#maybe i'm coming at it from a curved angle but like

[jasmineoolongtea]

― if you think i'm pretty 𝜗𝜚 ‧₊˚

― the ways in which they lay their hands on you and can't stop thinking about it ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

contents: gojo x gn!reader, geto x gn!reader, nanami x gn!reader, megumi x gn!reader, yuuta x gn!reader, headcanons/brief drabbles, quite suggestive (all characters are aged up!!!!), a lot of touching, making out, both reader and characters are needy and down bad for each other what can i say a/n: inspired by if you think i'm pretty by artemas and baby by madison beer, as you can see, i was very inspired for some of them compared to others so don't mind the difference in length djkajdwd

gojo satoru can't help but have his hands on you at all times. it's a genuine problem. some might even call it a disease or affliction, a deadly illness if you want to go that far.

whatever it is, he doesn't think he wants to find a cure for it. not when he can so easily coax out those wonderful sounds from you with the brush of his fingertips, those noises that are reserved just for him even though you try and deny it, and especially not when you decide you want to try and turn the tables on him.

that's how he finds himself underneath you on the floor of an abandoned office, his wrists pinned above his head as a devilish smirk graces his features. you're hovering above him, one hand locking his troublesome hands in place while the other is pressed against the cold floor to support your stance. right now, he's thinking about how this might be one of his favourite angles to look at you from.

he knows you're trying to tease him back, testing his patience and will to resist like he does with you, in a sort of punishment for his wandering hands but he can't even hide how much he's visibly enjoying this moment. it annoys you, deeply. you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine, shifting your weight onto your knees to free up your other hand so you can run it down from his neck and stopping just right where his belt sits which earns you a breathy gasp from him.

you smile to yourself, clearly pleased at your own doing. but you don't have long to celebrate your victory as it seems you've underestimated how thin his patience runs when it comes to you. in an instance and in one fell swoop, you're flipped onto your back as satoru is now the one caging you against the floor. your faces are barely inches from each other when he leans in, his breath ghosting the shell of your ear as he whispers,

"it's my turn now."

geto suguru thinks apologies are useless. in most cases, he rather you show him instead.

to him, words often get in the way of many things and even more so when emotions come into the mix, scrambling them up to the point where they are nothing more than regurgitated word vomit. he's a firm believer in the phrase, actions speak louder than words, and he's definitely not shy about carrying out said belief in his daily life.

why tell you how much he wants you when he can simply show you through how his hand never seems to leave your waist even in the most crowded of places and how his lips seem to find yours in an instance as if he's worried that they might miss his company even if just for a second.

the same goes for you. why tell him how sorry you are when you can just show him? and so you do, caressing his jaw with your fingertips while your lips roam the expanses of his neck and collarbones, making it their sole mission to map out and commit each curve and mark to memory. every kiss you place is an apology in its own way and it makes the both of you forget what you two were even in arms over anyway.

"satisfied yet, sugu?" you murmur against his skin, the sound of your voice sending tiny vibrations that grants you a pleased hum from him.

too bad for you, it turns out that he's tough to please, or rather just tough to fully satiate his seemingly insatiable appetite for you.

"not yet. actually, far from it."

kento nanami is pretty sure that you're trying to punish him for something he did.

maybe it was because he didn't tell you what was truly on his mind when he came home from work last night in fear or burdening you with worries or maybe it was because he didn't touch you then, even though he knew that you were looking too good for no one to be touching you like they should.

but whatever it is, he knows that whatever you are doing, it's dangerous.

you two were in public, wide out in the open. he could feel his breath hitch in his throat as you nudge your heel against him, dragging lazy lines up and down his leg and stopping just right next to his upper thigh before disappearing again underneath the cover of the table. as usual, you offer him no visible reaction that could possible give away your true intentions to him, just a ghost of a coy smile on your lips.

was this fun for you? to test his resolve as a gentleman, drawing it thinner and thinner into a taught line ready to snap at any second? or did you just want to see first-hand what it would be like to see come undone from your actions alone. knowing you, it would probably be the latter but he could never know for sure as it seemed that he would inexplicably always play into your hand.

with each lingering touch wherever you could get your hands on and each teasing glance at his necktie, as if you were already trying to undress him with your eyes, he had never wanted to throw caution and any ounce of public decency he still had at this point and return the favour to you.

god, you were going to be the death of him.

fushiguro megumi thinks that you're a handful and isn't shy about making it known to you.

it doesn't help him at all, of course, only earning him a sly grin from you as you continue with your wandering touches and teasing kisses, lingering on certain areas such as right under his jaw where you know you can elicit a low breathy groan from him. he tries to hide his reaction in an attempt to not give you more fuel to continue but he fails every time with his body betraying him as the tips of his ears seem to grow impossibly redder and he even finds himself subconsciously leaning into your touch.

in response to his words, all you say is, "hmm maybe, but that's what hands are for." as if to prove your point, you entangle one of his hands with yours, pulling it closer towards you and placing it right in the middle of your chest like you were inviting him to do some of his own exploration himself. he avoids your gaze, knowing the moment he made eye contact he would be done for and whatever was holding him back now would shrivel into nothing in an instant.

you giggle softly to yourself, showcasing your obvious amusement at how much he's trying to prove that he's stronger than this. you lean in closer towards him, your faces barely centimetres apart as you murmur, "and last time i checked, i'm pretty sure you have two of them."

that's when he makes his fatal mistake, looking down to see your plump lips just a breath away from his and noticing how your eyelashes flutter softly as you, in turn, look up at him through them. he can imagine your body on his lips and that's all that it takes him to use his free hand and to close the distance between you two as your lips crash against each other.

screw this, he doesn't want to wait anymore.

okkotsu yuuta is obsessed with you to the point where to others, it could be seen as concerning. thankfully for the both of you, he's never been much to care for other's opinions.

it doesn't matter if you manage to kill him, whether intentionally or unintentionally, because no matter what, he'll just come back more obsessed with you. a fact that he so clearly demonstrates whenever you're around him.

"p-please," he mumbles against your lips, his fingers tightening their grip around your cheek, "don't go." his voice is shaky with a tinge of desperation and his pupils are so enlarged with his unquenchable thirst and desire for you that you've lost track of the whites of his eyes. to him, even parting for a breath of air when it comes to you is a painful act that causes his heart to ache and swell.

yuta's never been much of a sweet tooth but he thinks you taste like the sweetest candy that could ever exist and it's as if you're covered in a layer of sugarcoating he wants to be the only person who has the privilege of being able to lick it off with his own lips. your hand snakes its way up his arm and around his neck, pulling him tighter into your grasp and he takes this as his cue to dive back into your lips.

at this point, he's no better than an addict with how much he's greedily devouring you with his mouth, wholeheartedly consuming you with every fibre of his being as his tongue desperately awaits to explore more of you and see if this is the only place that you taste sweet. all good things in this world cost something and you're no exception but whatever the price is, he doesn't care because he'll pay for it.

hopefully, he's planning to repay it now in his own sort of way.

[drawnecromancy]

Author ask game

Tagged by @isabellebissonrouthier ! thanks :)

Tagging : @the-stray-storyteller, open tag bc idk who else would like to be tagged ^^

I'll be talking about Le Prix du Sang here.

1) What is the main lesson of your story (e.g. kindness, diversity, anti-war), and why did you choose it?

There isn't any that I'm currently planning on having. Whether I'll find one on the way or not is still up for debate. I'm not giving lessons, I'm just throwing awful people in the same general area and looking at what they do.

2) What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding (like real-life cultures, animals, famous media, websites, etc.)?

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh [blanking]

There's definitely the. General european fantasy setting you'd expect from a european writer, i guess.

Although this place's worldbuilding is, specifically, based on a no-fun-allowed discussion I've had with my sister AGES ago when I was a teenager. What if it had magic, but was an awful fucking place ?

Idk. I tend to pick inspiration from a lot of places and it's hard for me to pinpoint one thing exactly. I can tell you when rereading that "ah, i probably picked that bit up from Ewilan" or "oh, this is absolutely because I hated X thing in les Chevaliers d'Emeraude", or even "oh okay this whole dye business is absolutely because of some of the classes i had".

Definitely, the fact that Monthaut is known for its high quality wool fabric is because of my classes.

3) What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, help readers grow as a person?

She's trying to achieve having a stable life for once, and once she gets at she's trying to keep it no matter what it takes.

I'm trying to see how interesting I can make that while sometimes the secondary characters are doing most of the stuff.

I want readers to come watch those fucked up little guys with me. Again. I'm not going to teach you SHIT. Come look at my weirdoes. They're kind of awful. Wanna see how far they can take their bullshit ?

4) How many chapters is your story going to have?

I have no idea ! Several, definitely ! I've written, uh, 8 of them so far. We're not past the halfway point. So at least double that ?

5) Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

Original content. I don't plan on posting it, but on hopefully going the traditional publishing route.

6) When and why did you start writing?

Good question ! A long time ago is the best i can do.

I do think I used to write random snippets when i was a very young kid, just for fun, to entertain myself. Then it was writing stories with my younger sister, just for the both of us.

We'd always find ways to put links to each other's stuff in our writings. Were our main characters actually related ? Did they just know each other for whatever reason ? Etc.

7) Do you have any words of engagement for fellow writers of Writeblr? What other writers of Tumblr do you follow?

Uhh... I consider myself to be a little bit to the left from writeblr because this is just my personal blog, man. I just happen to be a writer and an artist.

A lot of my friends tend to be these things too, altho I'm not super sure they'd consider themselves part of writeblr (hi Mal my beloved, Jo, Zach!, Alren); so I'm not tagging them here. Again, don't know if that'd bother them.

For people who have writeblrs that I follow, well, there's Isabelle and Stray I've already tagged, and @holdmyteaplease (also, if you do want to do this tag game, feel free!i just don't know if you do tag games LMFAO); and I think that's about it.

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 4

[prompt: roleplay] male reader x kang hyewon 8k words

“I need you,” Hyewon says in the uneasy dark of a hotel room, with two urgent fistfuls of your shirt, “need you to do to me all the things my husband never will.” “Yeah, I know,” you tell her, “you said that,” and her eyebrows move in all the wrong directions, “I’m just wondering if, you know, maybe we should give him a little more credit.”

-

Here’s the truth:

Hyewon doesn’t believe in leaving evidence behind and you don't find it particularly productive to doubt her; you’ve been talking in code for years. Parts and pieces of yourselves reduced down and bottled into set phrases that, to anyone else, would be totally incomprehensible.

"i've been thinking," she texts you, which you've come to understand means she's already made up her mind, "maybe we should do that thing we were talking about. tonight."

(You're not always so fast on the uptake.)

You send two back two texts, both of which ask "which thing?" because the hallway from the breakroom to your desk has poor reception and it never lets you send just one.

Then, right after you cross the threshold between signal-drowning-concrete and the glitzy glass-walled arboretum they've built to make you feel like you're not a total cog in their corporate machine, your phone pings the receipt of Hyewon's reply: a picture - her laptop, propped up on your coffee table with its screen angled for perusal, of a booking site that's filtered to show results for their 'king bed & view' room at a midrange hotel a forty-five-minute ride from your apartment.

"not really doing much narrowing down here hyewon."

She replies to you - her text bubble appearing over another couple still images, of herself in the vanity mirror as she curls her hair around her finger and holds this little black slip of a dress over her shoulder, black lacy lingerie in tow, the whole nine - with:

"i'm feeling kinda adventurous."

-

Five o’clock rolls around but you never really do figure it out. You spend the last three hours at work deciding which kink of hers (oh, does she have a few) this is all in service to.

There's nothing overtly sexual about her pics in the first place - not more than usual anyway, more showing off her curves and cut jaw than showcasing anything for her 'adventurous' intent. So that can't be the tell - you'd seen her in a corset once (you can't unsee it) and the angle of her hips to the mirror makes you think that if she was planning on pulling on a  pair of crotchless panties then she probably would've found her thigh high stockings, too.

You try and think of what the two of you had even talked about when discussing these little scenes - how many times you'd ended up 'in the mood' during or after such a meeting of the minds, how it'd snowballed from there, a whole list of filthy what-ifs that she'd probably put more thought into than you ever have - but you draw a total blank. It could be any of a number of things.

Until,

"i left you instructions on the kitchen island," reads a text on your phone which you definitely don’t check while you’re driving -

And then it hits you.

"ah."

"yeah, 'ah'," she replies.

-

A quarter past seven at the hotel bar is way too early for any real promiscuous activity, but then again, you're here playing at pretend and half the fun of games like this is in the setup.

Meet me at the bar, your instructions read, introduce yourself, and play it by ear.

There's some couples at the other end, some friends downing shots by the round, people musing over their aperitifs, and a woman sipping alone at the bar - Hyewon, appearing to you from the back first:

The pointed edges of her shoulders narrow out over this tiny cocktail dress that somehow covers less of her than if it weren't there at all, skin tight, accentuating even her softest curves. She has her hair fixed a particular way - teased enough to flip at the ends but still a single sweep down her shoulders, pulled together softly by a ribbon in the back, tied like a fantasy, allowing a wispy strand to fall to her face - glossy and dark and glowing to this rich, deep mahogany where it's cast in the lamplight.

The line of her throat, of her chest. Where her hips meet her waist in a rounding flare. The effort and beauty she's gone to, for you - that she puts in every day just because she knows it gets your attention, can do more than turn a head or two; Hyewon's appearance is almost indifferent of you, only coincidental, but she puts on a damn good act.

(You look a lot more worn in comparison: jacket thrown over dress shirt and khakis, tie loose at the neck. Standard office attire with just a step-outside-regulation. Disheveled.)

A drink, you suppose - approaching the bar to try and catch the bartender's attention to order a single malt.

But if Hyewon's been waiting long, she doesn't complain when you pull into the stool beside her and sit for a long moment.

"Do you mind if I join you?" you say over a pair of politely folded hands - and that's generally where her 'instructions' end.

The look she fixes you with is just this unashamed smoldering, her body language this contradictory kind of lazy - cool, like her night was going exactly the way she planned but she still had places to be.

"It depends," she replies, one slender finger curled around the stem of her martini glass - which historically, is a drink she hates. "Who's asking?"

"Just me," you offer, letting the gesture and your tone leave it up to her. And then slowly, perhaps awkwardly: "ostensibly a complete and utter stranger who knows a gorgeous woman when he sees one - and who could never pass up a chance to see how the rest of her is."

"Smooth."

"I guess it is, considering you didn't immediately run for the exit."

Hyewon nearly snorts.

"Hard not to." She tilts her head back at you, assessing. Her cheeks are rosy pink. "A handsome thing like you doesn't usually buy themself a girl's time with flattery -"

"Buy your time or your drinks?" you tease, and you can tell she wants to roll her eyes - but she keeps them carefully lowered. Eyelashes dipping down like blackened fans.

Hyewon shifts slightly, resting her chin onto the heel of her wrist like she's leaning against an imaginary windowpane and tipping her face a little sideways. It makes you smile. "One gets the other, if you catch my meaning."

Maybe it takes you a little too long to lift your gaze off her lips to find her eyes, or off the sweeping curve of the hemline sitting high across her long legs, but she watches you for just a breath. It's a more telling moment that she pretends she doesn't know you.

"You can look at me if you like," and then without further preamble, she introduces herself with a slight tilt of the head and an expectant expression: "call me Hyewon."

You figure that if you've gotta say one word to get the ball rolling you want to say her name, and as a little revenge for forcing you to think on this scene and think on what to say, what your character would say, how exactly she wanted you to go about 'meeting' her in a hotel bar, how her fucking scenario's been building up in her head for god-knows-how-long (even though, in the scheme of the two of you and your relationship, it’s nowhere close to being the most demanding sex you've had), you reply simply with:

"Pretty."

It's satisfying, how she hesitates - pausing a little longer on your face to gauge exactly what you meant. Studying. But the next beat of your heart - or hers - is effortless, easy.

"I know. That's what my husband calls me."

"Husband?" You keep yourself from raising an eyebrow. "And I don't suppose I'm also... married?"

