroness, you won't have any need for these silly machinations once you're tending to your husband and your home together. I understand that your nervous but think of how happy you'll be in a short few months with Hugo."

Her mother assured her in such a cadence, with such wistful hope, not meaning to make Charlotte's stomach drop but it did all the same.

"You know, I got nervous too, when I was engaged to your father. I thought about leaving more times than Sinatra's gets played on the radio at Green's pharmacy, but I stuck it out. And I got rewarded a great deal for that, for that bravery, and you will too. Far more than I ever did, I mean you're marrying a Baron who is infatuated with you for Pete's sake!"

Charlotte thinks to scoff at the notion that Hugo is at all capable of the feeling of infatuation but halts when she observes the expression of sheer elation on her mother's face.

"Everything will run as it's meant to if you do what's best, I promise",

and with that a kiss is pressed to Charlotte's forehead, and the conversation is recklessly abandoned by both parties.

Charlotte had stayed in that marriage for 8 years and what did she have to show for it? Surely not anything tangentially useful. Sure, now she knew the intricacies of English etiquette and the British aversion to hugs but that's nothing to be put on a resume. However, one worthy advantage that came out of the grotesque misalignment that was their marriage was that around the 4th year mark Charlotte had managed to secure an English degree from the University of London. Now that was certainly something to put on her resume.

Still the world seemed to completely turn its back on Charlotte, though only on a strictly employment basis, she still attended mass each Sunday and caught up with her still married, though not happily, socialite friends but it was hard to find common ground anymore. Before she could feasibly pass as one of them, now even if they didn't explicitly state it, Charlotte was now regarded as persona no grata for the entirety of the high society scene of London. She was left with a bunch empty friends, and an, as if increasing by the day, empty purse strings.

That was until a job ad in The Boston Globe caught the baby blue shadowed eye of Charlotte during her quite lonely solo escapade to the local sandwich bar across the street from her flat.

It read, in a thick professional font:

'Exciting Secretary Position Available at political epicentre of Washington D.C!

Are you a talented and organised individual seeking a rewarding career in a fast-paced office environment? Our office is looking for a professional Secretary to join our team and contribute to our continued success.

Position: Secretary Location: Top Secret [Call to confirm details] Salary: Competitive, with excellent benefits

Responsibilities:

managing and prioritising daily office tasks with efficiency

coordinating appointments and travel

managing diaries

support senior executives

having a pleasant demeanour when interacting with important officials

Qualifications:

High School Diploma or equivalent

Apply today to be part of a supportive and thriving workplace!

Phone: *** *** ***''

Now sure, the vague nature of who exactly the job would have Charlotte working for was strange and a little more than unnerving but realistically Charlotte, a 29 year old women with the same employment history as a 18 year old fresh out of high school, was going to take whatever she could get at this point.

The girl took the changing of the sky from bright periwinkle to a dim earl grey, as a sign to head back to her place in order to escape the fast approaching storm, the newspaper resting comparably rolled up in the crook of her arm.

Prior to returning to her apartment Charlotte had come to forget about the job as she had ran a few errands after the sandwich bar, that was until her feet met the door mat of her apartment. It was no longer clean as she had left it prior it now had, scrawled in big black letters, 'warning of eviction if payment is not obtained by next month'.

Charlotte's shaking hands move to pick up the yellow slip, and as she makes her way through her apartment, periodically leaving her jacket on the armrest of her laughably small settee in her stress-filled haze, she then starts to remember the job offer from the afternoon.

Sure the ad's ambiguity was a bit strange, but truly who was she to judge? It's not like the job offers were exactly rolling in at the moment.

'Oh what the hell, she might as well give it a go!' Charlotte thought, as she hesitantly dialled up the rotary.

