#it matters little what you actually feel we can only see what you do

[lucienarcheron]

Spirit Meets the Bones - XVIII

Genre: Angst/Romance Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse.

shoutout always goes to @abruisedmuse for letting me ramble about my babies.

tagging: @climb-the-mountian @vanserrass @zenkindoflove @animezinglife @readthelastpaage @positivewitch @clockwork-ashes @carolynmezzosoprano @carnythian @runningwiththeoceans @readychilledwine @goldenmagnolias @thedarkinmansfield @mali22 @maidr-00 @electromagnetic-waves @devilsfoodcake22 @moonfawnx @weesablackbeak @ladywhilemia @alohaangels @moobell55 @bibliophiliaxvignette @easchies @feysandfeels @thelovelymadone @corcracrow @dawneternal @teddyhoneybear @sinnerrsworld @gracie-rosee @queenoftheworld1998

Find it all here.

Lucien stood across from his brother in the open field by his home, Elain’s garden a beautiful backdrop behind them as he waved his hands towards Eris. 

“Care to explain what the hell that was about?” Lucien asked, bewildered.

Eris only snarled and paced past his brother. He needed an outlet, not questions. He needed a moment because he was making a downright fool of himself.

“What is the matter with you?” Lucien demanded, brows raised high as Eris paused and glared at him.

“I need to hit something.” he spat and resumed his pacing as Lucien eyed him in confusion. 

“Excuse me?”

Eris paused his frantic pacing and then squinted at his brother. “You. Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes. I am your older brother, you are obligated to listen to me.”

“The only thing I am obligated to do is mildly tolerate you.” Lucien replied with a snort. “Which I’m barely doing as it is. I am not going to be your punching bag because you won’t deal with whatever it is you’re feeling.”

Eris narrowed his eyes, hands twitching at his sides. Never mind there was dried blood on one. The hand that Iris had wanted — he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

Fucking ridiculous.

“Fine.” Eris said and squared his shoulders. “I will allow you to punch me first so then I can hit you after.”

Lucien rolled his eyes. “No. Elain said no fighting before you came. I know you’re used to your wife being mad at you but I can’t sleep if Elain’s upset with me.”

Eris immediately tensed. “Don’t talk about my wife.”

Lucien blinked then slowly grinned. “Oh.” he said. “I see.”

“See what?” Eris snapped.

Lucien’s grin widened and he rubbed his hands together. “Gods, I’ve been waiting for this moment.” he cackled. “You’re being such a little bitch right now, I knew this would happen.”

Eris growled then slid a hand down his face before his hands clenched into fists. “Oh fuck right off, alright?” he snarled. “Don’t say a word.”

“A word about what? Your wife?”

“Lucien.” he snarled in warning. 

“All I said were the words ‘your wife’. I haven’t actually said anything about Iris.” Lucien said calmly, watching his brother and mustering the most innocent of expressions. 

“Lucien.”

Lucien’s lips twitched and he held up his hands as he waited silently. 

After a few tense moments, Eris finally mumbled, “We had a moment.” 

“Did you now?” Lucien asked in an amused tone that Eris did not appreciate.

“We had a moment and —,”  he grumbled quietly then sighed and ran a hand through his hair once more. “We would’ve had another moment if you hadn’t interrupted — we had a moment and — and things happened.”

Lucien blinked and slowly put a hand on Eris’ shoulder with a look that had Eris immediately regretting ever opening his mouth.

“Brother dearest,” Lucien began in a sympathetic tone that was as fake as it gets. “Has it been so long since you’ve had an erection that you forgot what it feels like?”

Eris snarled and finally swung at his brother but Lucien ducked with a laugh. 

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” he said and Eris settled for shoving him with a glare then resumed his pacing. “This is serious then.”

“This is very serious.”

“I see.” Lucien said and held out his hands again. “I’m sorry. I won’t make fun. Talk to me.”

Eris scowled, warily watching his brother then resumed his silent pacing.

After a few moments, Lucien sighed. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what the issue is, Eris.”

It took Eris a few more moments of silent pacing before he finally ran his fingers through his hair again, took a deep breath then sighed. “Aside from my erection,” he said with a glare at his brother. “It — something — it has never felt like that before.”

Lucien nodded knowingly. “That’s because you like her.” 

“I have liked other females!”

“Yes, but as we’ve said before, you like her and she’s your wife. It’s different.”

Eris rolled his eyes up to the sky and then huffed, pacing once more. Lucien had no idea just how different this was. 

But did he tell Lucien? He hadn’t discussed it with Iris yet —  he wasn’t even sure if she knew.  Had she picked up on it or was this another thing he was shoving at her? She’d already been forced to marry him. How would she take it if she knew he was her mate? Knowing how he was. Who he was. He had told her once that he wouldn’t shackle her to him if she wanted out but…would he still be able to let her go if that was what she truly wanted? When she was his and he was hers in a way that trumped everything else? 

He glanced at Lucien who stood with his arms crossed, calmly watching him. Though Eris was annoyed by the mild amusement on his brother’s face, it gave him pause. If there was anyone who had been hit on the head with a mate, it had been his brother. Lucien would understand.

Eris grimaced, letting it fall silent for a few minutes as Lucien watched him. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, the sound of laughter stopped him and the brothers turned to glance at their wives strolling towards the garden. He watched as Iris walked with Elain, smiling, and he had a very strong urge to stab himself.  

“In all honesty, I never thought this would happen.” he finally said, turning back to Lucien with a frown. “I never thought anyone would be…enough to be what she is to me right now.”

Lucien shook his head with a snort. “You are so fucken full of yourself.” he replied and pointed. “Iris is a much nicer person than you are.”

Eris snorted. “You say that but you haven’t heard the way she threatens me.”

“Do you deserve those threats?”

Eris pursed his lips, trying not to think of the strangest sense of delight he felt whenever she did point a blade at him. “Not always.”

Lucien gave him a knowing look. “You definitely deserved them,” he confirmed, then shook his head. “Despite this arrogant and very stupid belief of yours, you aren’t above everyone else, Eris.”

“That’s not — I meant that I would be enough to have something like this happen.” he seethed and Lucien quirked a brow. 

“Marriage was bound to happen,” Lucien replied mildly. “You knew this was coming at some point.”

“Okay, but I didn’t ask for this.” Eris hissed, pointing towards the gardens where his — his whatever walked. “Do you know how much harder this will make everything? How much worse?”

This seemed to finally get Lucien to sober up, his expression turning serious. “What do you mean?”

And it was as Eris stared at Lucien, the weight of his discovery today fell on him like a ton of bricks and his expression fell. 

If his father found out…she lived inside the court with him. In very close proximity to the High Lord. Eris swallowed. Their situation was far from ideal and it was taking everything in him to make it work. To keep it easy. To keep Iris safe. His father would wield the mating bond against him in ways Eris couldn’t even begin to imagine. It could go very badly.

“Eris?”

Eris glanced at his brother and slowly moved, until he stood directly in front of him, his expression lethally calm.

“I need to know what I tell you will not be told to a soul. Elain is the only exception and only when I give you permission.” he commanded and Lucien’s brows furrowed. 

“Okay.”

“No one, Lucien.”

“You have my word.”

Eris swallowed and assessed his brother. He never would’ve dreamed of this moment. 

“If I ever need to send Iris to you, tell me she would be safe here.” he said quietly. “Promise me that she will not be in harm's way.”

Lucien tilted his head, turning to briefly glance towards the gardens once more, where Elain and Iris were whispering together, giggling at something they couldn’t hear. “Your wife will always have a place here, Eris. Why?” he asked and Eris licked his lips, bracing himself to say the words that hadn’t left his mouth yet.

His head turned, finding Iris seated among the flowers. It took him a moment but finally, after a breath, he whispered, “She’s...my mate.” 

Eris felt Lucien stiffen and turned to find his brother blinking rapidly. A beat of silence passed then his brother spoke.

“Fuck.”

“I know.”

“Holy shit.”

“I know.”

“That...shit.”

“You’re only verbalizing what’s been going on in my head since I found out.” Eris said and watched Lucien’s expression shift from shock to amusement.

“When did you find out?”

“Five minutes before you ungraciously interrupted us.”

Lucien went silent for a few moments as Eris stood tensely across from him, then shook his head and huffed out a laugh. “Wait — wait. I’m sorry.” he began then let out another laugh. “You.”

Eris immediately scowled. “Yes?”

“You — you, who had refused to marry for so long.” Lucien started and Eris’s scowl deepened. 

“And?”

“You literally threw a tantrum when fa — your father told you to get married.”

Eris rolled his eyes. “I didn’t throw a tantrum.” he grumbled and Lucien let out another laugh.

“You sat in my kitchen and blacked out from drinking.”

Eris waved a hand with a growl. “Your point?”

“Mister ‘I don’t want a wife, no female is good enough for me’,” Lucien continued with a grin. “You, who won’t even admit to liking his dogs enough —”

“— I don’t see the point of what you’re saying —”

Lucien gave his brother an incredulous look that Eris did not appreciate. “Do you realize how emotionally constipated you are? How emotionally constipated you’ve always been?” Lucien said and finally, let out a loud laugh. “Oh gods. This is amazing.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Eris snarled. “This is serious.”

“Oh my gods. You have so many feelings you don’t even know what to do with yourself.” Lucien went on with a cackle. “You barely had it together when she was just your wife!”

“I know!” Eris snapped and waved a hand. “Do you see my problem now?!”

“Oh…oh I see.” Lucien said and at the murderous look in Eris’s eyes, said nothing else, his lips only twitching. 

Eris said nothing as well, seething at Lucien’s reaction.

“This is not funny.” he said forcefully. “I am constantly thinking about throwing myself off the highest building. Now I definitely want to.”

“Oh, I bet.” Lucien replied with a wide grin. “This is fucken hilarious. She touched your thigh and you broke a glass. It’s all over my floor.”

“Lucien.” Eris snarled and Lucien finally held his hands up, clearing his throat.

“Right. I’m sorry.” his brother said. “I had to get that out of my system.”

Eris only glared at him and watched Lucien’s lips twitch again. 

“You’re the fucken worst.” Eris finally mumbled and Lucien let out a low chuckle.

“Yet, you told me first.” he replied smugly and Eris rolled his eyes. “Besides, this calmed you down without resorting to violence.”

Eris blinked. This asshole.

“Violence is still very much on the table.” Eris grumbled and hated to admit that maybe, just maybe, Lucien was right. He was somewhat…less on edge. Maybe. Slightly. 

The corner of Lucien’s mouth ticked up. “Overwhelming, isn’t it?”

“I want to kill myself.” 

“You’re so dramatic, dear gods.” his brother said and Eris scowled when Lucien shoved his shoulder gently. “Listen closely — pay attention to what I’m going to say to you.”

Eris grimaced as Lucien placed both hands on his shoulders and met his gaze. “I’m uncomfortable.”

“I said listen and shut the fuck up.”

“That is rude.”

“You love the sound of your own voice and I personally hate it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Thank you.” Lucien said and patted Eris’s shoulder aggressively. “Now listen. This is a good thing.”

“No, it’s not.” Eris said immediately. “This is terrible. I already care too much. This is so much worse.” 

“It is not. Iris is good for you and you are good for her.”  Lucien said calmly. “I’ve watched how you’ve changed since she came into your life. You had no joy until she showed up and it’s made a difference in you.”

“I also have a lot more stress.” he muttered and Lucien chuckled.

“That’s because you’re an idiot.” Lucien said and Eris resisted the urge to flip him off as he continued. “You’ve needed something real like this for as long as I’ve known you and this is as real as it gets.”

“But —”

“She challenges you and settles you all at once.” his brother said and Eris swallowed. “She is your person and she is real. This is real.”

Eris grimaced again and looked away from his brother towards the garden again, where his wife — his mate was. “My father will make this so much worse.”

Lucien stepped back and gave Eris a look. “Are you going to let him?” he asked and Eris snapped his gaze to his brother, hot anger flaring in his chest and before he could control himself, his fire erupted around him, every part of him aflame. 

“I will kill him if he so much as looks at her wrong.” his words were guttural, so angry he could barely get them out. “I will skin him alive. I will make up for everything he has ever done to me and mother if he so much as —”

Lucien held up a hand with a small smile. “Exactly. So calm down.” he said gently. “She’s safe with you.” 

Eris blinked, the fire around him dampening and he let out a breath, running a hand through his hair as flame licked his skin. He shook his head and began his pacing once more. “Is that enough? I don’t — I won’t put anything past him if he finds out. I’ve seen what he does to people. I know what he does.”

“Then he doesn’t find out.” Lucien said firmly. “I assume your other brothers have had zero interaction with her?”

Eris waved a hand. “They have asked but I haven’t allowed it. You know how they are. They stay out of my way until needed.” he said. “But father…”

Lucien nodded then shrugged. “What is going to give it away? Your scents? You’re married, no one will think twice.”

“He already knows I like her too much.” 

“You’re good at pretending. So is Iris from what you’ve told me.” Lucien said and gave him a pointed look. “Keep pretending until you don’t have to.”

Eris nodded slowly even though this type of pretending would be excruciatingly different from anything else he had to do before. He ran his tongue over his teeth and took a deep breath, his fire disappearing. He hesitated for a heartbeat then said, “She doesn’t know.”

Lucien froze, his eyes widening. “What?”

Eris swallowed then shook his head. “I don’t think she knows. I — we — I haven’t asked her yet.” 

Lucien shook his head, shoving Eris away from him, and pointed sternly. “You shouldn’t have told me until you told her.”

“You pulled me aside and asked me what was wrong.” Eris snarled. “This — this is what’s wrong.”

Lucien’s lips thinned. “Eris —”

“I don’t know what to do or — or how to behave.” he swore. “I didn’t ask for this and she sure as shit didn’t either.”

“That’s the funny thing about mates…neither of you really ask for it.” Lucien said gently and Eris groaned.

“And what if she doesn’t want this?” Eris asked, trying and failing to hide the hint of desperation in his tone. What if she doesn’t want me that way?  “What then?”

Lucien’s expression softened and he nudged Eris. “I think you’ll find that being married helps ease that concern,” he said calmly. “You’ve managed to figure things out so far. You just need to tell her and go from there.”

Eris grunted and shook his head. “This is more than she bargained for. She’s barely begun to like me.”

Lucien rolled his eyes. “From my perspective, a person who has only seen you two interact with each other for a few hours, I don’t think you should be as concerned as you are right now,” he said. “Just talk to her. And tell her you told me.”

Telling her would be fine. He would tell her. Of course, he would. But…they couldn’t — shouldn’t tell anyone else.

It would be fine. This was just an overwhelming moment. It would be fine.

He sighed and for once, just this once, let his true feelings spill from his lips. “I’m so fucken tired of pretending.” He rubbed his face and said through gritted teeth. “I can’t — I can’t even be happy about this. All I am is stressed. I’m exhausted.”

Lucien’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “I know.” he said quietly.

He shook his head and let it fall back, his gaze at the open sky. “I’ve been on the edge for so long.” he said quietly. “Her father came for a visit today and I beat the living shit out of him. I would’ve killed him had Iris not stopped me.”

“Did he deserve it?” Lucien asked and Eris glanced at his brother, at the hard gaze full of understanding. Eris didn’t have to explain what kind of creature Iris’s father was. 

“More than.” he replied. “But I haven’t lost control in so long…I suppose it makes sense given what I know now.”

“Do you think your father will have a problem with it?” 

Eris shrugged. “We’ll have to see when I get back, won’t we.”

“Eris…” Lucien started but Eris shook his head and it fell silent between them.

He closed his eyes and thought of anything but his father. He thought of his mother finding her spark again. He thought of his hounds. He thought of the brother standing next to him and his sister-in-law who cared for him. Most importantly, he thought of his wife and the way she trusted him. How she smiled for him and what that smile did to him. 

Even if he didn’t deserve an ounce of happiness, he was allowed a moment. A day to be happy with his wife. To guard his little secret as close to his shredded heart as much as he could.

“I won’t let him find out.” He swore quietly, straightening.

“No, you won’t.”

Eris licked his lips, his gaze falling back to the house. “And if he does?”

“Then maybe it’s time the Autumn Court finally gets a new high lord.” Lucien said simply, his gaze hardening. “It’s been long overdue.”

Eris gazed at his brother carefully. “That is easier said than done.” he said then looked away, with a shake of his head. “Besides, you know that move is not mine.”

Lucien shrugged. “When the time comes, it doesn’t matter who makes the move. It matters that it’s done. You owe him a taste.”

Eris closed his eyes, trying not to let the image of his sword lodged in his father’s throat linger for too long. After a quiet moment, he asked, “Until then?” 

“My home will always be a safe space for Iris and you.” Lucien said gently. “You know Beron would never dare come here.”

Eris swallowed and nodded again. It would be fine. It wouldn’t need to come to this but a plan never hurts.

Lucien gave Eris one more look then turned to face his home, his eyes on the distant figures of his wife and sister-in-law. “Things will be fine.” his brother said calmly. “You have me. I’m here.”

“Albeit unwillingly?” Eris said, the corner of his mouth lifting, and Lucien chuckled.

“Obviously. I can’t stand you.” 

Eris rolled his eyes and turned his gaze to where Lucien looked. They were too far to see clearly but Eris…he felt Iris. He felt a tug of joy at his ribcage. Something that would certainly take getting used to.

Then again he had always felt that pull towards her. Now, he knew what it meant. 

Lucien slid his hands in his pockets with a small smile and said, “Elain says your wife is amazing and she’ll rip your throat out if you upset her.”

Eris snorted. “She’ll rip my throat out herself, no worries.” 

“She also said we should come back.” Lucien added and spared Eris one more knowing glance. “Will you be able to handle yourself or should I expect more shattered glass on my floor?”

Eris shot his brother a dirty look and refused to feel embarrassed. He would not flush. “Fuck off.”

Lucien only chuckled. 

~

Iris looked up as she sensed Eris approaching. Her gaze had found him constantly as she and Elain explored outside; like a thread being pulled. She couldn’t help herself. She almost felt guilty about it but then she noted the anger radiating off him. The way his fire had erupted around him again and it made her nervous. She wasn’t sure if she was the cause. 

She wasn’t sure exactly how to feel at the moment. Excited? Overwhelmed? Nervous? Today had certainly been a lot but — but he seemed fine before they came here. She pursed her lips and then let her gaze fall back to the sweet little bunny in her lap that had twitched when her petting had stopped. She gave it a small smile, hugging it closer to her, and looked up once more to watch him walk closer.

Iris teased him with Lucien and while Lucien was handsome in his own right, Eris…she absolutely hated how embarrassed she felt to even admit it to herself but my, oh my, did Eris look handsome beneath the bright sunlight. Her husband’s stupid confidence alone made her want to — 

“You are staring awfully hard.”

Iris blinked, her focus still on Eris, her gaze sliding down to his hand where the simple gold ring glinted there. She had never given any mind to their wedding bands. Only really wore her own gold band because that was what they were supposed to do but — but the weight of it definitely felt different on her finger now.

“Hm?” she finally replied, tilting her head towards Elain with her eyes still on her husband. 

Elain’s giggle filled the open space as her sister-in-law said, “I daresay, I hope the two of you wait until Lucien and I are inside at least.”

Iris blinked again, hearing what Elain said, and flushed deeply. “I beg your pardon?”

“The grass can add a nice touch to the sensation.”

Iris whirled to glance at her sister-in-law in shock, which only made Elain laugh.

“I’m teasing!”

“Sure sounds like you’re speaking from experience.” Iris muttered and tried not to think about what laying in an open field with Eris would feel like. She didn’t need the image of his body over hers, touching her in ways she hadn’t been touched before. She didn’t need to think about his wretched mouth and how it would feel all over her skin. Iris wondered how it would feel to have him on his back and do all the things she’d only heard about through whispers. Her body heated as she tried very hard not to think about it. Eris would be so smug about it if he found out.

She squinted at the sly smile that bloomed on Elain’s face.

“Indeed.” Elain replied and was silent for a moment before that sly smile turned into a grin and Iris already knew whatever she said would be something she wasn’t ready for. “Did you ever hear the saying that not only do the Autumn Court males have fire in their blood but, they —” Elain lowered her voice and choked out with a giggle, “fuck — like it too?”

“No.” Iris choked out, flushing from head to toe. This conversation had taken a turn she was not prepared for. She did not want to start thinking about Eris and what fucking him would be like. She did not want to think about that at all. “Where did you even hear such a thing?”

“My sister Feyre mentioned it once.” Elain said, feeding her little bunny then met Iris’s gaze with a grin, even while blushing. “I’ve tested that theory. It is very true.”

Iris shot up, clutching the bunny in her arms tighter, her face heated. “Elain.” 

Her sister-in-law only laughed harder and Iris wanted to throttle her. It took Elain a good minute to stop laughing at Iris’s expression when she finally said, “I never used to be like this. I was too proper of a lady to ever bring up such subjects.”

“Clearly something traumatic happened.” Iris said dryly. 

“Oh yes,” she replied with a smile. “I met Lucien.”

“Traumatic indeed.”

“What’s traumatic?” Lucien asked as the brothers finally stopped before them. 

“Meeting you.” Elain replied brightly and Lucien blinked then rolled his eyes.

“Ah, yes. So traumatic for you.” he said dully, waving an arm to their beautiful surroundings as both girls laughed.

“Can’t say the day I met your brother wasn’t also traumatic.” Iris said, shooting her husband a look, her stupid heart skipping a beat when he met her gaze.

“Funny you should say that when I was the one who had a chair thrown at him.” Eris said with a snort, his eyes locked on her and Iris could feel the way he cataloged every inch of her.

Iris rolled her eyes, her cheeks blushing lightly, and looked at Elain. “He’s never going to let that go.”

“Threatened with my own dagger.” Eris continued conversationally.

“It slipped into my hand honestly.” she said with a shrug and a look full of innocence to Lucien who grinned.

“Something about these Autumn Court boys.” Elain added, gesturing towards the brothers and glancing at Iris. “It screams emotional instability.” 

“I personally feel like we should be financially compensated for these unions.” Iris teased and Eris narrowed his gaze on her.

“Wife.”

She couldn’t help laughing again at his indignant tone. “Husband?”

He rolled his eyes but Iris didn’t miss the way the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. Her eyes flickered down to the bunny still in her hands then back up to him before casually taking a step toward him as Eris took a step towards her but Lucien cleared his throat, and they both froze in place.

“Elain, my love?” Lucien said, his lips twitching as he looked at his wife and he held out his arm. “We should get the table ready, no?”

Elain blinked then jumped right up, taking her husband’s arm. “Oh, yes. We definitely should,” she said quickly then grinned at Eris and Iris. “We don’t want you two to starve!”

“Oh.” Iris said, glancing once at Eris — she couldn’t help it really — before turning to smile at Elain. “Let me help you.”

“No!” Their hosts replied quickly and Iris blinked.

“That’s what I’m here for.” Lucien said with a charming smile he directed at Elain, who preened at his attention and then glanced back at Iris. “Please, enjoy the gardens for a little longer.” 

“We’ll let you know when it’s ready!” Elain called and promptly dragged Lucien inside, her giggle barely contained. 

Iris flushed and tried not to laugh at the way the two scrambled inside. A chuckle escaped nonetheless. “Your brother and his wife aren’t known for being subtle, are they?” she said and turned to finally face him once more.

“Not when it comes to me, at least.” Eris grumbled but it was with no heat as he let his gaze flicker to his wife. 

Iris seemed to hesitate, gauging the distance between them, and after a breath of silence, she lowered herself to release the bunny from her arms and then stood slowly. She slid over to Eris’s side and hovered close enough without touching.

“Are you alright? I saw fire.” she asked quietly. “I — I wanted to check on you but Elain said you would be fine talking to Lucien.” 

He nodded with a small smile. “I’m alright.” he said, rubbing the tip of his ear. “Are you – are you alright?”

Iris chuckled, shifting on her feet. “I’m fine. I was spending time with the bunnies.” she said, gesturing to the small animals around them.

“I can see that.” Eris said and Iris felt her cheeks heat under the weight of his gaze. The world had suddenly shifted into a pleasant quietness and she couldn’t seem to find the right words to say.  

Iris only had eyes for her husband and Eris only had eyes for her.

After another beat of silence, she curled a strand of hair behind her ear and said, “Did — did you and Lucien enjoy your chat?”

“Surprisingly, we didn’t punch each other.” he replied with a small smile. “But I really wanted to.”

Iris rolled her eyes. “You love him so much.”

“Incorrect.”

“So much.”

“That is an extremely inaccurate statement.”

Iris shot him a look that had his lips twitching but she only shook her head again and glanced at him, at the few inches between them. It wasn’t — she wasn’t feeling awkward. She suddenly and annoyingly felt shy. She let it fall silent for another moment then held out her hand. “Let me see your hand.” she asked softly, the need to touch him nearly knocking the wind out of her.

“It already healed.” he mumbled but still, placed his hand in hers. “I’m fine. I just — needed a moment.”

Iris inspected his hand quietly and Eris tried not to listen to how rapidly her heart was beating. He watched her face as she ran her thumb across his palm and willed himself not to shudder. 

“It’s healed fine but you need to get it cleaned up.” she said softly and glanced up at him as he peered down at her and stepped closer. “That’s the second time you’ve hurt your hands today.”

“A typical day in the life.” he said and Iris gave him a pointed look.

“You had me worried about you when you stormed out.”

He gave her another small smile. “Someone might think you actually like me with the way you’re worried about me.”

Her lips twitched. “I barely tolerate you.”

“Why, thank you, wife. I barely tolerate you as well.”

They shared another glance and Eris couldn’t help himself as he gazed at her beautiful face with the shy smile, at her bright hazel eyes — couldn’t help himself because he had to, simply had to kiss her. His gaze flickered from her eyes to her lips then back to her eyes again.

Licking his lips, he started to say, “I need to —”

Without waiting for him to finish, Iris cut him off with a whisper of “Yes.” 

She reached for him as he reached for her and Eris wrapped his arms around her waist. Iris fell into his embrace, his lips meeting hers as he pulled her firmly into him.

He kissed her and poured every emotion that vibrated through his body into her, delight flaring in him as Iris sank into him with a little whimper, her hands wrapping around him. Eris teased her with a gentle bite to her bottom lip and when she opened for him, his tongue dived in for a taste of her. He kissed and caressed and savored her mouth with his, willing himself not to tremble. Only when he felt her melt into him completely did Eris release her with a groan, resting his face on her shoulder.