"Different day, different you."

"Meaning I have a wife or a mistress of my own," and you flick your wrist at the barkeep for a top-up of what's in front of Hyewon. "You're telling me I'm the kind of man who'd only settle for two."

It doesn't sound quite right, though Hyewon picks up on it. Doesn't let on. "Aren't men like you always? Charming to a fault, but always voracious - insatiable, especially with women like me."

"Women like you."

"Married women. Unavailable," she simpers, and in a practiced little motion, draws her hand out to where you can see it properly, this sparkle on her fourth finger that catches the lowlight of the bar. The diamond looks real - not that you'd actually know - and your stomach flexes up mid-somersault thinking about the financial impropriety for what amounts to a gag. A practical joke. Hyewon the comedian.

Still, you go with it and take her hand in yours, admiring. "What a pity." The glint off its faceted surface - Hyewon's watchful as she allows it.

"Isn't it," she agrees.

The more unnerving thing - besides how composed Hyewon can make herself be - is how the narrative quickly becomes a whole hell of a lot clearer with the context of marriage in play. She's mentioned it before: the infidelity thing, the way it leads to the raunchiest, filthiest bits she'll dare to explore. In some ways, her desire for the untouchable makes a lot more sense -

And maybe that's what had been nagging at your mind since she brought up the idea of playing the part: you always end up kissing in that stupid 'caught up' sort of way. With an intensity that's hard to beat. Even though you wouldn't ever cheat on her. Not in a million years. You'd watch her leave before doing anything like that.

But it's thrilling, almost, and even more thrilling that this isn't entirely improvisation: how well the two of you might actually play this off, as two total strangers to this illusory little roleplay that you'd normally say was your very last interest.

"But you know there's something I've come to appreciate about married men," Hyewon continues, her voice in this conspiratorial sort of hushed.

You blink, drawing her out.

"They know how to tie a knot."

There's the flirty wink, an upward flick of the chin that draws your eye to the span of her chest. To her body in that skin-hugging dress and your fingers entangled in hers - the gentle bump and shift of the bodies behind her, moving between the tables - Hyewon a queen of circumstance, playing to the moment as it bends; as her lips part in a pleased smile, red and smooth, almost innocent, and you can't help but imagine tasting her on your tongue, the force that'd take for her to yield when you finally got your hands in her hair.

(What a character, honestly.)

"Tell me something," you say, "why would a married woman, this pretty little thing like you, be all alone in a place like this - without her charming husband."

Hyewon's smile curls at the edges like smoke. "I never said he was charming."

You raise an eyebrow. "Good-looking, then."

"Never said as much either."

“Why are you with someone you find neither attractive nor charming?”

Hyewon makes a face, slightly pitied. “If that Isn’t what I’m asking myself everyday.”

"Hm." You narrow your eyes into something more quizzical than suggestive. It works on her anyway. "That doesn't feel too much like it's in character, Hyewon."

She shrugs, but it's that coy kind of shrug. She thinks you'll let her off easy - you usually do. All considered, she's the type who thrives off the chase and, as of today, so do you.

"But he is cute." Her expression is just this side of sweet, as she takes a dainty sip of her drink. Like the taste doesn’t bother her, like she isn't pretending she doesn't hate it with every fiber of her being. Like this is easy. "And maybe -" she quirks an eyebrow at you, withholding a smirk. "-you're right. Maybe, I was looking for someone cuter to fill the bill. And luck would have it, here he is."

So - apparently - her character doesn’t mind a little light infidelity.

Hyewon takes in the vague sense that the message wasn’t as clear as she might have liked, her forehead scrunching as she tries to convey - in a way that would communicate even to an airhead - some realization to play your part.

"Maybe it's the wrong question,” you start over, taking it from somewhere near the top, “what are you doing here, with me?"

That's when Hyewon graces you with one of the soft, slow kind of smiles: the kind that manages both an air of 'you dimwit' and 'good question'. Her fingertips barely graze yours but it's noticeably electric. Just enough to feel your pulse fluttering.

(You don't care that none of it’s real - Hyewon looks to you through thick eyelashes like a goddess of temptation and sin - and it makes something wicked coil up warm at the pit of your gut. A curious thrill and a recklessness that you have to admit feels a little nice - being the man trying to talk this woman into bed. The challenge and the buildup, the want to work for it. It's new. It's fresh. Lo-and-behold, it's kinda hot.)

When you catch her stare, she fidgets. So slightly, so briefly, your chest is on fire and you're barely into the pages of her plans, of this night ahead.

"Wish fulfillment, let's say," and that is no less true. "See it’s my husband."

"Mhmm."

"He respects me too much to do the things I'm going to ask you to do."

"Like?" you continue to prod.

Hyewon lets out the tiniest shiver of a sigh, like a trickle of cold water down the length of her spine. "Take a good guess."

You finish the rest of Hyewon's martini, slow. Savoring the warmth and bitterness sliding down the back of your throat. The night's young, sure - and if you're supposed to be spending it all wrapped around Hyewon's finger. This means you can take your time.

"Show me your room?" you propose, gesturing to the empty glass.

"I thought you'd never ask."

At your offering, she stands up and throws on her coat - long, double-breasted, chic - but only really just off her shoulders to have the hem hit her legs mid-thigh. One of her many personal quirks. Hyewon knows how to move like there aren't two eyes staring at her wherever she goes: not the awkward side-to-side of a girl who wasn't made to wear heels - a loping gait - nor the assured click, click of the taller kind that totter like it's all they've got going for them.

Something totally different: a little careless and a little haughty and an assurance of the highest confidence.

She winds an arm round yours like they do in movies, this parody of a leading lady - Hyewon not a seductress as much as she is someone who'll look the part just to convince you otherwise. There is a pretty big discrepancy, you find, between her bravado and her smile, her figure and her artistry - you couldn't act if you wanted to; meanwhile, she does whatever she damn well pleases. And somehow that doesn't even begin to cover the things that turn her on.

The two of you make for the stairs, winding up floor after floor until it's perfectly quiet, perfectly out of sight - hidden away from prying eyes and ears.

The silence of an empty hotel stairwell is thick - Hyewon's hand comes off the railing, as she takes to the wall and turns to face you. It's a gentle tug at the tie loose around your neck, barely any give before you're already there, holding her by the hips.

"Might've gotten us lost there," you whisper, as her finger plays at your chest and finds its way round the collar of your shirt. Your top button is already undone by the time you notice she's not fond of it. "The elevators would've gotten us where we're headed faster."

"Don't worry." She hums, leaning in close - like a magnet, like gravity. "You're getting the scenic route."

"Anything to stall the inevitable," you tease, but it isn't a thread she seems interested in developing.

"Something like that."

Hyewon shifts her weight back onto her right foot, her skirt riding up just barely. The dip between her inner thighs and the smooth curve of her leg is open and bare to your sight, her dark stockings like an unspoken challenge: the panties, lacy, loose, no crotch.

And it gets... indecent, the way your lips connect, how you realize half-way into that kiss, she's still smiling. It isn't any one way that does it; maybe it's the clever use of her tongue, or that particular position you've coaxed her up against the stairwell wall that makes it seem like Hyewon can't be any more in danger - it's too much to handle and your mouth goes slack on the reflex of an apology; her hand has a hold on you by the jaw and it won't budge.

"My husband," she murmurs into you, the trace of the words ghosting into the breath between the both of you. "Never lets me."

"What," you rasp, barely recognizing your own voice, your hand heavy on her side - the very real fear that you might tip over a banister because Hyewon's got her heel half-way into the back of your calf and any less bracing would bring you down. Your thoughts are a fog, with her cheek in one hand and your knee already up between her thighs.

"His wife," she almost swallows down, kisses turning chaste because maybe it's just easier to gently peck out her intentions, how she looks to you with dark eyes, heavy-lidded and wanting, a thumb trailing down the plane of your cheek. It'd feel like pity if you weren't thinking exactly the same.

You try to finish it for her:

"She likes it rough."

"No." Her nose traces yours before she connects you again - gentle and slow, and a shudder rolls all down the expanse of her shoulders; you think you have it about right. Until she makes the slightest adjustment and her grip in your hair turns agonizing, perfect and burning on the edge of too tight - too much. You are straining against the wall of a hotel hallway and she's saying, "not rough."

She kisses you. Hard. Until you gasp for the stolen air in her lungs.

"Filthy," she manages against the heat and sting at the side of her cheek.

(Damn.)

Your voice has gone and lodged itself firmly somewhere between her lungs - but there's something that says she knows. That you've got it in you, the brimming potential that might just say everything you ever wanted but couldn't figure the right way to put it.

It's the tone of her voice or the spark in her eyes, but one moment into the next - you're caught in this pull - like gravity's increasing tenfold at her will; her heartbeat's so strong you swear you feel it against your ribs as she's demanding:

"Messy. Dirty. A little uninhibited," and the obvious thrill of that must flare up like lightning under her skin - the way it makes her moan, soft and breathless: "fuck me like my husband doesn't."

She’s not even waiting for the comfort of the room yet, which in hindsight is probably checking more of Hyewon's many boxes - it's the sex in public thing, the fear of discovery thing, the desire to have you ravish her out where anyone can come upon you sort of thing - the thought of which has your jaw go a little slack too. Her leg up is coiled up around your hip, your fingers tangled in her hair and sliding up the length of her thigh, until you're fucking kneading up her ass and drawing out that desperate whine in her.

"Fuck," she exhales into your shoulder - a hand on the metal bannister to brace against those little circles you start to rub inside her, pushing - slowly - one, two, three knuckles deep, testing - before drawing back, and plunging forward again. This ache, slow and purposeful, pressing just enough into her until there's a wet sort of friction that has your hand slick all down your wrist.

It never takes long, with your fingers on her clit, fingers inside her, a palm covering the moans out of her mouth -

She cums just like that.

Whining and broken and bent under you, and with an elbow hard against her ribcage to make the breaths come shallow.

"Stay quiet for me, sweetheart," you find yourself murmuring, as your teeth graze the shell of her ear - the short burst of hair and silky strands across the back of her neck; you're undoing the neat ribbon tied round the length of her hair and letting her waves settle on her shoulder in time for you to swallow down the sound of her sighs, the tension in her lips, and the frantic jolt when your fingers push through the wet, heat of her pussy again, merciless and quick. You have to be careful; she nearly bites your fucking tongue out.

"Can't." Her jaw's tight on it, the slight staccato to her breathing, murmuring and slightly dazed: "if we get caught, someone will see. Someone will notice."

Her next exhale is more shaky. "Anyone could see us like this," with just her toes curling and her stomach tensing on every second beat. Your grip leaves a bruise. "Please-"

"We're not supposed to be doing this at all, are we? If you've got a husband waiting somewhere?"

You hear yourself, and it sounds sorta degenerate, though in all the right ways, you figure, like something straight out of one of Hyewon's romance novels, the dirty, smutty ones that she swears up and down she simply reads for the plot, but the dazed, hazy kind of mood they get her worked up into suggest otherwise.

You trace the rough pad of your thumb over her pussy, this delicate, ghost of a touch. One you'd have to strain to even tell if it was there or not until she whines - eyes screwed shut like she doesn't mean to, just does. The sound of it bouncing around the stairwell.

And then, all this wet: her skirt's ridden all the way up to her stomach, damp and near-transparent with slick, and you can just imagine the puffy pink between her legs - between her stockings in the afterglow of an orgasm, spent and sensitive and sore and wanting for more. Your eyes linger a little too long -

"I shouldn't let you," she manages, half a moan on it - one of her heels comes up the stair you're standing on and the way Hyewon clings onto you for balance says enough, but still, she demands, with all the strength her throat allows: "make it fast. You're lucky I let you see me like this at all -"

And she cuts off abruptly, looking at you.

(She'll play coy for a while longer. Which, Hyewon being Hyewon, will look like as much an effort as her sprawl out on the bed for you is.)

"The room," you say to her, harshly, "where is it."

"Four more floors."

-

Room 1014 as it turns out is like every other room you've ever been in, each one perhaps a little more identical than the last - except this one has Hyewon sitting in your lap while you get comfortable on the bed, and there's also the way she looks in the mirror above the headboard, the desperation in her stare, right back into the reflection.

"What all," she says, "do you want to do to me?"

This time - no explicit instructions - just an implication. You have to figure it out.

See, the image of her is like every fantasy rolled into one, wearing this thin black bra that has her breasts just about spilling over. They're amazing - the color and shape of her skin. Soft. Cradled between the cups like a godsend, and maybe that's why it drives her a little crazy how good you look biting down the ridge of her breast and flicking your eyes back up to catch her expression.

It has you feeling, if nothing else, a little ‘adventurous,’ too.

Her belly tenses on a heavy sigh and it's one hell of a thing to have Hyewon staring you down, like you're an animal or an idiot, with her eyes flashing and a thinly veiled anger in the purse of her lips. There's a thousand things she'd like to do to you - for you to do to her - but it's about the predicament: the silk necktie she'd pulled off you as you both stumbled through the door has ended up around her wrists, pinning her arms behind her back in a way that suggests a loss of control. Just the mere suggestion of a little playacting, but she's almost keening.

You feel the touch of her right calf keep rising - curving down your waist, hooked behind the small of your back - her thighs smooth, and a hot line along your sides.

"I should fuck that pretty mouth of yours," you say against the shell of her ear, because you know better than anyone, the very concept gets her wet. Uncomfortably so.

And she leans her head against your temple like she'd love it. You could be imagining the little whimper as she clenches up round nothing - until a growl escapes the back of her throat and she's saying -

"Is that how you're going to cum? With me on my knees and nothing else? Cover my pretty face? How you’ll completely ruin me?. You’re more creative than that."

“I don’t know that I am.”

Her hips move to find some friction where there isn't any until you give her some, pulling your cock out through your pants and feeling it brush, once, twice against the seam of her. Hot, and hard. Ready. And if she only tried a little, the angle was made perfectly to slot your head in, but neither of you move. She doesn't yield.

"Let me fuck myself on you," she suggests, strained, almost pleading. "Then perhaps I will."

You could take her like she is. Any which way. But this is about getting a particular reaction - one that'll leave her spent and trembling - and nothing like that will happen without a little bit of preparation and prelude. You want to watch her writhe for hours. Until she forgets she's playing a character at all, until she's panting your name and whimpering for release, her cheeks burning.

But at least it gets her writhing on you, the heat and press of her body as she leans in close, your eyes locking:

"Get your cock inside me-" the urgency in her voice. "-fuck me right now, this second-"

"Say it again."

"Fill me with your perfect cock." The words land right on your lips, frayed at the edges as the tether to her control slips another notch. "Push my thighs apart until you break me," Hyewon tells you - and then with her legs twisted up in the comforter, the creaking mattress and the sweat on the sheets: she rolls her hips like they're pleading for it.

"Pushy."

"Gentle's got no appeal for us."

"Apparently not," you reply - but then it's suddenly a lot easier, to slide one hand in Hyewon's hair, and grip at the knotted silk wrapped tight 'round her wrists to hold her. There's no hiding the subtle arching of her spine, how the pressure off her arms pulls her chest in or makes it all the more comfortable, she doesn't let on, she'll probably keep pretending she doesn't like this, that she hasn't always wanted -

You run your tongue over her collarbone and thrust up inside her, once - a warning that you're not giving in to her quite yet.

The smile that runs her lips is brittle. Like her patience isn't what it used to be - she makes a quiet little noise, pained. A flash of discomfort. But there's a moan and a curse out of her:

"Like that. Harder."

"What does harder mean?" you ask, with a deliberate repetition in motion, thrusting upward, forcing her hips to shift a few degrees further back - her knees clenching around the sheets as you're met with no give - Hyewon's resistance through a dark smile, and her grip slackened in her hands, despite you keeping a fist wound tight in the hair on the back of her head, tightening the other around her restraint.

Her throat flinches: this shudder.

She takes a couple heaving, open-mouthed breaths, before she has it in her to glare at you again.