[vintagenetwork]

All I've Ever Desired: Resurfaced Memories

2012!Leo x Fashion Model Reader

A/N: Hi tumblr! Okay, please bare with me because I'm a little new to this place, but I've been DYING to write this ongoing series. Hope you enjoy! :)

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You were a fashion model, he was a crime-fighting leader in blue. You and Leo shared a long past as friends back in highschool, hoping to grow even closer than ever. You were going abroad to Italy to pursue the dream of becoming a fashion designer, then return back to NYC just like you planned. Until one day you got separated from the family after the Krang took over New York, leaving the turtles to run to April’s farm house while you were nowhere to be found. Three years have passed, and an upcoming fashion show is taking place in the city. As advertisements covered the streets, Leo would've never believed the girl who stole his heart and disappeared would be starring the front covers.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: Angst, use of Y/N

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The sound of laughter rang through the cool night air, I watched my brothers sit in a circle as April walked toward them with a box of pizza in hand. We just had to celebrate another mission, I wasn’t too fond of being so out in the open though, especially with how loud Mikey was talking and the recent discovery last night. It was one thing to deal with the Krang, but now them working alongside the Footclan? Could’ve fooled me. “Always on the lookout, aren’t you, Blue?” Her voice chirped from behind. I could already see the smile painted on her face as her footsteps grew closer. “Someone’s gotta keep watch,” I muttered in response, leaning back against a wall. She sighed as she swung her legs over the edge of the rooftop. “You know I was against us coming back up here. We’re supposed to lay low, especially now that the Footclan is teaming up with the Krang.” “You worry too much, you know that?” She tilted her head back toward me, that smug smile still on her face. That damn smug smile. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that, but, if you keep this up you’re gonna start like, shedding your shell from stress-!” “Turtles don’t shed.” She huffed a laugh as she shook her head.

“Yes, they do. And what I’m trying to say is that you need to relax, Leo,” I watched her swing her legs back onto the rooftop, dusting her pants off before walking toward me.  “You and the gang deserve a break-! Besides, how many more times are you gonna get moments like this?” Our direction turned toward Mikey belching in Raph’s face, a visible vein throbbing on his forehead as he clenched his fists.

However, before I could make my way over to break up an upcoming fight, the sudden warmth that enveloped my hand caused me to freeze. 

“You’re an amazing older brother and leader,” Y/N continued, her fingers slipping in between mine. “They all look up to you, and they know they can depend on you. Even Raph. We’ll be ready when the Krang and Footclan come down our path. But for now, you need to take one shell of a break.” I felt my eyes roll to the back of my head at that last sentence, her laughter at the ridiculous pun cracking me a smile. 

“You’re gonna tell me all of that then ruin the moment for a stupid pun? Guess you can call me shell-shocked.” Now her eyes were rolling back as she tried to hide her smile.

“Hey-! If you guys still want your slice, you better hurry up before Mr. No-Manners downs it in the next three seconds!” Raph called out, headlocking Mikey to the ground as he chanted ‘uncle’ endlessly. Casey filmed the whole showcase, cackling like a witch as Donnie poked Raph with the end of his staff in hope to calm things down (things did not calm down). The two of us exchanged a small smile before walking back to join the rest of the group, my hand still clasping hers before we released hold. For a split second, it felt as if she didn’t want to let go just yet.

I didn’t either.

⇷^⇸

“Thanks for getting pizza this time, April,” You sighed, plopping next to her orange-haired friend in exhaustion. “I know how packed that stupid pizza parlor can get.” “No worries, I get my pay back when one of these four scare the hell outta those delivery guys on their little vespas,” She laughed in response, sliding the box toward you. “Speaking of vespas… are you gonna… you know?” You froze mid-bite at April, choking on the dough, tomato sauce, and cheese as the boys turned their attention to your coughing fit.

“I, uhm, I was hoping to… tell them a little later,” You squeaked in response. The sound of your nails digging into the styrofoam plate caused Donnie to raise a non-existent eyebrow, his brown eyes meeting Leo’s confused look.

“Is there something you wanna tell us, Y/N?” You jumped at Donnie’s question as you lifted your gaze from the plate. Now your look met everyone’s stares, including April’s supportive one. 

“Nope! Well… Not uh, really relevant until later this year,” You replied, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Oooooo! What’s happening later this year?” Mikey teased as he laid flat on his plastron. “You getting married~?” “WHAT?!” You and Leo screeched, Leo’s voice however, was much more high-pitched. As Leo looked away from the eyes on him, you scrambled to get your words together. “I am NOT getting married, Mikey. Let me make that clear to EVERYONE.” “So, if you aren’t getting married,” Casey started, freezing mid sentence at your glare.