Iris shuddered in his arms, a hand hesitantly sliding up his back. “Eris.” she whispered in his ear. “Terrible timing.”

“The absolute worst.” he agreed with a mumble, then lifted his head to bring his mouth against hers again, seizing her lips once more. 

Iris let him, fighting back a smile and failing, chuckling against his lips as he tasted her. The chuckle quickly turned into another whimper as he kissed her hard, her heart fluttering wildly and nothing could really prepare her for how badly she needed to have Eris near her, the one person she had never planned to even acknowledge. 

When Eris finally pulled back again, simply to glance at her, she let a moment of silence pass between them, watching the blaze in his eyes, and she couldn’t stop herself from leaning up and gently pecking his lips in return. She kissed him once, then twice, then a third time, sensing his growing delight.

“Well. Thank you, wife.” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk when she flushed, even with the rapid beating in his chest. “I’m glad you’re enjoying what I have to offer.”

Iris shifted against him, her hands now smoothing his tunic and she avoided his eyes. “It’s barely anything. Don’t be too flattered.”

He chuckled then took a breath and stepped back, holding out a hand and Iris didn’t hesitate to intertwine her fingers with his, meeting his eyes once more. 

“Earlier…” she began slowly. “I thought you were upset with me. With the way you reacted.”

Eris grimaced. “It’s not — you did nothing wrong.” he said quickly. “I needed a moment.”

“Because I kissed you?” she asked, tilting her head to glance at him. “I didn’t realize I was that powerful.”

A weak laugh escaped Eris as he met her gaze. She doesn’t know. I had my whole world turned upside down and she has no idea.

His thumb gently caressed the back of her hand and Eris let a heartbeat pass before he gave her a tight smile. “Who is the one that’s too flattered now?”

Iris narrowed her eyes at him and he lifted a brow in return. “Something is wrong.” she said. “What is it?”

Eris only watched her face. How exactly was he supposed to tell her that something he never thought would happen to him had shifted the world beneath his feet? That she, the wife he had never thought would be more than a task he checked off, had weaved her way into his life, a life he hated almost everything about except for the moments he had started spending with her? That she, his Iris, was going to be the single most wonderful yet stress-inducing thing in his life.

All the panic that Lucien had walked him through was slowly creeping up his spine again. 

“Nothing.” he finally said quietly.  “Are you…feeling alright? Is there anything bothering you from earlier?”

Iris pursed her lips, her gaze dropping to their joined hands, and was silent for a moment. There was something he wasn’t telling her but she knew better than to push and thought about his question instead.

A lot had happened today. Too much, in fact. But…anything that happened before their kiss had faded from her mind. Eris and his rather heated kisses, what that meant for them now that they — they became a little more physical, was what remained on her mind. What she had told him before they came about her wanting to be more than friends and what that would mean. And that was a lot. 

But as she watched his thumb gently caress her hand… Iris knew it would be alright. Maybe she should’ve been more concerned but for all her initial worries about Eris, for all her doubts, today had only solidified what had been building inside her for some time. Everything that Eris was and what she thought he would be, came down to one thought and one thought only — that she wasn’t alone in this. It made all the difference. 

She bit the corner of her mouth then looked up and said, “I feel a little overwhelmed but I’m — I’m not worried. More…nervous? But not in a…bad way.” she admitted slowly. “...You?”

Eris hummed softly and held out his other hand so that both her hands rested in his. He liked holding her hands far more than he’d care to admit. 

“I’m…fine.” he said dryly and Iris’s lips twitched when his own cheeks heated. “I think you could probably tell I was feeling a tad overwhelmed.”

“Because my kiss knocked you out of this world?” she teased gently. “Guess all that practice came in handy.”

His grip tightened on her hands and said through clenched teeth, “Don’t — don’t bring that up right now.”

Iris’s brow rose in amusement and she fought back a smile. “Wow, you really are sensitive today.”

“Wife.”

He narrowed his eyes at her but Iris only smiled innocently and Eris rolled his eyes.

Clearing his throat, he let it fall silent for a moment before he continued, “But I am…nervous as well. I don’t…know how to be this person. I don’t know how to do this.”

Iris shrugged, her heart swelling at his confession. “Neither do I.” she said and squeezed his hands. “You said that when we first agreed to be friends too but I think we’re doing pretty okay.”

“Aside from you throwing a chair at me and trying to stab me a few times.” 

“You’re really never going to let that go, are you?”

“Never.” he said and smirked. “It makes me very aroused to think about.” 

Iris rolled her eyes and the corner of Eris’s lips lifted when she mumbled, “You’re very annoying.”

“Annoying I may be but…” he started and the air between them shifted as he gazed at her intently. “I am your husband who is also your friend. That you want to be a bit more than that with.”

He felt her grip tighten on his hands and she glanced down at their joined hands then back up at him. “Yes…I did say that.”

Eris let it fall silent as he looked at her, a whirlwind of emotion coursing through him. He tried to settle on one, be it panic, fear, joy, but in the end, he let them all mingle, focusing only on her. She had no idea he was going to be so much more than that. He would — well, he would be whatever the hell she wanted him to be. 

“We should — need to discuss what that means —” he started, his gaze flickering to the space around them. “More privately once we get home.” he finished and Iris tilted her head.

“Alright.” she said with furrowed brows then teased, “Are you afraid the bunnies will spread rumors about you having feelings?”

Eris snorted. “No. But Lucien and Elain are watching us from their kitchen window and they are very nosy.” he said and Iris turned her head to find said couple quickly ducking out of view.

She laughed softly as her cheeks heated. “I hope you know that this visit has been nothing short of mortifying.” 

“I nearly always want to assassinate myself after visiting them.”

“Because they tease you?” 

“Because they know me too well at this point.” he replied with a chuckle. 

“They really do.” she agreed and flushed. “It’s…been something, alright.”

Eris fought against the cascading of emotions brewing in him, fought against the smile as she gazed at him. Before he could stop himself, he let a finger brush against her colored cheeks. 

“I like seeing you blush.” he murmured softly and Iris fought back her own smile, glancing down with a shake of her head. “It makes me wonder what you’re thinking about.”

“I’m just thinking about…things.”

“What things, wife?”

Iris’s lips twitched as she looked up at him and shot him a knowing look. “Things.” she only said. 

The conversation with Elain had been…enlightening to say the least. Iris never had a doubt that Eris held up his reputation quite seriously to others so she wasn’t too surprised to know he was either strongly disliked or slightly feared. How much of a harlot he was shouldn’t have taken her by surprise either and it took every ounce of logical reasoning not to be irrationally jealous of Nesta Archeron, who was already mated to someone else and wanted nothing to do with him.

But it had warmed her heart just how much Elain and Lucien actually loved him. Knowing how much Eris loved them…it made her want to be worthy of their love too.  

The smile dropped from his face and he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “What exactly have you heard?” Eris asked and Iris laughed.

“Oh you know, things.” she said airily then smirked when Eris scowled. “We can discuss those later.”

“But —”

“Do you hear that? Elain calling.” Iris said and patted him on the chest. “We should go and be helpful guests.”

“Iris.” he started but she only gave a smile, pulling away.

“Surely you hear Lucien calling. He misses his big brother.”

Eris’s scowl deepened. “Wife.” 

“Don’t make me accidentally skewer you with a fork, Eris.” she said sweetly, skipping away further when her husband snorted. “All it takes is a slip of the hand.”

“Threaten me with a good time all you want, I will find out what you’ve heard.” 

“I’m simply trying to romance you, husband.” she said, pausing on the threshold of the back door to Elain and Lucien’s home. “Play nice, we’re still guests here.”

“I’m floored by your romance techniques.” he said dryly and waved a hand. “And we’re not guests here. Elain says this is my home too.”

“Elain, not Lucien?” she asked with a laugh and Eris shrugged.

“I think he’s still upset Elain likes me more than she likes him.”

Iris laughed again, the sound bringing a small smile to his own face. Her laugh made his wretched heart swell and ache all in one. Her laugh reminded him that things would be fine. She was his mate. He only had to tell her and it would be fine. They would be fine.

He watched her walk into his brother’s home with a shake of her head and knew in his bones that whatever came next, whatever they faced after this, Eris would do anything — become anything — to keep her laughing. 

[nonymous-nb]

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★ Medkit & Subspace x Male!Reader ★

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"Medkit and Subspace won't stop PHIGHTING."

PHIGHTING! | One-shot | "Fluff" | Romantic..?

Warning/s: [Subspace.]

Extra: [we love Medkit and Subspace daily phighting. + not proofread as always]

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ───────────────≺

ah, yes.. what a normal day, the soft breeze of the wind, the noises that the civilians make every now and then. You sighed to yourself, quite content at the peaceful atmosphere as you try and munch on your beloved [favorite dessert] and your [favorite drink]. Oh, what could go wrong on this fine day?

"Hm? Oh! [Name]!!" A loud giddy voice called out to you as you flinched not expecting anyone to call you. Looking at the source of voice there you saw him; waving his hand in a fast pace. "Oh, Subspace! I didn't think you're the type of person to come to cafes." You said as you watch him fast-walk towards you, while some civilians avoided him like a plague not wanting to irritate the psychotic scientist. Now that he was near you, he sat down on a vacant seat, his smile getting wider behind his gas mask. "You are absolutely correct, I don't go to cafes!! I just thought having a nice alone chatting time with my beloved.. friend. would be delightful!!" You sense that he didn't didn't really like the word friend, whenever you guys are together. You just shrugged it off not minding it. "Hm, is that so.. then I don't mind...?" Now, you don't hate Subspace, but you have this gut feeling that something is bad gonna happen sooner or later. "Now, do tell how you are doing!?" He hummed a bit as he asked, propping his head onto his hand as he waits for you to talk. And so you did.

Subspace just continued to stare at you listening to your words attentively, his attention is solely on you. Subspace couldn't help his feelings, just being with you just makes him feel something.. and he likes it for some reason. The way you move, smile, talk, laugh— oh, how Subspace just adores you so much! He's just so lovestruck, how can you not see?! The occasional lovestruck glance he gives you, the way he's more touchy with you than usual, the way he let you hold him like he was made for you.. Hell, even Hyperlaser and his Biografts noticed this behavior! Then why can't you?! Subspace couldn't help but think of opening your head that's hiding your brain just to see how you can't see his visible feelings just for you to witness and see.. No matter.. you will be his in no time, his plan will work.. it always will. He chuckled darkly to himself as he now put his focus back onto you. The male who made him feel such unspecified feelings. If this was a game, there would be hearts surrounding Subspace right about now.

if only he knew.. that this shlt is an actual game.

"Hope I'm not bothering you, [Name]." Subspace little obsessed daydream came to a halt, as he gave the most irritated and sinister smile to the person that interrupted his little date. "Medkit! it's nice to see you." You exclaimed a bit as you see the very well known wanted healer. "It is a pleasure to see you too, [Name.]" Medkit smiled softly as he looks at you, a smile that has pure adoration and love, but that smile then slightly faltered as he sees a certain scientist. "And I see you're here as well.." He huffed at the scientist. "And I see you like butting in to my conversation as always, Meddy!!" The scientist exclaimed back, his hand on the table turning into a tight fist, trying to stop himself from punching the living crap out of his enemy. He would do that right now.. But not in front of his beloved specimen. "And I see you like disturbing [Name] again as well." The healer glared, his hand twitching to get his gun that's idly sitting on his holster. "The only one who's disturbing [Name] is you. Why don't you go somewhere else and leave us alone." Subspace hissed as Medkit came closer to you, the hand that's trying not so hard to punch Medkit now gripped the poor table. You could hear the small cracking sound it's producing.

Watching the two duo silently and quietly made you sweat, you see the civilians in the corner of your eye looking at the scene while walking away quickly not wanting to be caught up in that mess, some of them gave you sympathetic looks as they left as well. Damn, you're stuck here with no help.

You figeted with your fingers and try to think of possible ways to defuse the two large ticking bombs in front of you. "Would.. would you guys like to.. well— go somewhere to calm down..?" Yeah, you're bad at this crap. You began to sweat more as the duo looked at you, you couldn't really decipher what they're thinking, it looks like it'll take a while longer to make them calm. "I think I'd like that!!" Subspace suddenly stood up from his seat taking your arm, as he pulled you onto him, his grip tight, but not tight enough to hurt you, no. Subspace will think of branding you another way possible. Just to show this teal phuck who you already belong to.

Not expecting him to make you stand up your beloved drink then spilled over, due to the slight bump you had on with the table. "My beloved drink.." You thought to yourself, quite sorrowful. But that thought stopped as you felt someone else tugged you away from Subspace grip. "Sorry, I think you already have a.. fair share of time with [Name], it's best if you leave him in my care." Medkit held you as if he's protecting you from the danger, that danger being Subspace. The scientist couldn't help but widen his eye. Medkit? The traitor.. the motherphucking bitch who had the audacity who left Blackrock just for his own selfishness, is here to take you away, especially from him? Oh, he can't have that. "Hands off him, Medkit." Subspace horns lit up hot magenta, once he gets you away, he'll make sure to shove a tripmine down Medkit's throat, as he gripped your free arm. Medkit just gave him a glare, almost daring him to make a move, he knew that once Subspace starts acting up. You wouldn't trust him ever again.. Not like you should of.

You never wanted anything than to leave in peace right now.

Dear Illumina, what did you do to get this unlucky. What are you gonna do now? These two are about to rip your arms out. But it looks like some deity felt pity for you as the well known warden is here. "You two." I started off as he stood above your little group. "Are making so much scene in this area." He halfly growled at the two demons, his face, facing towards you. "And you two had the audacity to cost trouble for this civilian." He couldn't help but sighed as he took you out of the two demons' grasp. Neither of them liked that. "Oh, isn't it the infamous warden!! Would you mind and take this abomination outta here? he's ruining [Name] and I's moment!!" He exclaimed as he pointed an accusing finger at the healer. "Am I really the problem, or are your psychological tendencies is just that bad." The two then started to bicker with each other, spilling threats by threats while you just went and talk with the warden.

"That's all that happened, sorry if they cost too much trouble." You apologized at the warden, vouching for those two. "hm, I see then I shall escort them away, do be mindful with those two.. they're a big headache." He told you as he went to where the duo were to take them away. "What— Why are you taking me away!? I'll have you remember that I, Subspace T. Mine, does NOT accept this!!" Subspace began thrashing around like a rapid animal, hissing as BanHammer held onto him, hard, to restrain his movements. "You're lucky that someone higher than me is on your side, if not, then you would be in Banland not too long ago." BanHammer snapped at Subspace, as he was about to do the same to Medkit, just to see that he's gone. BanHammer couldn't help but release a small irritated sigh. As he took the thrashing Subspace away.

Subspace looked back at you and gave you a sad glance, your heart slightly ached at the look of his face, wanting to help him but they're no longer in your sight.

"I guessed that's slightly fixed." You flinched a bit as you didn't expect Medkit to pop out of nowhere. "What the fu—" You were about to finish your sentence until he hugged you. "Sorry that you had to deal with that guy.." Medkit kept you in his arms, holding you like you were hurt, letting you go for a moment as he looks at you, smiling. He was about to say something until he heard a familiar voice called for his name, his remaining eye twitched at the timing of a certain dealer. He looked back at you and smiled once more. "Let's go and hang out again sometime again." He bid his farewell as he took your hand to softly plant a kiss onto it, walking away to the shadowed corridor to leave.

You just stood there trying to figure out what even is happening in your life, you just wanted some drink and desserts.

"Wait, are they gay for me—"

≻─────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

[Woah, another update— what am I on rn..💀 you can also tell that I have no idea what to do at the end :sob:]

[seriousbrat]

im asking this because you made a james one but can you make a jily meta if you have time🙈🙈

Anon I'm sorry for the delay in replying, I was thinking it through!! But it's nice to have something positive to talk about haha.

The loves of my life tbh. I really really like jily even though I think my snapeishness means I'm not as involved in mainstream jily fandom. I mean enemies to lovers always has its appeal and to me james and lily are a realistic, imperfect- but all the more compelling for it- appealing dynamic.

Obviously we don't get to see a lot of their actual relationship in canon, but I think that's why it's so fun to fill in the blanks. Personally I think it's pretty normal that they were drawn to each other and ended up in a relationship from what we know- they're both pretty big personalities, intelligent and charming and brave, they have similar goals and beliefs about the world, there was attraction early on (obviously in james's case, more or less confirmed by jkr in lily's- and b4 anyone starts in on lily for being attracted to him that's not something one can control, and she probs wasn't aware anyway).

Lily basically hated his guts, with good reason, so to go from that to dating there had to be a pretty big shift in both james and in their relationship (and likely lily too, or that's my belief). Honestly what I think is that in their final years at Hogwarts, the encroaching war brought on this new seriousness, and as lines were more clearly drawn in the sand it became obvious that lily and the marauders were on the same side of it. Things like sports, popularity, rivalries cease to matter in the face of a life-or-death conflict, you're forced to grow up and deal with it, and while for Severus this brought out the worst in him, for James it brought out the best.

People talk about James changing but I think a post SWM-lily was also changing. She set a very clear boundary with Sev and I think that was an important character development moment for her. Again, the war was on the horizon, their priorities were becoming clear, and I see Lily as becoming more sure of herself and her beliefs, less tolerant of bullshit from those around her. James was becoming more circumspect, more open-minded, more responsible, so when lily and the marauders were thrown together in natural alliance the two of them were just at a point where they were compatible.

I don't think their relationship was perfect and idyllic and all that, that would be less interesting anyway. It was probably hard sometimes. One thing I love when fics explore is the class differences between James and Lily; not only is he pureblood while she's muggleborn, but he comes from wealth where she comes from a humble little working-class family in the mids. There was probably a lot of stuff James didn't understand about her life; I feel like he probably tried his best anyway. Lily probably felt intimidated or defensive about her own background at times.

I don't doubt that they argued; in fact they got off on it probably enjoyed arguing with each other, given their personalities. Both of them were intelligent, opinionated, had an arguing kink, fiery people. Like I don't think it was this exaggerated screaming match sort of thing but I'm sure they loved a healthy spirited debate which maybe got a little out of hand sometimes.

I have touched on this previously but I see James as deep down pretty insecure (who isnt in this world apart from sirius black) and I think initially he was probably pretty insecure about Lily too. I do see him regretting his previous behaviour and thinking he isn't good enough for her and that he's incredibly lucky to be with her. which is true and he should suffer. but I have an upcoming scene (lily's first time at the potters') where james is like "i feel like i'm not good enough for you" and lily's like "shut up i'm the one who's not good enough for you" and they're like "great. i guess we're not good enough for each other. sorted i guess." My point being James actively tried to be a better man, Lily saw that and admired it. because she's good and wonderful like that.

Idk I guess I see it kind of as a realistic, flawed, but ultimately loving relationship. I'm sure there was a lot of stuff they had to work on over the few years they got :( but I'm also sure they had a lot of fun together because to me they just seem really compatible in so many ways as humans.

My belief is that they got married quickly because of the war (I also believe this about frank and alice, even though i see them as older) but it's likely they would have ended up married anyway, or at least in a long term, healthy, happy relationship.

Also the pottermore entry about Vernon and Petunia is my absolute fave for many reasons (love the vertunia of it all ofc) but also the little snippet about jily is golden. The double date between vertunia and jily is perhaps one of my favourite scenes I've ever written haha it's just such a good moment, basically the only canon info we do get about while they were dating.

[free-boundsoul]

Been having some Damien x Freelancer thoughts and they're not safe for work sooooo minors dni please

I like to imagine that Damien and Freelancer get into friendly competitions with each other. They're both driven to perform at their best. From coursework to video games and hobbies, the rest of the DAMN crew are used to seeing the two of them go at it.

And of course, the competitive nature extends to the bedroom.

The two of them slowly losing themselves to pleasure in the effort to not cum before the other, no matter what the other is doing.

Freelancer's hips stuttering in their pace as they ride him, their back arching as their voice dissolves into plantive little mewls and whimpers when Damien's lips leave a trail of hickeys up their neck so he could whisper in their ear

"You gonna cum for me, doll? You feel so good, bouncing on my cock..." his fingers digging just a little harder into their hips as his thoughts start to blur and he can only start to think of how amazing they make him feel.

His voice rough and pleading as his body heats up, "Please...please baby...please cum for me...you're making my mind melt baby, please...cum for me..." his words turning into whimpers as they both reach the peaks of their pleasures

It's only after they regain their breath, and Damien's heat starts to cool off that they meet each other's eyes. Damien managing a soft, yet still cocky grin "I think I won that round, baby,"

Freelancer playfully rolls their eyes, "Oh please, it was so close, we have no proof of who actually won."

"Well...I guess we just need to have a tie breaker then, huh?"

[starsurface]

I love how you write diapered babyspace Liu Kang with his CG’s, it’s so precious! I was wondering…babyspace Nightwolf in diapers with CG Fujin? They’re so cute! ❤️

I'm so glad you liked the others!! :D

(Some strong languageuse) Before we get to the hcs, I want to say that there is nothing wrong with using or needing diapers. Some people use diapers use them for weird kink related things, but with age regression they are used for comfort and unfortunate inconvenience. Do not come to my blog because you wish to relate this with any kind of kink. Kindly fuck off and leave my blog alone, thank you.

^ This isn’t to bash regressors btw!!! This is me saying to fuck off if your a dd/lg or any type of blog like that. <3

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

CG Fujin w/ Babyspace Padded Nightwolf Hcs

☁️ Nightwolf slips into babyspace on two occasions:

🐺 The first is a very scary case of Reverant Nightmares where he wakes up feeling extra tiny and scared

☁️ ^ It was also the first time he ever had an accident too, poor boy was going through it :(

🐺 Don’t worry, Fujin was able to help calm him down, he could see that Nightwolf was tinier than usual, but in the moment that wasn’t what mattered

☁️ What mattered was making sure his baby felt peaceful and safe again, nothing else 😤

🐺 Nightwolf was also really embarrassed by having an accident, because he’s never had one before!! Why now? Why was this one different? Why did he feel even more fuzzy than normal? It wasn’t fair … :(

☁️ Bathtime helped him cheer up, little Nightwolf loves bathtime, and Fujin gave him extra bubbles and toys <3

🐺 Sometimes when Nightwolfs small or Fujin can tell that he’s been showing signs of regressing, Fujin will put down some of those potty training bed pad things so that their sheets don’t get ruined (he even got one with a wolf design on it! :D)

☁️ Nightwolf doesn’t like that one bit, either he was a big kid or he didn’t need some silly thing!! >:(

🐺 So to make fair, Fujin also had one, and it dimmed down Nightwolf’s complaining (he was still grumpy though)

☁️ He doesn’t want to admit that they’ve become useful though, especially in scary scenarios where Fujin doesn’t have to leave to change the sheets

🐺 And the second scenario (and much happier scenario) is where he just slips really really tiny after a long day

☁️ Baby Nightwolf is also an energetic baby, similar to his toddler headspace

🐺 Fujin looks away to cut a sandwich and- How’d he get to the porch? The door was closed?!

☁️ Luckily baby Nightwolf is also a bit clingy, so he’ll just have Fujin carry him outside instead!! :D

🐺 Nightwolf is a bit . . . iffy wearing padding, especially at first

☁️ He’s Nightwolf, protector of the Matoka, not some baby that needs padding or has accidents :(

🐺 But knowing that sometimes Fujin wore it too when he was extra tiny (I did a different Hc list on this) did really help

☁️ Normally he just needs it for naptime, but sometimes he’ll wear it when he’s in babyspace

🐺 His favorite design would be something forestry, maybe wolf prints or something (although he likes plain too)

☁️ He does end up being more okay using them as time goes on, but only Fujin can know >:(

🐺 Completely off-topic, but baby Nightwolf is a BITER

☁️ I know I said earlier that he wasn’t, but that was Toddlerspace Nightwolf, this is Babyspace Nightwolf . . . So it totally cancels out 😎

🐺 Doesn’t matter what it is, his ax, Fujin’s arm, or an actual teething ring, this man chews!

☁️ ^ Fujin does take away the ax, much to Nightwolf’s dismay :(

🐺 Sometimes it’s harsh biting, othertimes it’s just soft chewing, so Fujin’s got a 50/50 on this

☁️ Although he doesn’t really encourage biting people anyways (unless it’s Nightwolf’s replaces for kisses, because those are always soft) so that’s why Nightwolf has some chew rings

🐺 Does Nightwolf use them? . . . He does, but stuffies make good chew toys too!! :D

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Uuuh, after Hc list words. :3

[factorialsotherfandoms]

OPD spoilers up to the end of episode 7, because episode 7 was fun but brain insisted on a couple of thoughts before I can move on (or, apparently, work on thing I was supposed to upload today). Injury warnings, spoiler warnings, and talk about potential death, and also er I've had these characters for one episode running on auto-translated-auto-subtitles. You will pry them from my cold-dead hands, but it's not exactly the best way to study things like speech patterns, especially when my Portuguese is... I can now catch the gist of things and follow the rpg mechanics mostly, but very very far from me being able to use any words? I just kinda can sort of follow via context and stuff I /recognise/ but don't /remember/. Enough rambling, have two guys in a car.

"Where to now?" Johnny asks, as they drive away. "You're the one with the maps."

A groan.

Johnny glances up, checks his partner in the rear-view mirror. Some of his muscles still shift in ways Johnny is pretty sure aren't entirely voluntary, and Rubens holds his entire body like it is in pain. Still, he gives half of a shrug, and keeps looking out of the window.

Johnny is also sore, yes, especially from having been immobilised - but he's /not/ the one whose breathing sounds kind of janky, and hissed when the seatbelt touched his ribs.

"That bad?" He adjusts his question to, glancing up from the road every few seconds.

"Just head home," Rubens answers the first question instead of the second. "We can pick in the morning."

"What morning? It's already gone seven," Johnny takes the turning towards their flat regardless. A pause and then. "You sure you're good just to go home?"

Yes, they need to continue the investigation, but even Johnny can see that Rubens can barely stand; no matter what help they wanted to give those two other agents, it wasn't going to happen.

"What-" Rubens is cut off, hissing, as they go over a bump.

"Yeah, you know what, driver's rules - we're going to the hospital."

Rubens' lack of reply, not even a grimace, is pretty damning. It is also a little worrying, especially with the flinches and extremely deliberate breathing.