"Harder-" The way her mouth shapes around the word gets the better of you - cute little cupid's bow in pink, full and swollen and pursed up as if in pain. Or desire. Or both, the way her head is tipped back, hair half undone - an idea is already coiling at the back of your mind. "-until I can't stand."

"Or talk?"

And when your hand loosens on her wrists, her posture slumps like it's relief, that you're finally going to move along in a direction she's getting some satisfaction from -

Hyewon shakes her head in a moment that's almost blissed.

"You," her voice breaks on the tail end, "fucking wish you could shut me up that easily -"

In a motion almost gentle, you twist the length of hair down around her, from her scalp to her jaw, and wrap it around a hand. "Let's see if you'll change your mind, shall we."

There's a sharp draw of air in past her lips, just one sound, not a word. No proper rebuttal. She bites down, teeth clicking.

So you pull.

And this isn't some revelation, that Hyewon's cunt is heaven. Slick and tight, the fit around your cock and the gasp escaping the base of her throat - that isn't new. You've been here countless times, fucked her past her breaking point, beyond what should reasonably satisfy her or satisfy you, but that still doesn't take away from this incredible, heady rush that pulses through your entire body. It never stops getting better, not inch-after-fucking-inch the way you're bottoming out inside Hyewon's body and feel how hard the rest of her muscles tense up in the contact, how her pussy tightens and quivers, and grips around the entirety of your cock, the briefest taste of pleasure and release before it's pulled back just out of her reach - overstimulated, until Hyewon cries out.

You expect, predict the fight, the whimpers that spill out of her mouth with every slap of your skin and the breathless way she begs, pleads, like she'd rather her pride take it from her than have your fingers tug her hair up, right out of her scalp, with your arm locked around her lower waist. With your cock pumping faster, faster and a pressure, hot and inescapable, right there - the friction building - the slippery-wet heat sliding along your shaft with every stroke until you bottom out and her next exhale is a sob.

A goddamn fucking sob and the warm gush of liquid down her thighs - all on you. You fingers are pressed into her ass, pulling onto you, steading her bounce - and Hyewon finds her breathing uneven, as you smear wet across the curve of her backside, rubbing circles into her lower back as you catch up on the rhythm she'd lost.

"This tight little cunt, huh," you tease, and she nods so desperately it seems like she might snap. Like she might cry again and this time for real, a drop of her eye color past the blush, streaking down her cheek. You have the wherewithal to remember your character, your blocking, your lines: "this is what your husband won't do? Won't fuck you on every piece of furniture until you're a ruined fucked-out mess? Doesn't have the decency to work over his little slutty-wife until she's passed out, dripping with cum?"

Hyewon's fingers curl up into two balls of white knuckles and she chokes on her reply. "He won't."

"Tell him. He has a hot and dirty little piece of ass right under his own roof-"

"You think," and the string of words trails off when you manage to grind in, at this angle that has her reeling, trembling at every shift and jerk in momentum. Your knuckles drag against her soft and giving curves, almost gripping at her in the attempt to hold her down on you. "-my husband isn't enough."

"Well you wanted me to fuck the domestic housewife out of you," you murmur, taking two greedy handfuls of the ass bouncing in your lap, rubbing your palms along her hips, up and around the shape of her abdomen and her ribcage like you'd map it, memorize it. She wants this, you know this: your palms come around and over and brush your thumbs against her rising gooseflesh - she's putty in your hands. "No strings attached, remember, a one night kind of thing-"

"My husband loves me."

"Then it seems-"

"He makes me cum with his hands alone."

Your jaw works tight - Hyewon's cunt feels as good wrapped around you as she says your cock feels making a mess of it.

"Tells me he'd die happy hearing me moan his name."

"Oh, because no matter where he goes," you say, fingers wrapping under and around the back of her neck, forcing her to look you in the eye, "no matter what, your sweet cunt's the only one his mouth is ever watering for, isn't that right-"

A blink, lashes thick and feathering down and over the pools of her pupils as you have a hold of her tight. 

You're having a hard time with this, and you want to give it to her, the toe-curling-crescendo that would see her cumming at your will, or worse, losing the plot completely and your entire setup falling away from the charade of characters you'd both conjured. But she looks at you like she's never loved anyone like she loves you, the naked, barefaced devotion, the tenderness - a quick breath, a second - and the game is suddenly something far more personal, a truth. It isn't exactly fair: how your heart stutters. How much her heartbeat makes your pulse flutter, the electrifying rush you get when you fuck roughly up into her tight, wet cunt and make her bite down on nothing in the throes another orgasm.

You barely have a second to think of something coherent, let alone an out before she kisses you. If that isn’t totally disarming. So you move her into the next, flipping her onto her stomach, and she does nothing to fight back: Hyewon just lies there - the side of her face plastered to the comforter - exhausted, and gives a willing, malleable moan at the contact where your hand digs into the shape of her upper thighs, spreading them out as her elbows struggle behind her back.

"Here, baby," you say, finally unwinding the silk knot between her wrists, "I'll have you like the little desperate fucktoy you really are."

There's the bite to her bottom lip, the whole five seconds it takes for her hands to spread out and twist her fingers tight in the bedspread, before she whines - full-throated - and rocks back onto her toes to arch her back.

(See, the thing: Hyewon likes being fucked within an inch of her life. On all fours and pleading for more.)

With your free hand, you reach around her to run over her inner thighs.

Hyewon brings her grip to the bottom of the bed frame, for purchase, or leverage, you don't know, and in one simple motion, you slip your cock back deep inside her pussy.

You curse under your breath.

Hyewon fucking collapses.

It's a dangerous combination, having her begging and you nearly fully clothed while she's wearing barely more than this thin strip of black silk around her waist and a stocking on one leg, but you can't help it - she looks good this way.

"Fuck," she spits out, voice lost when your hips find hers in this wet, sloppy crash of skin that gets louder, faster and more punishing on each beat. "Like that, oh my God-"

Her whimpering only gets worse - when you start only pulling out halfway, until she's gasping like she can't breathe. You think there isn't a more wonderful, more obscene, more gorgeous thing than Hyewon spread out in front of you - the curve of her spine defining each and every one of the lines, dips, and rises of her body - and you would thank God or some higher deity right about now.

It’s fuck and please and every other little pliant utterance of “fuck my brains out, use me, make me beg, I'm so turned on right now I'll let you fuck me anyway you want - harder, faster, I can do whatever, just show me how, make me, push and fuck me hard until I'm raw and aching - god - like this, let me cum, please, let me - keep fucking going, oh my god, please, like this, fuck, just like this-"

You do thank God, actually - there's mirrors everywhere in this room, and you can catch the circular swing of her tits every time you force a curse and a sigh out of her: the bared teeth and the effort to push herself back on her arms, bracing for every thrust, fighting and fumbling to keep her balance and to make sure you have to pound her into the mattress until her cries reach a pitch.

Then, the thing you'd learned she'd never ask for but oh-so-dearly-wanted - you open your palm and bring it down hard on her backside. The impact of your flesh to hers, a crack, a moan and her whole body flexes - and it's then you do it again: matching the hit to the visible red outline of your handprint. The third time, she hisses, biting into the bed sheets so as not to cry out.

"Right? This is what you want? To be fucked and used?"

She doesn't reply with words, because she may in fact be biting her teeth into the cotton threadcount at the end of the bed, but she lifts her ass higher, angles her hips like she's waiting for more. Her brow is creased in a smile, even though a frustrated groan escapes her lips - so you give her that again, and again, until the back of her thighs are turning red and she's clawing one hand back along the length of your legs - pushing and pulling.

"You want me to fuck you senseless, sweetheart?"

And then, so needy and desperate she's just saying the first word that come to mind:

"More-"

"-when I've been railing into you so hard and your husband probably knows already, has to have seen, maybe he's listening at the door- oh," and your whole train of thought comes to a sudden halt upon seeing Hyewon's hand land on the perfect round of her ass, fingers pulling her soft, reddening skin taut, up and away from where your cock is disappearing between her cheeks - to allow more of your shaft into her hot, wet cunt - allow you to fuck her and fuck her up - allow the length of your shaft to slide deeper and hit all the spots that will send her reeling into this orgasm and the next.

Your gaze is stuck however, not to her curves rippling in excess, the damage of your thrusts pounding her body to ruin, or the look of flawless pleasure twisting up the pretty features of Hyewon's reflection, but instead it's the fucking flash and catch of the diamond that adorns her fourth finger. Even when you have her completely helpless, bent on your mercy, she's still wearing that promise, that intention to have and to hold, and you think, for at least a second, this whole roleplay thing isn't the worst idea: being a surrogate to fulfill someone's wildest fantasies. It might even be enough to make you hard all over again - the thrill and the debasement of your girl, lines quickly blurring between the Hyewon you'll take home and put back together and the Hyewon you're fucking pouding into a mattress - the here and now.

"Fuck, Hyewon," you find yourself swearing - steadying the hips rolling back in your palms, bending down until the flat of your chest meets her back, until your nose is in her hair, the long strands sticking to her lips and the back of her ears. Until you feel her shaking as you suckle against her skin, at her neck, hot kisses between the shoulder blades, finding a grip in her hands. Her grip in yours - as she's muffling these exquisite, needy sounds; she is perfect. Hyewon is perfect.

The first time you cum, it's this hot splatter of white: smeared across her ass and the crease of her lower back. It feels almost dirty to think that's just how you feel about it; your heart is stuttering in its erratic pace, but your eyes are drawn and enraptured, the sight of it all.

Then second, maybe your favorite: when she slips her hand to your aching shaft and simply takes you back inside her. This soft, wet, inviting heat that pulls you back to her.

"God- please," her head tips back, you feel the arch of her back through her ribs and stomach, the way her breath catches as you slide your cock through her creamed-out-cunt so much harder and smoother. "It feels so fucking good, baby," and there are tears now, welling in the corner of her eyes, "don't stop, God don't ever stop-"

She can barely finish her sentence before she's cut off, a moan ripped from the bottom of her lungs and a gasp straight from the pain-pleasure that has your balls slapping against her pussy every other stroke. And suddenly she's sitting, or rather, squirming into your arms, her face buried in your shoulders as she starts riding you, and not-quite crying and saying again - again, the whole filthy lot of things: about her wanting you to fill her, to plug her up with your cock. Every thrust she whines in your ears, clutching onto the fabric of your shirt and making a mess of herself in you.

It's this wild and reckless thing that makes its way around the room, on every surface and bit of furniture. You fuck her over the counter, let her ride you on the sofa, the chair, the two of you managing to find some sort of assistance in the wall even, the door frame, her legs up your sides and the slippery-sticky-heat of your mouths connecting and everything that isn't exactly meant to support that kind of strain buckling and nearly giving way - once when the wooden joints in the door-frame shift, once when she begs for release in that frantic voice that doesn't sound a thing like her. And the way she comes apart under you after, on top of you - is even sweeter; you imagine there's this endless possibility for love, for pleasure, a whole world in bundled in the notion that you could do it for her again, that it was always a question of Hyewon letting you have her that way, and the rest was mere foreplay - a stretch.

Only, on the bed again, Hyewon shivers beneath you, this full-body response, and you've got her stretched as she opens up - that the slightest of movements has her already whimpering out "fuck," and "please," and "right there," and "fuck you're going to make me come like this. You're so good, just fucking," and "more, harder, please, you feel so fucking good-"

The desperation for release is so palpable in her that it's curling into your stomach as your press Hyewon's knees into the points and edges of her shoulders and fold in her half - this perfect angle of leverage. Fucking her like she's yours and no one else's - the absolute delight of her cunt, wet, hot, and desperate to milk you empty - her body quaking at the force of each thrust, and the hungry grind of your hips into hers. Her fingers digging and knotting in the sheets around you until her knuckles pale, and your own grasp on her skin threatens to bruise.

"Inside me," she gasps out, because she can feel that edge just as well as you, "I want you to fill me, just cum inside, God, you always feel so amazing, fuck, like that, cum inside me, cum in me-"

"How could I say no, especially when you ask so sweetly," you tell her, kissing into her smile, "can you take another? Baby, look at me, look into my eyes, yeah? Look right back at me."

Her eyes blink and roll back a bit, almost losing focus and her eyelashes flutter - the creases in her brow, the elegant lines of her face locking up in the overwhelming tension, then, a peak.

And a demand, meekly asking you to fill her up. Until there's nothing left. "Cum," Hyewon moans, "for the love of fuck-"

You push her past her climax until she's practically weeping, sobbing through a litany of nonsense and slurred, unfinished sentences and almost howls, struggling beneath your weight and coaxing her fingers over the surge at the base of your spine. Before a hot liquid mess bursts out of you, into the deepest reach of Hyewon's throbbing cunt - cumming inside her, while you hold her down, not allowing her to move as your hips lock and you're both left groaning in utter agony.

(This was the thing you'd told her once - cumming inside her was almost always worth the effort it took to clean it all back out. You like the possessive aspect of it, maybe the slight humiliation, and more than anything, she'll just melt: once she's gone past the immediate discomfort. If anyone could really learn to get off on feeling a little filthy, it's the two of you. And she knows that too, Hyewon's eager little pout intimates, as she blinks down to watch where the two of you connect.)

You don't say much for the next while. If there's a line where this particular escapade blends back into your normal life, where the Hyewon curled up in the sheets is your own girl and not some half-conceived entity that didn't fit the reality of the rest of the evening, or how you see Hyewon everyday, even then, it’s not clear.

She's utterly boneless - this fragile, dazed thing that runs her palms all the way around her breasts and pulls up her stockings a little further up the line of her hips, as if you weren't going to peel them back and slip them all the way off when you had the wherewithal to handle it. But the strength in her isn't entirely lost either, she looks ready to burst: this air of pride and smugness - victory, right in her grin, which isn't totally surprising. Hyewon usually gets an odd satisfaction out of your participation in whatever hedonistic or obscene thing it is she wants to try.

This was her fantasy - maybe not a deeply rooted or unattainable one, but she'd worked out some kinks of hers and has walked away a far better woman for it, knowing what a sight she is to you. Like this.

"That was... fun," Hyewon eventually says, collecting articles of clothing strewn about the room.

Her shoes are one of two sets in the shoe-rack, but she'll have to look around and under the bed to find her dress. It would probably be some strange level of easy to play dumb and wait until she comes to the conclusion on her own that she should bend down and check down there, but she looks a little too worn out to really be interested in her clothes, more like, ready for the next part.

"We should do it again," her gaze lands, intent, and serious, back to you.

"Which part?" you have to ask, because you're probably still, a little slow on the uptake.

A small laugh, the sly smirk to herself; she knows she has you wrapped so perfectly around her finger, ready to bend to whatever game she can come up with: "whichever part you like."

[cherrychilli]

18+

Eddie Munson x flexible! reader, AFAB reader, allusions to PIV sex

Eddie finds out you're double jointed.

A/N: This one's super self indulgent because I'm very bendy and I felt like writing about it. Also they smoke weed but everything's consensual✌️

"C'mon, there's gotta be something about you I don't know already", he prompts after another smoky exhale, blunt pinched between his thumb and forefinger. It wisps out into the evening air beyond the back doors of his van, opened out to overlook a moon dappled lover's lake.

This is what the conversation had dwindled down to after having spent the whole day together, most other talking points already stretched thin by now.

Usually you would have considered the question more carefully but now that your intuition's been dulled by his stash, you search through the foggy corridors of your mind for an answer like you're feeling around for a light switch in the dark.

Eddie has been your closest friend for the better part of five years now and you weren't exactly a closed book by any means which made coming up with something all the more difficult.

Most of what comes to mind feels too mundane to mention so you pass them over in favor of searching for something that might pique his interest.

"Hmm, I'm kind of double jointed I guess", you slowly recalled, too mellowed out to realize the kind of implications something like that might carry to a man like Eddie.

But where there should have been raised eyebrows and a lascivious curve on his lips you find his eyes narrowing into a puzzled little squint instead as he looks at you from where he's leaned against the back of the driver's seat.

"But we've only had one", he turns the joint in his hand over to examine it closer as if a second one might be hidden somewhere underneath.