“Then what’s happening ‘later this year?’” Raph finished, resting his arm on his knee. Now the spotlight turned back to you, silence along with the faint car honks leaving you to respond. You dug your fingers into your pants, trying to spill the words like a can of beans. This really was one shell of a situation. Heh, Leo would’ve loved that…Leo…

“April, Casey, and…uh, turtles,” You started, taking in a deep breath. Another few moments of silence passed as you felt your throat slowly starting to close up. But, you knew you had to get this over with, the weight will probably kill you at this point if you don't tell the truth. 

“I’m gonna be moving abroad for school in three months. I’ll be in Italy for college to become a designer. Fashion designer specifically.” As you paused for a moment, you saw the shocked faces of your friends before you. April gave your hand a gentle squeeze to continue.

“I… don’t know when I’ll be back specifically,” You dropped your head, staring at the leftover pizza crust. By now, Mikey would’ve snatched and stuffed it in his mouth, but from the sudden change in atmosphere, you understand why it’s still sitting on the plate. “And I would turn down the offer to go to school here-” “Then why won’t you?!” Casey blurred out as he sat up straight. “NYU is only, what,  a couple of blocks away? Wouldn’t it be cheaper to stay here and take whatever fashion class they had? You’ll probably be saving an arm and a leg flying over there AND renting a dorm-!” Even though none of them showed it, the brothers agreed in silence as they looked back at you for a response. “She’s going to Italy because she got a full scholarship, dingus,” April glared at his interruption. “If she could stay here she obviously would. But, it’s her life and her choices to make, not ours… even though… I wish I could convince you outta this somehow.” With a light hearted chuckle, April released your hand as she stood up, clenching her fists.

“I wasn’t planning on telling you guys yet, especially with everything going on but… I’m a little glad I got it done and over with. Probably would’ve hurt more if I told you later on anyways.” Your heart ached at the turtles’ stares, especially Leo’s. Just looking at his eyes spoke millions of words, his lips slightly agape as you looked away. But two words specifically rang in your head after reading his plea:

 Don’t go.

“WE’LL MISS YOUUUUUUUU~!” Mikey cried as he wrapped his arms around your neck, full on wailing into your shoulder. You chuckled softly as you patted the back of his shell trying to soothe the youngest brother. You were gonna miss the sewer murals you’ve worked on together…

“Hey hey, calm down, Mikey! It’s not like I’m leaving tomorrow!” You tried to brush it off, gently prying Mikey off you to look into his eyes. “We still have another good three months together, and you already know damn well we're gonna make the best of it.” “So you’ll finally try my homemade pizza-bite cereal and grand algae slushies?!” “Don’t push your luck.” “Worth a shot.”

“This was really unexpected, Y/N…” Donnie rubbed the back of his neck as he stood up. “B-but of course, we’ll wish the best for you in Italy! The architecture and landmarks there are astounding, especially with the history behind them. Uh, promise to send us photo cards?” “I promise I’m gonna call you guys everyday, Don,” You grinned as you offered a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder. “Maybe you can give me a history lesson about the country, or show me tips on how to survive over there.” Donnie’s sad expression wavered at your response, his smile growing as he patted the back of your hand.

“Hey, think about the positives-!” Raph said, resting his elbow on top of Mikey’s head. “She’ll be heading off to pursue her dreams and we finally have more room in the lair! No more listening to hair dryers early in the morning or her screwing up our missions somehow.” The group, especially Leo, all turned to glare at the him as he let out a chuckle. You did the same though, shaking your head as you laughed to yourself.

“Oh, I’m so gonna miss you, big guy,” You sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’ll make sure I’ll make Mikey find the best possible ways to annoy you in my honor…” Raph scoffed as he placed his hands on his sides, feeling the weight of your chin on his shoulder. “Promise me you’ll always take good care of the family…alright?” Within the silence, you smiled to yourself as you felt a hand gently pat your lower back in response.