It is not that Johnny is paranoid, it's that he knows what that attack did to Johnny himself, and he's gained a decent feel for Rubens' tolerance over the last few months.

He takes the turn towards the hospital, and already starts constructing a lie. Rubens can probably pass for an electrician, and Johnny could have just been helping, and maybe someone turned the mains back on before they were finished? That's got to happen all of the time, right?

"Do you think we'll see them again?" Johnny asks, searching for a conversation topic. He's got to keep driving, but he is more than starting to get worried. "No clue what's up with the boy, but they seemed decent. Good to know the Order's always got people."

Rubens' laugh isn't very happy, "no."

"I thought you were an optimist?"

"Your job," Rubens shifts, seemingly trying to alleviate some discomfort, and only making it worse. "I'd like to, but… you saw them. Injured, electrocuted, and going to where their team went dark? They won't survive. We might not."

It's true, but that doesn't mean he has to say it. There's been a lot of deaths, recently, if what Sam has been telling them is true. Johnny isn't sure, but can't see any reason for Sam to lie about that; Johnny and Rubens have been undercover for months, but have managed to keep themselves above water so far.

A lot of people haven't, though. A great many people haven't.

"You left them your knife," Rubens follows up with.

"Shut up and sort through that notebook instead."

"No." At least he's perked up a little, actually sounding a bit more awake, thinking and shifting a little and worrying his lip before he speaks again. "Maybe they'll surprise me and you'll get it back? Can't read the notebook. The bag is in the boot."

Neither of them comment on how, usually, Rubens would still just lean over and grab it.

"Maps, then?"

He makes a left turn, and they find themselves nearly there.

"They're maps," Rubens replies. "We need the notes to work on a target... Gameshow, orphanage, orphanage, gameshow, Menefreda, puzzles, Energy... I can't see the link; do you think there's any crossover in the cases? Should we ask Samuel for their notes? Something's missing here."

"Can't be sure," Johnny has to focus on this bit of road, busier than the further out streets. "We can ask, though."

"And the girl? Erin? She said the woman's voice was-" Rubens cuts off with a gasp.

Immediately Johnny looks up, checking over his shoulder. Rubens' back is arched and he struggles for air; he shoves on his hazard lights and pulls over before unplugging his seatbelt, and inelegently scrambling across.

By the time he has done so, Rubens' body has relaxed. He has leant back, breathing heavily and clutching at his chest. Johnny places a hand on his back, rubbing a thumb into the twisted muscles there.

"Rubens?" Johnny asks, voice lower. "You good?"

The shudder looks just as involuntary, but a little more normal; Rubens leans slowly forwards, resting only one elbow on his knee, and folding his chin onto it.

One moment, two.

Rubens starts gesturing a reply, only to cut himself off with a wince.

"An answer, please," Johnny keeps his voice low, doing his best to be reassuring.

"I'm good," he answers, blinking fast as he shifts to looking at his hands. "I'm... Good, yes, good. Just, fuck, the speed bump."

Johnny had barely even noticed it; Rubens has got to be much more injured than he looks to react that badly to just a speed bump.

"I'll be more careful," he promises, though he isn't quite sure how. "Good to keep going? We're another ten minutes out, looking at this traffic."

"All good."

It is not quite believable, given everything going on, but Johnny chooses to let it pass. He knows shit all about these things, only that his partner is suffering. He's also suffering, but he's Johnny - he can take it.

Rubens... Not so much. Not really his skill-set; Johnny doesn't jump in the way of fists because he enjoys getting punched, after all.

Choosing to climb back over instead of getting out, Johnny only slightly catches his ankle on the gear-stick. Still, he gets back to the driver's seat safely, turns off the hazard lights, and pulls back into the road.

"Any thoughts so far?" he asks instead.

Johnny can put pressure on a gunshot wound just fine, but electricity is weird. Magic electricity? Even weirder. He does, however, know that so long as everyone is managing coherent conversation he /probably/ can just drive to the hospital instead of faffing with an ambulance.

(Don't they have their own doctor now? Johnny isn't quite sure, but he does know that contacting the Order, outside of secure and prearranged chats with Samuel, is likely to break their cover.)

Rubens shifts his face from side to side, mouthing words to himself and gesturing his hand around in a much more typically Rubens fashion. After a little while he shrugs - only with one shoulder and that's something to make the doctor check - and answers, "hopefully the paperwork is more useful to us; I don't think the Director was actually anyone important. Show, Director, he only does this one bit most likely? And only had, what, five staff members?"

"Barely a crew," Johnny replies. "I don't like the thing with Erin's grandmother - she's definitely not any of the corpses. None were old enough. So why was her voice there?"

"The man too," Rubens replies. "You shouldn't have told them we were Order agents; the cameras were running. Whoever runs it might have heard."

"Shit," Johnny can immediately see the problem but, to be fair, in the moment that had been far from his highest priority. Getting the grenade out already blew more of his cover than either of them liked - he should have just stolen the gun and tried shooting the glass. "We can adapt, but..."

"Danger," Rubens replies. "We'll need to be more careful, right?"

"Right," and, fuck, Johnny has been here before. "We might need to be subtler to get in."

"Games," Rubens replies.

"Hm?"

"He likes games. If we-" another speedbump, and Rubens gasps again, entire body twisting at the pain, but he settles himself quickly, moving on. "Fuck. But, if we do get in... it might be to play with us specifically. If the recording got through. Champion's match. New difficulty."

"Maybe the information we have will be enough?"

The look Rubens gives him is absolutely scathing.

"Yeah, okay, they weren't important enough to have anything actually good. I can wish, though; don't really want to be watching over my shoulder forever."

"It could work in our favour," Rubens settles on. "We need to get into deeper areas anyway. Toying, playing - if we interested whatever's in charge, perhaps it will bring us deeper to try again."

"They're deathtraps."

"But somebody always has to win. It's a bad game, otherwise."

Two people could have won the game they were playing, if they stuck to the rules, or perhaps there would have been more to it. Johnny doesn't expect them to be that generous again, though.

Ah, well, they'll work it out.

They always do.

---

It is not that much further to the hospital, and 7:30am is a blissfully quiet time. Most people from the night before have already left, but it's too early for most sorts of accidents.

Parking is easy, but getting out is more difficult. Well, no, Johnny can get out fine - stiff and weirdly cramping, but fine. It's Rubens he worries about, Rubens who scoots rather than steps out of the car, and still almost immediately collapses to the floor.

The concern - the /worry/ - is back nearly instantly.

"Ow, fuck, shit," Rubens mutters, in between the curse words as he uses the side of the car to leverage himself up.

Yeah, no, that is not going to stand. Johnny comes back over, taking the one of Rubens' arms that he isn't holding strangely, and pulling it over his shoulders. His own arm he wraps around his partner's back, protecting him from any potential falls.

When he squeezes his fingers, Rubens hisses; Johnny shifts them further down with an apology on his tongue.

"It's fine."

It's not fine.

The angle is awkward, so Johnny much crouch a bit as he helps Rubens to the emergency room. Even with the help and the rest he still keeps staggering and stumbling, his legs barely able to hold his weight.

The reception desk is even worse. By the time they get there, Johnny is supporting all of Rubens' admittedly meager weight.

"Hey," he says, reminding himself she may be the gatekeeper but if he isn't polite then they are both in trouble. "Sorry, we were doing some repair work, and some asshole turned the mains back on while we were working. I'm just kinda sore, but my buddy's having trouble breathing."

Always mention the breathing. They hate it when you cannot breathe properly.

Her eyes flicker momentarily wider, looking at the now disturbingly grey Rubens.

"Names, please?"

"I'm Johnny Tabasco, this is Rubens Naluti."

Rubens seems to try to smile and wave, only to grimace and flinch instead.

A few more questions follow - dates of birth, occupations, next of kin, particularly concerning symptoms... Rubens says unusually quiet, getting slowly heavier against Johnny's side.

Eventually, the questioning comes to an end.

"Please go sit down, and fill in these forms," two clipboards are handed to Johnny. Right. Insurance paperwork and medical history - at least he knows enough of Rubens' to fill it in, after so long doing this work together. "Someone will likely be with Mr Naluti shortly, though you yourself will likely have to wait longer. We're not overly busy, but there are still a few incidents already."

"Thank you," and oh, Christ, he's just glad to be able to get Rubens off his feet.

They end up on the plastic chairs, Rubens flinching at it.

"You alright?" Johnny asks him.

There are a good number of fast blinks before Rubens nods, "let's not repeat this, though."

"Sure thing."

Rubens' hand (and only one hand, the other stays at his side) shakes badly as he starts filling in his form - the simple bits like address he leaves just in case, and starts with his medical insurance details. Allergies, pre-existing conditions... Rubens is doubling back to fill in his basic details when a doctor appears.

"Mr Naluti?"

"Here," he raises his clearly good hand.

"If you would come with me, please?" she asks.

He glances to her, to the gap between them, and then to Johnny. Johnny goes to get up to help, and she says "wait here, please, triage for adult patients is done alone."

And, sure, but didn't they get the notes?

Rubens looks at Johnny, only slowly nodding after they have made eye contact. Johnny is not entirely sure what it means, but he prepares himself for trouble anyway.

And then Rubens /tries/ to stand.

This time when he falls, he catches his weight on his bad arm. Johnny just about manages to stop his head or chest crashing into the floor, snapping at the doctor with a "didn't you /read/ he can't walk right now?!" as he helps him back onto the chair.

It leaves Rubens even more off-colour, and shaking, and Johnny not a great deal impressed with what is going on.

"I'll be right back," the doctor vanishes back the way she came.

"Will you be okay alone?" Johnny asks.

"Eh," Rubens manages a small laugh - his breathing is not settling this time, remaining too fast and too shallow. "I'll manage."

"Of course you will."

Johnny wishes there was an easier way to solve this specific bullshit at least.

Quickly, Johnny finished Rubens papers, and lets him sign them. They are ready when a different doctor appears - this one accompanied by some lower ranked staff member pushing a wheelchair.

"Mr Naluti, I'll be taking over from my colleague," the new doctor says. "We need to speak to you alone - privacy and protocol, you understand - but he can help you transfer if that is better for you?"

It is better for Johnny, at least.

"It's up to you," he still manages to say, standing and offering his arms, just like getting out of the car.

Rubens nods, and takes them, struggling the few short steps from the chair to the wheelchair. Johnny helps him get... not comfortable, but less uncomfortable, before placing Rubens' clipboard on his lap.

"See you shortly," Johnny promises.

"Yeah," Rubens replies between tight breaths. "See you soon."

---

Johnny does not see Rubens shortly, not even close thereto. They did bring the evidence with them, split between their bags - it's been stolen from their car before, and that was it's own form of nightmare - but he cannot exactly work on it here. Neither can he work on it without Rubens, who...

"Mr Tabasco," one of the nurses had told him. "Your friend - Mr Naluti? He asked us to tell you... He needs to be admitted due to internal damage? Primarily to his lung. There is surgery involved, though the tear is small and so it is a relatively simple procedure. It is not common with electrical injuries, especially with mains supplies, but it can happen. The doctor wished to work on it immediately, and he consented. There were some other internal injuries too - all consistent with severe muscle spasming or electrical burns. You'll be able to see him once the doctors have finished, but he'll be here a few nights most likely; until the chest tube comes out, at least, perhaps longer depending on his ribs. Given the nature of his injuries, and that you were injured together, the doctor wishes to see you immediately."

And Johnny liked none of that, not at all. He complied with the doctors simply to get through everything, and given an injection to force his muscles to stop cramping. He hates how it helps him feel less like shit, and concedes to their desire for at least 24 hours of wires and monitoring only once he realises it will place him and Rubens on the same ward.

The ward is louder, and busier, and Johnny hasn't slept since this time yesterday, if nobody counts getting knocked out and kidnapped. Still, he cannot rest yet, not until he knows Rubens is fine. There are, at least, some non-work related books in his bag; he'll text Sam with an update once he's sure what's going on, and until then at least try to relax.

Thankfully, he does not get more than two chapters in before Rubens is brought through. Something he said must have stuck with the doctors, as he is given the next bed along. Propped to half-sitting, with some wires and tubes and thick bandaging around one shoulder, but awake and unhappy about it. Johnny waits for the medical staff to finish adjusting him to take a better look; Rubens' eyes trail after them somewhat nervously, and hospital blue does not suit him but he is looking a distinctly better colour.

"You alright?" he asks, drawing attention from the room to himself.

Rubens visibly relaxes when his eyes catch on him, bored and reading. He gestures to himself with his unbandaged arm, clearly moving carefully so as not to disturb anything.

"You?" he returns with.

"Painkillers help," Johnny offers, and receives a firm nod of agreement. "I'm sore, but fine. Might have torn something, but swelling needs to go down to check. The burns are too deep, but my nerves are a bit sensitive and they want to be absolutely sure the ones around my heart are fine before they let me leave."

"Heart?" Rubens asks, his attention focusing in for a second, before someone dropping a tray of medicines with a loud 'fuck!' draws a flinch and his attention.

"Doctor said if there was going to be a problem there probably would be by now, but he wanted it monitoring just in case," Johnny does his best to reassure. "You... look a bit more alive?"

"Not alive enough to read."

Johnny laughs, "I wasn't going to ask you for that already. Did they say how long you're here for...?"

Rubens shakes his head a little, "no 'heavy exercise' for at least 4 weeks. Maybe more. Depends on my ribs."

"I'll let Sam know. We can sort through the paperwork and update reports in the meantime."

"Ugh," he flops harder into the pillows, seemingly trying to lay down - something the nurses made impossible for the both of them - but gestures consent. "Tell him 'just hack the hospital records'."

"Alright. Get some sleep, or I do have our bags? I think your wallet is in there if you want to buy access to the TVs. Not sure what else you packed."

There is just the problem of getting Rubens' bag to him.

Rubens seems to choose sleep, though, or at least closing his eyes to think about something - it's been a long night, and Johnny will probably follow once he's reported in.

Just a short text message; Sam can work out a more secure connection if he wants information immediately, otherwise he can wait until at least Johnny can head home and ring. Scanning he can also do, but accessing the digital documents will have wait for Rubens. Not that the Order is ever running to time anyway.

'Hey Sam' he types, keeping things on their personal phones as civilian sounding as possible. 'So first off, don't panic, nobody's dead or dying, but Rubens and I are in hospital. He said to tell you to just hack the hospital records, so now I've said it. Not really in the mood to explain

.., but the short is some asshole got us electrocuted...'

[infiniteorangethethird]

I don't know where this "if you don't feel love/empathy you're evil" idea comes from like if you can only be decent towards people if you love them/feel empathy towards them then I'm pretty sure I'm not the one mistreating more people of the two of us

[aquaheartgirl]

“the idea that ‘aging is unnatural and if you don’t spend a lot of time and money trying to minimize or cover up the effects it has on your face and skin (with makeup, surgery, avoiding the sun, etc) then you will be less valued as a person and be miserable’ is awful and toxic and causes a lot of damage to society and individuals alike”

and

“everyone’s body belongs to them and it is their choice what to do with it, including wearing or not wearing makeup, modifying their body or not, trying to reduce the effects of aging or just letting it happen, or anywhere in between”

and

“no one should ever be pressured (either directly or indirectly, intentionally or subconsciously) to look a certain way or put a certain amount of effort (whether that’s a lot or none at all) into how they present themselves”

are all statements that CAN AND SHOULD COEXIST

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[famousprophets22]

i love being transgender i love doing my silly little t shot every week i am so proud of who i am and what ive done to get to where i am now I LOVE BEING TRANS!!!1!!!1!😸😸😸

[bibluebutterfly]

I think the beautiful thing about the Broppy relationship is how they impact one another.

Branch’s impact on Poppy is the most obvious in the movies because he’s the one who teaches her to calm down and listen.

But what I think people overlook is the fact that despite her flaws, Poppy never gave up on Branch. Because as cute as they are now, there was a time when Branch was actually pretty cruel to her (ie. Putting her down, smashing her custom made invitations for him in front of her face, mocking her ideals, etc) and probably had been treating her like that for years before movie #1.

Everyone else had given up on him, basically deeming him as a lost cause, but Poppy never stopped trying. Yes Branch got on her nerves and hurt her feelings, and as far as she knew he would just throw her invitations away afterwards. Yet despite that she still put in the effort to make him custom invitations and genuinely want him to be there.

And even though he never dared express it, those efforts meant something to him.

Like we love Branch, but I don’t think we give Poppy enough credit for her role in Branch’s life. He was unkind (to put it lightly) to her for years, but despite that she never held any resentment towards him and still felt that he deserved to be happy. And by that incredible persistence, she worked her way into his heart.

See, Branch is a character who is completely used to tragedy and people he loves leaving in his life. So that’s partially why he pushed Poppy away and treated her so poorly. But despite that, Poppy was always THERE. She was with him when literally nobody else was. She was naive, optimistic and annoying, but she was there. Always putting the effort to be his friend, and the only one who had any sort of faith in him. He may have been isolated, but because of Poppy he was never truly alone. And even if it irked him, he still appreciated that.

And when somebody sticks with you literally no matter what, it’s not surprising that he fell more than a little bit in love.

As for Poppy, she’s slowly becoming aware that she can be a bit much sometimes. She always wants the best for her people but she doesn’t always know how to do that. Branch, even if originally rude about it, has always been able to give it to her straight. And even if he pretended not to care, he still had her back when it mattered the most. And after number one, it looks like he has her back more than ever while still being able to be the voice of reason. Which yes, Poppy definitely needs.

(Gah I wish I could put more pictures to elaborate my point but y’all get it.)

Anyway. They’re not perfect characters, but they are perfect for each other. Branch supports Poppy but gives it to her flat out. Meanwhile Poppy too supports Branch and is stubborn enough to stick by him, even when he’ll intentionally and/or unintentionally push her away. And that’s just gorgeous.

[angelltheninth]

Adam x reader but they’re still alive and she’s the third wife made for him and he eats pussy for the first time 🫢🫢🙏🏻🙏🏻🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️

You ready my fucking mind! I was thinking about this for a few days.

Pairing: Adam x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, first time cunnilingus, praise, hair-pulling (for Adam), cum eating, praise, clit stimulation, Adam's ego, Adam hates Lucifer

Word count: 0.7k

A/N: I am actually taken back by how much I love Adam. He's an asshole for sure but he's a charismatic asshole.

Adam moved his body against yours, quick rapid-fire cumshots making your insides tingle with warmth. It coiled at the pit of your stomach and stayed there, uncomfortable and heavy and annoying as hell. Maybe more annoying.

"Thanks for the fuck, Babe." His satisfied smile was cute if a bit too smug, like he just accomplished something big by coming inside your pussy. You whimpered as he pulled out, "Woo-hoo-hoa. There's so much, keep that shit in there, are you even trying to make kids or nah?"

Naturally procreation was high on the list of priorities for the two of you. As his third wife you wanted to give him something his first two wives couldn't, a real family. "As much as you are. But you know that's not the only purpose of sex right?"

"Of course not. My dick feels so damn good when we have sex!" Adam pointed down at the mentioned dick, half-hard and covered with both your cum.

"Yeah... and what about me?" You took his hands and pushed them towards your pussy.

"Oh. Oh yeah. I guess I can finger you. Gotta push that fucking cum back in." He chuckled and bent his middle and ring finger, his long digits closing in to your pussy before you grabbed his wrists, "What the fuck, you bitch?! I'm trying to be nice! You don't want my fingers or something?!"

How the hell was the one offended here? "I didn't say that Adam. I... want your mouth. Okay, happy? Is that what you wanted me to say?" Instead of grinning in victory like he usually did when he got you flustered he blinked in confusion. "Don't you think it's only fair after how many times I sucked you off?"

"W-Well... but... you love to suck my dick!" God he was so childish sometimes. How was he the first man and the man you fell in love with? God truly does work in mysterious ways. "I shouldn't have to eat pussy to make you feel good."

Okay. Time to pull out the last weapon you had. "Bet Lucifer knows how to eat pussy."

Adam was human. He was. But the look he gave you in that moment would make any demon shiver. "What was that?! Think I can't do better then that asshole?!" He pushed himself down and pinned your legs apart, "Fucking watch me, Babe." He was all talk right now. The moment you smiled at him he looked... awkward. He was the first man, he should be good at this, he should be good at everything.

Yet his licks were slow, experimental, insecure, way too light between your folds. "Adam. You can lick harder." He let out a grunt and quirked his eyebrow at you, he hated being told what to do. "I need you to lick harder, it would make my pussy feel so good if your tongue could- ah!" There it was. A little praise, a little persuasion and he was doing as you asked.

"Can't forget about this little thing right here." His teeth pressed against your clit, your pussy clenching and pushing more of his cum out. "I see how it is, you want more huh? Enjoying yourself? Tell me."

"Yes. You're doing good, Adam." Your hands brushed through his messy brown hair, not so much directing him as giving him a reassuring massage, "Your tongue is divine."

"You bet this cunt it is. Praise me more, Babe, scream. Let everyone hear how good I'm giving it to you." Adam's tongue descended lower to your cum-filled hole, pushing back and forth, "Damn I taste good. I see why you like swallowing it." Of course he somehow made this about himself again. It didn't matter. He was still doing as you asked, making you feel so fucking good.

"That's right, you're making me feel good with your tongue. Only you can make me feel like this. Only you can make me come from eating me out." That was all he needed in order to do just that. To know he was your one and only. Your hips bucked into his face, your back arched, toes curling while he licked and kissed and finally went back to sucking your clit. "Adam! S-Sto- oh my god- wai-!"

He wasn't stopping. Adam always did as he wanted. You came on his tongue, in his mouth, and now that he's accomplished that he wanted to do it again. You watched his tongue move across your clit, spelling his name on it, "There. Now this clit, this cunt, is all mine."

[wishful-seeker]

Tips on how to avoid being unintentionally ableist

1. When a disabled person says they cannot do something, and you wish to offer solutions, do not make a solution that involves them powering through pain, or something thats not accessible to the disabled.

Example:

Disabled person: "washing dishes hurts too much and i cannot do it."

Abled person: "what if you did one dish at a time throughout the day?"

This statement is not respecting that this disabled person just said they "can't". Always respect that. No matter how simple the task would be for you.

Disabled person:" i think ill use plastic silverware so i don't make dishes."

Abled person: "plastic is bad for the environment!"

This statement shuts down the most accessible and disabled friendly option that this disabled person can actually do because of the abled persons personal beliefs. This is not helpful, and ableist.

Better yet, instead of offering solutions, ask them directly "is there anything you need that you do not have that would help you do this?" This allows the disabled person to think about what would work, and they will always have a better idea of what would work than you do.

To add on to this, when we say we have no more energy to solve a problem or do a task, or change our lifestyle, we mean it.

2. If you feel discomfort when a disabled person is talking about their health, good and bad, that is ableist. Your discomfort is coming from a place that deams disabled peoples very existence as a bad thing and you need to fix that.

For example:

Disabled person:" this week has been rough pain wise, ive been through a lot, felt like my body was on fire. Lucky i got new meds though and i think they're helping!"

Abled person: "can we talk about something else, this is a bummer."

Disabled people should be able to exist freely without worrying about your personal comfort. Do you really think its appropriate to tell someone in constant pain that their life is making YOU uncomfortable?

3. Do not treat disabled people as tragedies, do not romanticize their old life or put their current one down.

For example:

Disabled person: "yeah my life is pretty difficult sometimes, ive lost a lot but i still have happy moments."

Abled person: "it makes me so sad to see what disabled people go through :(. You used to love rock climbing and running, i would love to see you move around more again."

This statement is putting more value on the disabled persons abled past, and ignoring their life as a whole.

4. Do not avoid speaking to disabled people because it hurts to see your loved one disabled.

For example: my grandmother avoids conversations with me because it hurts her to see me in pain. While she has good intentions it leaves me being unable to be close to her. This is very isolating to the disabled.

5. Do not stop inviting your disabled friend/loved one out even if they are never well enough to attend. Unless we specifically ask you to stop asking if we can go out, good chances are we want to know you still care because again, disability is very isolating.

6. When a disabled person says certain things in their health have gotten better or worse, do not challenge this because you don't see a difference.

For example:

Disabled person: "yeah things are getting a little better"

Abled person sees disabled person using their wheelchair like usual: "i thought you said you were getting better?"

Better and worse are usually small changes only the disabled experience, its not like abled people healing from a broken arm. Better to a disabled person could mean they can stand for 10 more minutes.

7. Do not expect disabled people to ever be abled again, and again, do not put more value on an abled life.

For example:

Disabled person:"I have been using a wheelchair for 2 years."

Abled person: "oh you're young, im sure you'll be walking around in no time!"

This statement invalidates and ignores the disabled persons current life by hoping they get a more abled bodied life. Its fine to hope disabled people get better, but you don't get to decide what better looks like.

Hope this helps, stay punk.

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

He's been at Steve's house a week before he manages to gather up the courage to ask.

He shuffles into the living room, Steve's old slippers on his feet, Steve's old pajamas hanging off him. He'd lost weight in the hospital. And hadn't gained much back yet, still in too much pain to really have an appetite. But this, it needed doing. He needed it done.

"Steve?" He asks, throat clicking, voice scratchy from underuse. Steve looks away from the tv immediately, hits the mute button, eyes wide and on Eddie.

"Hey. You okay?" He asks, turning his whole body on the couch, towards Eddie, giving him his full attention.

Eddie just nods. Slowly. His eyes going unfocused, staring at the floor.

"Eddie?" And Steve's in front of him now, he hadn't even heard him get up.

"Hmm?" He hums in his throat, eyes still feeling foggy.

"Did you need something?" Steve asks, Eddie's eyes focus, the concern in Steve's voice bring him back into his body. He looks at Steve, nods, says,

"I need you to cut my hair." His lip trembles, he digs his teeth in.

"You... what?" Steve's confused. Rightfully so. Eddie swallows around the fire in his throat, tries to explain it to Steve. This thing he can barley figure out himself. Has a half formed idea at best. He wipes at his nose with the back of his hand, Steve steps a little closer.

"It's just- it keeps- I keep laying on it. And it... pulls. And I'm sleeping and it pulls and I wake up and I can't breathe and it's-" he inhales, sharp and shakey and then Steve is there, his hands on Eddie's shoulders.

"Okay. It's okay. I'll do it. Whatever you want Ed's." He pulls Eddie upstairs, into his bathroom. Stands with him in front of the mirror, scissors in hand.