Maybe you'd given him too much credit.

You roll your eyes at him playfully, leaning closer on your hands and knees to pluck the joint out of his hand and take another puff. The weed might have made him a little slow and sluggish to fully comprehend your what you'd just shared with him but not enough to prevent him from sneaking a peek at your cleavage from this angle.

"No Eddie, it just means I'm flexible. Like, a little more than most people", you return to your side of the van, leaning back against the side door with your knees pulled up to your chest.

"So, like the splits?"

"More than that"

"More?", his eyes go wide and you can see a hint of redness bordering his sclera, certain the same tinge is present in own eyes too.

"Yeah, like check this out", you hand him back the last of the joint for him to finish off and put out. Holding up your left hand, you fold your thumb into your palm and gather the rest of your fingers with your right hand, slowly bending them back beyond what he thought to be your limit.

The unnatural arc might have unsettled anyone else but not Eddie and you begin to giggle when his face lights up instead of twisting into a wince.

"Shit, does that hurt?"

"Nope", you start to beam a little, letting him take your hand in his when he reaches for it eagerly.

Carefully, he manipulates them, making them bend in all kinds of ways; touching your thumb to your forearm, pushing the first joint of each finger back as far as possible.

"Oh that's fucked", he smiles big and wide as if he could gladly spend an entire day just messing around with your fingers.

"What else can you do?"

His impress fills you with a new kind of high, one much more heady than the weed and you fail to resist it now that you've gotten a taste.

"Mm, I can get my legs behind my head too", you shrug, this time much more aware of what you're divulging.

"Seriously? both of them?", he manages to ask calmly enough though you can almost feel him buzzing under his skin like a cicada about to take flight.

"Yeah, don't even really have to stretch to do it"

His jaw tenses, his normally expressive face unreadable before he quietly asks, "can I see?"

Oh this is dangerous. You feel like you're entering uncharted territory in your friendship but you like the look stirring in his eyes too much to deny him.

"Maybe just one", you offer, thankful that you're wearing your cotton shorts today instead of something denim.

Sitting criss cross on the old blanket he uses to carpet the back of his van for smoke sessions, you slip off your flip flops and place both hands on your right foot. With your left hand cradling the ball of your foot and your right hand gripping your heel, you begin to lift your leg up past your chest.

The underside of your thigh which he only gets to secretly ogle on days when you're dressed like this is bared to him as you get your calf over your shoulder, no trace of pain or discomfort on your face. Dropping your right hand, you duck your head slightly to maneuver your foot over it with your left hand then it's done. Your foot slips into place behind your head, heel nudging the nape of your neck. You're able to straighten up to look him in the eye, shooting him a wink while you wiggle your toes.

"There. Not so hard", you can't help but show off, drunk on the stunned look etched on Eddie's face.

And then his eyes trailed lower.

He does it quickly -- a mental snapshot that he'll file away for later. He memorizes the way your shorts have ridden up, so tight around your core he can make out the print of your underwear and the shape of your cunt beneath the stretched out fabric, wishing he could rip the stitches of the offending material apart and fit his tongue there instead.

Pleased with your display, you untangle yourself smoothly, limbs returning to their rightful alignments as Eddie takes a few seconds to blink himself out of his thoughts. His entirely non platonic, downright debaucherous thoughts.

"Woah that was...wow", he settles, pressing his lips together before his motormouth revs up and he lets out something he'll regret. 'You're like a sexy stretch Armstrong', nearly makes its way through but he's able to bite on to it and swallow it back down just in time.

"You're the first guy I've ever shown that to", you laugh but it comes out a little weak now that you're processing what you've just done.

"Seriously? what about Mark?", he asks, face scrunching up slightly like the name left a bad taste in Eddie's mouth.

The mention of your last ex sobers you up even more. "No, I never told him", you tell him simply, smothering down a laugh. The truth was Mark's idea of kinky was leaving the lights on so you never brought up your little contortionist act, afraid it would be too much for him to handle.

"Don't think he would have been into it", you tell Eddie instead and he looks back at you, deadpanned.

"What?"

"Sorry I just find that really hard to believe", he clears his throat, barely disguising his own interest.

The silence that follows has a certain weight to it. It's a familiar kind of weight that you've felt before on days when you're alone with Eddie and the line between friends and something more begins to blur. The weight of possibility.

"Always wanted to try it", you add, hoping like hell that you haven't misread that hungry look in his eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I don't know just seems like it could be...fun?", you shrug, a not entirely successful attempt at appearing nonchalant because you've begun to sweat. The van feels far too small all of a sudden which doesn't make sense because you're nowhere near as close as you would like to be with the boy who's seems to be stuck on what to say next.

Call it a leap of faith or call it a huge fucking mistake but you decide to take the plunge and ask him the question that's been beating on the inside of your cranium like a hammer on a nail.

"Eddie, would it be weird if I ask you to-"

"Yes", he answers quickly. Resolutely.

The swiftness of it hurts like a guillotine coming down on your heart -- shot down before you'd even finished the question so you swallow down your regret like a throatful of gravel.

"R-right. Yeah I know it was stupid of me to even try to-"

He doesn't know where he went wrong until he sees your bottom lip tremble and the confidence you'd worn up until now completely strip away, realizing you've mistaken him eagerly jumping the gun for flat out rejection.

Eddie's hands come down on your shoulders as he bolts up to kneel in front of you, shaking you to shock the tears away before they have a chance rise and turn your eyes glassy.

"No! I mean yes, it's not not weird but I don't care because YES, I want to um, do that with you… is what I meant"

His grip eases up but his eyes stay wide to read your expression, chest no longer feeling like an anvil had been dropped on it when a smile breaks out on your face, the kind that feels like it could reach beyond his ribcage and touch his heart.

"Really?", you ask, somehow understanding him perfectly. If there was anyone who could make sense of Eddie's nonsense it was you.

"I mean, if you want to...", he leans closer when he catches you looking at his lips.

"I do want to", you lean in too, hands smoothing up his chest, bringing your lips closer to his.

For all the effort he put into keeping his unfiltered thoughts from spilling out it's just his luck that he stumbles over the very last hurdle before the finishing line.

"Oh my god I'm going to fold you like a pretzel"

It's so abrupt and silly and just so Eddie that you can't help but laugh, dropping your head. His lips skim your forehead and he laughs too, both of you holding each other, locked in a giggle fit until it tapers and subsides.

When you do look back up the heat that had been there before his gaffe returns tenfold. "Maybe leave the dirty talk to me", you place a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in for a proper kiss.

[dollyyss]

I FELL INLOVE WITH THE KYLE FIC OMG??? OK OK WHAT ABOUT THIS.

the main gang with an S/O that is like, VERY VERY SNUG/TIGHT, like unnaturally tight (but not negatively ;)). Also a virgin, like the biggest virgin out there, completely oblivious to stuff like that and super sensitive to touch in general, talking just a graze of fingertips might gain a small whine. I'm thinking maybe a correct adjective for this would be just the classic virgin reader + the things listed. AAAAA FEEL FREE TO DO THIS DEPENDING ON HOW YOU HAVE ENERGY I KNOW UR SICK😭🙏

-🃏

..sigh you just love to do things to my brain don’t you anon.. WHY MUST YOU DO THIS TO ME- NEOCIE IM GONNA GO FERAL RAWR RAWR RAWR jk I’m such a sweet girl, I’m an angel I would never. Tehehe. And I’m sick so I’m an even more touchy just brain melty mood.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Kyle’s gang + butters with virgin reader!

Established relationship ₊ ⊹

All characters are aged up! Highschool AU! ‧₊˚✩彡

Kyle, Stan, Kenny, Cartman and butters 𐙚

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: smut/ NSFW, some degrading

Kyle 🐇𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒🪐

“Just like that holy fuck.. you’re so good for me.” Kyle let out a low moan, his head leaned far into his pillow whilst you slowly rode him. “That’s it baby, slowly, don’t look away, keep looking at me, that’s it. Keep watching me baby” his hands held either side of your face in an attempt to keep you with him, to keep you from looking away from him. Your legs shook on either side of his waist, your hands covering your face as you helplessly rutted against Kyle. You practically sucked him in earning groans and whimpers from the lanky gingers lips. “Fuck you’re tight.” He couldn’t hold back anymore, not with the way you gripped so tightly around him, not when he was trying to pull out to slam back in. No you gripped so tight he couldn’t even pull out. It was enough for him to grip onto the sides of your face harder, pulling you down so your forehead rested on his and he snapped his hips up into a ruthless pace.

- He’s a sweet boyfriend. He’s just a sweet guy in general. So when you tell him you’re a virgin he of course would never ever judge you for it.

-what he didn’t know was everything he did could basically make you drip on the spot, and majority of the time it’s shit he doesn’t even think of. He’s sitting with you in a restaurant with Stan and the rest, he softly touches your thigh, opening it to drag you closer to him. He doesn’t think a thing of it until you let out a squeak. Everyone raises their brows, Kyle looking at you when he feels your thighs squeezing his hand. Ahh.. you were sensitive too.

-“have you.. ever touched yourself..?” He asks curiously before feeling you shove his shoulder “Kyle broflovski!” “What? Sorry, I’m sorry. I just. Wanted to know” there was silence before you slowly nodded. He thought for a moment “has anyone else ever touched you?” He questioned again, watching as you shook your head side to side looking at him with big doe eyes. Your hands placed between your thighs. He softly bit his bottom lip, watching your body gently rock back and forth at the thought “do you.. want to be touched?” He slowly scoots closer to you, watching as you slowly lay back on his parents couch, his hands coming to tease the hem of your pants.

-he goes so god damn dumb when you grip him. He doesn’t know how to act. It’s like his brain shuts off and he goes into auto pilot. He’s usually gentle but fuck when he feels you grip so tightly, tight enough that you can feel almost every curve and vein littering his cock, he’s biting your shoulders and slamming into you. He’s swearing, panting. He’s so fuck drunk he doesn’t know what to do.

Stan .° ༘🎧⋆🖇₊˚ෆ

Panting. He’s a panting mess. He tries to form words but he’s so focused on trying to find a deeper angle, trying so desperately to feel you tighten even more then you already were. Your finger nails dig into his raven locks watching as your feet bounce due to your legs being locked around his waist. He was slightly hunched over, his hands on your ass to lift the bottom half of your body off your bed by a couple centimetres, his face buried in your hair while he lets out pleasurable grunts. “Stan!” Your lips spewing his name made him open his watery eyes, lips immediately coming to your ear. “I know, I know. I’m right here.” His hips snap as he slowly sits up, his member pulling out but with a struggle, his tip being the only thing remaining in your gushing warmth. “Can you take some more for me? Hm? Think you could do that?” When he watches you nod he gently takes your legs from his waist and pushes them against your chest, finding himself thrusting deeper at the new angle, your walls clenching so god damn good.

-“virgin? Really.. you? Are a virgin?” He almost doesn’t believe you because to him he can’t see how someone like you could be one. He’d thought everybody would be all over you. But he would admit he was proud to be the one to take it from you. He’s kinda dumb. So he doesn’t catch on. He just thinks you innocence is just, well how you are. But no.. no it’s for many reasons.

-he guides you 100%, you might actually make him a bit nervous because he doesn’t want to ruin this for you. He doesn’t want to take your purity away in such a vile way, he actually wants to make sure it goes exactly how you want. Tell him and he’ll do it. “You’ve got it babe”

-like I said Stan is a little dumb from time to time so he just doesn’t understand why you can’t sit still on his lap. He doesn’t get why your legs are practically shaking and stuttering against him when his large calloused hands come to hold at your hips. Maybe he’s not dumb he’s just, oblivious. He’s noticed that when he sweeps the hair from your neck to the other side you shudder, gripping onto his arm. “Are you? Are you good?”

-when he finds out the reason for it being you were a virgin he kinda.. likes it. He likes that he can be the one to make you act like that, how a single touch from him could have your legs open for him. Of course he takes is time with you. But he does enjoy teasing you from time to time.

-.. the first time you give him a handjob he’s definitely staring at you. He’s on the couch because his parents aren’t home. So what a perfect spot to do so. Your hands pump his cock so well while you partially hide your face, turning it the other way. His arms are resting on the head of the couch, one hand coming to turn your head so close to his you can feel his breath. “Don’t shy away from me..” his eyes are on you, nose pressed to your cheek as you pump him faster, you bottom lip tugged harshly under your teeth.

Kenny ₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉

“Mm I think you can take more sweet thing.. shhh I don’t wanna hear another word. You lay and look pretty for me yeah?” Kenny’s pace was torturous as it was; but having him grip onto his headboard, and pushing you further into his sheets was enough to make you clench harder around him. He shivered, his smile growing wide enough to expose the missing tooth on the right side further back. “Kenny please! I can’t do it.. I-i can’t take much more” you pushed at his lower stomach, still your grip around him was hard for him to pull out, pulling out would mean feeling every inch of his cock and that alone was pleasurable enough to send you to your edge. “Awh the poor baby, that’s a shame isn’t it, cuz you are” he was quick to take your jaw in his hands, pounding into you, his other hand pushing down on your shoulder to keep you from squirming. “Fuck I love the way you clench around me, like you don’t want me to leave” he cooed at you. Feeling yours fingers scratch and grip at his sides and lower stomach once more.

-he’s a horndog. So finding out you’re a virgin? “SCORE” he’s jumping over the moon for joy! Really it’s nothing to be so happy about, so giddy, but he’s just more or so happy it gets to be him that shows you everything.

-he’s probably one to tease tremendously until you finally lose your virginity to him. He likes watching you twitch and squirm at every touch he gives, but he makes sure his touches are extra touchy. He’ll walk behind you to grab your chest, when your making out his tongue is tracing your collarbones all the way down to the hem of your underwear. He wants you to feel like it’s about to happen but he’ll keep you waiting just a little longer.

-he’s probably gotten you to hump his leg. I’m not kidding. He was sitting on his bed, watching you walk around a little too tempting for him. He wasn’t exactly ready to do things to you quite yet, and he didn’t want to force you but when you ended up on his floor, sitting on his foot to try and get off. That shit eating grin never left his face. “Where did that pretty little innocence go hm?” “Kenny.. s-stop it’s not funny”

Cartman 🎧✮🧺✧˖°

“You’re so pathetic.” cartman pulled out, before pushing himself back in further “squeezing and gripping my cock like you don’t want me to stop.” He repeated slowly pulling out before pushing back in. “You go so dumb for my cock you can’t help but clench onto me huh? You silly little thing” who knew Eric cartman was also a teasing little shit even in bed. You. You did. Your hands held onto his shoulders, your feet planted on his bed, knees up and shaking as he worked his way to a somewhat quicker pace. He kept his thrusts short but he was deep. Both due to him and you pulling in him each time he tried to pull back a bit. “Eric, m-mm~” he cocked a brow stopping for a moment before looking at you fully. “Go on, say it, I won’t move until you do” your eyes shot open “mmm- more I want more please” he chuckled gently “you greedy bitch, I’m giving you so much and you want more” he listened though, he gave you what you wanted. He always did in the end.

- “pfft. Fucking virgin” he was too. So don’t let him get to you. Is he going to tell you that? Fuck no. Do you know? Yeah most likely I mean it’s cartman he’s lucky he even landed you. “Cartman shut up. That’s fucking rude and it’s not funny” you crossed your arms. “I’m sorry I’m sorry.. hmm” you shot him a glare. “Cartman.” He placed his fingertips to his lips “it’s just.. a little funny” he pinched his fingers together to make a small gap between his thumb and pointer finger. “I hate you.”

- a fucking tease, like Kenny he uses it to his full fucking advantage. He’ll tease the fuck out of you but just won’t give you want you want. You want him to take your virginity and baby he will. He just wants to get you all pent up, hot and bothered.