“Three months away, so right when we graduate you’re kissing April and I goodbye?” Casey questioned as he leaned on his hockey stick. “Guess it’s back to good ol’ Red and I. Why’s it always the chicks that gotta leave?” Casey was immediately met with scolding from April, playfully smacking his head while he cowered and tried to shield himself.

You pulled your gaze away from April’s parenting instincts to turn to Leo, who just happened to be staring back at you. Stepping away from the group’s loud antics, you and the turtle stood infront of each other as the once melodic mood turned melancholic. 

“I was planning to tell you first, by the way,” You broke the silence, holding onto yourself as you tried to keep your composition. “Leo, please trust me when I searched for so many different ways to try and come to this outcome. And… Now the more I think of it, the more I’m starting to regret i-”You were cut off mid sentence, however, as a pair of hands held yours ever so gently. You remained quiet once Leo gave you a serious yet soft look. 

“Y/N, I don’t want you to be reluctant about your goals because of  us,” Leo started, his thumb softly brushing back and forth against the back of your hand. “Getting a scholarship is amazing, and I’m genuinely proud of you. You’ve made your choices and you have your dreams, so hurry up and chase them. Then, come back to us, alright?”

You felt water appear at your lash line, you thought you were gonna break down right then and there from the sweet words the turtle had to say. Quickly, you two hugged each other as tight as possible, faces burying into each others’ shoulders as you refused to let go. You were going to miss goofing off with Mikey, learning from Donnie, pissing off Raph, hanging out with Casey and April… but most of all you were going to miss your leader in blue.

“I’ll be back here before you guys know it,” You smiled, reluctantly pulling away from his grip. “Besides, three months to hang around with you guys? That’s more than enough time to have a Space Heroes marathon, no?” You could feel Leo’s smile  as he chuckled to himself, the two of you walking side by side back toward the group.

“More than enough time…” He repeated to himself. Maybe for once, life would treat him and his brothers right. They’ll get rid of any dangers lurking within the city, he’ll become a true leader, and he’ll spend as much time with his friends before they all go their separate ways.

.

.

.

But life isn’t always fair; it never was, in fact.

Krang everywhere. The skies were rolling with gray, not a pinch of sunlight shining down on the chaotic streets of NYC. The screams and wails of citizens grew louder as droids destroyed anything and everything in its path. One thing led to another, from April accidentally bringing a droid to the lair, to Leo and Splinter getting separated from the group, everything felt like a blur.

The gang was crowded in April’s apartment. Everyone was arguing on how to get out of the city, where to go and how to get there. It was quickly interrupted when a turtle in a blue mask flew through the window, shattered glass flying everywhere. Hearts dropped the moment he came crashing down onto the floor.

Leo swore he could’ve heard the desperate cries of his name as his vision faded in and out of view. Why couldn’t he move? Why couldn’t he get up and tell everyone that he’s okay and they had to find Master Splinter? 

Why couldn’t he be strong?

The last thing Leo remembered was his brothers laying him down in the back of a van, the engine humming as doors slammed shut. Then he heard a scream, punches flying and struggle depicted. The weight of his brothers on the car was lifted followed by more faint screaming and yelling. Some were of anguish, others were in anger and frustration. Their voices kept on repeating a name… your name.

Again, everything was a blur. After waking up after who knows how long, Raph explained to him about how they escaped to April’s old farmhouse and everything that happened… almost everything.

“As we were getting into the van, some special force group…” Donnie started, lowering his head toward the ground. “They saw us, and assumed we were the bad guys… or, something like that.” “She charged toward them as they started shooting at the van,” Raph sounded tired, he looked just as tired physically. “They didn’t aim at her, thankfully. But… they took her.” Leo nearly collapsed forward before April and Mikey helped him settle on the sofa, feeling more dizzy than ever. You’ve been taken? You’ve been in danger this whole time and here he was, unable to even stand up for more than five minutes. Fear overcame him, not only for Master Splinter or his family, but for you too. 