"Where do you want it?" Steve asks, his eyes meeting Eddie's in the mirror. Eddie takes a deep breath, brings his hand up, winces at the pull on his ribs but keeps going.

"Above my shoulders. But like... I wanna still be able to tuck it behind my ears?" He's not sure why it comes out as a question, but Steve just nods, Eddie sees his lips twitch into the start of a smile before dropping again. He reach up, drags his fingers genlty through Eddie hair.

His stomach sinks, his hair is gross. He hasn't washed it in days. Too tired. Too much pain. Too much effort.

"Sorry my hair's gross." He mumbles, lips barley moving.

"It's not. It's fine." Steve assures him, his voice soft, sections out a small lock of hair, he looks at Eddie in the mirror again.

"You're sure about this?" He asks, he looks sad. Eddie hates it. But also doesn't. Because it means Steve sees him, understands him, and how important his hair is to him.

But it doesn't matter right now. That his hair is a peice of him, a peice of the Eddie he'd built to keep himself safe. A peice of his armor.

"I'm sure. Please." He isn't begging, exactly, but his hands fist in his pajama pants, and it feels like it anyway.

"I'm gonna go just above your shoulder at first okay? And then if you want more off we can do that." Steve waits for Eddie to agree and then starts cutting.

Eddie closes his eyes when the scissors sink through his hair. Keeps them closed as Steve works. He stops a few cuts in and tells Eddie to wait there. Eddie sits on the toilet seat as he waits for Steve to come back.

He brings a radio with him, clicks in one of the tapes Eddie made him, and gets back to work. Eddie's eyes stay closed. He finds himself smiling as he listens to Steve hum behind him. Scrunches his nose when Steve full on sings a few times.

Not because he's bad. He's got a really nice voice actually. Eddie loves listening to him sing. But if he didn't scrunch his face he might to do something else instead, something stupid, with Steve so close.

It only takes a couple songs before Steve's hands are on his shoulders, gentle, reassuring, an anchor.

"Okay. It's done. Or at least. Might be. I can take more off if you need me too." His voice is soft in Eddie's ear, Eddie can feel the heat of his chest on his back he's so close.

He opens his eyes and feels his heart flutter in his chest. His head swimming a little. His hair hadn't been this short since junior year. He can see Steve watching him in the mirror.

"Good?" He asks, dragging his lip into his mouth and letting it go again.

"I think so." Eddie says, feeling a bit dazzed, a bit dizzy. And then Steve fucking reaches up with both hands, tucks Eddie's hair behind his ears genlty, his fingers moving down his neck to rest back on his shoulders.

"I could take another inch. It'd still fit behind your ears." Steve's eyes are moving over his head, like he's doing some complex math equation. Eddie wants to cry. His chest tight.

"Okay. Take it." He says, Steve's eyes move to his in their reflections again.

"Yeah?" Steve asks, reaching up and smoothing his hand over Eddie's hair. Eddie nods.

"Yeah. One more inch." He breathes the words out, like he just needs them gone, out of his mouth. Steve smiles at him, untucks his hair from his ears and starts cutting again.

Eddie watches him this time. Watches the way his tongue sticks out as he concentrates, measuring Eddie's hair between his fingers before he cuts. His tongue peaking out between his lips, brow furrowed in concentration.

Eddie watches him and tries to convince himself he actually wanted it shorter. And maybe he did. But he knows too, that he didn't want Steve to stop touching him. Steve's eyes meet his in the mirror and he smiles again. Eddie looks away. His cheeks burning.

"Okay. You're done Munson." His voice is teasing, it makes Eddie's stomach flutter.

"Thanks. Harrington." He teases back. Too soft. He knows. But he can't help it. His voice is stuck in his throat. Steve snorts as Eddie turns, takes a step toward the door.

"Actually. Can I-" Steve stops, his hand curling around Eddie's bicep, stopping him there. Eddie looks at him. Waiting.

"Can I wash your hair for you?" Steve asks, his voice quiet, Eddie barely hears it over the radio.

"My...?" Is Eddie's articulate reply.

"Please? It'll make you feel better. I- I think." Steve stammers a bit, always so endearing when he does that. Eddie loves when he's flustered.

"I uh... yeah okay. If you want." Eddie shrugs, tries to act normal. Like any of this is normal. And Steve fucking beams at him, that beautiful smile on full display.

"Okay cool. Just uh... here you can sit here while I get this cleaned up and get a towel and I'll be right back." He's talking fast, his hands flailing and jumping around as he talks. Eddie just nods, smiling at him as he watches him toss Eddie's chopped hair into the trash. Watches him take a lock of it and tie it in a knot, tells Eddie he'll put it somewhere safe. So they'll know when it's fully grown out again.

Steve wipes up the counter and disappears, comes back with two towels a few seconds later. Instructs Eddie to sit on the floor. He sets a towel down for him to sit on and lays the other over the side of the tub.

Eddie lets Steve guide him. His hands gentle as he lowers Eddie's head back over the tub, asks if he's comfortable, Eddie hums an affirmation. Steve makes sure the water is warm, not too hot, because Eddie doesn't like hot water. He gets it perfect. And then starts pouring water onto Eddie's hair.

Eddie's not sure where he got the cup. Or if it was already there for some reason. He means to ask but Steve's fingers sink into his hair and his brain short circuits. The shampoo smells amazing. Minty. It tingles against his scalp in the best way as Steve's fingers move in slow circles.

Eddie's eyes fall closed. He's sure he makes some obscene noise but Steve is kind enough not to comment. His fingers working magic in Eddie's hair. He rinses with warm water, the contrast from the cool minty feeling making Eddie shiver.

He hears Steve laugh a quiet laugh as he does and smiles himself. He hears another bottle pop open and closed and then Steve's fingers are back. Working the conditioner into his hair slowly, massaging it into his scalp as well. His hands moving slowly, with a purpose, for what feels like hours. He pulls back eventually, fingers dragging slowly through Eddie's hair as he goes.

"I'm gonna let that sit for about two minutes and then we'll rinse okay? You doin okay? Not in pain are you?" Steve all but whispers in Eddie's ear. The radio is still playing in the background. But Eddie couldn't tell you a single fucking song that had played since Steve started touching him.

"I'm good. Kinda tired. But that might just be your magic fingers." He peaks one eye open, watches as Steve laughs, shakes his head. He closes his eye again and laughs too. Only it wasn't a joke. Not really. Steve's fingers were magic. Just like the rest of him.

Steve hums along to Queen's Radio Ga Ga as they wait, Eddie tapping out the beat on his thigh as Steve hums and sways. The song ends and Steve scoots closer.

"Ready?" He asks, turning the water back on.

"As I'll ever be." Eddie deadpans, scooting back a bit from where he'd slid down.

"You're not gonna try and put products in my hair and blow dry it are you?" Eddie asks as Steve starts pouring water over him, fingers moving quicker now, moving his hair around to get it clean, he snorts again.

"No. Just wanted to get you clean." He says, pouring one last cup of water over his hair and turning the tap off. He grabs at each side of the towel under Eddie's neck and lifts, pulling Eddie up and wrapping his hair in one smooth motion. Eddie's eyes land on him and he can't help it.

"So my hair was gross. I knew it." He sighs, watches Steve's nose crinkle.

"It really wasn't that bad. But you thought it was. So i figured this would help." Steve shrugged, like it was nothing. Eddie bit his lip as Steve patted and scrunched his hair in the towel, being careful not to pull.

He claps his hands down on his thighs and helps Eddie get back on his feet. Pulls him genlty to stand in front of the mirror again and smiles soflty when Eddie takes the towel off his head and drags his own fingers through his hair.

It's short, leveled at his chin, a little above when he tucks it behind his ears. And he feels... better. Lighter. He shoves his hands up into the back of it, taking a deep breathe when his fingers drag over his neck, it makes him shiver.

"Fuck. I'm gonna be cold now." He mutters, chuckling in his throat, he hadn't thought about that.

"I'll keep you warm." Steve's voice is soft, when he speaks. The tape in the deck clicks and goes quiet as they stare at each other in the mirror.

"I just wanted you to feel better. But I'll gladly keep you warm too. Whatever you need Eddie. I- I mean I'm here. For you. Not goin anywhere." He shrugs after he mumbles through his little confession, his eyes on the floor when he turns to Eddie.

"I feel better." Eddie whispers, bites his lip and decides to be brave.

He steps forward, into Steve's space, Steve lifts his head, hazel eyes darting around Eddie's face. Eddie hears his breath stutter when he leans closer, presses his lips to Steve's cheek, firm.

Wanting no doubt in Steve's mind that Eddie means this. Means to kiss him. Means to pull him into a tight hug after. Means to hum happily into Steve's neck when Steve pulls him close, arms wrapping around Eddie's skinny frame and holding him tight.

"I'm not going anywhere either." Eddie breathes into his shoulder, presses another kiss there, into his shirt, like a promise. Steve squeezes him tighter, Eddie thinks he might be crying. His chest fluttering against Eddie's as he breathes shakily.

"Can I sleep in your bed tonight?" Eddie asks, lets Steve pull away a bit so he can see him. Eddie was right, there are tears in his eyes, but he's smiling as he looks at Eddie.

"Yeah. Course you can. You can sleep there every night if you want. Forever." Steve says, nuzzles into Eddie touch as he wipes tears away from his flushed cheeks.

"Forever huh?" Eddie teases, kissing acoss Steve's cheeks genlty as he laughs, it's wet, and wobbly, and Eddie is so fucking in love with him already.

"Yeah. Forever. Or however long you want me I guess." He shrugs again, dismissive, as if he really thinks Eddie would ever give him up.

"Forever sounds good to me. Not fucking letting you go now I've got you." Eddie whispers, his hands holding Steve's face, Steve's hands on his wrists, holding him too.

"You're gonna keep me forever?" Steve asks, his lip trembling as he looks at Eddie with hope in his teary eyes.

"Forever and ever, if I can." Eddie nods, and it seems to break Steve. He sighs, grabs at Eddie's pajama shirt and tugs him forward. Their lips crash together, a little rough at first, their teeth clicking until Steve seems to calm and slow down. His lips move genlty against Eddie's, soft and slow, and when he pulls back he's smiling again, his crooked little half smile that Eddie loves so much.

Steve scrunches his hair a few more times and then drags Eddie upstairs, gets them both comfy in his bed. And he holds Eddie as they fall alseep, pressing kisses into his hair and against his temple before sleep takes him.

Eddie wakes up warm. Drapped across Steve's chest as the sun hits them. He feels lips press into his hair, smiles when Steve makes exaggerated kissy noises. But he keeps his eyes closed, nuzzles deeper into Steve as he feels his fingers press into his hair.

Eddie hums as they drag through a few times, nimbly untangling rats or snags as they move. He sinks deeper into Steve, his heart fluttering as Steve's hand moves through his hair genlty, scratching at his scalp as he goes, before settling against the back of his neck, his thumb moving in slow cirles against the newly exposed skin.

Eddie whimpers into Steve's chest and snuggles closer, Steve keeping him warm, just like he promised. Eddie couldn't wait to spend forever with him.

[nichuuu]

Scatterbrain

Word count: 18k+

They say it takes a village to raise a child. 

To raise a girl as fine as Jang Wonyoung, you’d probably need 3 whole villages.

Two of those three villages would be used to train the way she walks because it’s perfect: classy, poised, elegant. The other one would have to work on her outfits because god would she need those. Hopefully the village doesn’t operate a Shein style manufacturing line. She’d hate that.

Her face is the definition of “striking the gene pool lottery”, and so is the rest of her body. Lanky arms and legs; toned, slim tummy; big, bright eyes that glimmer under the flashing lights. Personally, you like her “you’re on camera” smile the most. She knows this, and she always makes it a point to shoot it your way as she struts towards you. She stops half way to get a flute of Champagne, make that two actually, then grabs another. Those long legs can cover one hell of a distance, and they bring her right to you in a matter of seconds.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” she hands you the Champagne flute in her left hand, and the rings on it shine in the light, “cause it’s starting to feel like you’re just stalking me now.”

Of course, it’s the snarky remarks that open the conversation. Jang Wonyoung, airheaded as ever m’lady, and you sip on the Bubbly that she’s very nicely delivered to you. Wonyoung is, of course, a little bit of an airhead in your books (only because she believes that you’re always there for her, nothing else), and it’s never not hilarious to watch her draw her lips into a thin line. It’s not the first time she’s hearing this from you; it certainly won’t be the last. You can’t control where you’re posted to, but you know for a fact that you’ll see her again a couple months down the road.

Cause your meetings with Jang Wonyoung are through pure serendipity really, and you certainly will start calling it that after you read that one story. You know: the one where this guy cheats on his idol girlfriend, who he has a tense relationship with, with another idol that he happens to meet just about everywhere. There’s 0 communication between the two of you when these types of events come around, and neither of you know if either of you will be there or not. Actually, it’s just you really; neither of you know if you will be there. 

“Here for Kwon Eunbi again? Or are you finding someone else?” This question of her’s is customary at this point. Never once has it been perfunctory.

“Well, I was actually here to try and catch an interview with Jo Yuri, but I guess you’ll do,” you reply. Wonyoung scoffs—so I’m second place then?—and you have to assuage her oh-so-damaged ego, “you’re making this inference on your own Princess. I never said anything remotely close to that.”

And it’s that smile on her face that makes you want to kiss her really. It’s gorgeous, it’s cute, it’s beautiful. She’s given you that damned smile so many times that you could probably draw it from memory, though you’d definitely butcher it. The dress is certainly doing it justice, and you watch it brush against the skin of her legs as she shifts her weight to the other foot. I’ve never been that good at inferences. You’re far better than me, Prince, and she’s playing with her hair: twirling and untwirling it around her finger. That ribbon atop her head… Her stylist certainly knows their stuff.

“Think I’ll win an award this year?” Her question draws you away from your thorough examination of her. You take a moment to think, and you have to say, it depends, but I think you could definitely get something in some category. She gives you this inscrutable look, and she’s chuckling to herself as she looks at the crowd and sips on her champagne. You can guess what she’s about to say next: quite the crowd today, huh? And you’d reply, “Don’t think that they’re all here for you”, and that would prompt her to shoot back with, “Then who are they here for? You?”. 

But of course, when do things ever go according to plan?

“Have you thought about my offer?” she asks, and you’re caught off guard. 

Cause here’s the history between you two: Middle school best friends, always kind of inseparable. She was the beauty queen, it girl, and she still is; you were the writer, head of the school magazine, and you’re pretty much writing for the rest of your life. Wherever you went with her, rumours followed—Are they dating? I think they’re just friends. Maybe she’s trying to be the front of the magazine?—but you never thought much of it. It was just a simple friendship to you, nothing more. 

Then the kiss she gave you in high school changed it all.

It was a party, hosted by one of your mutual friends. She kissed you, and no, it wasn’t a Spin The Bottle forfeit, nor was it a dare of any sort; it was a sincere, tender kiss in the garden—unprompted, and away from any prying eyes and soft like silk chiffon. You have to admit, the sensation had your brain mired for a minute or so. But when you came back to your senses, you kissed her right back, and things got complicated after that. 

No one knew of it; it was your little secret. Wonyoung became closer than ever, and next thing you know, she declares the two of you “exclusive” but not dating. It’s because her agency has that funky dating ban thing, and Wonyoung was desperate to find a loophole, albeit a little complex. Of course, you’re willing to stay “exclusive” with Wonyoung in secret, but you started to worry that it can’t stay this way for long after the two of you get out of high school. 

But as fate would have it, your career paths meet at the crossroads, and now you see her every other month or so. You still text her when you can, and the “exclusive” relationship has sustained. Now that she’s an adult and she’s bringing in mad bucks for the agency, she’s informed you of some changes in her contact. From there, the offer was birthed, and you have left it unchecked for the past four months or so, “grey ticked” as she liked to call it.

“You haven’t texted in a while, thought you died,” she continues, leaning on her elbows against the table. “Thank god you’re alive, huh?”

You hoped that she’d just forget about it, but she’s more of a mnemonist than you give her credit for. An award show is the last place you expected to be caught off guard by Jang Wonyoung, but she’s definitely a master of surprise. I uh… I haven’t really thought about it, is a lie you tell her and yourself. She smiles enigmatically, downs the rest of her Champagne. 

“Let’s talk about it tonight,” she touches your chest, and it’s soft like silk chiffon, “you know where to find me, Prince.”

She struts off to join the rest of her members, stops halfway to return her Champagne flute, then looks back at you over her shoulder to give you a small wave. You sip on your Champagne as the silk brushes against her skin. 

It’s a heavy breath that leaves your mouth, and it’s the rest of the Champagne that goes in.

*

302.

Gold lettering, black plaque. It’s grand, pretty elegant. Suits her well. 

Then the door opens. 

In her bathrobe, Jang Wonyoung shoots her “you’re on camera” smile. You’re earlier than expected—she lets you in—Matter of fact, I thought you might not show at all.

And it’s a must to quip back, “thought you’d be asleep by now you big baby.”

When the door closes, it’s straight to work, and here’s how that normally goes: kissing, undressing, foreplay, then finally—fucking. Not that it has to follow that order or anything, but it’s the unspoken schedule that Wonyoung’s written up. God forbid anyone goes against what the princess is comfortable with, not that you’d ever try to either way. Your voice is barely a mumble past her lips—aren’t we supposed to talk about something?—and Wonyoung’s quick to dismiss any queries, “later. There’s always time for it later”. 

So it’s the kiss that’s pulling you back into her. Her front teeth capture your bottom lip, pull, drags it back a little like she’s trying to unwrap you like a present. You hold her waist, and with gentle hands, you push her back against the wall. It’s not that you’re trying to get control or anything; you’re just attempting to give her something to work with, a place to rest as she starts to work on the buttons of your shirt. 

“Are you already naked underneath that?” you whisper, though it’s more of a drawl than a whisper. In response, she momentarily stops with your buttons to slide a section of her bathrobe away, giving you a good look at a column of her naked, milky skin. 

In short: Yes, she is very much naked under that robe.

“Don’t get distracted, my prince. Eyes up here.”

“You’re the one that made me look, princess.”

She’s evidently struggling with the last button of your shirt, and you have to let go of her for a moment to help her get it done. Then it’s off with the shirt, and she flings it against the door for convenience sake. Your belt’s next, and that’s taken care of before you can even say, let me undress you Princess. It does make her hesitate at the clasp of your trousers for a bit. Just for a bit.

“I’d like,” her fingers are moving again, and they’re awfully quick at unfastening your pants, “for you to unwrap me on the bed instead.”

How raunchy of her. Makes you want to try her on.

Your pants fall. Your hand slithers into the bathrobe. Her jaw drops. Wonyoung my darling, and your fingers have captured one of those perky breasts, the right one to be exact. How do you ever—it’s light pressure to the nipple for you; it’s mind melting for her—get away with being such a big slut? Look at you, I’m barely even squeezing here. You’d like to save that face she makes in a supercut of her other memorable faces: eyes wide, mouth agape and her chin tucked into her neck. Frame it up, take a step back, admire it. It’s the face of someone who’s pent up, the expression of a needy girl who’s been aching to get some dick. Maybe if you guys had met a little sooner, she wouldn’t be this sensitive. But now? A twist of your forefinger and thumb is all it takes to draw a cry out of her, a little more pressure is enough to rain hellfire upon her. What a crazy-hot mess she is; only god knows how to clean her up and get her sorted out.

Open mouth straight to your ear, Wonyoung lets out a breathy gasp. In your fingers, the stiff peak rolls between the pads—back, forth, back, forth: motions that make her weak in her knees. It’s with great effort that she pulls your face back to hers, captures you in her quivering lips. Elegance has long been thrown out the window by now, and it’s not going to be returning for quite some time, as if you ever need it at a time like this. She’s barely holding herself up at this point. Where did the prim proper Jang Wonyoung go? 

The answer’s in her kiss—gone, dusted, she was here just a minute ago though. She’s grasping at whatever inch of your skin she can find, and her nails are definitely gonna be leaving marks on the sides of your neck. You let out a small, wry laugh as you silently observe her behaviour, watching her implore without speaking, badger without requesting. It’s an art form really, the form of expression for the horny and desperate and bratty. When her hands grip your face and her nails sink into your cheek, you pinch a little harder and relish the pleasant vibrations that are sent into your mouth as she gasps. Her palms press into your jaw, and they’d probably crush it if you press any harder. Her feet patter against the wood as she starts to direct you to the bed. You kick off your shoes together with your pants. 

It’s definitely a sight to take in: Jang Wonyoung in a massive king size bed, a thin bathrobe being the only thing between you and that wonderful body being the bathrobe. Maybe if she wasn’t in this state she’s in, she’d gesture to you with a come hither motion, and invite you to remove the fabric from her body. Instead, she opts for a spine tingling mewl, and that’s your invitation to her body. It’s hardly an insinuation; the fact that she wants to be unwrapped like a present is undeniable, she used the word unwrap herself. The bunny knot holding the two pieces of fabric is symmetrical—has Wonyoung’s fingerprints all over it. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s watching you with a half-open mouth, maybe you’d compliment her on her efforts a little, maybe even call her “princess” a couple more times before you properly ruin her.

(But she’s already ruined, ruined by a mere bit of pressure to the nipple. What else can make her tick now?)

Her body is at your mercy and it, quite literally, jerks as you start to pull at the knot, undoing it centimetre by centimetre, millimetre by millimetre, inch by inch. You want to see how long she can watch for, how long she can witness herself be undressed in a painfully slow fashion. Needy as she is, she’s patient as she watches one end of the rope grow longer. 

Longer. 

“Do you want me to speed this up, baby?” The smirk on your face would earn you a pout from her if her nerves weren’t in a bundle at the given moment.

“W-Whatever you want,” she answers, and her voice is brimming with breathy arousal. How are you getting away with all this? She’d grab your wrist and pull by now if she wasn’t so damn needy right now.

You give a dry laugh. “Then I’ll keep at this then.”

Longer.

“Fuck. Just pull it all the way already.” She looks you right in the eye as she begs you to hurry, and now you can see the need brimming in those large, round eyes, the ones that stare back at you with soft intensity, if that’s even possible. She’s good at mixing emotions into her stare.

“I thought you said—”

“Just fucking do it!”

Slack.

And the knot comes undone, and together with it, the robe falls off to the sides of her body—it’s beautiful. Never have you taken so much pleasure in undressing her, but you sure-as-hell have taken this much time to admire that wonderful, slender frame. From your standing view over her, you get down to her level to get a better look at her. It’s all part of the game of course: the way you look her in the eye, the way you touch her jaw ever so slightly to turn it towards you. The kiss is sickly sweet, and she’s starting to taste more and more like that cherry lipstick you gave her when you saw her some time ago at another event. Into your mouth, she lets out a sonorous moan. Your fingertips brush along her skin, slither down from her collarbone to her cleavage—down to that flushed pink region between her equally flushed thighs. Almost instantly, the tip of your digits are coated in slick fluids, and you raise an eyebrow at the girl on the bed.

“I literally touched you.” It’s amusement permeating your voice more than anything. In the sheets, she squirms in the slightest, eyes locked on your fingers that rest against that dripping heat and breath caught in her throat. You know that if you were to shift your finger in the slightest, you’d trigger a chain reaction that you have no power over. Her legs would clamp, her abdomen would tense, her eyes would roll. In the midst of it all, she’d maybe scream, or maybe she’d moan; either way goes. As far as you’re concerned, she’s needy as fuck at the moment, and she’s not going to let anything stop her from cumming.

“Yea, well… I can be sensitive.” Her defence is hardly a solid one, more of a perfunctory reply. Her head’s far from able to formulate a quip to throw back at you; that ability went out the window together with classy Wonyoung. “Put them in.”

You go against her request, and your fingers start to skirt the edges of that swollen, pink slit of hers. A crime—you’re going against the princess’ wishes, but realistically speaking: she can hardly be called a princess at the moment, so why comply? 

A portion of the bathrobe is still clinging on to her breast. You use your other hand to push it away, and the split second of contact makes her flinch. “Jesus. You’re so fucking turned-on right now,” you can’t help but muse, all while your fingers retrace te outline of her swollen lips. She’s shivering, she isn’t breathing quite right. “Do you want to moan, baby? Do you want to moan like a good little slut for me?”

And she fixes you with a glare. “F-Fuck you… Put them in.”

No “please” this time. Shame. If she were more polite, you would’ve obliged; now you’ll just have some more fun with her. 

Your thumb finds the swollen nub, and a little brush is all you need to get her straining like a psycho in a straitjacket. What will I ever do with you Wonyoung?—and she’s getting wetter by the second—You look so pretty when you’re so needy, you know that?—why would you ever, for a second, think that she’d be as refined as the last time? She doesn’t play with herself when she needs to get off; she waits till she sees you again to get off on your cock, your fingers, your mouth. Sexting was off the table, she wants you to be physically there, driving her insane as she lets herself come undone. 

“You know,” and you’re almost laughing as you watch her face twist even further, “that I could do this forever right? I could just lie here, tease you for as long as I want… Or maybe that’s what you want?

She’s messy, so fucking messy. Juices are starting to soak the bed—you can feel it as your fingertips round the bottom of her slit. Housekeeping would certainly question the spot, and the two of you wouldn’t be there to reply anyway. Her cheeks are flushed, the veins of her throat are popping. It takes a considerable amount of effort to stay this composed, but you know that she’s breaking more and more. With each round your fingers make, cracks start to form along that perfectly sculpted face. The fine lines on her forehead begin to show as her brows start to furrow. Strained sounds are coming from her throat as the urge to moan is slowly winning the battle against her will. She wants control, but she can’t have it when she’s a wet, hot mess next to you. She’s being bratty for the sake of it. Your fingers are your leverage against her. It’s killing her. It’s delighting you.

And just like fine China thrown against concrete, her will shatters. 

“Please! Put them in!”

And your fingers stop just at the top of her pussy. It feels like a long minute, but she isn't about to take another second of this. Her thighs clamp against your arm. Her fingers wrap around your wrist in desperation. She begs again. And again. And again. And again, again, again. The bed starts to creak as you start to move your fingers down her lips, down to the very end of her cunt.

God is she dripping.

“Will you moan for me?” you drawl huskily. A finger, two, three rest themselves against her heat. 