-from time to time, when things feel like they’re getting closer, and both of you are practically undressed his tip is teasing at your entrance, slowly circling before he stops for a moment, “hm, I don’t know, I’m feeling a little *yawn* sleepy yknow?” He smirks before laying down on his back watching as you look wet and dumbfounded, legs slowly closing as you sit up. “What the hell Eric..” he looks at you. “You could, suck me off? How does that sound?” You roll your eyes lowering your head at his commend. Don’t worry.. he’ll do it. He just likes to tease you to the very edge, to where you think you’ll get it.

Butters ˚☆🐈*๑

“P-please I won’t last much longer if y-you keep doing that..” butters stutters his words. He has you in a mating press, his legs surprisingly keeping him up, as he slams back down repeatedly. “I’m sorry baby.. I-i can’t he-help it oh my god~” your hands run through his hair, his head lowered towards yours as his lips try to reach your own. You clenched around him each time he pushed in. And god did he love watching himself pull out to watch you grip, your juices coating his member. And when you were left empty he watched as you pulsate trying desperately to find him. The look of it.. fuck he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t help but to give your tight fit exactly what it wanted “ahh~ lord.. I’m so close~” he whispered against your lips. He knew if his parents seen him now he’d be grounded for god knows how long but Jesus you drove him crazy the way you sucked him back in.

-“virgin? Well that’s alright darlin! Me too! We can learn together!” What he doesn’t know is you’ll have him sucked in, he can’t escape. Not that’s it’s bad. But he becomes addicted. Ever since the you told him, all he’s had on his mind is you gripping him so tightly, your warmth and softness. He’s like a rabid little bunny. But he does keep it to himself, he wants to be gentle with you, sweet and attentive the very first time. You both wanna make sure the other is comfortable.

-he finds it cute when he touches you and you practically moan. Because.. he does the same thing. You touch the back of his neck? He’s shuddering and moaning at the way your fingertips softly lingered. He loves when you you lay him down on his bed, lifting his shirt to kiss around his belly button, your lips lingering against his slight bright blonde happy trail. And he does the same to you, his lips tracing every inch of your body until he reaches between your thighs “mmm.. can I?” He asks gently “well I’ve never done this before so if it’s bad.. I’m sorry” he looks up at your with puppy dog eyes, making sure you know he’s just never done this. When you give the okay, he gentle.. but he can’t help himself when he tastes you, he’s immediately got your legs over his shoulders, and he’s making you squirm and scream. He’s very proud of himself. He’s not much of a tease but he tries to when he gets in the mood

“Well don’t you look awfully pretty” he mutters in your ear, watching the blush creep onto your cheek and you squirm in the place you sat. He’s not the greatest at teasing but hey he tries. And he makes sure you both learn one step at a time.

-but once he’s had it once…. There ain’t no going back. He’s like a wild dog off its leash.

Im sick.. and I’m feeling.. in the mood. I love them. I want them.

[azsazz]

Tethered

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Trying a little something different here...not sure how I'm going to explain it yet, but this fic is more of a fantasy aspect than my other fics.

Warnings: Mentions of burns and death.

Word Count: 3,569

_________________________________________

Pain.

The first thing you recognize when you come to is pain. That, and the darkness.

It consumes you from all angles, a darkness so deep and ancient it feels otherworldly. It coils around you like a frightened snake, smothering what little air you’re able to choke down. You blink once, twice, to attempt to clear your vision, but the black coating the space around you doesn’t so much as shift.

It’s how you know you’re in deep shit.

A sharp pounding pierces your skull, preventing you from shoving your shaky arms beneath your aching body and pushing to your feet. The feeling is worse than that of any wound bestowed upon you up until this point. Not even the King of Hel’s rigorous training or your mother’s disappearance had been so painful.

There’s a gnawing so deeply in your bones that you wonder if the feeling has always been with you, if you’ve somehow become accustomed to the feeling of your body screaming in agony.

Growing up in Hel, you should be used to such things.

Sunbursts spot your vision, the bleeding eclipses warring with the darkness. You hold your breath for a beat or two, trying to force your pulsing heart to calm. Exhaling slowly doesn’t help, only forces your breathing to become shakier.

It’s eerily silent, save for your panting breath. The screams of agony still ring in your ears, the King of Hel’s malicious laugh accompanying them as he splays himself across his throne, grinning at the two maidens sat in his lap.

As you scramble to gather your bearings, you wrack your muddled mind for where you might be and how you survived. You take inventory of as much as you’re able—the sharp flares of pain in your ribs, jagged and harsh with each inhale and exhale you take, and there’s a ringing in your ears that gives even the wailing spirits of Hel a run for their coin.

Hel. The last thing you remember was standing before your King, the sovereign of the underworld. He’d smirked down at you from his throne made of obsidian and bones, towering over not only you, but the entirety of Hel itself. The wicked curve of his lips and piercing dark eyes had only forced you down to your knees by looks alone.

You had not wanted to meet the gaze of your ruler, always hated his attention on you, but as one of his favored, you were often in his presence. Forced into doing his dirty work because of what you were born into, powers that were unlike anything in either Hel nor Haven, a one-of-a-kind ability he sought to take advantage of.

Your glittering quiver had been strapped across your back, and the image comes back to you vividly—clutching the grip of your bow as the King sealed your bargain with a red-hot hand to your skin and a wicked grin on his face.

A shuddering inhale makes your nose scrunch. You can still smell the remnants of your burning flesh beneath his palm.

You had nearly passed out from the pain. Maybe you did, because no matter how much you furrow your brows and wrack your brain, you can’t seem to figure out how you ended up where you are now, face down on the cold, hard ground.

Reaching out blindly for the bow that’s fallen from your fingers, you groan, the long sleeve of the silky white shirt you don beneath your armor brushes against the sensitive mark on your forearm. Your fingers creak as you uncurl them, rubble and debris scratching against your hand, burying deep beneath your nails as you search for your weapon.

The lightweight of your quiver is comfortable at your back. You choke down a shuddering groan as you lift your wings, biting your lip at the tenderness you feel at your back. They seem to be in one piece, as you twist them this way and that, only throbbing dully with bruises. Creatures of all sorts could be lining the darkness surrounding you, and you understand that you’re taking too long to rise, the shadows and nightmares of The Void keeping you off balance.

The King must have had one of his goons throw your hardly-conscious body into The Void after your bargain sealed. That’s how you ended up here. A spine cracking shudder makes bumps rise on your skin as your body stills.

Stories of The Void come rushing to you, and if you try hard enough, you can smell the lingering scents of the other worlds’—a smoldering smoke as black as The Void surrounds you, cloying your throat in thick waves as if trying to choke you, brand you with the reminder of where you are to return to. Cutting through the utter wickedness is the sharp perfume of something other, a fresh breeze lined with citrus that must be a figment of your imagination because there is no scent like that in Hel, nor breeze in The Void. It simply is.

It must be Haven, you decide. You only recognize the heavens from stories trickled down through the rift of worlds, from picturesque stories and secrets in shadow.

You haven’t known anything other than Hel. You cannot recall your father, hardly any of your mother, nor how you ended up in the King’s care. All you remember from your earliest memories are the soothing tones of your mother when you were young and scared, calming you in her arms before you ended up with the King, and the gleaming bow you never go without.

Forged by a millennia-old weapons-master, you’d been gifted the very weapon you seek now. No one knows how it had gotten to her—not even the King himself—only that the exquisite piece had come from the best battlement blacksmith Hel had to offer. You were no older than eight, eyes rounded with wonder at the sight of the gleaming gold bow settled on your bed, matching quiver and arrows accompanying it.

You shove the thoughts away. Your heart leaps into your throat the longer you search for your weapon. The pain zipping up your body help to focus you, and the strain threatens to give out as your fingers finally find the familiar metal grip of your bow. You hold on tightly and drag it to you, feeling the weapon for signs of damage.

Your bow soothes you as you trace your fingers across the solid gold riser. You know this weapon better than you know yourself. You could be blind and know the inside outs of your beloved weapon, like you are now, vision clouded with black as your fingers slide down the string, taut and flexible as ever.

Once you’re satisfied with the condition of your bow, you attempt to rise. The thick robes you’re clothed in had broken none of the fall. They’re heavy against your body as you struggle to gain your footing, stretching your wings wide to balance. The fabric brushes against your wound and you bite back a yelp at the pain that burns through you like a wildfire.

You had thought that without parents or a family to lose there would be nothing for the King to hold over your head, to force you into his tricks and deals, for him to rip away for his enjoyment, but the wretched ruler always found a way. You clenched your teeth so hard that you thought they would crack as you were forced to your knees before him, glaring daggers up at the beautiful ruler while he only grinned like a wolf, licking over those sharpened canines like he was out for your blood. Again.

He hadn’t let you agree to the terms of your bargain until you screamed.

Shoving to your feet, you splay your arms wide for balance. The harsh ground offered no grip beneath your boots and the blackness does little to help you stay stable. You try to keep your breathing calm when it sharpens as you look around. There’s nothing but the darkness and yourself, not a pinprick of light to guide you nor a sound to be heard. Not even your own thick-soled shoes make noise as you test a step forward.

The silence doesn’t break and the prowling creatures that reside in The Void don’t stir. Beings of nightmares, you’d been told when you were only a child and before your mother was taken from you. Your imagination couldn’t be sated when you were young, always begging for more and more stories of the world outside of Hel, questioning why you weren’t allowed to go anywhere else.

You hated the fires and heat of Hel, always burning a spot in your mind or your skin. You craved more, to see the open sky instead of storming clouds of thick smoke that perpetually covered Hel in charcoal waves. You yearned to see the stars and the moon and the heavens of Haven, with their buttery sunrises and dreamy dusks.

Your mother’s face is a long-forgotten memory, but the stories she told are not. Tales of animals and creatures so large, fit with razor-sharp teeth and glowing eyes stalking around The Void, monstrosities that not even the King of Hel could conjure.

Okay, you remind yourself, shaking the worry from your head. It’s time to make a move.

You’re sitting prey if you don’t. The feathers are a familiar comfort brushing your fingertips as you reach over your shoulder, sliding a singular arrow from the quiver with ease. The gold tipped point sings as it’s unsheathed from its home at your back and you notch it in the bowstring with controlled practice. It’s a motion that keeps your hands from shaking and soothes your breathing, a warrior at the ready, should any of the nightmare’s attack.

As you move, you realize that making your way through the darkness is no easy feat. Not a sound to guide your way nor a flicker of a torch to assess your surroundings. There is only darkness and silence and it beats at you with each tentative step you take. Slow progress is still progress, you try to remind yourself, but you can’t help but feel as if you’re talking in circles, the maze of shadows spinning your sense of direction, offering no reprieve.

Even the scents of Hel and Haven have faded, though you feel better about the former washing from your senses. If only the perfumed scent of Haven remained—you’d gladly follow the trail right up to the heavens, King of Hel be damned.

It had once been a dream to see Haven in all of its glory…before you realized that there was no escaping Hel, no escaping the King and his sinful grins and wicked games.

A sound forces her to still, limbs locking up before you force yourself to steady your stance and take aim, squinting through the black. Your pointed ears perk as you listen intently, not daring even a shallow breath. A soft noise sounds, like a cloth brushing across glass. It’s fleeting, morphing all too quickly into a screeching, grating noise that reverberates in your bones. Talons. They. Sound so similar to those of the King’s hounds giving chase down the long halls of his palace that there is no doubt in your mind the creature stalking you could shred you limb from limb.

The noise ricochets against the hard ground of The Void, echoing off of the nothingness that surrounds you. It makes your head spin, torso twisting to follow the movement as you search desperately. For the source.

Standing frozen, boy taut as you strain to glimpse any sign of where the lurking creature may be, a barely recognizable purr accompanies the grinding claws. With the darkness of The Void swallowing all movement, it feels as if the noises are consuming you, echoing in all directions and baffling your sense further.

Glowing, white eyes blink open, startling you. Your heart skips a beat in your chest as you jump, tightening your grip on your weapon and swinging it in the direction of the lurking beast, the tip of your arrow aimed right between those bright eyes.

You don’t dare more, though the smart thing to do would be to release the sharp-tipped arrow the beast’s way, but the creature doesn’t move. It blinks slowly, sleepily at you with its gleaming eyes, staring at you as if it’s curious instead of the horrifying nightmare the King and others had warned you about.

You curse silently as it stands. You’re pinned by those unnervingly bright. Eyes as it bounds closer. A reflection of what you’ve heard the moon looks like lies within its stare, though you don’t think the creature has seen the luminous beacon in the sky either. In the low light reflecting from its gaze, you catch sight of the sharp teeth as the nightmare licks its maw, and the pointed talons that clack against the stone ground as it closes in on you.

You could run. You can turn around and spring through the darkness for your life, pray to Haven that you don’t trip over a worse dark-dwelling beast, but with the deep ache in your bones you know that you won’t make it far fast enough.

The King of Hel hadn’t been lying when he taunted you with how terrifying these beasts could be.

You wonder for a fleeting moment if the ruler of Hel even expected you to make it out of The Void.

Heart racing in your chest, for the first time since you’ve mastered your bow, your fingers tremble around the taut string. You can let lose an arrow between its glowing hot eyes. There’s no falter in your aim, even with the miniscule shake. If you will it, your arrow will strike true.

The prowling beast halts only meters from you. Your heart pounds loudly in your chest and the beast must be able to hear it beating against your golden breastplate from the way that it cocks its head and blinks up at you. It nearly reaches your chest and you swallow harshly, knowing that one wrong move will have the beast snapping at you. You hardly breathe as lips curl away from blade-sharp teeth that glint in the glow of its blinding eyes.

There are only a handful of seconds to decide your next move—to bare your own teeth and show the creature what you’re made of, firing the gold-tipped arrow, or stand down and hope that the predator does the same.

One breath, two, and you watch the creature lower itself onto its haunches. Your hands fall to your side in relief. The arrow is a surety in your grasp as you slowly sheath it back in place at your back. A surety that if the beast attacks, you’d be even more of a fool than the King ever claimed.

Following your movements with bright eyes, the growling of the beast falters, then quiets. It straightens, sitting taller, more menacing, and nearly meets your gaze straight on. It stares at you until your empty hand is back at your side, bargain mark throbbing as it brushes against your cloak.

You’re just as confused as the creature across from you, staring at each other like two sides of the same coin. It’s like you know the beast, seen it in your dreams or heard tales about it from your mother, but your mind is muggy, and you can’t grasp where the familiar feeling is from. You see yourself in its eyes, lost in the darkness with no light to guide you out.

As if the creature understands this, it dips its chin to study you.

Its breath is balmy against your throat and it sends shivers up your spine. Your lip’s part to gasp at the same time the creatures open to taste your scent, deciding if you’re a threat or not. The heaving breaths against your skin tickle, but there’s nothing funny about the way the creature stills, as if the raging beast wants to slash through your delicate flesh, to feel your hot blood sticky beneath its paws.

“Help me,” you dare whisper. It’s spoken as quietly as your voice allows, but the sound carries into the void as if you screamed it.

A howl answers that makes you flinch and itch to press your palms against her ears. It hadn’t come from the beast before you, who snuffs in response, its full row of teeth reappearing as its eyes narrow, staying tightly locked on you.

“Help me,” you plead, desperation clinging to your words. You need to get out of here, need to breathe the night air and see the real moon and feel its silvery rays upon your skin just once, you need to find somewhere safe so you can begin working towards what you came here for, why the bargain mark burns with every movement. Your freedom. It’s all you want from the King, from Hel, to be able to roam as you please, leaving the underworld to find something greater.

You want to remember something other than the harrowing sights of Hel, than the King’s sharp smile mocking you every time you close your eyes. The things he’s made you do, the things you’ve made yourself do. This cannot be the end.

You won’t let it be.

“I’m trying to find Velaris,” you continue when another yip joins the first. A hunting party, likely moving this way. The sounds are closer this time, but the darkness doesn’t allow you to gauge just how far they roam or how many there are. Your gaze sweeps around as if the soft light emitting from the beast’s eyes will allow you to see the others. The blackness leers in response, no longer the sinister silence but instead filled with a terrifying array of noises that will only enhance the harrowing nightmares that plague you. “I need to find the city.”