The moment they returned to New York, successfully defeating the Krang and reuniting with Master Splinter, everyone searched top to bottom. April broke into your apartment, but the paint on the walls crumbling off and trash scattered across the floor showed that no one has been here for a long time. Donnie tried calling your phone, your T-phone, emailing, even trying to get in contact with your parents to get word that you’re okay somehow. Defeat never felt heavier.

Everyone was drained, but the person taking it the hardest was Leo. Calling your phone just to listen to your voice on the voicemail, or dropping by your old apartment to collect anything special lying around. The night he found a picture of you on your vanity, he decided that was the last thing to grab before avoiding that building for the rest of his life. Now that beautiful photo of you was placed on the shelf in the dojo, resting next to the family portrait of Master Splinter and his first family. 

Eventually, time passed and life went by, yet things seemingly never changed within the family. Other than April and Casey starting a relationship together and his brothers still being the goofballs, you were nothing more than a memory. Crime in New York had dropped tremendously thanks to the gang, and for once, they could all finally live without any problems.

One night, however, everything would change. As the brothers got ready to cut their nightly patrol short due to an incoming storm, the four turtles hopped down a nearby fire escape. Leo watched Mikey step on the cold metal plate, but something distracted him, leading him to gasp wide and sway back and forth. “DUDES-!” Mikey yelled, catching his balance with the railing. “That billboard! Right over there! IS that-?!”

His brothers’ attention turned where he was pointing, focusing on a newly installed billboard in the distance. It was for one of those super fancy fashion brands, the bright gold font was almost eyestraining. It featured the title, “Bellezza Per Sempre’’ and a girl wearing a feather boa and black dress, smiling wide with her eyes shut. Leo froze in his tracks as he looked at the girl. No. It couldn’t be. 

His brothers called out his name as he leaped toward the billboard, but he ignored them. His focus was only on one thing as he grew closer and closer. Sliding across the rooftop adjacent to the advertisement, Leo ignored his burning lungs and shaky hands, he couldn’t believe it. It really was…

“Y/N…” Was all he managed to utter before the rain started falling from the night sky.

[thewillofdeez]

Dracule Mihawk - NSFW Alphabet

Minors DNI. Reader can mostly be read as G/N, though there are some female-specific references. Mihawk is bi/pan.

I'm struggling with some of my ongoing fics so decided to do some of these as an exercise. SFW and other characters to follow (Shanks, Smoker, Law, and possibly Marco and Beckman).

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Depends on the partner. If it’s a one-night stand, he’ll let them take the lead. If they want to cuddle? Sure, even if it’s not his favorite thing with someone who’s essentially a stranger, he feels like it’s the appropriate thing to do. If they wanna kick him out immediately, he also won’t take offense to that. But in a relationship? He wants nothing more than to hold his person close, kiss them softly, and relish in the feeling of their bodies together. Long-term, he’ll learn enough about what his partner likes that he’ll give them what they need without them even needing to say a word. Cuddling? Talking? A bath? A glass of wine? Straight to sleep? Whatever they need, he’s more than happy to provide.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Mihawk doesn’t think of himself that way much. Yes, he knows he’s attractive, but to say favorite? Well, that’s odd for him. If forced to choose, he’d say his eyes. While there was a time in his youth that he absolutely hated them, over time he’s grown to appreciate them. He knows how much power they hold, and he can certainly give them a certain amount of attribution to the position in society he holds today. He sort of likes that he can silence just about anyone with a look. But there’s the striking-fear side of his eyes, and the loving, kind part that only his partner sees. He also likes that you like his eyes. On his partner, he’s very much a neck and shoulders guy. He loves biting that junction between your neck and shoulders that makes your knees collapse. And if you want a massage, he’s more than happy to give it.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