“Yes.” There’s barely any of her original self left in there. “Please just—”

The fingers breach her opening. She screams, a high-pitched, keening cry. The noise makes your cock strain in your boxers, and you have to grit your teeth as her inner walls wrap tightly around your intruding digits. A moment of stillness comes, a moment where she’s just breathing raggedly, struggling to process this pleasure that’s racking her body faster than she can comprehend. She’s a ticking time bomb of nerves; the slightest movement in this state could send her into perdition, and she’ll barrel past that point of no return faster than both of you can imagine. God, she’s sensitive. God, she’s a mess. 

The chuckle that departs from your mouth is one of perverse pleasure. “Baby,” you whisper, right into her ear as she struggles to catch her breath. She squeezes her eyes shut, and you watch with a grin as her chest rises and falls. The grip on your wrist is a vice, knuckle-white and unrelenting. She’s begging you, with her eyes, to start moving, and you have to tell her, “I can’t start till you let go of me, baby.”

And it’s with reluctance that she slips her hand off your wrist, but that hand won’t stay empty for long. You guide it to her own breast, and with a soft whisper, you tell her to squeeze. She’s servile. She complies without protest. Her eyes slowly open themselves, and you relish the way they’re lust-glazed appearance looks under warm light while her breaths level themselves out. For a moment, there’s calm. For a moment, it’s tender.

Then your fingers start to move. All hell breaks loose.

Everything she did to calm herself quickly becomes futile; it becomes undone as her back arches in a way that catches your breath in your throat. Your fingers graze her walls, pressed into each other as they slowly draw in and out of her. And mind you: you’re going slow, slow enough to make her feel every bit of your fingers brush against her insides. But it’s enough to make her curse, enough to get her mewling like a damn kitten while her hips start to rock, rubbing her clit against the base of your palm. There’s no way to describe how needy she looks; her want is beyond words, and you’ve barely even started. Three fingers is the most you’ve ever put inside her. Clearly, it’s working wonders for her.

And now you yourself have to admit: you’ve wanted her for some time now. Since the last time you saw her, you’ve fantasised about that slim tummy twitching, about holding that snatched waist once more, about those long legs wrapped around your neck while your tongue and fingers turn her into a pliant plaything. For weeks, you’ve wanted nothing more than pulling Jang Wonyoung apart, reduce her into a withering mess wherever you guys are and get her screaming till she’s sore. You can’t even begin to describe what you’ve done with her in your dreams, nor can you ever convey how it feels to desire her as much as you have. So, you put all of it into action, sordid sentiments channelled into your fingers that are making those cute features twist and contort in perverse pleasure. She’s rambunctious, and her juices are quite literally soaking your hand, spilling the strongest sillage of lust all over the bed. 

“Why do you always have to be so fucking messy?” You’re really just trying to see how much you can get away with at this point, though the answer seems to be: just about everything. Your fingers start moving faster. You love the way her cheeks are starting to flush even more. “Are you always this wet? Or is it just for me?”

The squelching is lewder than you can ever imagine. The sound of her slick, wet heat being breached by your fingers is enthralling. Add the sounds she’s making into that and you have the ultimate erotica audio that can bless mankind. She’s panting, she’s moaning, she’s whining—she’s doing it all really, and you’re just using your fingers. God knows how she’ll react once you’re inside of her, rock hard meat stretching her out instead of a few fingers fiddling around in warm walls. 

But hey, the sounds she’s making are ever so erotic, and she’s definitely making your blood flow to all the right places. She feels out of place; you can’t put your finger on what’s wrong in this whole thing. It’s probably a small detail, something you’d overlook over the sight of her chest heaving as air shoots out and gets sucked back into her mouth, her whole body straining and convulsing against the bed while you get a thumb on her clit and rub at a languid tempo. Probably something miniscule, not worth mentioning because all your attention is focused on the look on her face (you want to mess up the makeup so badly it’s almost frustrating). And no, you’re not trying to make her cum in five seconds; she’s just really riled up—bundle of nerves and trigger happy. Probably hasn’t been treated this way in a while, probably hasn’t had three fingers twisting around, sliding in and out of that tight wet hole slow enough to make her feel every bit of skin against her walls; fast enough to make her combust if you were to speed up, in, like, forever. 

“I–I…” She’s quite literally mewling, and the sharpness in her voice is so cutting that it makes an incision in a bag inside you that’s keeping all the perverse thoughts at bay. The thoughts are leaking out now, and it’s almost impossible to stuff them back in. You want her against the glass: tits against the window and ass in your hands while you pump and pump and pump into that slick tight hole; you want nothing more but to pick her up and have her lock her legs around you, tight frame flushed against you while you nail her against one of these walls that surround you; you want to unhinge that jaw and watch that pretty mouth—now parted to let the stream of moans flow—take your cock in and out between those kiss-swollen lips and watch the drool leak out the corners of her mouth. Shit. It’s killing you. Jang Wonyoung, dolled up. She’s killing you. 

(No way in hell are thighs meant to be this hot, and lips are not  supposed to look this delicious. Yet Jang Wonyoung somehow goes against every fucking norm, fights it naturally and effortlessly and wins like a seasoned warrior. So just for her case: her thighs can be this hot and flushed, and her lips can look this fucking appetising. You kiss her; it’s sloppy, it’s lewd, it’s hot and everything in between. Mark her neck, mark that row of skin above her right collarbone, mark her everywhere. Cusses are flying—god forbid her agency finds out about the things hse says while she’s getting fingered. She's making a mess out of herself. She’s making a mess out of you.

Fingers, just fingers and she’s already looking like this: hair fanned out, frazzled, looking like she just went through a car wash and yet somehow has her make-up intact. Fuck. You want to watch the mascara run, watch it streak while she tears up as she’s choking down cum and she’s struggling to take in air. Pretty little princess, messy and glacially being turned into some improper slut. It’s hard to not smirk while you ruin her with the same fingers you use to type articles about her—fingers that sing praises and can also make her moan enough to make her throat hoarse.)

The rhythm of your hand makes her body roll. Her toes–painted over, fresh manicure—curl into the sheets. Doe-like eyes stare back at you, plump red lips part to gasp your name, throat muscles strain trying to  curse and moan at the same time. The fingers are gliding in and out and in and out and she’s begging you to not stop (like hell you ever would) in those choke up little sobs while she’s—

Oh fuck baby I can’t I can’t I can’t — Anything. I’ll do anything. Please just let me cum. I’m so fucking close baby. Please just let me fucking cum. I’ll be a good girl. I-I promise I’ll be a good fucking girl for you just… Fuck!

—blue screening on your fingers: lost in the sauce or whatever. Pliant plaything, docile doll. You’re certain she hasn’t gotten off in at least a month if the way she’s taking it is any sort of yardstick. She’s far beyond drenched, far beyond salvation and way off the deep end of the “needy” pool—drowning herself in her own sea of sighs and gasps and moans and loose phonics that slip out of her mouth. Ostinato of your fingers squelching in her cunt; half time rhythm of the creaky bed; melody of the chorus of Jang Wonyoung’s voice—music to your ears.

And there’s lots to unpack from the moment you locate that soft spot at the top of her pussy. There’s a lot of cussing, a lot of jolting, a fair amount of whining and your name is thrown somewhere in that mix. You find her lips, she kisses back, one of her hands grabs your arm, nails dig in and stay there. Flurry of actions, filthy language—fucking hell, someone stop her.

Bottom line: lots of action. You find it congenial to start from the part where it quite literally ends her world. Once your digits curled up into that sensitive patch of flesh, it was all over for her.

You can pinpoint the exact moment where the orgasm rips through her body, the exact moment where her muscles seized so perfectly that her back arches. The pulse around your fingers is strong, walls tight around your digits and your thumb gently rubbing on her clit while the pleasure rolls through her body, molten iron libido converting the feeling between her thighs to electricity that makes her short circuit. The moan is breathy if anyone’s asking, and the look on her face—twisted, perverse satisfaction: superimposing need and want—has a whole foot over the line of pornographic. Wires are fraying in her head, her vocal cords are strained, she’s ruining the sheets with her juices; you’re complicit in every damn part of this, and guilt is the last thing on your mind.

Then her back falls back flat against the mattress, and the sheets ripple as her body makes a dense thump against the bed, punctuating the sigh she releases into the air. Nerves are unbundling themselves. She’s sweaty and panting. Your fingers are beyond soaked.

“Messy,” you muse, slowly drawing your juice slicked fingers out of her cunt. You bring them to her mouth. She languidly tastes herself, sweat-darkened sheets hugging the muscles of her shoulders and lining her ribs. She looks so tiny in the bed if you looked over the fact that her legs were dangling over the edge of the mattress, and that’s easy to do once you lean in for a kiss.

(It’s not hard to slip your tongue into her mouth, and there’s barely any fight left in her as you roll her nipple between your index finger and thumb. The sweat-matted hair sticking to her forehead adds a nice touch to her face.)

“Such a good girl.” Your tone is warm as you praise her, and a hand moves to cup her cheek in an act of tenderness. Her eyelids flutter shut. She puts the weight of her face into your palm. 

“Do I get my reward now?” she whispers, and it’s more of a plea than a question really. You take a moment, not to think, but to drag out the suspense for a little more before you give her an answer. You take guilty pleasure in knowing that you could keep her on tenterhooks for the whole night—the only thing stopping you is the throbbing of your cock in your boxers and the look of sheer need on her face. If you could: you’d drag this out a little longer, maybe tease her a little and call her more names. You still could do that, but you’d much rather fuck her instead. 

“Where do you want it?” your thumbs hook into the waistband of your boxers and hook them down. Your cock springs free from its cottons confines, and Wonyoung’s eyes instantly dart to it. She may be a little obsessed with your cock, but only a little when she’s depraved (which is right now). Before you can even react, she has your shaft in her hand, lanky fingers wrapped around it and pumping it with considerate strokes. 

“I want a big load in my ass.” she requests, far from innocent and banking more towards improper, which seems to be a pretty big theme of hers tonight. “I’ve been wanting to feel daddy’s  hot load leaking out of my ass for a long time…” The strokes delivered to your length grow firmer and firmer by the second. “Please?”

The spikes of pleasure her small hand delivers to your system is really making it hard to say no at the given moment. Of course, she’s well aware of it, and she’s definitely feeling so damn smug right now. And so with a very clouded mind, you nod. She smiles smugly, unaware that you’re about to fuck that smug little smirk rig of her pretty face. Conveniently, she’s already on her back—it’ll make the process so much easier. 

“I take it that the lube is in your bag?” You raise. She grins and nods. 

Sure enough, you find it in the exact same place as it usually is: side pocket, right next to her lipstick. You toss it towards her and move around her, slip her ankles over her shoulders. She lies still, unmoving and obedient as her left calf goes past her head, then her right. You lean forward, and she gasps as she's almost bent her completely in half. She’s flexible; this position won’t bring any harm to her, but it is congenial to ruin her asshole and leave her sore for the next day or so, which is exactly what she wants, but probably not how she imagined herself getting it. She cracks open the lube, and with precision, squirts a generous amount of it on the tight ring of her ass, making eye contact with you all the while as the clear liquid gathers at the puckered ring of muscle. The tube is discarded to a side when she’s done, and she uses her hands to spread her asscheeks for you, inviting you to take your liberties with her hole.

“Come on Daddy,” she urges you. “Come fuck this ass,” she continues, her hands spreading her ass cheeks even wider as you start to line yourself up with the tight ring. “Wreck this fucking hole Daddy, I can fucking take it.”

To hear her say those words was almost enough to have you cum right there and then. You press the tip of your cock at the open, gaping hole of her ass, swirling it around the entrance, collecting more of the copious amounts of lube around it. She was generous with the amount of lube she dispensed; you're about to be generous with the strokes you're gonna make inside that ass.

(She yelps when you slide inside her ass. God does it feel so fucking divine.)

She is so tight and wet and hot that you think you could’ve cum with your first thrust inside her. Her pussy was tight and hot, but her ass was even tighter and even hotter. Even though your cock was slick with lube, it did close to nothing to keep the sheer tightness of her asshole from clenching around you like it was a really small glove. It wasn’t the first time you’ve been inside her ass, but it sure as hell felt like a novelty every single time you entered that tight ring of muscle. Fuck. The heat, the tightness—sublime. You think you could cum in a matter of seconds if you didn’t have self control.

“Go!’ she hisses, through the pain and discomfort. “Fuck me. Fuck my ass!”

You would have been happy to stay there, buried balls deep in Wonyoung’s ass, but her own words goad you into moving—slowly at first, but with a steadily increasing pace, you begin to fuck Wonyoung’s ass with long, slow strokes. She hisses—part glee, part discomfort—as your shaft starts to pump itself in and out of her ass. You draw yourself out till only the base of you tip remains inside of her, and then you thrust back in, hard, hard enough to make her yelp out in pained pleasure while she grits her teeth and watches your rock hard shaft fill her ass. It's a perverse show for her, and it brings you a sort of dark satisfaction in knowing that past all that discomfort she’s feeling, she loves the way your cock stretches her out and fills her defenceless little hole. 

With her ankles over your shoulders, you’re practically spearing yourself vertically into her ass, fucking her deep and making her feel every inch of your throbbing meat inside of that hot, tight hole. Every penetration is punctuated by a deep, guttural groan from Wonyoung, sometimes a curse, or something along the lines of: fuck. So fucking full. You know for a fact that the pained sounds you hear now will turn into airy gaps of pleasure once she gets used to the discomfort, and that she’d probably be a mewling mess by the time you reach the stage where she can take you in and out of her ass with only pleasure in her system and no pain. For now, you’ll settle with the pace you have—slow, long strokes in and out of her ass while she squeezes her eyes to block out all sensations distracting her from enjoying the sensation of her ass being filled with cock. You have to admit that she’s doing a great job at it, and your praise vocalises itself in the rather harsh form of, “what a good little slut.” 

(And here’s something interesting you noted: never once in this whole thing did she ask you to stop, nor did you ever think about stopping to let her adjust. If this was anyone else, you would have given them a moment to breathe upon entering, and you certainly would be checking on their wellbeing throughout it all. 

Thing is—the two of you know her too well to know that you could only dream of stopping once you got started with her, and it could only end in two ways. 1) You cum in her. 2) You cum on her. Edge her and you’ll never get the end of it, you would know. The last time you pulled a stunt on her like that, she left you tied to a chair with a vibrator taped to your cock till you were begging and a cummy mess. It wasn’t pretty. She could dominate if she wanted to, but she preferred to be a manipulative brat instead.)

It’s not long before she’s desensitised to the pain, and your slow pace is not enough, no, not for Wonyoung. Next thing you know it, she hissing for you to go faster, fuck her harder—I told you to fuck my ass Daddy. Don’t hold back on me now—and deeper. She swears, all three languages that she knew strung together shabbily like they were put together on some shitty production line and thrown out at random—and while you made little sense of the sounds coming out of her filthy mouth you knew what they meant.

Harder. Faster. Rougher.

Then you fuck her ass. Hard and fast.

You almost surprised yourself with the liberties you were taking, drilling in and out of her butt with the same speed and depth that you would use with her mouth and pussy.

“Yes!” she shouts—a loud, full shout. “Yes! Fuck me like this! Pound me, fuck me until you cum in my slutty little ass!”

You grunt in reply, because it was all you could do. The faculties of human language have long since abandoned your grasp and ability, and nothing else exists in your mind except the thought of filling her tight, hothole with warm, white semen. Her eyes lock with yours and you only find that they’re full of need, nothing else (not like she’s capable of displaying any other emotion at the moment). The rest of you, every fibre of your being, was focused on pounding Wonyoung’s tight little hole as hard and fast as you possibly could. Her ankles bounce helplessly behind your head, her knees press into her shoulders and her breath is ragged; sweat drips off your forehead and onto her tits, and your hot breath mixes with hers as you struggle to keep yourself propped up with your arms.

In short: the two of you are sweaty and messy (one more so than the other. Take a pick, not sure if there’s a prize for guessing right), victims of lust and slaves to pleasure. You blame Wonyoung just because you can.

For a few delicious moments, there is absolutely nothing in the world aside from the tight hot sheath of flesh around your cock, the warm flesh of her legs against your shoulders and the strands of sweat-slick hair that fly just about everywhere, all topped with the lewd, filthy, obscene words spilling from Wonyoung’s mouth. For a few delicious moments, she feels nothing but the feeling of her tight hole being stretched and used by the cock that turns her face into a wrought outlet of pleasure while she lets filthy words and exclamations spill from her lips. 

Try as you might, you couldn’t have it last forever. Not when you were already so turned on from watching her writhe and twitch under your fingers. Not when the sheer, pure pleasure overwhelming you was more than enough to cause you to cum at any moment.

And when she orgasms for the second time, her ass tightening exponentially around you—there is little you or anyone else could have done to stop the inevitable.

“I’m gonna cum in your ass, Wonyoung,” you hiss through gritted teeth, your lust and pleasure-addled brain on the edge of losing all comprehension.

“Cum with me! Fill me!” 

And so you do it, burying yourself hilt deep inside the quivering woman’s asshole before filling it with the last of your cum, giving her every last drop you had left in your body, leaving rope after rope inside her sore, well-used, cum-filled asshole. You almost black out, and you quite literally have to dig your nails into the sheets while Wonyoung’s own orgasm takes over her body, making her twitch and her ass contract—milking every last bit of cum from your throbbing, twitching length till it was nothing but a dry, hard rod inside of her creamy asshole. 

There’s silence that is punctuated by both of your ragged breaths. She looks at you, you look at her. And the two of you can’t help but chuckle at the mess you’ve made of each other. You want to remember the way her nose wrinkles as she teases you, “you fucking animal”, and you want, so badly, to burn the image of a sweaty, weary Jang Wonyoung, folded in half beneath you like she was a piece of origami paper, panting and gasping as a fresh load of cum spills out of her ass. 

It takes energy, but you bend down and kiss her, letting her sweaty calves slide off your equally sweaty shoulders as you do. She’s satisfied, for now, and she pulls you down next to her on the hotel bed with one hand and gathers the cum leaking out of her ass with the other. 

“Look at this,” she whispers, and your eyes train themselves on the pearlescent, sticky, slimy, fluids that run down from her fingertips slowly. “You made such a big mess inside my ass,” she chides before bringing her fingers to her mouth and sucking your cum right off her fingers like it’s a delicacy. “Now I have to clean all of this up. You’re lucky I like the way your cum tastes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Um… Ew?”

Wonyoung smirks and gently nudges you with her left foot.

“It’s okay,” she tells you, all smug and everything. “I know you love the way I taste too.”

* In the dark, her small hand creeps around your torso and grasps yours. 

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” She’s whispering right into your ear, and it’s a sensation you want to be able to hold on to for the rest of your life. “I know your eyes are open.” The feel of her small fingers rolling the knuckle of your index finger sticks itself in your head like a post-it. “ I can hear and feel you tossing, you know?”

Okay. No dodging. 

The sheets stay still as your shoulders turn. You roll over, face her, and you really just want to capture the way the night lights paint her face: doe-like eyes reflecting glimmering pools of moonlight, warm yellow light painting her cute-yet-so-fucking-gorgeous face in a manner that not even Van Goh could copy, lips parted slightly as if in mid speak. She’s right there—you can kiss her if you really want to.

“Are you still mad at me?” She asks, tender with her tone. “I know that I fucked up, okay?” You can tell that she’s not even trying to look pitiful at the moment, but the way her face is sculpted really makes you want to just hold her to your chest and stroke her hair. Sincere are her words—heart heaved into her mouth. “I don’t blame you if you’re still mad. It’s your right. But… Just hear me out? Please?”

If you were mad, you wouldn’t have let her hold your hand the way she was now. If you were mad, you would’ve pretended to be fast asleep; ignore her pleas and just close your eyes and fall asleep. Alas, you can never stay mad at her for too long.

“I was… Never really angry, Wony.” Your tone is a lot softer than you would ever expect, but you know it’s because you probably needed this talk more than she did. “I... I’m sorry if it came across that way.”

And she studies you for a moment, lets the sound of your breathing fill the space as she furls her upper lip into her front teeth, and it’s a perfect moment for you to try and understand what’s happening in her head. She’s a complex creature really; understanding her is like finding a meaning that everyone can agree on when you look at abstract art.

Down below, you can still hear the cars moving through the street. Billboards and screens are still on, and from the window in your bedroom, multi-coloured lights filter into the room past the blinds like moonlight through bamboo leaves. The sheets you lie in are fresh, and they feel nice and smooth against your skin, and they smell like roses. The mattress creaks a little as Wonyoung shifts her weight, and you have to admit that you’re half-drunk on the scent of her shampoo. 

“You must have been scared,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I got really emotional. I… I shouldn’t have walked out. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know how to reply to that. Not now at least. Maybe it’ll come to you the next morning.

You give her a sweet smile. You hug her to your chest. You want to remember how she feels in your arms.

*

The gentle trickle of water down the arch of her spine is really something—a steady stream flowing down her back, running over the muscles of her shoulders, the curve of her breasts and fraying at her plump ass. You can’t remember the last time you showered with her, but you certainly remember the view being this good. 

In the shower of room 302, Jang Wonyoung lets the warm water hit her skin from the rain shower nozzle. Her hair—wet and freshly shampooed (and conditioned)—sticks to her back. Creamy skin glistens, small beads of water affix themselves to random parts of her body, stay there for one or two seconds, then roll down in streaks, almost as if they too were admiring Wonyoung’s well-sculpted figure.

Slim fingers grasp locks of hair. She lifts and looks over her shoulder, the whisper of a grin on her face as she shoots a beckoning wink. “Are you gonna help me soap my back? Or are you just gonna keep staring at my ass?”

“Don’t you have to, like, turn off the water first?” you ask, and you already know what she’s gonna say, but you just want to hear her say it. For memory sake.

“Mmmm.” Her humming as she ‘ponders’ reverberates in the shower, floating over the sound of water from the shower head falling to the floor like rain. “No… Adds to the atmosphere, don’t you think?” 

Ah. There we go.

“Then could you at least step back?” you request. This shower is comically huge—long length, breadth about the same length as your arm span. In the space, she looks so tiny, but you know for a fact that she could probably walk to the other end of the shower in a stride. You’re not one to disregard the facts, but you do like to live with a bit of imagination.

Wonyoung chuckles, low and sonorous. She pushes her hair over her shoulder, then—painfully slowly—walks back till she’s out of the stream of water. Water wastage is the last thing on her mind. She stops when she feels your hands on her back, and she looks over her shoulder, expectant. You move your hands and the soap lathers as it’s spread. You start from the centre of her back, rubbing gently in the section where the muscles of her shoulders meet and working your way outwards and upward to her shoulders. Then it’s down from there, your palms moving in small circles and covering every inch of skin.

“You’re good at this,” she mutters, watching with intent as your hands start to trail to her lower back. “Maybe you should’ve been a masseuse instead of a writer.”

“Uh… Patronising much?” You chuckle, watching as her back muscles twitch a little when you apply gentle pressure. “The pay’s about the same,” the soap makes patterns across the area above her ass—spirals of foam that stick to her skin like styrofoam flowers. “The hours are probably the same… But I don’t think I can live on rubbing someone’s back really hard. I Think I’ll just save this service for you, but only for when we meet.”

Humored, Wonyoung offers a giggle, high pitched and cutting above the sound of water striking the floor tiles. She shifts her weight to her right foot, making her body slant a little. Her skin is soft under your palms. Your hands are going lower and lower, slowly spiralling towards the curve of her ass that’s literally just a centimetre away.

“You know…If you take up my offer, you can do this for me everyday.”

Your hands slow to a stop. You raise your head a little to find her searching for your gaze over her shoulder. “Oh?”

“Yea.” Her voice is low, like a mother trying to persuade her child to eat their vegetables. “Every night, we can be like this: you soaping my back, us chatting… Doesn’t it sound wonderful?”

Your lip furls behind your front teeth. “Yea… It really does.”

And in her gaze, you sense her sensing your apprehension. “What’s stopping you from taking it up then?”

(For context, here’s the deal proposed by her company: the two of you go public with the relationship, get clout for the company, and Starship will let you lead your lives together—no qualms, no disturbances. She can visit you whenever, live with you, appear outside together with you like it’s a regular Tuesday night; you get to date the girl you fell in love with all those years ago for real. Only issue: once you get the last stroke of your signature out on the contract, you practically agree to blurring the line between your private and public life. Press will be all over you like ants after you step on their nest, you probably won’t get to enjoy a cup of coffee in peace, everyone will suddenly want to curry favours with you… Was it worth the sacrifice?)

You find it hard to meet her eyes, and so your gaze affixes itself on your hands. It’s not like you don’t love her or anything, but your apprehension makes you feel like shit. It shouldn’t be this hard to say yes, yet the idea of selling your life of privacy to live a life with her makes you screech to a halt at the crossroads. Sometimes (in these moments), you wished that you didn’t always make decisions with your head and your heart. 

As the shower continues to run, Wonyoung slowly turns around. One hand finds yours, the other gently takes you by the chin and raises your eyes up to her. She’s tall, and the two of you are staring eye to eye; same height, different trains of thought.

The hand on yours guides you to her breast. Eyes locked with yours, she lays your palm flat against her tit. The skin beneath your fingers is slippery, but it doesn’t remove any of the familiarity from the sensation. Then she squeezes, and the flesh spills out between your fingers like putty. She gasps—airy. 

“Don’t you want me?” She whispers, and it’s raunchy more than anything. It isn’t aggressive, but it’s certainly blurring the line between demanding and caring. “Don’t you want to be able to fuck this pretty little pussy every night?”

She’s really far from home base. “Wony…”

“Don’t you love owning me?” She’s squeezing harder. Her knee twitches. Sopa’s spilling out of your fingers. You’re certain that you’re gonna mark her. She doesn’t care. “Don’t you want me all over you? Every night?”

“It’s not that Wonyoung.”

“Then what’s on your mind?” She’s not prodding for an answer, nor is she trying to demand a reason for your silence. She wants to understand you, to internalise what’s going on inside your head. You have no reason to lie.

“Will it all really be okay?” you ask sincerely. “My family, my life… Will… Will it all really be…”

She understands where you’re coming from (if the relieving of pressure around her own breast is any indication), and she’s starting to tune herself to the frequency of your worries. “If you’re wondering if you’re gonna be harassed—you won’t.”

“Yea but—”

“I promise you: I will do everything I can to make sure that you will be safe. You and your family–if so much as a finger is laid on any of you, I will quit.”