Your fingers tighten around the handle of your bow but the action does nothing to ease the worry eating at you.

Maybe it’s the raw despair in your tone or the glistening look in your eyes or the thunderous beating of your heart that makes the beast take pity on you.

Blinking up at you, the creature slinks closer, damp snout pressing into your hand. You hold back the flinch at the coldness of it, and it gives you a gentle nudge as if to say, ‘Why didn’t you say so?’

Releasing a sigh of relief, the beast allows you to press your hand to the top of its furry head as it leads you towards further darkness. The creature’s mane is soft and thick between your uneasy hold, leaving you to wonder if this being isn’t a menacing creature bred to hunt within The Void, but one that had been just as scared as you.

The howls of creatures around them die down as you’re lead through black. You don’t know if you should be breathing easier or harder when the noises die out completely, leaving your breathing and the clacking of the beasts claws against the stony ground as the only sounds as you walk.

Blinking, you are convinced your mind is playing tricks on you at first, as you begin making out different shapes. Black turns to a deep navy, then lighter until you can see silhouettes of trees and mountains beyond. The hard stone turns to soft earth laden with thick grasses reaching nearly to your knees.

The air is sharp, crisp with the oncoming scent of a storm. Your head snaps towards the sky, searching for a star, the moon, anything you can to ensure you’ve ended up in the correct place, but thick, rumbling clouds cover every inch of the star-smattered sky.

Disappointment floods your veins with ice. You’d been wishing to see for yourself since you were a child and your mother had spoken so highly of the bright splotch in the sky, and it has gnawed at you as you grew into the female you are now, proud and strong.

With a disheartened sigh, you turn to face the creature who’d been leading you through the darkness, only to find it gone. You hadn’t felt the beast slip from your grasp, entranced on the opportunity to see the beautiful night sky. It had disappeared on those stealthy paws, dipping from your hold and back into the swallowing darkness of The Void.

It looms behind you, an open, cavernous mouth that seems to creep slowly, consuming the trees and stars and sky. You wonder if it had somehow consumed the moon, if The Void is a living being all its own—a trap waiting patiently to devour what wanders into its well laid snare.

A shudder works its way up your spine as you stare. You know well that you will be back, when it is time to return to Hel with the King’s prize, and then and only then, will you have your freedom.

The word burns your skin just thinking about it. A time where you will be able to roam freely from the nightmares of Hel, doing as you please without the King there to loom and rule over you. The taste of the salty night breeze is only a tease of what you will soon have.

[luveline]

𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐞𝐛 —send me an established relationship request for any reader and any character and I'll write a ficlet, 1k or less

reader pulling Hotch in by his belt loops trying to break the ice after they get into a disagreement

luveline's 40k party ☆ tysm for requesting! vaguely suggestive. fem!reader

You know why you argued, but you kinda wish he'd stop being mad. You're not mad anymore, and he's the one who started it so he should be the one to raise the white flag. Maybe. It was only a little fight! 

You sigh dramatically. Hotch doesn't budge, wiping down dishes with a cloth one by one. 

"I'm sorry," you say, your third apology overall. 

"It's fine." He smiles from over his shoulder. You believe him, but he's still put out. You understand not everyone can move from an argumentative mood into a happy one quickly and try not to worry about it much longer, though the urge to kiss his scratchy jaw has its hooks in you. 

You put away the plates after he's dried them and figure you'll just have to go for it. While he's not paying attention, you slip your finger into the snug of his belt loop and pull him toward you. He wraps his arm around your shoulder rather than elbow you, looking down at you with a mixture of nearly hidden surprise and pleasure. He tries very hard to keep a straight face. 

"Hey, baby," you say, "you come here often?" 

"I'm still annoyed," he says, warmth creeping into his voice.

"Yes, well. Me too. But I like you more than I'm annoyed at you and I'd really like to kiss you, so… can I?" 

Hotch looks down at your hand in his belt loop and does that thing older guys do, a sound between a scoff and a laugh with a nod to seal the deal. "I suppose." 

"Oh, you suppose," you say, leaning up to kiss his chin, your following words smothered in his skin, "you would suppose, Hotchner, you're such a supposer."

He laughs again and you glow, sure it had been a weak joke. His smile twitches under your lips as you kiss him, and his hand cups the back of your neck. Forgiven. 

"Sorry," he says between kisses. It's low but impossible to miss, and his tone is sincere. "I'm not trying to be unreasonable." 

"You're very reasonable. And you can make it up to me, if you like." You blink your eyes open to meet his dark gaze, smiling as his hand slinks down the curve of your back.

"Should I pull at your jeans?" he asks. His finger curves into your belt loop, his hand angled further down. 

You lean in for another kiss. "Yes, please." 

[thecrowsart]

people: omg we finally get to see hyper! me: omg we finally get to see more angles of kusuriuri's clothes! observations and (A LOT OF) ranting under the cut:

1.)

The inside sleeve design has been revealed! It's pretty similar to the outside design but instead of that four-petal design, it's a gold circle. Also, it looks like the large eye is shared by both sides, but based on how the sleeve looks in other images, it must be really really big..... I guess they can get away with it lol. Like, if you laid out the sleeve fabric, I think it would look like this:

2.)

THE BACK OF HIS OBI. What the hell kinda knot is this actually... like, does anyone here know about obimusubi because I'm not very good at knots but if it comes down to it I will learn how this works. I already thought this based on the promo art but it seems like his obi fabric is double-sided, with purple on one side and the check pattern on the other, with a red trim. That lighter salmon color in the knot seems to be a different fabric, maybe an obiage? It's not tucked into the front so I'm not sure if that's the right term, but in any case it's some kind of extra fabric. If the purple and check are really one piece of fabric, then the knot is like... a hitch? It's some kind of one-loop bow, and it's quite bulky so he might have an obimakura in there. Whatever it is, it's considerably more elaborate than OG Kusuriuri's obi, which was that red brocade just tied into a large crooked bow. Who is helping movie Kusuriuri get dressed in the morning? (I'm sure he can do it himself and I commend him for the dedication to the aesthetic lol).

3.)

His mirror is now kept looped around this thick cord that kind of comes out of nowhere and disappears into his obi. First of all, how is the mirror staying up like that since the string is only looped once. Second, the thick white cord looks the same as the one that comes out of the left side of his obi and loops around his back, but I'm not sure how they would connect. Logically, they probably are the same cord and it goes through his obimusubi somehow. 4.)

This one was actually noticeable in the very first trailer as you can tell, since the second screenshot is from that trailer, but I somehow never noticed it until now. Kusuriuri has neck markings now! In a different frame I caught a glimpse of the part that goes into his collar, it looks like a circle, though it's not visible in either of these screenshots. But from the first screenshot and some other frames I saw, it looks somewhat off-center. I wasn't sure if it was just a weird frame at first, but it looks consistent the few other times (time?) that part of his neck is visible. It looks like the strip of red that leads down to the circle curves off to the left rather than going straight down the center. I didn't realize this before but his neck is actually concealed in most of the promo images.

5.)

A better look at the back of his socks, plus two things that were visible this whole time but I didn't notice: first, his black leggings have this folded layer you can probably see on top. I'm not sure how to describe it and I don't know exactly how it works. It seems weird to me that he would have three sock layers (outer black, inner black, white), so I think the two black layers are probably still part of the same sock. I'm just not sure exactly what's up with it. Secondly, his geta have metal corners on the teeth! I don't think I've seen that on real geta, so maybe it's just a random detail, but if it's a thing on some real geta, I wonder if it's to keep the wood from wearing away there. Also another think I'm just noticing, there's a reinforcing wedge of wood under the front part of his geta that overhand the front tooth. You can see it a little in the second image.

Overall, that's all the new design stuff I noticed. Since I just drew him twice and spent like all day thinking about this, I've realized his design is way more elaborate than the original one. He has a bunch of little doodads, like the ties around his ankle or that decorative tie that comes out of his ohashori:

which still bothers me because I've never seen the back of it. Where are those strings going. And how is it secured in the first place? is it tied or pinned underneath his ohashori, like on the tie under the obi (not sure if there's a name for it)? What is it? Why does he have this here?

These details as well as things like the corners and wedge on his geta, the red trim on the obi and the check pattern, and his elaborate eye make up are all design elements that could never really have worked for a tv show. It's impressive to me even that OG Kusuriuri had that hand drawn brocade texture and the designs on his kimono that he did. It's the type of thing animators usually avoid, lol.

I like the movie design visually, but my god is it a pain in the ass to draw. Due to the aforementioned details of course and the wider variety of colors. Oh yeah, my last (for real) observation is that this Kusuriuri looks a lot less human than our OG friend. His skin is entirely whitish-grey, and he has that white/purple and red hair, and now he has markings on his neck instead of just on his face. (Unrelated but I feel like they made his lip tattoo less prominent and it makes me sad because it's one of my favorite things about Kusuriuri's design). But Hyper, from that very small glimpse we caught of him, looks more mundane than the original. I think it's the combination of his black hair and his markings being red instead of gold. I wonder what the rest of him will look like.... It was interesting to me that his face is drawn differently from Kusuriuri. In the TV anime, they have the same face shape and features, but their hair and coloring is different. And OG Hyper had a slightly different version of Kusuriuri's clothes. We can't see this new Hyper's clothes, but his face is more square looking. He looks like a different person... interesting lore implications.

Okay, I really must stop there.

[rosegasly]

Lavender Haze.

⇢ summary: “I like your stupid face. It’s so stupid. It’s so… I like it. Can I touch it?”  ⇢ genre: tipsy & risqué  ⇢ pairing: max verstappen x best friend reader ⇢ a/n: taylor inspires all my titles i'm a basic bitch like that

You should know by now that you are terrible with alcohol after one too many puking sessions and horrible hangovers. Still, when Max—your reigning best friend, now world champion—crossed the checkered flag in Abu Dhabi, there was no other way the night was going to end. 

 Feeling the burn of bile creep up your throat again, you push forward on your knees, clutching the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl with all your might as you throw up what feels like days worth of food. 

 The cool touch of said best friend’s hand rubbing soothing circles across your back is as much a relief against your scorching hot skin as a knife moulded with thick, unadulterated guilt that is digging into the gaps of your rib the longer you are awake and thinking. His other hand busy holding your hair back over your head. While your thoughts aren’t entirely coherent, the fact that you are ruining what is probably Max’s best night yet isn’t exactly lost on you either. 

Tears sting your eyes as your stomach finally settles, only a hollow sinking feeling where there was once turbulence, and you can’t decipher if it’s the lack of food or the drunk realisation of what a shitty friend you make at the moment. 

 “i am sorry,” the apology comes out meek, liquid pooling into your eyes and blurring your vision. 

 “Schatje,” his voice is every bit the affection, love and exasperation that you don’t deserve and you tuck your face away between the protective curl of your arms over the toilet bowl. If you were a little less drunk, maybe you’d be disgusted, but all you want to do right now is hide away so you can’t see the forgiveness swimming in his gaze. 

 “You trying to hide the running mascara? Come on, you know you can do worse,” Max teases and the sound coming out of you is equal parts sob and snort. 

 Strong arms curl across your chest, resting slightly above your breasts and your heart goes into overdrive as you sit there torn between feeling grounded by his presence and your stupid crush rearing its head again to mess with you. “You gonna come out of the toilet bowl anytime soon?” 

 His breath tickles the shell of your ear as his chin finds home on the curve where your neck meets your shoulder and you can’t hold back the shiver that races through you at the warm sensation. 

 With a firm tug he pulls you back, your head lolling to the side of his chest and burying itself in his warmth and safety. 

 “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

 Another steady pull and he has you on your feet, guiding you to the sink nearby. The angle of your neck turns awkward as you wrap your arms around his waist, face still nuzzled against his signature white tee secured tight between the clench of your fingers. 

 Touch as gentle as it can be, he holds your chin, tilting your face towards the basin and you wordlessly turn the tap on. You are half tempted to drink the water but stop yourself from following through on that urge, gargling and washing the acidity from your mouth instead. 

 The angel of a man you blessedly call your best friend drags your ass out, giving you bottled water which you finally gulp down like the parched woman you are. Sated and no longer reeking of bile, you nuzzle back into Max’s chest, half-formed apologies spilling from you in an endless stream. 

 He keeps quiet, allowing you time to let things off your chest. After years of being there through the others most vulnerable, he knows you better than he does himself and as much as the sight of your pink, blotchy cheeks and drunken apologies makes his chest tight, he realises how much you need it. The weight of unsaid words always weighs heavy on your shoulders, and he has never cut you off when you open up. Instead, choosing to console and talk through those thoughts after. 

 What seems like hours, but is probably only minutes later you finally bring yourself to move away from his chest, the death grip you had on his shirt loosening enough to allow you to look up. 

 In the club’s dim lighting, out of focus, eye to eye, crystal blue spilling into the dark of your eyes, your grip on reality slips a little more. 

 “I like your stupid face. It’s so stupid. It’s so… I like it. Can I touch it?”

 Dark lashes shutter your view of the endless blue as Max blinks, a little taken aback before a smile breaks out. Rosey lips and pinker cheeks and the faint dusting of freckles over the bridge of his nose and high of his cheeks. It’s him. With every breath, you breathe him. Amidst all the cigarette smoke and stale of old carpet under your foot and the sweat in the air; all you register now is him. Max. Your best friend. The one person you would give up everything for, knowing he would do the same. 

 “Go ahead. Touch me.” You can’t tell if his voice has gone lower, deeper, or if you have just pressed yourself too close to him. The vibrations from his chest travelling to you through yours from where they are against each other, not a hair’s breadth of space in between as you near. The lines between close and too close blurring in your inebriated state of mind. 

 The last thing you see before your eyes fall shut is the blue of his. Cerulean and crystal, the faintest blue in the light, edges coloured a dark green in the shadows and its endless. Their depth, his gaze, the twin pounding of both your hearts, the heavy breaths and the sweat from the humid club over your skins. 

 His lips are every bit as soft as you had imagined them to be. Sweet like your most beloved candy, light as a feather as they brush against you. Hesitant, then sure. Worried for what could be lost but realising what could be gained. Gentle, then a little more forceful as your back slams against the wall and you groan. 

 It’s relief. It’s desperation. The way you have starved to touch him, have him feel you. Breathe in his exhales; let them become one in you to make them yours. Kissing him to mark him yours, having him in your arms and knowing you could never let go. 

 He grinds into you and it’s dirty and messy, more the high of your hip bones and the thick of his jeans than anything else, but his fingers still dig into the curve of your waist almost painfully. His ragged breath making you shiver when his nose grazes your skin and you hear more so than feel him inhale your scent. 

 He bites your lip and licks it better. You tug his hair, then caress his face. 

 It’s sexual and innocent and when its finally too much and you can no longer hold your collective breaths, you smile instead. Your lips curled into a smile over his grin and it’s suddenly okay. Everything the night has been and every sleepless night that you two have spent tormented over unreciprocated feelings leading up to it. 

[russos-ventitre]

leah williamson x reader | sunset ❤️‍🩹

✘ summary: Leah helps you train after a minor injury

✘ warnings/tags: fluff, arsenal!reader, striker!reader, mutual feelings, mutual flirting, first kiss

✘ words: 1924

"Come on! Knees up [y/l/n]!" Jonas shouted, clapping his hands encouragingly as you lagged behind the other girls.

You had been out of training for a bit due to an unprompted calf injury which thankfully lasted a month at most. Forcing you to rest for the better part of a few weeks before you had to work with the Physio. Regardless, your absence has made you feel like you're the most inexperienced player on the team. Constantly struggling to keep up with the other girls in the drills and in partner work.

"Hey, you alright?" You felt a hand rest on your back as you bent over to catch your breath.

"Huh- y-yeah.. fine.." You huffed, struggling to get your words out.

"You sure..?" The blonde persisted, helping you stand up straight.

"Yeah.. just need a break.." She helped you over to the bench, sitting next to you and grabbing a water for you to drink.

"Cheers.." You took a few big swigs of the drink, wiping your lips dry with your wrist as you continued to pant, hoping that your breathing would even out at some point.