On the one hand, Mihawk has met enough pirates in his time that are careless with their sexual health, and it grosses him out. He enjoys sex as much as the next guy, and so he acts appropriately to avoid any long-term consequences. That being said, he absolutely loves nothing more than finishing deep in his partner. Wherever they want him to, he will. In a fling, he’ll always ensure that he’s at least wrapped it up, but in a relationship, assuming his partner (if female) is on birth control and he trusts them, he wants nothing more than to go bare and cum deep inside them.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wouldn’t call it “dirty” at all, but he’s had a few experiences with men. Not as many, and he doesn’t exactly advertise anything about his sex life, being a rather private person, but he knows not everyone is as discreet as he is and that rumors go around. He’ll open up about his sexual escapades with a long-term partner if they want to know. And if they’re into it, he might even be down for a threesome with another partner of any gender. Also, once he was in an orgy. It was fun, but almost too chaotic for him.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Mihawk has been sexually active since he was a teenager. Especially in his younger days, he saw sex as not just a pleasurable experience, but a learning one. He’s the kind of guy who likes to be skilled at anything he does, and sex is no exception. He sees every experience as an opportunity to learn a new trick, a new way to make someone fall apart. And if you’re the one he sees as the end-all of his romantic life? You’re reaping the fruits of years of labor.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying.)

In some ways, Mihawk is an old-fashioned kind of guy. Missionary is absolutely his favorite, including any variations thereof. He loves being on top and thrusting into you. Is it a dominance thing? Maybe, sort of. But there’s something about him being in such control of your pleasure that drives him wild. That being said, he’s always okay to switch it up. He can’t deny that he likes the view with you on top.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Mihawk has a certain reverence for sex. He’ll never try to make you laugh. But if it happens, it happens. And if he gives you an orgasm that’s so intense you can’t help but laugh as you come down, well, he’ll certainly laugh too.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

The man takes care of himself, but he’s not a super hairy guy to begin with. He keeps it decently trimmed as a standard practice, but if he forgets he doesn’t worry about it. On a partner, that’s also up to them, he’s just happy to be there, though he won’t deny he’s partial to a full Brazilian on a female partner.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

This guy is all about his partner. You have his full attention, and get to see a side of him that no one else does. He likes to praise his partner. Sometimes he’ll do the whole candles and rose petals thing, but he keeps it as a rare treat, otherwise it loses its thrill.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Mihawk is a disciplined guy. He prides himself in his self-control. He’d rather have a partner to satisfy his needs when they pop up, but when that isn’t possible he’ll try to avoid it until he can’t anymore. He’s as human as the rest of us, and sometimes he’s gotta do what he’s gotta do, even if he sees it as a biological need more than something to really enjoy. He knows he’s reached the point where he either has to find a partner fast or take himself in hand when he finds it difficult to concentrate on his work.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Mihawk really likes shibari. He’s got a small collection of ropes just for that purpose. While he prefers to be the one doing the tying, he’s also allowed himself to be tied up a few times, and he enjoyed that too, though the idea of not being in control can make him really anxious. He’ll only allow himself to be tied up by someone he trusts completely. He’ll also occasionally bust out the whips and paddles, but he’s very aware of how strong he is and sometimes gets nervous about hitting his partner a bit too hard. If you want it harder, you’ll have to tell him a few times before he'll really let you have it.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Home is where the heart is. And also where the boning is. He loves to do it in bed, but in the privacy of his castle, he’ll take you just about anywhere. Against a wall, on the dining room table, bent over the kitchen counter while you’re trying to make dinner, in front of the fireplace…if you lived with Mihawk at Kuraigana there would hardly be a surface that hadn’t been fucked on. But outside of the privacy of his home, he prefers a bed or nothing. He really doesn’t like having sex outdoors.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

For a fling, nothing out of the usual. Are they attractive and attracted to him? Then yeah, sure, that’s about it. With flings, sex is about practicality and achieving a need - to please someone else and be pleasured. But in a relationship, it goes deeper. He finds strength sexy - if you know how to fight, he could sit and watch (or spar with) you for hours before taking you. Going back to being a neck and shoulders guy, any outfit that shows those off will get him going. And if you’re a woman and your bra strap just happens to slip down your arm? His mouth will be on you in seconds.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Mihawk doesn’t like degradation or anything that falls under that umbrella. He might have a reputation for cruelty, but he believes in treating the people who are willing to share their bodies with him with the utmost respect. He’ll only do knife-play with a long-term partner who wants it, otherwise, it’s a no-go, and it will never involve blood-play.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He’s an exceptional giver, and frankly not much makes him happier than using his mouth and hands to please his partner. He could, and would, go down on you for hours if you let him. If you’re into edging, he also enjoys that, but he’d only do it after making sure it’s something you’re okay with. As for receiving, well he likes it as much as the next guy. If you’re also into it, he likes to stand with you on your knees in front of him as he holds your hair and fucks your face gently. He’ll never go too rough at this as he doesn’t want to hurt you and he knows he’s a pretty big guy, but having that control, being allowed to use you that way….he really, really likes that. 