“Wonyo—”

“No one will intrude on you. You won’t have to live with the flashing lights. I give you my word: I will make sure that everyone who wants to invade your privacy will leave you alone. You and your family will all be left alone.”

If it’s possible for sincerity to ring clear, Jang Wonyoung has absolutely made it happen. Sweet like honey; she’s left you feeling like you had a spoonful of it. And just for good measure, she steps closer and repeats once more: “I promise.”

Considering that your hand was at the left side of her chest, this was really a “I swear. Hand to my heart” type of deal (whether it’s intended or not is purely up to your discretion). 

And as you gaze into those eyes, you want to remember the way she gazes at you softly, gently, tenderly. If it weren’t for your hand on her tit, you would’ve considered this one of the more tender moments you’ve shared with her. Not that it’s not or anything… Just that it’s a little hard to call this a loving moment when you can literally feel her nipple poking into the flesh of your palm at all times of the conversation.

“Are you sure you won’t land yourself in trouble?” you ask her, and she’s quick to scoff.

“Of course. I make too much fucking money fo those higher up fuckers to not listen to me,” she reminds you. 

Well… Then that settles about everything then.

“Okay,” you tell her. “Okay… I’ll do it.”

The corners of her lips play up in a smile. She leans in, kisses you—no tongue, closed mouth—and lets the hand keeping yours at her breast fall. Long arms wrap around your waist and she pulls you close, flushing her tight frame against your body. When lips part, she whispers a soft I love you, a sparkle in eyes that lingered for a moment.

But only for a moment.

Then—without you noticing—her hand snakes down and grips your rapidly hardening shaft, and she squeezes. This time, the line between demanding and caring is clear as day, and she’s chosen to play her ball to the court of demanding. With a gleam in her eye, she begins stroking with her closed fist, and she pumps your stiff length at a slow but steady rhythm, adding an occasional twisting motion to her wrist, corkscrewing her fingers around your cock, increasing the pleasurable shocks she was sending through your system with each pump of her hand. It was almost like she wasn’t the sweetest, loving girl in the whole world just two seconds ago.

“Jesus fucking…” You can’t even finish your sentence. Your teeth grit. Your fists clench. It’s hard to breathe. “Maybe… A little bit of a heads up next time?”

She smirks proudly, watching as you tilt your head back and let out a groan. “Where’s the fun in that?” And gently, she pushes against your chest, guides you to the wall. When your back presses against the cool tile, she presses herself against you. She leans in, hot breath on your skin, and then the feeling of her lips against your jaw almost makes you yelp. She kisses a path down your jaw, paves a way towards your neck to get cheeky: sucking, nibbling, licking the skin of your neck while she keeps the movement of her hands slow and considerate. The shower continues to run.

Do you know—she breaks contact with your skin for just a second—how fucking horny—her breath’s tickling your ear, sending shivers down your spine—you make me?—and she squeezes a little harder around your shaft, not enough for it to hurt, but enough to feel you throb in your hand and make you gulp a little. She starts going faster—jerking, fucking pumping your length in her closed fist, and it’s almost impossible to keep your eyes open; your eyelids flutter shut. Your head rests against the wall, a sigh slipping past your lips. It’s filthy really—down from the way she catches you off guard to the way she makes your skin sore after she’s done feasting. Almost every interaction with her in a private space is as X-rated as this; it’s hard not to get into a situation like this around her. You know: a situation where the two of you are naked and getting really touchy and actively trying to get each other as many times as humanly possible. 

“Fuck yes baby…” you rasp, your nails starting to eat into your palms as she the sound of her hand sliding up and down your dick starts to cut above the steady stream of water. With each rise of her hand, the pad of her thumb plays with the head of your member, and when it sinks down, she twists her wrist in a screwing motion. Rinse and repeat; up and down and up and down and fuck. “You’re so fucking good at this.”

She hums in reply, and she has your earlobe between her teeth the next second, nicking you mischievously, sending small pricks of pain shooting through your system as she adjusts her grip on your cock without ever breaking her motion. Next thing you know, your tongue is inside your ear, and she’s leaning in so close that when you open your eyes, you’re practically looking over her shoulder, looking down the curve of her back that glistens with moisture and soap bubbles.

“I love this cock so fucking much,” she whispers, a bit of a hiss in her words as she takes the head of your cock between her forefinger and thumb and pinches lightly. “It stretches me out when I need it.” her fingers start to trail down your slipper shaft, letting the smoothness of her palm rub against your whole length, “fills me when I want it.” She’s milking the precum out of you, making you all leaky and squirmy as she starts pumping faster. “And it’s so fucking big that I can choke on it. You know how much I love being choked.”

She chooses that last bit to make eye contact with you, and she’s practically served you what she wants next on a silver platter. The next move is clear cut and simple; no words need be spoken. You were going to fuck her—and you mean properly fuck her—with a hand wrapped around that small throat. How you were gonna do it was still a mystery, but you figured that it’d slowly come to you, but it will definitely be related to the mirror and the sink outside and the mirror in front of it. At once, you reach over to the handle of the shower, and you turn it down to the handheld showerhead mode. Wonyoung bites her bottom lip, perverse glee painted all over her face as you use it to wash the soap off her back. She’s watching, waiting, probably drenched down there and aching to be stuffed full of cock.

She’s almost shaking with excitement as you finish washing all the soap off her body. You’d hardly consider her clean, but it won’t hurt to hop back into the shower again once you're done with her. The shower door swings open and you’re cupping her pussy, dripping wet while stumbling out with her, lips locked on hers and her hand on your cock as you push her against the sink of her hotel room. From the moment her mouth opens and let the moans pour out while you rub her clit to the moment her hand leaves your cock to cradle your face, she’s practically radiating need from the pores of her skin. You can’t help but playfully remark, “you’re such a fucking loser”, while your thumb thumps against her clit and sends pleasure tearing through her system. Weak in the knees, she holds on to you for support.

And the moans (those fucking hair-raising moans), they tumble out of those plump lips like marbles down a ramp, and they mix with the sound of your lips smacking against her skin as you start to leave a trail of kisses down her neck, doing to her what she did to you in the shower; you give her a taste of her own medicine, and the way she’s titling her head back to let you mark her freely makes it almost seem as if it’s the intended outcome of her actions. It’s like she knew that you would get back at her, and it wouldn’t come as a surprise if you ever find out that she gets off on knowing that she can manipulate you in her own bratty ways—get you wrapped around her finger and have you doing all the things she wants you to do without having to tell you. Not that you have something to gripe about it, but you’re just so amused (and that’s just one word to describe how you feel) by how she goes about her ways.

“Come on,” she manages to whisper, all while you’re busy sucking on the skin just below her collarbone till it’s sore. She has a lot of pride in her voice for someone who’s quite literally quivering. “You know you want to fuck me. Give me a good creampie again.” 

You lift your head for a moment, and you take in the look of almost childlike excitement on her face as your hand finds its way to her throat. It’s perverse excitement, that lewd exhilaration of knowing that she was about to get what she wanted, and albeit a little messed up, it was pretty hot in its own way. When your fingers gently wrap themselves around her throat, you can feel every muscle in her body tense in anticipation, as if she didn’t get enough from the bedroom earlier.

“Up on the counter baby. Let me see how messy you are down there,” you whisper.

She knows what to do, and she has herself propped up on the counter and engaged in open mouth kissing. She doesn’t need you to tell her to spread her legs, and she definitely doesn’t need you to tell her how cute she sounds when your fingers slip inside of her, feeling around the mess you’ve made of her and coating your digits in her fluids. Your index and middle finger are slick with her juices when you retract them from inside her, and you can’t help but chuckle. 

“Messy as ever,” you muse, making a show of sucking her juices clean off your fingers. She’s sweet and borderline tangy—a taste that you’re accustomed to, and you will never get tired of it. She’s biting down on her lower lip, the skin wrinkling under the pressure of her front teeth as she makes a sound that’s close to a purr. 

“You made the mess.” She has her eyes locked on yours as you raise an eyebrow, prompting her to follow up after her first statement. Not that you didn’t know what was coming, but more that you wanted to gently coax it out of her, because it was so fucking hot to hear what she had to say next. “You clean it up.”

And you’re more than happy to oblige. She watches you with intent eyes as you sink down to your knees, waits with bated breath as you lower your face till the glistening, pink folds of her pussy are right in front of your face, flushed thighs around your ears. Her excitement is almost palpable, and you can hear the sharp inhale she takes when your palm finds its place on the inside of her left thigh, pushing gently to give you better access to her heat (you’re really just trying to drag out the tension if you were being completely honest with yourself). You lick your lips, lean forward till your mouth is hovering above her slit. 

“You better moan for me this time,” you tell her, and you’re making sure to make your breath hit her slick as you speak. “You have such a wonderful voice. Put it to use.”

Praise mixed with the slight hint of authority—it’s enough to make her nod furiously and implore you with doe eyes to just get on with it. With a smirk, your lips find the swollen nub at the top of her entrance. You suck on it. Hard. And almost at once, her thighs clamp around your ears and her hand is on your head, like it’s some sort of natural instinct for her when you’re eating her out. Keeping to her word, she cries out—keening, whiny and ever so fucking bratty, and it’s the the holy grail of every wet dream. Nothing in the world could bring you more satisfaction than that shrill, airy cry she lets out when the pleasure ripples through her body, and you’re just getting started. 

Your mouth opens and your tongue flattens itself against her folds, (She tastes so good. You want all of it, all of her) and you drag it up her folds, deliberately, painfully slow as you start to lick up that wet cunt. Her back arches; you can feel her struggling to keep a hold of your head; she throws her head back and lets out a gasp; her thighs clamp down a little harder around your head. The pleasure in her system builds up with the slow movement of your tongue, only rising and rising as you lick from the base of her slit to the mid section to the top. When the tip of your tongue flicks her clit, it's almost like an explosion, enough for her other hand to join its pair atop your head, enough to make her cry out in a perverse plea, “Daddy, please!”

(For the record: she’s wanted this from the moment you guys stepped into the shower. She’s willingly turned herself into some pliant little plaything, and she’s probably getting off so hard to it. Frankly, if she wanted to order you around, you’d be up to it, but this is what she prefers.)

And nothing else needs to be said really. You put your whole mouth on her—relishing the shiver that runs up from her thighs up to her body—and get right into making a wreck of her. You lick, you devour, you ravish her: working your mouth on her pussy, lapping up the juices that spill forth from flushed lips with broad, sharp strokes that make her body grow taut and her legs quiver. You tongue her clit, lick up sweet fluids, make her messy and needy and hot in all the right areas till she’s drilling her nails into the back of your scalp and pushing your face against her sweet slick. In half whispers, she tells you just how good you make her feel—oh Daddy I’m so fucking wet!—and you feel a dark part of yourself be fed by these lecherous words—Oh god oh fuck I’m gonna fucking cum if you keep… Fuck!—that leave her half-parted mouth and linger in the air, reminding you of just how wanton she is and how you’re the only person in the world she ever wants to fuck and be satisfied by. You’re hers; she’s yours—a relationship with Jang Wonyoung that any guy would kill for. 

“Daddy—” she gaps, her voice a whole octave higher than it should be as her nails turn into claws at the back of your head. “Fuck I’m cumming. Daddy I’m cumming!”

The pulsing of her pusy against your tongue grows. You continue licking, lapping. One stroke, two strokes—three. She moans, blue screens. You hazard a look up.

Nothing else matters. Only: the sight of that back arching off the marble counter, her thighs around your head trembling and quaking as her hips roll and her mouth parts in a silent scream. You’re certain that there’s blood being drawn from the back of your head, but you're more certain that she’s got enough heat in her core to melt molten iron but a lack of breath that makes her gasp for air as you lick and lick and lick your way into her. You can feel her orgasm getting closer by the second, it’s in her breathing, and in the way her hips are practically thrusting her into your mouth.

And just like the bathrobe from earlier, she comes undone—falls apart and ceases to keep control of her body. She tenses, her thighs go rigid around your ears. Her breath is caught in her throat, her eyes are closed. You stop your work, admire the way she glows as her body twitches and her face twists. Pleasure rips its way through her muscles, her nerves—splits her very being in half as the orgasm rolls through her system. She’s beautiful, and she’s a messy work of art that you’ve created. 

You rise to your feet as she winds down, and her hands leave your head to rest on the counter while her body struggles to process the aftermath of that orgasm. It’s not the first time she’s cum for the night, and it certainly won’t be the last. Her eyes open, and she instantly locs them on you as you brush back some of the hair that sticks to her sweat slicked face. You take her hand and give a gentle tug, and she slips off the counter obediently. You grip her jaw—tenderly but rough enough for her to like it—and tell her to turn around. Servile, she obeys, and in the reflection of the mirror, she watches as your hand snakes its way to her throat and grips it. You’re not squeezing, not yet. 

“I’m gonna fuck this pretty little pussy now,” you drawl, gripping your shaft in your hand and slapping it against her slit. The contact makes her shudder, but she remains silent as you place a kiss on her cheek. “Your face is gonna be so pretty when I choke you and fill you.”

“Yes Daddy.” Her reply is a whisper, a borderline drawl that’s airy and raunchy and makes your hairs stand on their ends. She’s looking at you through the mirror, plump lips slightly parted and eyes glassy. “Own me. I’m yours, forever.”

And you’re all too happy to hear that from her.

You slip into her, hilt yourself inside her in one swift motion. 

(Tight. Hot. Wet. So tight.)

She lets out a sigh, low and sonorous, harmonising with your own groan as you press her against the edge of the counter and make the fingers around her throat squeeze. The sound that leaves her throat is the sound of her sigh being truncated, and it delights that dark part of you. Being inside Wonyoung was otherworldly, as it always was, but here, in the bathroom of her hotel, on the night where you’ve agreed to seal a deal with her, she felt downright heavenly.  She squeezes her walls around you, her body thankful for the sensation of being filled by cock, if the intense tightness and slick wetness were any indication; she looks over her shoulder and bites her bottom lip. And when she has your gaze, she mouths something. 

Fill me.

The silence is deafening, but it’s all you need to hear. 

When you withdraw your glistening shaft for the first time you relish in the feel of her walls gripping you, not wanting to release you—but just as quickly they welcome you back inside as you penetrate her again. Soon you are pumping in and out of her at a slow, steady pace, her soft gasps turning quickly into long, drawn out moans as she is fucked against the marble. Her hands steady her body against the counter, her back arched in a way that lets you get a wonderful top-down view of her breasts as they roll together with her body. It’s a concerted effort, but she makes it seem effortless. 

“Be honest.” With the hand around her throat, her voice sounds a little hoarse. It’s hot. “Do you think about this, Daddy? About fucking me like a good little slut?”

“Wonyoung,” you reply, speaking through your gritted teeth. “You have no,” and you punctuate the sentence there with a deeper thrust into her tight slick, a thrust strong enough for her to let out a strained gasp. “fucking idea…”

(In the mirror, you watch as she curls her lips into her mouth and tilts her head back into your shoulder, like she’s submitting her whole being to you and letting you take liberties with her body. You take the invitation, and your free hand finds itself on one of her soft mounds and gives it a squeeze—rough but tender enough to elicit a low moan from her throat that makes your hand around it vibrate pleasantly. 

At the given moment, she’s doing all she can to make herself a pretty little fuckdoll for you, doing her best to encourage you to treat her rough, treat her like you own her. She wants nothing more but to feel the rockhard meat penetrating her tight little cunt stretch her out and fill her the way she wants, all while she’s begging and pleading obsequiously while being obsessed with your cock. It’s a lot to take in for her for sure, but she gets off on it, and you get off on it too—the fact that she’s being all needy and pleading just so she can implicitly tell you to fuck her till she’s raw and can’t fucking walk the next morning. The fact that she’s actually in control while being such a bottom. Bratty manipulation.)

“Then fuck me Daddy,” she tells you, almost pleading. “Use this pretty little pussy. I want it. I fucking need it.”

With her invitation to do more with her body, you’re more than ready to do what you’ve intended to do from the very start. You increase your tempo, and before long you are truly fucking her, drilling in and out of the tight hot warmth of her body with quick, deep strokes. With each stroke you don’t pull out more than halfway—you concentrate instead on pumping hard and fast, getting as deep as you could inside her given your standing position. She takes it well, like she was made for this. In her world, this was what fucking looked like, and it was the only definition that she was going to live with and she’d take it to the grave. She indulges in the roughness, the almost animal-like way your cock fills her again and again and again, all while she encourages you with cries and moans and sighs that are music to your ears. 

And a notion hits you: she’s going to make you fuck her till she’s the only thing you can possibly think about. She’s going to draw out every single primal urge within you, make you want her like she’s some form of drug and you’re the abuser, and then she’s going to get exactly what she wants—your cum in her pussy. You can’t let her win like that, you can’t. You can tell that to yourself now, but you’re not sure if you can remember it later, not when she practically reeks of the strongest possible sillage of sex. 

Her pussy throbs around you, pulse strong and just a beat behind your thrusts as you thrust yourself in and out of her slick walls, filling her up and drawing yourself out before filling her up yet again. Pure filth spills from her mouth, expletives, sordid sighs and cries and any sound or word that comes to mind. She's a quivering and squirming mess, and from the mirror you enjoy the way she’s almost writhing in against the counter. Ample breasts bounce with each thrust that shocks her body, and it’s almost hypnotic if it weren’t for the fact that that pretty face was stealing the show. The face that was marvelled, the face that was the source of jealousy, the face that was on the face of so many magazines and posters and adored by millions, if not billions—scrunched up, improper and so fucking lewd that it looked like it belonged in a porno instead of an idols face, and you take pleasure in the fact that your cock is ruining the face of a princess, turning her dissolute and so fucking needy that she was as good as a fan begging her for an autograph. This side of her was reserved for you, and only you—her duality is reserved for your eyes only. 

Her body is slick with sweat, rubbing against your own sweaty torso while her body rolls together with your thrusts. “Fuck—” you’re saying, but it comes out as more of a growl than anything given how hard yur teeth are clenching. Your fingers squeeze tighter around her throat. The slightly reduced airflow at her throat causes her pussy to clench even tighter around you—and the added tightness brings succulent pleasure to your mind that makes you think you’re going insane. You probably are at this rate. “This pussy. It’s so fucking good baby.”

Her reply is a strained gasp, but you get the gist of what she wants to say. She wants, so badly, to tell you how good your cock is making her feel, how well it fucks her, how well it fills her and stretches her and how it’s her favourite thing in the whole world. The squelch of your cock filling her pussy is loud, but not loud enough to drown out the smacking of skin against skin as you press more of your weight against her, pushing her a little more into the corner of the counter and a little more over the line of pathetic. She moans in response to your actions, and it’s telling you: fuck. Harder. It’s better when it hurts. 

And you can feel her juices leaking down the back of her thighs, wetting your crotch and making the smack of skin against skin louder than ever, almost as if it was an announcement: I’m being fucked like a good little slut and I love it. She doesn’t know what she’s doing to you,and for clarity, it’s something along the lines of turning you absolutely feral with her moans and the divine tightness of her pussy that makes you want to cum on the spot. Okay,maybe she is cognizant of how crazy she makes you when you fuck her, but you barely have the capacity to think, let alone rationalise wether thai girl in your arms that your chocking and fucking feel smug in knowing that she’s driving you insane. 

Oh and she loves it when you play with her tits. The way you fondle them is almost aggressive. Scratch that—it’s really fucking aggressive. You’re slapping her tits, leaving red marks all over the milky white skin and pinching and twisting the stiff nubs atop her breasts, all while she mewls and cries out in that strained voice that makes you throb even harder inside of her wet walls and makes you grit your teeth like your a dog waiting to chew on a bone. 

“D-Daddy,” she pushes out, past the fingers that close her airways and past her groans and moans and sighs. “Harder.” And your thrusts are starting to cut her off, but she has more to say. When it comes out, each word that she spits out is punctuated by a thrust of cock into her pussy, and it’s the hottest thing you’ll ever hear. 

Fuck.

You thrust deep inside her. 

Me.

Your cock drives itself deep into her, slicking itself with her juices.

Harder.

And if words could linger in the air, hers certainly would. 

You fuck her hard, and fast, and deep—hammering her into the counter, nailing her defenseless pussy with a pace that you would have thought was rough and callous were it not for the fact you knew this was exactly how she wanted it. All she can do is hang on, grasp onto the counter with a knuckle-white grip with her hands as you take your liberties with her body, fucking her as hard as you can, as deeply as she can take it. The cups on the counter shake, the toothbrush inside one of them shaking under the force. It’s loud,  but you hear none of it. You hear only the sharp sighs of pleasure that leave Wonyoung’s lips, and the wet slap slap slap of your crotch as it hammers her cunt again and again and again, your cock drilling her, pounding her, making her yours if you weren’t already doing that.

It takes a little long, but the haze of lust parts for a moment for you to realise that you're getting closer and closer to getting what she wants out of you. While the thought of burying yourself inside of that quivering, pulsing pussy to let it milk every last drop of cum from you is ever so enticing, that small part of you that wants to own her pushes you to fight against the urges. Not that there’s any harm in giving her what she wants, but it’s just that you don’t want to reward her bratty, manipulative tactics. She knew for a fact that she could tie you up and ride you over and over till you were dry—she’d done it before. But instead, she’s chosen to fulfil her needs in a less direct manner, maybe for fun or maybe just because she felt like it. 

“Yes,” Wonyoung hisses, spit flying into the mirror and her palms slipping on the counter. “Just like this Daddy.” And she’s making sure to make eye contact with you through the mirror, letting her eyes do most of the talking. If anyone’s curious, the look she gives you is saying, I’m your good little slut. Fuck me. Use me. Fill me. Please, and it's nothing short of hot and tethering far over the line of lewd. At this point, neither of you are in a state where you're capable of coherent thought, nor are you capable of thinking about anything else except each other’s bodies and the wet, lewd squelching of cock filling Wonyoung’s pussy. It goes on and on and on, a cycle of your hips hammering the back of her legs and your cock spearing deep into her cunt.  She takes it so well, drinking you in hungrily, coiling around your shaft like a snake as if it was begging for you to stay in her forever. The sight is enough to make your balls tingle and your toes curl, and your hand around Wonyoung's throat tightens to the point where the only thing that can leave her lips is a groan as her airflow is reduced. 

She’s tighter, hotter, wetter. Her pussy fits you like a glove, moulding around your cock as it pumps in and out of her at a pace that you had no idea you were capable of. The hand around her neck is nothing but an outlet of pleasure for you, and she’s loving it. “Such a good girl,” you mutter, watching from the mirror as her mouth slacks and opens while she’s being pumped full of cock. “You were made to take Daddy’s cock, weren’t you?”

Her equivalent of a yes is a sharp, strained groan—an amalgamation of phonics and whatever sounds the lack of air flowing to her throat permits her to make. She’s so fucking messy down there, and your cock is sliding in and out of her with ease, aided by her slick juices that coat your shaft and let it disappear and reappear from between her legs with ease. The motion is almost graceful if it weren’t for the fact that it was a sordid one, and you take a moment to admire the way your shaft glistens in the light of the bathroom while you fuck her the way she wants it: rough, hard and tethering over the edge of callous. If it weren’t for the hand around her throat, she’d be making herself hoarse with all the moaning she’d be doing.

And the hand around her throat is bringing her so much pleasure, if the way her pussy squeezes around you when you choke her is any indication. She wasn’t lying when she said she liked being choked. While she didn’t like gagging on your cock, she sure as hell loved it when your fingers clasped around the muscles and made her gasp. She liked the sensation of being deprived of air, be it when she was riding or when she has her kness buried into her shoulders and was being fucked into the bed like a slut. You were always afraid of hurting her, but when she shots you that look, the one that says, come on, you can do better, you know that she’s getting exactly what she wants, just the way she likes it. It was just a matter of how hard you squeeze around her throat before she either cums or passes out, though the latter has rarely happened before the former.

“Daddy!” she chokes, and you know exactly what she’s about to say next. So you release her throat from her grasp, bunch a lock of her hair in your closed fist and you pull back. Her eyes squeeze themselves shut. Her back arches deliciously, her voice now free to finish shat she’s aching to announce. “I’m fucking…”

You never expect her to finish her sentence. Wonyoung’s eyes open, and a gasp leaves her open lips. Her walls, already vice-like, tighten so hard around you that you think you might come there and then. You feel how close she is. 

“Fucking cum for me, Wonyoung. Cum around my cock like a good little slut.”

Wonyoung does as she is told—and the quivering, trembling orgasm she experiences is almost frightening in the way it overwhelms her body, turning her into a wet, hot mess. Her pussy tightens and pulsates, her fingers claw against the marble counter, and her entire lower body shakes violently, as though she had lost control of her nerves and muscles. For a few beautiful seconds she is utterly overwhelmed by the sensations, until finally she slumps forward in your grasp, breathing heavily. 

It's good. It's so good, but it's not quite enough to get you to your finish. Not yet.

(And if anyone’s asking: it’s not that the sex isn’t good. It’s mind blowing, amazing, and whatever word that can be used to describe “fucking incredible”.  She’s hot, so tight and fucking soaked down there. You’re horny, throbbing and on the verge of filling her full of your seed. But you’ve said it before and you’ll say it again—you’re not rewarding bratty manipulation. As tempting as it would have been to simply pound her from behind until you gave her needy pussy the load of semen she so desperately wanted, you knew that there was something even better that you could do.)

You pull out of Wonyoung, your shaft glistening under the hotel light. Her eyes are wide with shock as you withdraw yourself from her body, pulling her away from the counter—but only enough to have her lean back against you and not stand up completely. Her mouth opens to say something, but she's interrupted when you turn her face to you and kiss her. She moans into your mouth, and you swallow it, your tongue slipping into her mouth and massaging her own, lapping at the roof of her mouth as her tongue swirled around your own. You bite her lower lip, and it's not rough, but enough to get her attention. When her eyes flutter open, you whisper, "I'm not finished."

She nods, and you relish the disappointment in her eyes. You turn her around, push down gently on her shoulders. She goes with the motion, and you're not sure if you can ever get over the image of Wonyoung on her knees with her pretty little face staring at you with anticipation. You think about fucking her face, letting your cock thrust into the back of her throat over and over and over till you finally bury yourself inside and cum down her throat, but that would just be a repeat telecast of every other night with her. Spice things up; give her the liberty of creativity with your cock. 