"Sorry.. I'm just a bit rusty s'all.." You sighed, her hand coming to rub your lower back.

"I can stay back after training and help you out if you'd like- if you're free that is.." Leah offered, hoping that it wasn't too bold of a statement as you squinted your eyes in her direction.

"Umm.. yeah I'm free this afternoon." You smiled, taking another sip of your drink before standing back up.

That Afternoon...

The defender was waiting for you outside, stretching out her legs on the pitch, shooting you a wave. Everyone had long gone at this point, just the two of you dedicating extra time to training which Jonas would never complain about.

"Hey, you ready?" She asked excitedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she pumped her body up.

"Yeah."

Prior to your arrival Leah had set up cones and dummies around the pitch for you to weave in and out of, pretty much the same way it would be if you were training with the rest of the team. You dribbled the ball between the cones, increasing your speed as you did so, but your legs were just so burnt out. After a few laps back and forward between them Leah eventually stopped you.

"Hey.. how about we focus on shooting for a bit, yeah?" Her hand came to grab your shoulder, gaining your attention.

You nodded following her over to the goal. You practiced shooting the ball into the goal from different angles, trying to prioritise free kicks. The blonde took position, her face stone cold as she narrowed her eyes in your direction, tucking her arms behind her back and waiting for you to finally strike. You did a small runup, lobbing the ball with the side of your foot, aiming it around the defender.

Leah's leg came up to block it but you were far too fast for her, the ball crashing into the back of the net before she could even fully turn around. "Maybe you're not as rusty as you think.." She chuckled to herself, shaking her head in disbelief. 

The two of you continued practising free kicks, a few of them blocked by the taller woman but most of them curving around her body and connecting with the net. Your free kicks eventually turned into little 1v1s, Leah getting a bit handsy as you tried to run past her, gripping you by the waist in hopes to stop you in your tracks.

"Cheeky." You mumbled, seeing her smirk after you missed your shot, the defender giving you a shameless pat on the arse as you retrieved the ball.

The next thing on her list was partner work. She repositioned some of the dummies so they were blocking the goal, then she would run the ball down the pitch, passing it for you to shoot it in. After a few shots from one angle, you'd swap sides or reposition the dummies again, repeating the process until you felt comfortable. You were really enjoying your time with Leah and it made your heart flutter every time she would send you any amount of praise. Whether it be a soft smile, a thumbs up, a clap, or a delicate touch to either your arms or your back.

“I have an idea.” You perked up, smiling innocently towards the taller girl.

“Oh yeah?”

You nodded your head proudly before continuing. “Yep.” You grabbed her by the wrist dragging her over to the goal, exactly where the goalkeeper would stand.

“What are you- wait why I am this far?” She raised a brow confused.

“Because..” You walked backward, placing the ball for a penalty kick. “..you’re gonna block the ball.”

“What?!” Her body stiffened up, slight anger etched on her face. “I’m not Mary Earps!” She whined, her hands coming to fall to her sides in defeat.

“Come on! It’ll be fun! Plus maybe if you’re good I’ll give you a peck for every ball you block..” You challenged teasingly, seeing how that made Leah visibly flustered as she grew more shy.

Both of you got into position, Leah bouncing on the balls of her feet just like how Mary would do in England matches, desperately trying her best to mimic her. You took a few steps back and lightly tapped the ball, deciding that you wanted to start off easy for her. Leah dove in the direction of the ball blocking it with her hand, the ball rolling to the side.

You did as you promised, making your way over to retrieve the ball, placing one hand on her shoulder, and pressing a soft peck to her cheek. A mixture of blush from how she nearly winded herself and the kiss began to fill her cheeks. 

After your first strike, you decided to not go easy anymore, whacking the ball with incredible force, hitting the back of the net at least five more times, the defender, now goalkeeper, completely out of breath. 

“Oh come on! Don’t you want these kisses?” You teased mockingly, pointing to your puckered lips, watching as she dusted herself off with a groan. 

“Hey actually.. you know what.. turn around for a second.” You waved your hand in a circular motion, the blonde confused but obeying regardless. 

“Why am I standing like- Ow!” Her head snapped backward, her brows furrowed and her nose scrunched up. 

“What’d you do that for?” She grumbled arms crossed over her chest.

“Target practice.” You giggled, blushing slightly.

“On my arse?!” 

“Yep.” You fell into a fit of laughter, the taller girl not at all amused by your actions, angrily kicking the ball back over to you with a huff.

After your laughing fit you took to your positions again, this time Leah bouncing back and forth, determined to block your strike. You wound your leg back and smacked it against the ball, right within reach of Leah’s hand. The blonde stuck her hands out and just barely blocked it, the ball bent her fingers back slightly as it flew to the side. 

“Ow.. that hurted..” She pouted, sounding like a toddler that just got injured on the playground. You ran over in her direction, grabbing the ball and tucking it under your arm.

“Let me see..” You spoke gently, taking her hand in yours and looking at her fingers. Examining them for a bit, you eventually pulled them up to your lips, peppering them with soft kisses as you looked up at her.

"Break?" The blonde asked, biting her lower lip, trying to hide her smile.

"Please." You sighed, making your way for your water, flopping your body on the grass, head resting on top of the ball.

Leah sat beside you admiring the sunset in the distance that was just past the buildings. "You're doing really well.. I hope that month break didn't knock your confidence too much because you really are a phenomenal striker." She admitted, taking a sip of her own drink.

"Thanks.. I guess it's just been hard finding my place back in the squad, especially with Less, Stina, Viv, and Beth.. they're just so good.. too good sometimes.." You sighed, your arms falling to your sides as you stared up at the orangey-pink sky above. 

"Hey! You're good too!" The taller girl protested, giving you a playful slap to your shoulder.

You lifted your head slightly, looking at her through your lashes, not at all believing her words.

"Oi! If you don't stop shit-talking yourself I'll tackle you to the floor."

You leaned up further from the ground. "You'll have to catch me first." You sprinted away from her, dodging in between the dummies that were still set up watching as she chased after you. Hiding behind the metal dummies you pushed them over the closer she got to you, her hands just mere inches away from being able to grab you and throw you to the ground.

"Come here you little shit!" She shouted, struggling to catch up with you.

"Make me!" You decided to be even more annoying, running over to where the two of you left the ball, running it down the pitch, dodging the cones, and scoring a goal. Stopping in your tracks you proudly celebrated with your arms in the air, completely forgetting the threatening presence that was barreling in your direction.

Leah slid into you from behind, bringing you to the floor, you now on your stomach and hands, letting out a groan. You turned your body, now able to see the defender begin to pick herself off the ground and walk away from you. You took your legs and wrapped them around one of hers, trapping her and tripping her, the taller girl crashing on top of you.

Her face was hovering only a few inches from your own, the blonde's face becoming a rosy pink to match the sky as she stared down at you, practically winded from falling on top of you. Your hands politely rested on her waist as you struggled to not panic internally from the gorgeous view.

You felt her slowly take your hands, lacing your fingers together, her lips moving closer, just ghosting over your own as you felt her breath coat your skin. Her tongue darted out to wet her own lips before pressing forward, tenderly kissing you from above.

It was heaven, it was pure bliss, it was a well-deserved reward after a rough day of training and even though you never expected your reward to be this you certainly weren't one to complain. Leah smiled into the kiss, softly giggling the longer the two of you stayed like that. Clearly, she was enjoying it just as much as you were. 

The blonde pulled away for air, giving your hands a squeeze as she admired you from above. “Whaaat..?” You blushed, trying to cover your burning face with your laced hands.

“I don’t think you quite understand how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” She sighed happily, moving in to press more kisses to your bright red cheeks. If it wasn't obvious before, it was obvious now, the blonde defender did in fact secretly love you as much as you did her. Your heart swelling with happiness as she pressed forward for another kiss, your eyes rolling back at how you knew that if you died in this very moment, you'd be okay with it.

[utterlyotterlyx]

A Fate Inked In Starlight

Part Four

Eris x Fem!Reader x Azriel

Summary - After crashing into the Autumn Court with no idea who you are, where you are, or how you got there, Eris takes it upon himself to hide you and care for you with the help of the Night Court. That is until souls from other walks of life infiltrate Prythian searching for you.

Warnings - memory loss, you being kinda bad ass, blood, swearing, angst, allusions to death, tension

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Five

Muscle memory.

Cassian had told you about it, he had told you how his muscles were able to remember every move and angle, every swipe and weight that he needed to put behind a punch when he had been out of training for too long. Muscles had memory, they were able to find their way back to where they needed to be.

It had been a week before Cassian had asked you to train with him, well, not so much as asked but told you. You didn't have much of a choice. You had agreed, you had pushed it back as much as possible, but Cassian was getting grumpy with you to the point he'd stopped bringing you your morning chocolate pastries. It was getting a little dire.

Cassian knew it was futile to try and send Nesta or Azriel to you, to convince you to start training, all you needed to do was smile at them and they'd crumble, forgetting completely about why exactly they had been sent to fetch you. It had bought you a few more days.

The next step was to deprive you of the damned chocolate croissants. You went nuts for them as much as Nyx did, and the Inner Circle would come downstairs often to find you and the little one curled up on the sofa eating those sweet pastries. Cassian was happy to report that the removal of those treats was enough to get you to agree to a training session the next morning.

It wasn't like you were happy about it, but hey, chocolate filled pastries made you happy, and you wanted more of them.

"Don't sulk," Azriel spoke to you from the plush surface of your bay window, giving you a sidelong glance when you appeared from the bathroom in the training leathers that Nesta had given to you, tugging at the cuffs and waist of the fabric to pull it into place.

"I'm not sulking," he looked to you pointedly as you picked up your leather holsters, frowning at them and holding them up to your waist, "Maybe a little," you shrugged, putting your hand through the large gap, struggling to figure out how exactly they worked, "I'm only doing this for Nyx."

"Sure you are," Azriel smirked, that devilish grin that always seemed to find his lips. His wings were neatly tucked behind him, elbows on his knees, face in his scarred palms. A spurt of water splashed his face and he blinked in surprise, noting your matching smirk and little curtsey, "Mature."

Cassian had a feeling that you were a warrior of some kind before you fell into Prythian and lost your memories, he was sure of it actually, from the curve of your muscles to the peeled callouses on your hands, even your eyes told a million stories. Ones he'd very much like to hear one day.

Azriel wiped the small droplets from his face and stood from his seat, crossing the room and holding his hand out at you. He towered over you, he consumed you in shadow so dark that the sunlight wasn't able to pierce through and hold you. Tendrils of hell-black shadow curled around your unbound hair, they curled over your shoulders and shuddered in adoration at your warmth, you'd gotten used to it quickly and almost sought out their innocent affection. "Give it to me," he motioned to the holster, not even bothering to reign his shadows back to him, he knew they wouldn't listen. It was a waste of time.

You hadn't told anyone how your nightmares had transformed into more vivid dreams, you no longer woke up screaming clutching at your raw throat, instead, your dreams awoke you to those same purple eyes that said nothing and simply watched you. You were sure if you told anyone they'd think you were beyond mad

Azriel dropped to his knees before you after you had handed the leather straps over to him, he lay them on the floor and tapped your leg softly, a sign for you to step into the holes. He grasped at the edges and began to pull them up your legs, his fingers brushing your sides and inner thighs before shimmying them over your hips, looking down on you with a shit-eating grin, "Was that so hard?" Azriel's eyes turned a shade darker, his breath drifted over your face and you shook your head softly as he fastened the buckle, "Mhm."

Heat rose to your cheeks and you looked away quickly, hoping that he didn't see, but of course, you knew he did. Azriel was spymaster of the Night Court for a reason.

"Come on," you strode for the door, throwing it open and allowing a whoosh of cold air to flood your bedroom, "Cassian probably thinks I've bailed again."

To Cassian's surprise, you had actually shown up.

The Lord of Bloodshed leaned against a stone block, his face dipped in a scowl, convinced that you were all talk. But then you had arrived, clad in Nesta's leathers, hair unbound which you were raking back with your fingers, tying it up messily on the back of your head, with Azriel striding after you.

He had decided not to make a comment about your tardiness, upon Nesta's request, his mate had taken quite a liking to you to the point of growling at him when he had made a joke about you.

Nesta had told you bits about training whilst you both read in one of the seating rooms at the House of Wind, where she and Cassian lived and you had visited often to pluck books from its library and find some comfort in them. She had told you that Cassian would most likely be tough on you, he was tough on everyone, but it was a good thing, he wanted to push people to be the best they could be.

You and Cassian had sparred for an hour, your muscles ached from blocking his punches and hitting the ground, hair had fallen from your poor excuse of a bun and dirt coated the side of your face from one particularly rough takedown, you were tired of it.

Azriel watched you closely from his perch, calling out corrections to you which you had tried to implement but it always ended in Cassian flooring you.

Ready to voice your readiness to return to the townhouse, a glint caught the corner of your eye, a shimmering sparkle that pulled your attention to the racks of weapons to your right. Without a word to Cassian, you dropped your arms to your sides and approached it, scouring the array of lethal weapons that lined the hooks until you found that one that had pulled you there.

Black rope was wound around one of the arms, holding two iridescent onyx hooked blades, sharp enough to inflict untold damage. Reaching for them, you grasped at the bundles of rope and held them in an open palm, turning slightly as your hand adjusted to the weight. It felt odd but it also felt right. So right.

The two Illyrians watched you with intrigue, they watched as you let the bundles of rope zip from your fingers, they watched the two blades sway at your sides, and they watched your free hand move to grip a free section level with your abdomen. Familiarity burned within you, and they saw it rear its wondering head to them.

They swung slowly at first, in lazy circles as you adjusted to the feelings, and then your movements increased until they were dizzying spheres whipping around your body by your perfectly arched hands. Your stance had changed, one foot planted in front of the other and they watched you in awe, the shéng biāo was a difficult weapon to master, to the point that even Cassian and Azriel steered away from it, but there you were, weaving it around your body with perfect control like it was nothing.

Then you had stopped, a large grin falling over your face and you looked to Cassian, holding the weapon in the palms of your hands, "Muscle memory, right?"

Azriel jumped down from his perch and clapped Cassian on the shoulder, the latter being too stunned to speak whilst Azriel approached you, "Who knew that the Little Flower is a shéng biāo master?" He teased, you wrapped the rope around the indent of your thumb to your elbow until it was neat and compact, placing it back on its ledge. "You just keep on surprising me."

"Is that a bad thing?" You asked, turning back to him with your arms folded over your chest.

"No," he smiled, "Not in the slightest."

It took Cassian a few moments to return to earth, too dumbfounded to waltz back into his body any sooner, he still couldn't form coherent words, simply muttering that Rhys would love the show you had just put on in wielding one of the most formidable weapons in the entire of Prythian.

Keir had insisted upon a meeting with the entirety of the Inner Circle, with all of the High Lords actually. It sounded more like a party, but anything to do with Keir felt like all work and no play, Rhys had told you.

Rhys had told you that Eris would be there, that he was constantly asking about you without ever actually asking you. Nesta said he wanted to give you space, that he thought that he was the problem, and you wished more than anything that he would know how wrong he was.

You missed Eris, and Duke. You missed the warm autumn sun pooling into your pores. You missed the hues of gold and orange that coated the midline of Autumn. You missed the roaring fires and Eris' arms wrapped around you as he shushed you back into slumber. You missed the sound of his heartbeat and that intoxicating scent of burnt orange, caramel and pine that washed all of your worries away. You missed him.

You had insisted that they all go, that even if it was more work than play, that they deserved a night away to let loose a little, you'd happily stay and care for Nyx. It was Amren that usually stayed behind in these situations, but you were adamant that they should all go, to have a night without Nyx as a family and leave you to take care of everything else.

They had all filed out of the townhouse door, dressed in the most spectacular outfits that you could only dream to own. Feyre had thanked you with a kiss to the cheek before excitedly rushing from the house, linking arms with Lucien and pulling him and Elain down the winding garden path with loud laughter emitting from her lips.