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Mihawk can go both ways. He can be a bit of a tease, so he likes to start out slow and shallow, then go faster and deeper when it’s time. Some people like to be jackhammered, and while it’s not his favorite, he’s certainly capable of providing it if it's what his partner needs, and he does find he enjoys that more in doggy or a similar position. With a long-term partner, especially when they’re in bed, he wants that slow, deep movement so that they feel every inch of him. He doesn’t want to go too fast at first, but he will go rough and deep with every thrust.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He’d prefer not. He has enough self-control that he can usually wait until he’s able to have a partner fully, the way he wants. But he’ll do it occasionally if needed, or if it’s what his partner wants. If anything, the knowledge that his partner actually can’t wait is kind of a turn on.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

With a fling, he’s always cautious. He doesn’t really know the person, he doesn’t know what they’re going to do or how they’ll react, and so unless the partner is willing to communicate a plan and boundaries carefully, he’ll usually pass on anything out of the ordinary. With a committed relationship or someone he’s been with multiple times, he’s more open to trying things, especially if he’s had the chance to do his own research on it first.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

This guy can go all night if you want him to. His refractory period is like five minutes, it’s actually pretty impressive. He cannot count the number of times he’s told his still-panting new partner he’s ready for the next round if they are and they’ve gone “Already? Seriously?!” He finds it amusing.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Mihawk tends to keep his toys to himself unless a long-term partner is interested in using them. He has a few pegging instruments to take care of himself during a dry spell, and as he tends to have more female partners than male, they help scratch an itch his female partners aren’t always willing to help with.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

Mihawk loves to tease, but knows there’s a time and a place for it. Sometimes he wants his partner to be a writhing, begging mess before he gives them what they want. He does like edging, as mentioned above, and if you’re willing he will make all the waiting worth it. If you live with or visit him at Kuraigana, he’ll let you know how much he wants you through subtle touches, looks, and comments all day (especially if Zoro and Perona are around and he can’t be as overt with his affections as he might like), then make sure to give you what you’ve waited all day for at night. But there’s a time for teasing and there’s also times where he just needs to bend you over and unceremoniously rail you.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Mihawk has been told by more than one partner that he’s too quiet. He’ll show his pleasure on his face, but he sometimes has trouble vocalizing it. He’s gotten better over the years though, and a long-term partner who is able to take the time to find out what exactly makes him hiss, moan, or let out a quiet “fuck…” will be able to bring more sounds out of him in no time. Also, if you can get a few drinks in him, he’ll automatically be less inhibited with his volume. On the other hand, he desperately wants to make you scream for him and just isn’t satisfied until the whole building can hear you.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He tends to have really detailed sex dreams, especially if it’s been a while for him. If he thinks about it when he wakes up in the morning, he’ll try to write down what he remembers. He’s got half a notebook full of just bits and pieces of sex dreams and has strongly considered writing and publishing smut under a pseudonym. He thinks he’d be pretty good at it.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

Nothing Mihawk owns or does is ever less than the best. He’s not a man who has ever been just adequate at anything. And that includes his cock. It’s long, but not uncomfortably so, and has an ever-so-slight curve.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Being as attractive as he is, his sex drive is usually in response to what he feels he can get and not the other way around. If he sees someone eyeing him across the room, his horniness level will go from 0 to 100.

Z = ZZZ (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Mihawk finds sex to be energizing, like a good workout. It usually takes some time for him to get to sleep afterwards, so if you want that bath or some pillow talk afterwards, he’s happy to provide. If you need to go right to sleep, he’ll probably just enjoy laying with you for a while, or maybe light a candle and read a book until he gets tired.

Up next: Mihawk SFW Alphabet