And of course, Wonyoung perfectly understands what has to be done. You step up to her. She parts her lips and takes your cock right into her mouth. Grasping the base of your cock and pumping it with one hand while she gently cups and squeezes your balls with the other, Wonyoung quickly launches into a hard and fast blowjob, taking the top half of your cock in and out of her wet mouth with a rapid pace while her fingers work your shaft in a corkscrew motion, just like she did in the shower. The suction of her mouth is almost lethal, and the audacity she has to look up at you while she takes your cock in and out of her mouth is so exhilarating that it makes you weak in the knees. Your hand finds a clump of her sweaty hair, and you close your fingers around it, holding them in your fist. No, you weren’t going to push her head down onto your cock; you had to give her the space to work on her craft. 

And of course, she exceeds every expectation out there. Your eyes shut involuntarily, your brain unable to handle any sensations beyond the wet, hot cavern of Wonyoung’s mouth sealed tightly around your shaft with tight, soft lips. With the first entry into her mouth her wet tongue is pressed tightly against the underside of your shaft, lathering it with her spit. With each subsequent entry her tongue becomes more adventurous, beginning with quick swipes left and right on your shaft with each entry and ending each exit with a swirl of the tip around the head of your cock. While she tastes herself on your cock, letting her juices mix with saliva, her hands work in perfect concert with her mouth, one joining her lips at your shaft and pumping up and down, a twisting motion to her wrist while her free hand works gently with your dangling balls, fondling them with considerate fingers. She plays with them softly yet hastily, her fingertips working their magic between the sacs with expert attention.

You are content to stand there with your eyes shut, simply enjoying the feel of your cock pumping in and out of her mouth at a fervent pace, but a small part of you knew that you had to see it happening in order to truly believe it was all real—and so with a not insignificant amount of self-control, you force eyes open to watch the spectacle unfolding between your legs. Black locks bob up and down frantically above your cock, doe-like eyes glazed with pure lust staring right up at you as her cheeks hollow and her jaw unhinges even more to accommodate your length. 

It all becomes too much, and it hits you all at once—having her pump your shaft in the shower, eating her out then fucking her—and you quickly find yourself nearing that inevitable peak.

“Fuck, Wony—” is all you manage to say before your orgasm overtakes your world.

Wonyoung releases your cock from her mouth a split second before you erupt, shooting long, thick strands of hot semen all over her pretty little face. Her face glazes over in pleasure and you are all too happy to watch as strand after strand of cum lands on her cheeks, her pretty little nose, and finally her open mouth and jaw. You watch, through half-lidded eyes drunk with pleasure, as the thick streams of cum flow down her face, dripping onto her upper chest and those perfect breasts of hers. Her face is flushed and her mouth open, as though she herself was on the verge of orgasm (she probably was, and she was going to make it your problem as soon as she got your cum off her face).

You want to remember the way she wipes your cum off her face with the back of her hand, how she licks it all up like a cat licking its own paw before moving to clean the stray strands of cum off the tip and sides of your cock. You want to remember how she rises so gracefully even though she was a sweaty mess, and how she gently takes your hand and guides you back into the shower for another clean up.   

And back under warm water, you want to remember how she kisses you, and how she whispers, “next time, I want that big load in my pussy.”

*

“What?”

And it’s hard to meet Wonyoung’s eyes as you set down the papers from the doctor. You can feel her confusion, her frustration, her rage from across the dining table in your apartment. It isn’t pretty. Nothing about this situation is. 

“It’s a neurological disease,” you tell her, all while you’re looking at the MRI that’s in the middle of the table. You’re really just regurgitating what the doctor told you—it’s the only thing you have the capacity to do right now. “They ran their tests. They told me what I suspected. I’m losing my ability to read and write, to understand language. In 2 years—give or take —I won’t be able to express my thoughts. I’ll be spouting gibberish. What people say, what I see — on pages, street signs, everywhere — they’ll all be unintelligible to me.” She’s silent, and it unnerves you in every way possible. You haven’t even gotten to the worst part of it all. “My mental competence will deteriorate. I’ll have to live off a tube cause I’ll forget how to eat and drink. Dementia will follow shortly.”  

Now would be a great time for her to say something, anything to break this silence. But she is silent, unmoving and reticent in her seat from across you. You have no choice but to gulp and deliver, in your personal opinion, the worst part of it all, “By the time I forget how to breathe I… I would’ve lost all my memories by then.”

She chooses the moment after the last word leaves your mouth to pick up the MRI scan and look at it. 

“So… Everything we’ve built up till now will just… Disappear?” she whispers. She sounds hurt, scared and everything in between. You bite your lower lip. 

“Yes.” There’s no point sugarcoating it, it’s inevitable anyway. Face it now, sulk later… You think that’s the best way to deal with this piece of news. You hope that the matter-of-fact tone of voice that you’ve chosen doesn't betray how frightened you are by the prospect of losing everything you know. “We can’t stop it. It’s in my genes.”

She sets down the scan, and when you look up, you see the tears flowing down her cheeks and it makes you want to cry as well.

She stands up, shoulders her handbag and walks towards the front door. 

“Where are you—” you begin. “I’m going somewhere else to think,” she interjects. 

When she slams the door behind her, you feel like you’ve let her down in so many ways. There’s a burning in your chest that you can’t describe. The first hot tear rolls down your cheek, and you let the rest that well in your eyes flow down without resistance. 

You don’t want to remember what it feels like to be helpless—the emptiness, the rage, the sadness, the confusion is all so overwhelming. But you figure that you’ll have to feel it again at some point down the road. 

Might as well figure out how to cope with it now, when Wonyoung isn't there and you're all alone with your thoughts.

*

When you awaken later that night in your bed in the apartment, it takes you a few moments to determine whether the soft, slim body climbing atop you is real or part of some wonderful dream—but the familiar warmth of your girlfriend, and the soft, pleasant smell of her hair, convinces you that this was all real.

Wonyoung places soft kisses on your neck and jawline, before moving to your mouth and kissing your lips softly. You are still only half awake, but your senses and instincts take over, and you find your mouth welcoming her kiss and returning it with one of your own, your hands moving to either side of her hips and finding, to your surprise, that there was only bare skin there and no clothing.

“Wony…” you begin, as she deepens her kiss, her lips pressing more firmly against yours.

“Shhh,” she answers, “please. I need this. I need you, right now. Please.”

She’s suddenly reappeared after walking out on you, and you have yet to process the slew of emotions that have come your way. Part of you wants to stop her, to talk things out with her so that you could: a) figure out if she was still mad at you and; b) verify that she wasn’t drunk. But the part of you that formed the majority of your conscience knew that she needed comfort as much as you did, and that she needed something to assuage her and make her feel like everything would turn out alright. So you find yourself relaxing underneath her, letting her scent fill your nostrils as her tongue dances with yours.

She straddles you, and your hands begin to run up her naked body, up from her slim thighs to her chest where the ample mounds sat proudly, her nipples erect and stiff. She isn’t wearing any underwear, and your fingers brushing against the slick of her pussy is enough to verify that for you. She’s naked atop of you, kissing you like you just confessed your love to her or like you’re about to go on some mission and never return. It’s not lustful, but it’s full off passion and aims to soothe not stir. 

She breaks the kiss. Her eyes flutter open. In the dark that is pierced by the street lights of the city, you want to remember the way her eyes glimmer and shimmer as she breathes heavily. There’s no alcohol on her breath, and from the way she’s cradling your face, you can infer that she’s not mad at you in the slightest. 

“You okay?” she whispers, and her tone is soft and warm, like that time she spoke in the shower of her hotel about signing that contract with her company so that the two of you could officially start dating. It’s been some time after that, but you still hang on to the way her words made their way to your heart. “I didn’t mean to startle you if I did.”

You respond by nodding, and it’s enough to convey: I’m alright. You brush away the hair that falls in front of her eyes, and you really want to remember how silky smooth her hair feels in your hands. 

“What are you doing?” you ask her, making sure to keep your tone as warm as her own. She blinks, goes silent for a moment, then answers, “I’m making amends.”

She holds your gaze, you hold hers. The staring contest ends when you gently pull her in for another kiss, and you want to remember how she softly moans into your mouth while her thumb, smooth and tender, caresses your cheek.

When the kiss breaks again, her hands snake their way down to your sweats. You assist her in removing your shorts—a very clumsy affair: tangled hands and arms and lots of chuckling. But your cock does finally spring out from your boxers, the ones that have been discarded in the corner of the bed, together with her clothes. When it’s all done, you have the pleasure of witnessing the sight of her slim frame straddling you once more, long legs surrounding you on either side of your thighs while she peppers kisses on your chest. 

“I’m sorry I left you to deal with… Everything. Alone.”  she begins, “I shouldn’t have walked out on you like that… I’m sorry. I hope you aren’t angry”

And from your lying position, you lift a hand to cup her cheek. “We can talk later.”

She gets the message, but bends down and kisses you nonetheless. You’d probably have trouble falling asleep later in the night, and she’d wake up and you’d have this same conversation again. You’d rather have it later than now, not when the wound is still fresh.

Wonyoung lets a soft smile play on her lips. You are slightly aware of her raising her hips, her right hand finding its way between your bodies to grasp your wet, erect shaft, and line it up with her entrance. She breaks the kiss for the third time that night, searches your eyes for approval to continue with this. Was it make up sex? You didn;t know if it was for sure, but it sure as hell felt like it. What you do no for certain is: you’d like to experience this now, and you want to etch this in your memory for as long as you can before it fades with the rest of your mind. 

You give her the slightest of nods, and you feel the head of your cock press against her wet, tight opening. Slowly, carefully, Wonyoung lowers herself down onto your shaft, your cockhead parting her tight lips to impale her pussy. She gasps loudly as she impales herself fully, and she opens her eyes slightly to match your gaze. You brush stray locks of hair away to reveal her face fully, and you bring her mouth back to yours to kiss her deeply. As your tongues duel, she begins to raise her hips, drawing your shaft out of her body before lowering it once more, and soon she has found a soft, slow rhythm as she rides you, grinding her warm, tight body against yours. 

She raises herself upright and lets her hands rest on top of your chest. You’d like to save that face she makes in a supercut of her other memorable faces: eyes closed, lips slightly parted and the wisp of a smile on her lips as she rocks her hips. From where you lie, you watch as Wonyoung takes you in and out of her body with soft grinding motions, riding you slowly, enjoying every entry and exit of your shaft as it fills her over and over in slow, tender strokes that make her shiver. You watch as your shaft appears for a split second or so before driving back into her, each disappearance accompanied by a soft spike of pleasure. As always, she’s letting moans and sighs and gasps tumble freely from half-parted lips as she takes you in and out of her slowly, rocking her hips with innate grace and elegance. All you do is let your hands rest on her thighs, moaning softly to encourage her as she rides you lovingly, tenderly, a far cry from what you’re used to when it comes down to sex with Jang Wonyoung. 

Through the night, your cock glides in and out of that perfect pussy, elicits moans and gasp and sighs and cute little cusses when you hilt yourself deep inside of her and tug a little at her hair. Her hands were always active, sometimes caressing your chest, sometimes on your jaw, sometimes behind your head as she snaked an arm behind your head to keep you locked where you were just so she could sneak in a kiss. You came in her mouth, her ass, her pussy. She came on your fingers, your cock, your mouth. She cussed a lot, almost passed out once or twice. You cussed a lot two, and you caught her when she almost rolled off the bed (the two of you laughed for a minute about that situation before you ended up spooning on the floor, her leg in the air and your cock pumping in and out of her while she had your back to you and your face in her right hand). 

Bottom line: it was wonderful, wonderful make up sex that ended with both of you sweaty and panting and wanting more from each other but you guys just don’t have that energy to keep going. It was a novelty for both of you, and you wanted to remember just how special she could make you feel, even in the impurest of acts. 

*

The flash of the polaroid camera is almost blinding, but you power through and keep your eyes open. Like a child that’s seeing snow for the first time, Jang Wonyoung watches excitedly as the polaroid emerges from the slot in the camera, and she’s all too eager to grab it and lay it face down on the coffee table in your apartment.

“I thought you’re supposed to shake it?” you ask, watch as she fiddles with the camera for a little bit before she snaps a selfie with her newest purchase. She gives you a look that basically translates to, “uh, are you dumb?” and waits for the next polaroid to emerge from the slot before she launches into her lecture. 

“Shaking the polaroid to make it develop faster is a myth,” the way she sounds so official and everything is so cute. You can’t help but smile a little as she sets the other polaroid down. “It shifts the pigments and blurs the photo, but an idiot like you would need a genius like me to tell that to you.”

The remark is clearly meant to be biting, but it’s nothing short of hilarious to you. “When did you become a camera nerd?”

“Ever since I got this,” she lifts the polaroid camera up and hits you with that you’re on camera smile. “Maybe I should do an ad for this brand. Increase their sales, you know?”

She leaves you to think on that and retrieves the first polaroid she took: a picture of you and her on the couch of your apartment. Not the grandest first photo, but hey, a memory is a memory, and you really are just focusing on cherishing those at the moment. As she leaves the couch to clip the polaroid onto the photo rack (a bunch of metal wires on a metal frame with wooden clips to hold photos) she just set up, you grab your journal next to you and flip it to the page you wrote on a few hours before. With your pen (that you now carry around just about everywhere with your journal), you scribble down a new part of today that you want to remember. It was her idea to journal down everything you wanted to remember. 

The entry goes right under the one about Wonyoung’s new camera.

She looks so happy with that new camera. Bet she’s going to go back to the dorm and show it off to all of her members because she’s a fucking child. I hope that…

And you trail off in your writing, What you wanted to say was just on the tip of your tongue just a second ago. Why can’t you remember it? It was literally just in your head a minute ago…

No. 

You shut the journal. It makes a soft yet substantial thud as the leather cover slaps against pages. You place your pen in your pocket, set the journal back down on the couch and stand up to walk towards your girlfriend, who is currently adjusting the angle that the wooden clip holds the polaroid at. She senses you walking up to her, steps aside and makes a space for you to watch her struggle. You would offer help, but you know that it removes half the fun for her when you do something for her. 

She fiddles around a little more, makes a couple of grunting sounds under her breath, curses a little, and next thing you know, she exclaims, “tada!” while pointing at the first occupant of the photo rack. You roll your eyes, throw an arm over her shoulder and look at the slightly blurry photo within the white frame. 

“With the camera,” she tells you, her tone soft and warm like… Like… Fuck. “I hope that we can help our memories live on. Sounds pretty deep huh?”

You can’t help but chuckle in agreement. You take a moment to stare at the two faces that occupy the space in the polaroid, and you hope to God that they will never, ever look foreign to you. It’s a futile prayer, you know, but a glass-half-full mentality is the best chance you have at not spiralling out of control. 

Wonyoung lays her head on your shoulder, silent and all sentimental as she closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath. She lets out a shuddering sigh, and you know that she’s trying not to cry, cause in this situation she’s the one that will end up hurt at the end of it all. You’ll forget the pain of forgetting; she’ll remember the pain of being forgotten. It sucks, but it’s just the way it is. You hug her, hold her close and stroke her hair. You don’t want to forget what she means to you, what you mean to her.

How many more polaroids left till it all ceases to matter?

____________________

Hello! Hope you guys enjoyed this fic. I'm a bit rusty so this one might be a bit funny, but hopefully the style of storytelling I chose didn't fuck you up too bad. Non-linear storytelling will be the death of me. Also: I kinda didn't edit this one too much. My bad hehe.

This was really more of a PSA to cherish the ones you hold close to you, because you never know when they will just disappear. Love the people close to you, cherish them forever.

~Lots of love Nichuuu

[fillinforlater]

On her jeans (Part 2 of 3)

Male Reader x Kim Minji, Pham Hanni (ft. Jisoo, Seungyeon, Seolhyun)

Length: 8018 words

Tags: You know what? How about no tags. Yes, really. This is very similar to the rest of the On her series, especially cuz it's a Part 2. Go have fun, I know you will have it ;)

TW: rushed editing, a terrible friend, nothing but sex matters

Inspiration: @sooyadelicacies

Credit: @sooyadelicacies for being a fantastic co-writer!

-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part3-

(A/N: This fic has it all: from three cameos to rapid fire scene changes to betrayal to an all-time threesome combo. Have fun with these grown-ass women!)

"What the fuck, Unnie?" 

"What?" Kazuha says, not even bothering to turn her attention to the young girl. 

"He… I—" 

The ballerina then turns around to see tears forming in Minji's eyes. This is how so many of them must have looked when the realization came crashing over them like a merciless tsunami. Did I really just do this? Is it worth it? Will he ever have enough?

"As he should." Kazuha's expression turns cold, uncaring.  "I did exactly what you asked me to. I sent you to him. It looks like you weren't good enough for him. That's on you. If you can't stick it out, maybe you aren't cut out for all of this." 

"What—do you really feel that way? Is that why you do it?" Minji sobs.

"At the start sure, but now I know: he is my whole world, all that I could need or want. 

“I love him," Kazuha says with unflinching conviction.

"Really?" Minji shouts and Kazuha quickly shuts her up with a palm on her sore lips.

"Yes, really, and if you screw this up, I swear, I'll make your life a living hell." Kazuha looks around the long corridors of the Hybe building. She then removes her hand from Minji's lips and unexpectedly dives straight to the younger’s ear. "You can be a good girl for him, call him Master or Daddy and get your brains fucked out—but don't ever get in between us. When the time is right, I'll be the only one for him.

"Is that clear?"

"Y-yes, Zuha-unnie."

"Good. Now, what did he say you need to do?"

#

A seemingly never ending, vicious cycle starts for Minji. She works her butt off, dances the entire day, goes through hours of meetings, recordings—and instead of going to bed every day, she takes every conceivable measure to go straight to your office. 

She walks in, lays on the table and waits for you to finish a call. At first, it's a mystery who you are talking to, but she finds out that it's all kinds of producers, managers, executives and most importantly—idols.

"So how is everything going?" Jisoo dreamily asks from the other end of the line.

"Well, I almost fucked up,” you respond in all honesty and drop your pants. “I almost slipped and told one of the new prospects they reminded me of you." 

Jisoo's face softens and smiles. It’s like you can hear every movement of her facial bones. "Oh? Care to tell me who? Is she prettier than I was back then?" 

"Impossible," You say sincerely. 

"You're sweet, but don't think you're off the hook for that little quick tryst you had with Jennie. Rosie's sad about it. You need to make it up to her. And you need to make it up to me too." Jisoo says the last part a bit forcefully and you imagine scrunches on her face to show you her seriousness.

"I know,” you sigh and rub a finger along Minji’s throat and cheeks without thinking about her or the incredible sensation of her skin. “I will, I will. I miss you." 

"I know you do. You tell me every time we talk. I miss you too, Daddy.” That’s always how Jisoo finishes a long distance conversation. She wishes you were there, with a hand in her panties. She wants to moan your name into your ear, your actual name, and not scream it out when rubbing one out under some hotel bed sheets. But Jisoo will have to wait.

The moment you finish the call, you start to pull out your hard cock and press it into Minji’s wide open mouth. She makes sure to keep her lips moisturized at all times, but she can never be ready for the strong impact of your hips hitting her head and rocking her back and forth on the desk.

With every single one of those meetings, Minji's clothes become more revealing, to the point she gasps whenever she sees herself in a public mirror. People on the train start to watch her round ass bounce in short shorts, then in very short shorts, then in a miniskirt.

Minji wonders how she is able to push through this. Her sleep gets shorter, the training rougher, the meetings more intense—worst of all, you become more violent too. It all reaches a peak when Minji is unable to shower because otherwise she would be too late. 

In her dirty, sweaty state, she sprints to your office and bursts through the door, just to be greeted by the sight of you roughly fucking—destroying—the huge ass of a familiar idol.

"You are fuck-ing late!" you growl and slam the bendover idol against the desk a final time. Minji hurries around the wooden monstrosity to get into her, by now well-known position. It is then that she realizes who you are fucking: Seungyeon, the former dancer of CLC.

"What are you?" you shout at Seungyeon and smack her ass hard.

"Your stupid, bubble-butt bitch, Master," she wails in a weird mix of pain and euphoria. She gets a tap on said bubble-butt with your cock.

"How do you want it, bitch?"

"Harder, Master."

"What are you going to get?"

"What Master wants."

"Exactly."

Minji lets her head hang off the edge, only a few inches away from where you annihilate Seungyeon's dignity and her asshole with your inches. Both you and the idol grunt like animals in heat, but for her it sounds blissful, for you more like work.

And so Minji lays there, drenched in sweat, and the weirdness of being forced to watch other people fuck never really fading. It's stranger the more she has seen or admired an idol. No matter who, everyone she saw has folded to you, and Seungyeon might be the most submissive. How she degrades herself and begs for you to ruin and spit on her—

"Good bitch, keep your ass gaping!"

Suddenly, the cock is on Minji's face and she looks past it in shock. Your expression, though a bit exhausted, remains stern.

"Open fucking wide, Minji," you command and Minji gulps. This cock has just been in Seungyeon's ass, maybe for hours, and though it looks spotless, she can't bring herself to—

Minji gasps and that is enough. You push against her lips, into her mouth and start to use it to 'clean' yourself—really, it is just training for Minji to trust you and accept your commands.

Though her first reaction was a gag of disgust, Minji has to admit to herself quickly that Seungyeon's ass on your cock tastes great. It's an embarrassing secret which she will never tell anyone.

You switch between the holes a couple more times before creaming Seungyeon. While Minji has her final cleaning session, you order the older idol to clean Minji's feet and calves off sweat.

No hesitation, Minji realizes, as Seungyeon does not leave out an inch of her skin.

Seungyeon isn't the only one showing complete devotion to you and your every order. You've had a few other idols over before or after Minji's throat-stretching. The young soon-to-be idol knew them, but they weren't the stars yet she saw in your profile list. The thought that you might have been bluffing with controlling the likes of Blackpink, aespa or Red Velvet crossed her mind, but they faded whenever she thought of Kazuha's success.

She wants that too, no, Minji wants to pass Kazuha and so she comes back to you, no matter how hard the companies’ training is fucking her. Then finally comes the day—actually, the day before the day. 

The not-yet NewJeans member lays on your table. She returned from the final pre-debut meeting and was ready for you to quickly walk in and fuck her face, but you never came. For endless hours, the entire fucking night, Minji had to lay there and wait. She could've left at any time, but the gravity of this situation, this presumed test, pulled her down to the flat, wooden surface. 

No matter how uncomfortable it got, she did not stand up. You could be around the corner at any second. The thought of her giving up right as you walk in gave Minji a weird mixture of fear and arousal, further amplified when she had to keep herself from falling asleep. A hand in her soaked panties, Minji played the fantasy out in her head:

You would walk in and find her asleep. Angry by her inability to follow orders and service her Master, you decide to punish her. When you find her panties wet, the desk covered in girl juice, you wouldn't hesitate to plunge into Minji's tight, virgin cunt and fuck her awake. It would hurt, but Minji wouldn't stop cumming!

She can't stop cumming, her fingers rub her clit to completion and now real juice runs down your desk. Minji is wide awake, but an hour later, she does it again, again, again, until you finally enter the room. Casually, as if Minji isn't completely spent and almost fully naked on your work desk.

The sparkle in her eyes is priceless. Out of all the crazy shit you pulled on this formerly innocent virgin, this was the task that broke her. You don't know the exact moment, but you will never forget this moment where you see her orbs and know that she is past her prostitute stage.

"This is actually impressive," you say with a coy smile while gently caressing Minji's forehead. "I see you... had fun last night?"

"Sorry, Master," Minji carefully apologizes and kisses your hand. "I made a mess."

"Don't worry, I'll call someone to clean it later. Now, get on your knees and show me what you have learned."

She is dizzy, barely able to stand, but luckily, Minji's place is at your feet, hands wrapped around your length. Her strokes are soft, careful, and she does not wait to use her tongue on you. After a minute, she sees the impatience in your look and uses her mouth. Quickly it’s wrapped around your tip and for the first time ever, Minji fucks her face on your cock.

"Oh, fuck!" you exclaim. There is some actual joy in that, especially when you can lazily put Minji's hair in a makeshift ponytail and watch her go down on your crotch in surprisingly quick succession. "This is good, this is fucking—great!

"Hold still."

Your heart pumps like crazy, but it's nothing compared to your hips which start to obliterate Minji's throat. Your cock bulges her visibly and she starts to shake. Usually, she'd have her teeth at spots where they don't belong, but at long last, she has learned. 

She takes it well, like a slut should. Not yet one of your perfect sluts however. It's all a bit rushed; her debut, the training, the stretching. Considering this, she is definitely good and her gags sound delicious. 

You pull out of her mouth. Minji triest to catch her breath, instead catches three of your fingers which you also use to fuck her mouth while locking eyes. The salty tears that stream from hers look so delicious and you love how, no matter how many chokes you force out of her, there is no fight or flight response. She takes it.

"Become sloppy, slut, get your drool out. I want to see you become a mess for your Master!"

Minji twitches. She is dazed, your fingers become glazed; then an avalanche spurts forth, of more tears and drool that starts to cover her chin and stain your floor. You want more, so you replace your fingers with your cock and fuck her throat again, never slowly, only hard and fast. At this point, the poor girl beneath you is dehydrated and the pool on her thighs and the tiles excessive. You stop.

"Fuck, this is what I mean. This is how you suck cock, Minji."

"G-glad you l-like it—Master."

"Go clean up your mess."

"Yes, Master."

When Minji goes down to lick and suck her saliva from the floor, you rest your shiny, polished shoe on her cheek and bask in the faint sun, dawning right before your office window.

"You will go home and sleep," you order firmly. "The only contact we will have is when you send me a video of you masturbating in your debut panties. Send me those panties in the mail, and you'll soon lift your first music show trophy."

Lean down after Minji has collected all the slick and press an unmistakable love bite right under her right breast. Minji mewls as you do so.

"The-they'll probably try to hide the mark, Master."

"Good." Pat her head. "No one can know what happened here."

"Of course, Master."

"You've been a good girl, Minji. Now go out there and become a bigger star than you could've ever dreamed of."

"Thank you, Master."

#

Months go by where Minji is mostly a concept for you, some asset to be discussed in meeting with your connections in HYBE. Rarely did she send a direct message to you—except for the video you asked for. It's nice that she didn't totally forget about you. After a busy day that calls for vacation and a nice, warm pussy on your cock, you turn on the TV to watch the most important year-end award show. 

A quick scroll down your contact list, you pick someone you know is nearby, obedient and definitely warm. The calls with Seolhyun are never longer than ten seconds, because she knows she's got to be there for her Daddy.

"You ever miss this?" you ask her when she sits down on your cock, panties still around her ankles, jacket still hanging from her shoulders.

"The awards? Sometimes, but—oh fuck!” Seolhyun is interrupted by you thrusting upwards while you care more for the TV than her. “Yes, more Daddy. They are nothing compared to your cock, your touch, your love!" 

Seolhyun tightens when she moans these words and you give her more of your touch, your thrusts, your cock. Soon she is bouncing in rhythm with it and begs for you to rub her clit. You won’t do so yet, would be boring if she’d get all the things that make her cum so easily.

"What do you think of her, Seolhyun?” You nod towards the screen as it captures Minji in all her beauty and on stage charisma. “Think she can capture the nation's heart like you once did?" 

"Minji, right? I think so."

That is the first time Minji has been in your sight since when her face was pressed to the floor. She looks like a proper star, close to being a super star (their next song will guarantee it) and her attitude reflects that. Don't touch me, I'm better than you, get out of my way, who even are you? - you imagine how she feels towards these other, lesser known people around her. 

Minji's dream came true and you were the pixy dust. Now you deem it the right time to get a hold of her. In between comebacks, right after all the award shows, she will have no excuses. Time to pay up, you text her, with a location, time and date while your finger disappears in Seolhyun’s asshole.

#

The day comes and you've checked into your favorite spa-hotel with excitement. The security and privacy here are top notch, or at least they are for you. See, it’s all about connections and here you have the best connections and can make sure that no rumors spread and that all information comes to you in no time. Minji will be here shortly and you've already painted the pictures of her naked body in your head, scenes where she undresses, spreads her legs and folds, begs for you to part her—

You hear the door open. From your seated position on the bed, you look expectantly at the entrance to the bedroom which Minji finds shortly after, her fluffy, thick jacket already falling from her shoulders.

"Hello, Master," she sultrily says with a smile. You reciprocate it.

"I see you've been doing great," you skip the greeting and walk over to her. A gentle push and the jacket fully falls off. Minji's outfit underneath is surprisingly thin for this season; there could be snowfall outside any day now and she runs around in a white crop and skinny denim.

"Those jeans look good on you." Stare down at her eyes while you check the quality of those mentioned jeans by fondling her butt, then her thighs and lastly her crotch. "Very expensive, HYBE is already paying you?"

"It's all the ads we do," Minji quickly responds, her breath halted while she does the unthinkable and moves your hand away from her crotch. "I... I never thought it would work so quickly."

"Yeah, it feels surreal, almost too quickly," you say with careful annoyance, unsure how to judge Minji's hand on your wrist holding you back from getting to feel more of her body.

"I couldn't have done it without you, Master, thank you very much~"

"You see, Minji..."

Her shoulders in your firm grasp, you move Minji to the next wall and position her in such a way that she is trapped and your knee is able to gradually push up against her covered pussy. The young girl tries to resist, she is suddenly flustered, oh how this should remind her of her success.

"... no one was ever this successful without a big commitment. Your commitments until now were nothing."

"Tha-that's why I'm here. Master, I'll suck your cock as much as you want, I'll let you deepthroat me hard, even for the entire night!"

You scoff and give Minji's cheek a quick, small slap. Your knee has now become the only pillar that keeps her upright. She has to balance and rub her slightly moistened folds on them so as to not to fall over.

"Sucking? Deep throating? Oh you're still so naive. No. You, Minji… belong to me. All of you, which means any hole. You are mine to use however I want."

"Wha—no!" She puts a hand on her cheek and looks at you with puppy eyes that beg so pathetically, like the thought that you took this deal seriously is a shocking reveal. You roll your eyes at her and find the top button of her jeans, but Minji starts to fight back with a loud, whiny voice.

"No, Master, you don't understand! Un-unlike all those other idols, I'm... I'm still a virgin. I don't want to lose it now, not here, not—"

"That is not up to you!"

Your shout halts time and space, only Minji's facial expression matters. She looks honest, absolutely in dread that it might happen at not the moment she wants it to. She cannot fathom giving you or anyone that control, she wants it special and precious and all those nonsense illusions. It's gut wrenchingly annoying but you will not go too far to break her now; you're too fond of her for that. 

Call it your weakness and curse you for that.

"We had a deal."

"I-I know."

"And you don't want to fulfill it?"

"I'm sorry, Ma-Master, please don't—"

"Then offer me something equally valuable." Minji looks at you in confusion. You drop her from the wall and hand her your phone. "Put in the number of someone whose virginity I can take. They have to be your sacrifice, your warrantor, and they have to agree to the same contract.

"You will then come with her to me and will watch how I take her virginity. You will watch every fucking pump I put into her pussy. She will testify, she will call me Master and she will love it. That's your only way, you better bring me someone."

Minji clutches the cell phone, her life-line, her lever to the trolley problem, except the train that was about to hit her can only be directed at another girl.

"And Minji,” you add in controlled yet uncontrollable rage. “I want her here, now. I want someone worthy of my time and touch. Or else. You will call them and then you will be on your knees sucking my cock while we wait."

Sweat comes pouring down Minji's forehead. You can hear the inner workings of her brain scramble, trying to find someone she can push in between you and her. There is no submission to you and there is no urge to flee and break your deal. 

Minji genuinely tries to sell you someone. Despicable, everything for success.

"D-do you know Hanni?" she suddenly stutters, quietly, ashamed but her fingers are already dialing up her friends number.

"I have never met her." You laugh in disbelief and turn your back to Minji. "You're really going to sell your bandmate? Are you not friends?"

"I—she's the only one I know who is a virgin but not... not... not unwilling."

You cock your eyebrow and listen to Minji's call which is surprisingly short. No mention of you or your arrangement, just the location and some details. Definitely no one is allowed to know of this and yes, Hanni has to be swift.

Minji ends the call and you immediately throw her to the ground, her head on the cushions of the nearby bed, your belt already loose, a hand on your pants.

"Pull them down and open your fucking mouth." Minji does so, the shock in her eyes is wonderful when you push past her lips and against the back of her throat in one go. Violent choking. "You are terrible, the worst friend, but at least you know how to make that mouth-pussy of yours work. Go on! Fucking use your tongue."

Minji starts to gag, trying to adjust to your cock, not realizing you weren't even fully hard yet. You never were with her. 

"Good, all the way. Use your tongue and saliva, let me fucking feel it."

You kick off your trousers and put more force in your hips so that your long shaft may fill Minji's deepest depths. It pushes out a lot of saliva, a waterfall that tumbles down her chin and covers her top. From your point of view you may not see it, but you know that Minji's aroused nipples poke through her bra and show that no matter how hard you fuck her face or belittle her, she's yours.

Minji's mind shall only be occupied with satisfying you, so even her still lacking tongue and lips do their best to suck you from tip to base—you make sure she never slacks by pistoning in and out of her.

After about 30 minutes of slowly thrusting in and out of here and replying to texts on your phone, you receive a message from the hotel staff that someone has arrived and come to see you. Minji tries to tap on your leg, indicating she wished to be freed of this position. You shake your head, no. 

"Oh, you don't want your bandmate to see you like this? That's not an option."

The sound of a door opening echoes through the hotel room and Minji panics, flailing wildly, her eyes tearing up and begging, begging so well—maybe she can finally grasp what she has gotten her friend into—

"Hello? Minji, are you here? Is everything okay?"

—but she still has so much to learn. Smack her cheek a final time, loud enough for Hanni to gasp at the front door. Before she can enter the bedroom, you pull out of Minji's mouth and push her towards the door. 

"Minji?" Hanni asks again and rushes towards her. Minji stops her, both of them shriek in shock. "Oh my Gosh, Minji, it is you! You scared me!"

"I-I'm sorry, I—"

"You look... messy. Is everything alright? I'm sorry if I took too long, you sounded so sad and terrified."

"Hanni, I," Minji stutters, hesitates, maybe even contemplates. It all makes her seem as if she has a heart and does not want to use Hanni to keep her virginity, but deep down everyone has to know that she is not a good person. No one would sell their friend for something like this. Minji is cold hearted when it comes to her career and things she believes she rightfully owns. "I have to ask something crazy of you."

"Okay? Look, you need to calm down first, maybe clean your face up and then we can talk ab—"

"Hanni, please." You hear some uncertain steps, as if someone is almost falling over and is ultimately pressed to a wall. You hear a wet sound, then a moan. Your cock is going crazy at all the possible things that might happen right around the corner and later in this bed. "Do you trust me?"

"Why did you kiss me, Minji?"

"Do you trust your leader?"

"Yes, of course. I'm a bit scared though, what have you gotten into?" Hanni's voice is full of concern and so is her face which you see for the first time when Minji guides her into the bedroom, arms around Hanni's tiny waist.

Hanni is in complete shock. 

"Minji, what is this? Who is this man?" You still have your pants down and cock out. 

Unfazed, you smile at the girl. "Minji, tell your friend what you did."

"Have you never wondered," Minji starts right away and tightens her hold on the younger band member. "Why so much changed before our debut, why the success was imminent, why it didn't stop? Have you never questioned all the blessings we received?"

"I-I... what was I supposed to think?" Hanni weakly laughs and tries to avoid the sight of your erection, but she can't because Minji is slowly inching her closer to it. "We are in a gr-great company, smart managers, pro-ducers... so who are you?"

"He is the reason, he is why we did not fail. Look, Hanni, I had to do it, okay?"

"Do what? Sell your body?" Hanni looks over her shoulder at the glassy-eyed leader of her group who gives her the tiniest nod. In those large, round orbs of the young Vietnamese woman you see the realization kick in bit by bit. At first she does not want to accept it, then she cannot believe it—but at last, she has to put it into words.

"You sold your body... and now he wants more."

"He wants something only you can give him," Minji whispers and pecks Hanni's cheek. You are astonished at how she manipulates her dongsaeng, Minji truly is ruthless; but Hanni's calmness deserves an award. She seems to surrender to this idea easily. There is no flight, there is barely any fight—she accepts her situation. 

"Will you give it to him? Your virginity?"

"Minji, I—"

"That's not the entire truth is it, Minji?" You smirk coldly. "You are a pretty thing, Hanni. She's right, I do want more. It's not something only you can give me, rather, it's something Minji refuses to give me. So instead, she offered you to me. Your precious group leader sold you out."

Put her tiny chin into your hand and for the first time, Hanni locks eyes with you. Minji's manipulation roots deeper, as there is not a hint of belief in the words you say. Rather, Hanni listens to the girl in her ear, at her ear, that licks her ear and tells her sweet lies:

"He is playing with you. He likes to play. But don't worry, he will help us.

"Don't you want to be a star, Hanni? The most successful foreign idol?" You hear Minji opening Hanni's belt as she melts in between your thumb and index finger. Her lips look so full and perfect. You'd bet your career that she is already a great sucker, maybe even better than Minji is at this point. "My sacrifice can't be for nothing, and yours won't be either."

Hanni's pants drop to the floor, while you work to get rid of her jacket. She is like a Barbie doll: pretty, clear skin, obedient, ready to be undressed and played with. No matter what you do or where you touch, she just obliges while her features become redder and hotter. Soon, she wears nothing but her undergarments.

"You have an amazing body," you compliment her. She just nods. You order Minji to put Hanni on your bed. For now, you'll not reveal the whole story, the truth: yes, you play games, but Minji clearly is lying to Hanni, trying to get away with more than questionable methods.

You respect Minji for that. Yes, in this dedication, the lies, you see devotion for you. She is willing to sacrifice herself and even her friend for your satisfaction. It wouldn't be long now until she would truly be turned into a loyal one for you. 

You have a suspicion and you would test it out here. 

"Hanni Pham, a bright star plucked out of Australia, a Viet idol with international appeal. And a lovely voice too, dare I say even prettier than Minji's..." 

You smirk, sensing the hurt from Minji without even looking.

"Will you tell me your name?" Hanni asks as you crawl on top of her. Minji placed her in a missionary position and still rubs her hand all over her exposed thighs so she would open her legs for you.

"You don't need my name, you just need to know what I can do and what I want. My deal with Minji benefits you a lot. Tell me, how does it feel to hold a music show trophy or one of those MAMA awards?"

"G-good, Sir, it's quite the," Hanni gasps when you push her legs open and place a finger on her white, innocent panties. You search for a bit until you find her clit and rub it from side to side. "Thrill."

"Drop the Sir, with me Hanni." Lean down to her pink lips, those round, moisturized and smooth lips. "Call me Daddy."

Minji's eyes widen and she almost lets out a whimper as if to object to you. A first encounter and you already let her call you, Daddy? Did you already like Hanni more than her when you haven’t even received pleasure yet? 

"Daddy?" Hanni responds unsure. 

"Yes, Hanni. You'll be a good girl for me won't you? That's all I want. Good, loyal girls. If you do that, you can have anything you desire."

"Daddy, I want to be successful and I want to give you what you need for that." She whimpers when you put more pressure on her nub. "B-but I'm a bit scared. I have never put something inside."

"I think your friend here can help you with that. After all, she got you into that situation." You glance at Minji and she gets what you mean, though the envy at Hanni's preferential treatment is clearly visible on her wrinkled forehead.

Minji leans down and gives Hanni a firm kiss while replacing your hand on the clit that has steadily hardened and is now aroused to the point Hanni's panties become stained with wet spots.

You glance at Minji in thanks. 

"Oh and Minji: no more kissing Hanni unless I command it. Her lips and your lips, belong to me only. Is that clear?" She can only meekly nod. "I hope you haven't been touching anyone else during our time together, Minji. That would really upset me." 

You already know the answer. Given how easily Minji’s and Hanni’s lips connected just this evening, you know it's something they are comfortable with. That would end now. 

Before Minji can answer you, you focus back on Hanni and the sticky sensation spreading over your fingers.

"Already wet for me? You're taking to my touch a lot better than your leader. Tell me, Hanni, you're not afraid of me, are you? Just ask me to touch you more. Tell me what you want."

Hanni is still hesitant, though there is shyness only in the way her mouth doesn't move and admit to her body's obvious reaction. She leaks onto your fingers, her chest heaves heavily, faster. You insert a finger, as well as part of those drenched panties inside her and finally, the right words slip out.

"Your fingers feel so good, fu-uck."

"That's what I wanted to hear." You smile and lean down to Hanni's face. Her lips instinctively pucker, her eyes fall shut, oh, how incredible: she is already yours. You let her wait there, finger twirling, pretending to push aside her panties and go for the real deal, but you're all teasing. Hanni mewls.

"Please, D-Daddy, kiss me."

"I will, when I put it in."

"W-will it hurt? Will you hurt me Daddy?"

"Only if you want me to, baby girl, but you want what Daddy wants, right? It might hurt to begin with, but it will feel so good for both of us." 

The chemistry between you two surprises Minji as she backs off, her hands away from the young women for the first time. Hanni nods. 

"Make me feel good, Daddy. I trust you."

Hook your fingers in Hanni's panties and at last, her soaked entrance is exposed, for your eyes only. You stroke your cock a couple of times, get the fresh girl juice all over it and gaze over the insanely well-trained body you're about to ravish.

Hanni's abdomen is to die for. The muscles on her midriff are absolutely stunning, the same goes for her navel perfectly resting in between them and then further up her subtle boobs, which Minji frees from the bra after your command. It all ends with Hanni’s chin, the sweat that runs down her throat, the faint sparkle of perfection—to sum it up, Hanni is incredibly beautiful.

You take hold of her hips and bask in the way your cock and her hole are magnetically attracted and connect. Hanni throws her head back at the impact and with every inch you stuff into her, her breathing becomes more erratic. Funnily enough, the same goes for Minji, who quietly scoots back and rests at the headboard of the bed.

As you slowly pump half of your cock in and out of the tight cavern, Minji goes for the same rhythm and rubs her clit, hand buried in her pants. She even goes and opens the first buttons. Is it really this girl that wants to keep control over her virginity? Let her have it for now, she'll be yours soon enough.

"Daddy, just focus on me!” Hanni whines out her first words after becoming a full blown woman. “You-you didn't need her, right?"

"Then make me forget, baby girl. Squeeze my cock with your pink little pussy." You go and have a taste of Hanni’s fat lips again, wishing they would suck your balls right now. Hanni could become a whore who would worship your crown jewels like no other. Better than Minji, whose eyes beg to be involved in the action. "Spread your legs more, I want to fuck you harder, Hanni.

"Oh and Minji: Go and suck my balls! That's what you're good for."

"O-okay, Master."

"Be grateful for it. But remember, no cumming."

"Thank you, Master."

"Daddy?” Hanni whimpers softly. “Why does she call you, Master? Is one better?" 

"Oh baby girl. Daddy is more affectionate. It's what you deserve. Minji still has to learn, her heart isn't in this yet."

Minji's heart might not be in the right place (rather the place you intend it to be) but her lips surely are. She gives your swinging balls a good suck and slows done the pace at which your fucking Hanni's pussy. 

It's amazing how well she adjusted to your size, even with your length and girth growing continuously at her fantastic heat and texture. Hanni handles you like a pro, and like one of your pro girls, she is already more drool than straight thoughts.

"Does it feel good, Daddy's hard cock in your virgin pussy? Get used to it because it's the only thing your hole will know. I will be the only one to use your holes, is that clear?"

"Oh Daddy, oh Daddy," Hanni moans and her body rocks violently on the bed sheets. "You-you are so much better."

"Better than what, baby girl?"

Hanni puts both her weak hands on the back of your head and pulls you down to where her lips meet your ears to tell you lewd things that Minji must not hear.

"Better than Minji's fingers."

You take this as a cue to grab Hanni's thighs and angle her in such a way that you can slam into her cunt harder. You let gravity do the work while the force of the entire bed frame shaking has Minji trembling in awe. She rubs her thighs together and tries to keep her hands busy with other spots of her heated body.

You can see that she wants to rub her clit while you make Hanni cum during her precious first time. She is probably projecting, wants you to go softly, then harder, but that is not your game.

"Hanni, no more of that, no more Minji's fingers. Only Daddy shall touch you from now on. You are mine and I'm going to go as hard as I want." You growl out slamming into her even more. "Take it all, Hanni, prove your fucking worth to me."

"Thank y-you, Daddy," Hanni begins her way down the rabbit hole of subjugation towards only you. The new life she will enter, all the changes, challenges and benefits will overwhelm her, but first you overwhelm her with your rod. "Thank you, for help-ing us, thank you for the wins, thank—ah, Daddy, I'm cumming! My pussy is cumming! Thank you for your cock, Daddy!"

You enter a nirvana drilling into Hanni's tight cunt. 

"Good girl, yes thank me, beg me, need me. This is the only cock you will ever have from now on and—" You kiss her with wanton lust, shoving your tongue in her mouth. The next whisper in Hanni's ear is out of Minji’s reach, though she might be too distracted from your delicious balls to get what you were saying either way. 

"Daddy! I understand, yes." 

Without losing focus of your hammering, you give a dismissive order to Minji, who is not worth your eyes on her.

"You can go Minji. I don't need you here. In fact, we can end our deal. You got what you needed right? Wins and fame. I won't meddle with your group in anyway. You are free to go."

"What?" Minji shrieks, completely offended that you could say such a thing.

"You heard me. Fuck. Off." Every word is empathized by a huge thrust that bulges Hanni's tummy. She stares at it in infinite bliss, then throws her head back as you knead her small tits and make the nipples hard like steel.

"B-but Master, you can't just do that."

"You did not keep your part of the bargain and still got what you wanted. Why the hell are you still here?"

"But I did!” Minji argues and climbs in front of you on the bed. “I brought you, Hanni, Master! I—" 

"Hanni, turn around and get in position, I want both of us to look at Minji. I'm going to fuck you from behind.

"What's wrong, Minji? You never truly wanted me in the first place. We both got what we needed from our deal. You don't need my help, your group will be successful. I made sure of it. I am releasing you from our contract with no punishments. Take the fucking deal, Minji."

Minji sits there, on the bed, not moving from her position. In utter shock as she watches Hanni smile and moan as you take her from behind, her pussy stretched again. God, how good she must feel, that face says it all. The pleasure, the desire, all the praises for your cock and it's only because she has her tongue sticking out like it's numb.

Suddenly, it all seems so clear to Minji, so easy to comprehend. She takes a deep breath and learns towards you, her upper body prompted up. All that just to throw her dignity away, to throw herself underneath you.

"Daddy, please! Give me your cock too! Take my virginity, don't push me away!"

You stop thrusting into Hanni right away and pull out for a moment to look at her. 

"Bullshit. I told you we were done here. You don't mean that. You just want my power and connections like everyone else."

"No, I mean it," Minji reassures, but words are nothing when it comes to her current state. She has to follow it up with more, significantly more. You doubt that she can deliver, but low and behold, she unbuttons her jeans and peels them off to show her long legs and the thoroughly drenched panties.

"Mi-Minji, what in the," Hanni moans and goes silent when you smack her ass. It's unbelievable that she is already so obedient and well-trained without training. The more she impresses you, the more Minji has to follow up. Soon she is on her back, jeans on the floor, shut legs turned towards you.

You put your hand on her thigh and though it's tough on her, Minji spreads her trembling legs wide. You poke her lips through her panties and when she squirms you give her a quick slap on her face. 

"Look at me, Minji," you order and she does. "Beg me, call me Master until I have given you, no, until I have taken what is rightfully mine."

"Please, Master," Minji cries out. "Please take my virginity, y-you own it."

"Louder," you growl and smack her covered pussy. Minji cries out, her pleas louder and louder with every new hit you give her cunt. Oh the way her eyes sparkle and body jerks is addicting, you don't realize that you have started to fuck back into Hanni who might have seen Minji naked before, who might have had sex with her—

—but this is new. Minji is a brainless mess, her pussy red from the beating, her face fully in tears. 

"Master, fuck my pussy, please! Fuck this pussy, my worthless pussy, it's yours! Make me full, make me full, I don't deserve it!"

"Now we are getting there," you viciously laugh and grab her chin to aggressively tonguefuck her wet, silly mouth. Minji is such a mess, dazed to the point Hanni's hands undressing her top after your order doesn't even faze her. Her top is gone, her bra as well. All that's left are her panties and Hanni has her fingers already hooked in them.

"Wait, Hanni, she should do it alone."

"Yes, Daddy."

"Ma-Master?"

"Lay down, Minji.

"Pull them to the side.

"Show me your pussy.

"Say it.”

Minji slowly and clumsily works on pulling and getting her wet panties off of her. There is an unfathomable amount of embarrassment in the way Minji’s eyes cannot hold your strong, charismatic gaze for long.

"Shall I feast on your pussy, Minji?" You ask with a smirk and hunger in your eyes.

They all turn eventually. It sometimes sounds so sudden and drastic, but it's all more or less the same. It builds up over time, like an orgasm. Some girls are quiet, until it bursts out of them in a heavy gush that has the entire floor wet. Some are loud the entire way through and what was once only lip service becomes reality, a reality they adore.

They all turn and they all get your cock. So does Minji, with her finger still spreading those sore, red folds and you ignoring her pleasure just to find yours in this wet, messy hole. Minji's cunt is remarkable, cute in the way it ripples and tightens and incredibly lewd in the way it sounds when you slam yourself in and out while holding onto her slim waist.

Now she is part of the loud girls, those idols that suddenly come to worship you more than the career that they fought so hard for. It will be later that they realize that this is the way they get approval from their company, their sponsors, their fans. You are success, the Queen maker for the outside world and a toy maker in your bedroom.

Minji is a great toy. She is euphoric now, the pain already gone. She makes sure to adjust to your will, lifts her hips off the ground when you need to slow down, shows you her tongue when you go for a kiss, and always says the right things. It was so hard for her not long ago, but now she is willing to do it despite Hanni laying next to her and admiring both of you fucking like animals. 

"Hanni," you groan and hammer your cock balls deep into Minji, who throws her head back in another (accidental) orgasm. "I know you want to fuck both of us so bad, but if you don't touch yourself until I'm finished with her, I'm gonna cum on your pretty face and tell you how good you are, okay?"

"O-okay, Daddy," Hanni mewls. Not that she would have touched herself, but you can't blame her for considering it. Caress her cheek softly for being so good, then fucking destroy Minji's cunt because she has been so bad.

"Master, more, pl-please, fuck!" Minji howls with pleasure. 

"You're going to be my good girl from now on, right?" 

"Yes, Master, use me however you want. I-I just want to live to fulfill your desires. Master!" 

You stare deeply at her and pause right before the next spike rattles Minji’s brain. 

"Really? With every atom in your body. Tell me again, Minji."

"Every-thing." Minji can barely talk but does so for you, despite you, despite the large dick that is reshaping her insides. "You own everything, Master. You c-can use me daily, everywhere, any-time. I-I mean it!"

You lean down to her and give her a simple, hard thrust to make sure she gets your point.

"You're a good girl?"

"Yes, Master."

"Then call me Daddy," you whisper into her ear and put a hand on her throat, ready to press down on it.

"Thank you, Daddy," Minji rasps before you choke her hard and fuck her absolutely senseless. Orgasm after orgasm shoots through her frame, her existence becomes numb, she is a fleshlight now. The vibrations of her climax become your stimulation and at the last possible second, you pull out of that twitching hole. 

"Get on your knees Hanni," you order in time. Hanni kneels before you as you somehow slide off the bed, legs a bit shaky and with her head thrown back because you could not resist pulling her raven hair, you cum all over her features. "God, you are such a pretty girl. I can't believe such beauty loves cum on her face."

"It's Daddy's cum," Hanni moans and sucks on your tip to get more on her lips. The rest has mostly covered her nose, her cheeks, her forehead. "Of course I like it!"

"That is right, baby girl, well said," you compliment her and pat her head while she instinctively cleans your cock with superb care. "Did you ever service someone else?"

"No?" Hanni asks and collects your cream off of her stupidly gorgeous face.

"You, I swear to God, you can't be that good right from the start."

Hanni pouts her lips and puts them under your cock. She truly is one in a million, the rare idol who barely hesitates and immediately knows how to do the right things. In many regards, she reminds you of Kazuha, who told you it was her kinks that made her adapt so easily. Maybe this is the case for Hanni as well. Should that make her devotion less impressive?

"Daddy?" Hanni cutely asks and waits.

"Open your mouth, I need to fuck it now."