"If you need us just shout," his finger drifted to your temple, "Shout to me and we'll come back," he told you with a warm smile and fond eyes.

Rhys had been just as dumbfounded as Cassian when he heard of your talent with the shéng biāo, the rope dart as he called it, even Rhys found it too difficult to wield, always slicing open his calves whenever he had tried in the past. It was becoming more obvious that your story was a deep one, one with many layers that he was invested in uncovering.

After your conversation with Feyre, you had immersed yourself with life in Velaris, you had joined their family dinners and chimed into conversations with quirky anecdotes and other-worldly questions, you had joined Mor and Feyre on a shopping trip where they had insisted on buying you everything you had laid eyes on, citing that you were like a breath of fresh air to their family so deserved to be treated like one of them. Elain had taught you to bake and you had spent time in her garden, it reminded you of the gardens of Fir Manor, and you allowed your water to extend from your fingertips and into the earth, licking the roots and bringing them to life.

Rhys had taken you to the Sidra, Amren allowed you into her apartment, and Nesta sat and read with you nightly, and you often became lost in conversation with her about characters and plots with the occasional argument of who should end up with who.

The High Lord pulled his finger from your temple, the warm patch turning cold as he stalked from the house after his mate. Jumbled garble entered your ears, Azriel walked up to you dressed in his fighting leathers, bouncing Nyx in his arms, walking so slowly that it felt like he didn't want to leave, only handing over the babe once you had reached out for him.

"You take care of her, Nyx," he took Nyx's tiny hand between his fingers and shook it gently before looking up at you, "If you need anything-"

"I'll scream loud enough for the entire of Prythian to hear," you bounced Nyx on your hip, turning your head to place your nose in his hair and inhale that beautiful smell that made your stomach coil with blissful want. "Go. And try not to be so serious."

Azriel held his hands up as he backed out of the room and into the night, "I can't promise anything."

He kept his gaze on you, walking backward down the path and toward the loud billowing voices that awaited him. You looked incredible, the light of the entryway curving around your figure, you were dressed in a navy blue velvet dress with soft ballooned shoulders and gold thread tied into a neat bow at your lower back, the skirt fell to your ankles and you wore black pumps on your feet. It was like Velaris had taken root within you and blossomed in your soul.

It took a lot to make him turn from you, to stop imagining you stood there holding your own child, his child, in your arms.

Feyre sent him a knowing look which was followed by a soft squeeze of her hand on his forearm before they winnowed away, leaving you all alone with her most prized possession.

Your evening with Nyx had been nothing short of magical.

You had baked together, a certain type of cupcake that Elain had taught you to make, and a tiny flour covered hand print rested on your cheek. You had read to him, a tale of fearsome warriors, dragons, and love. You had eaten the chocolate croissants Cassian had returned with that afternoon, telling him that you knew that his uncle would give in eventually.

And then he had gotten tired, his little mouth contorting into heart clenching yawns. It was then that you gathered him into your arms and put him to bed, humming softly to him as he drifted off and placing a gentle kiss to his forehead before slipping from the room with a click of the door.

You lingered in the hallway, gazing at the paintings that lined the walls, Feyre's paintings, that told stories of her emotions, swirls of colour and shading perfectly depicting her home and love for everything within it.

The journey back to the living area felt strange, like something was telling you to stop and turn back, to not go down there. Goosebumps sparked across your flesh and an uneasy feeling settled into the pit of your stomach. A shrill chill swarmed around you, gusts of draughty air blowing through the house, pushing you, pleading you to be anywhere else.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, you saw why.

Facing you were two cloaked figures, huge, snarling things shrouded in the shadow of their hoods. They drowned you with their stature, large creatures that stank of blood and decaying flesh.

Gloved hands reached for the crystal hilted knives in their holsters and they brandished them to you, a clear threat, "We almost didn't believe the whispers of Tiamat falling into this cesspit of a world," a voice hissed, it was gargled, like he was choking on thick blood, and low enough to make you hunch inward.

"Is the babe asleep? We would hate for him to miss this," the other forked, a serpentine poison laced to the more feminine words. A male and female.

In instinct, you locked your hand around the wooden railing of the stairs, your chest rose and fell at an alarming rate, your eyes were wide with fear, you hands were clammy and body trembling, "You will not touch him," your words managed to fall from your lips, calm and stoic as you attempted to search the room for the nearest weapon; a sword that hung in a cabinet to the side of the fireplace.

"I'm afraid there's nothing you can do to stop that, sweet Tiamat."

Silence.

A single beat of it.

Then they lunged for you.

Twirling on your heel, you managed to dodge the grip of the male to only be tackled over the edge of the armchair by the other, she sent you toppling to the floor, and you smashed your hip into the corner of the coffee table with brutal force. There was no time to focus on that.

You scrambled against the wood, pulling yourself along the floorboards whilst she dug her talons into your calves, ripping through the muscle and inhaling the scent of your blood deeply, purring at it.

With little effort, she pulled you backward, gripping the waist of your dress and tossing you into the glass cabinet like it was nothing. It smashed at the impact, shards of glass embedding into your back, and you fell to the floor with a thud, "What happened to you? I expected more of a fight," she kicked your leg, pulling groaning whimpers from your mouth, "It's alright," she cooed, tucking escaped strands of hair behind your ear before plunging her knife into abdomen, ignoring your screams and the blood seeping through the navy blue of your dress, "I'll tell them that you fought, I'll tell them that they were too late," she dug it in deeper, summoning guttural pants from your chest.

Blood. So much blood. So much liquid.

Liquid.

Gasping, you wrapped your hand around her wrist, driving her dagger deeper through you, feeling the beat of her pulse under her flesh. You dug your fingers into that spot, tapping into that power and allowing it to slow her blood down whilst spandrils of water flowed from your fingers and up her arms, across her face, and into her eyes and mouth.

The thing sputtered on top of you, understanding that whilst her blood was slowing to a stop, that she was always drowning in your grip. Then she fell to the side with blue lips and her alabaster skin peeked through the hood of her cloak, rippling with grey veins.

Nyx.

You cried out, using the edge of the table as a support to stand. The other one didn't move, he simply watched you, you could hear that rotten smirk through the darkness, and your hunched body tensed as he began to move to the stairs. Without thinking, you tore the blade from your abdomen, you ignored the searing pain that cut through your body, and you threw that knife at him with sterling precision. It embedded itself straight into the back of his head and he dropped to the floor with a thud.

Blood ran down your legs, footsteps of bright red signalled where you were going as you clutched your stomach and hauled yourself up the stairs after ripping the knife from your attackers stiff fingers.

You could have cried when you saw Nyx still asleep in his cot, sleeping so deeply that whatever had occurred downstairs didn't wake him.

A sob escaped you and you slid down the side of his cot, an arm wrapped around your abdomen, your hand clutching the crystal hilted blade which was pointed at the closed door.

Rhys had felt it. He had felt that something was gravely wrong.

Wild, wide eyes signalled to his family that they had to leave and fuck the consequences. Nesta had been talking to Eris when she felt Cassian's hand on the small of her back, his lips by her ear telling her that they all had to go. That something was wrong.

Eris refused to be left behind, he had spent every day thinking of you, and he knew that if Rhys was rattled then whatever they would return to Velaris to find could be monstrous. Rhys hadn't cared when Eris had followed them from the room, he hadn't cared when Lucien had grasped his upper arm and winnowed him into Velaris.

Rhys and Feyre stood frozen into place, it was Azriel that bolted to the slightly ajar front door of the townhouse with Cassian and Nesta in tow.

The room was flipped, furniture thrown across the space, broken glass covered in blood, and pools of that thick red liquid dotted about the space with bare footprints inked in it trailing toward and up the stairs.

Two bodies lay there in the darkness, one pale and blue lipped, the other with a large hunting knife shoved through the back of his head that protruded from his mouth. The rest of the inner circle entered the room, quietly surveying the place that was not lit with its usual fire that you had always refused to let go out, it was cold, it was tainted.

Azriel ran. He ran up the stairs, he followed those bloody footsteps. He prayed to the mother that they were yours and that you hadn't been taken. He prayed with everything in him that those steps didn't belong to another attacker, he prayed that they hadn't reached Nyx.

The Shadowsinger burst through the door of Nyx's bedroom, frantic and wild, and completely uncontrolled. He froze in his place in the doorway, he froze as his hazel gaze found you sat in a pool of your own blood, pale and shaking, a knife in your free hand, and a little handprint dusted onto your cheek.

Footsteps followed him and he felt the fire at his side, the male choked and rushed to you, sliding onto his knees through your blood and cupping your hazed face in his hands, "I didn't let them touch him," you rasped, "I'd never let anyone touch him."

Feyre and Rhys appeared next, exhaling with relief before finding you. You were barely keeping your eyes open, Azriel could feel how cold you were from his place in the door, "Little Flower," Eris called to you softly, and Azriel hated how it made him feel to see you turn your eyes to Eris and crumble, "You're okay, you did great. Nyx is fine."

Rhys moved to you as you weakly asked, "Nyx is fine?"

The High Lord took your limp hand in his, he slid the knife away from you, "Nyx is fine, Flora. He's okay. You protected him."

Nesta's eyes were wide, emotion flowed through her as her bottom lip wobbled at the sight of you, she wanted to reach for you, but instead she moved to Nyx and bundled the sleeping babe up in her arms, removing him from the room in case he awoke and saw it all, all of your blood that stained the carpet like the Sidra along the riverbank.

"Call for Madja, Mor," she nodded quickly and darted down the hallway, Rhys moved to scoop you up but you cried out in agonising pain and he flinched, retracting his hands from you.

Your body was covered in scratches, your flesh was ripped apart and shard of glass were embedded in your back, long tears sliced up your calves. It was incredible how you were still conscious.

"Little Flower," Eris called again but softer, he coaxed your attention and you reached for him, your bloody thumb staining his chin.

"You're here," you whispered with drowsy exhaustion, too weak to keep your fingers on him for a moment longer.

"Of course I'm here," he placed a kiss into your hair and ran his fingers across your face, allowing small licks of fire to warm your skin.

Then your gaze moved upward toward the open door, you looked at him and it broke him more, he moved to you and knelt to your level, "Az. It hurts," your voice broke.

"Let me move you, let me fix you," he felt Eris' eyes on him but he didn't care, not for one second, and when you nodded, he had never been so careful in holding anything in his life.

He held you in his arms, not caring for the glass that was breaking through his skin, he looked to Rhys with a darkness in his eyes that his High Lord had never seen before, he growled, "Find who did this before I wage war on every single court in Prythian."

Rhys had no words, he simply silently nodded and watched as his brother took care with each step he took from the room so that you didn't whimper in his arms, leaving his High Lord behind stood in a pool of your blood with the crystal hilt of the dagger dancing in the moonlight.

Authors Note

It's here!!

Pretty please let me know your thoughts! 🤍

Taglist

sorry if I’ve forgotten anyone 🥺

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[lalacliffthorne]

just a sweet little modern!roommate!Azriel drabble to pull your heartstrings and make you feel all the feels.

“What are you doing?”

The rough voice, quiet and hoarse with sleep, made me jump, and I almost squeaked, my head whipping up as my eyes widened, and my heart jumped into my throat, only this time not because I was startled.

Azriel was standing in the door, squinting into the light of the small lamp next to the couch. His brows were drawn together, his eyes looking like honey in the warm sheen as he ran a hand through his rumpled dark hair, and my breath hitched softly.

It really was unfair that someone could look this good in just a hoodie and pyjama pants.

Blinking, I turned my gaze back towards my laptop, breathing out as I rubbed my eyes that were burning a little.

“I'm going over my paper; I don't know, it's just not how I want it to be.” I dragged a hand down the side of my face, propping my elbow onto my knee as I stared tiredly at the screen.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Azriel move, his steps soundless as he slowly started to walk past the couch.

“It's almost 2 am.” His quiet, still raspy voice made my skin tingle, something rushing in my stomach when his brows furrowed further, and I exhaled softly.

“I know, I just –“

Azriel crouched down next to me, and the rest of the sentence I wasn't even sure I could've formed got stuck in my throat when he stared at me, eyes tired, the little golden specks in his iris shimmering in the warm light as they dragged over my face.

Breathing out, Azriel ran a hand over his face, turning his head to stare at the screen. The blueish light made the line of his jaw look even sharper than usual, his face all angles and soft looking lips.

“You know, you might be more likely to figure it out when you're not almost falling asleep on the spot anymore.” His low, quiet voice heavy with sleep made my heart skip, but not as much as the way his arm pressed against the side of my thigh when he shifted on the spot, leaning against the couch as he stared at me tiredly, eyes soft.

“You know, that is kinda rich coming from you.” I tried to suppress the urge to rub over my eyes again as I stared at the screen, and Azriel huffed, but it looked like his lips quirked a little as his eyes dragged over my face.

“Maybe, but I'm not the one who needs nine hours of sleep a day to function properly.” There was a teasing tilt to his deep voice that almost made me whimper, the urge to just flop sideways and into him almost unbearable. But I reigned myself in.

I really needed to figure out how get a hold of myself when it came to him, or one of these days, I wouldn't think and do something stupid.

I grimaced half-heartedly at him, earning me a curve of his lips that made something in my chest tumble gently like even my heart was too tired to react like it usually did when it came to Azriel.

Silence settled over the living room again as I stared at the laptop, my fingers moving over the mousepad as I forced my eyes to not droop and Azriel watched me tiredly, his gaze moving towards the laptop and back towards me. Then he shifted, and I parted my lips when he reached out and carefully slipped the laptop out from under my hand.

“What –“

Azriel placed the device on the couch next to me, saving my work before turning it off and closing it, and I just stared at him, feeling tiredness wash over me.

“What are you doing?”

Azriel pushed himself to his feet heavily before leaning down, and my heart skipped softly when his warm, rough fingers wrapped around mine, squeezing as he tugged me to my feet.

“I'm getting you to bed.”

I breathed out. Now that the laptop was shut, tiredness suddenly washed over me, and I blamed it on the fact that suddenly my whole body seemed to be shutting down that I mumbled without any sort of hesitation: “Shouldn't you buy me dinner first?”

Azriel huffed, but his lips were curving upwards lightly when he gently pulled me past the couch before turning me around, his warm hands pressing onto my shoulders and beginning to push me towards the door, switching off the lamp in passing.

“You know you don't actually have to walk me, right?” Tipping my head back and resting it against his chest, only because it suddenly felt as heavy as my eyelids, I blinked up at Azriel, and one corner of his lips rose as he looked down at me, his face even upside down the most beautiful thing in the world.

“And risk you just turning around and sneaking back?”

I grumbled softly before forcing my head away from his chest, and Azriel opened the door to the bathroom, gently guiding me over the threshold and turning on the lights. Breathing out, I rubbed my eyes and trudged over to the sink, Azriel's hands slipping off my shoulders. My heart skipped softly when he stepped into the bathroom as well, closing the door.

“You don't have to stay, you know.” I sent him a soft, teasing smile as I sluggishly reached for my cleansing milk, and Azriel moved past me, his arm brushing against my back before he plopped onto the closed toilet lid and leaned back until he was slouched against the wall.

“I know.”

I stared at him in the mirror for a second, and something started gently fluttering against my ribs when he just stared back, sleepy and calm.

Breathing out, I started my evening routine, my movements slightly sluggish from tiredness, my eyes drooping a little. I could feel Azriel's gaze, never leaving me as I cleansed my face and put on toner and cremes. He didn't even look away when my eyes caught his in the mirror, just staring back, quiet and clearly tired, causing my heart to skip gently.

Taking my toothbrush and the toothpaste, I raised my head when I heard the rustle of clothes, and Azriel got to his feet.

Something tightened a little in my chest. The next second, I cursed myself for it; because the poor guy was up at 2 in the morning because of me and I felt sad because he had decided that he had seen enough to know that I was almost falling asleep on my feet and that he didn't have to worry about me going back to work instead of going to sleep –

My eyes darted up when fingers brushed over my hair, and my heart stumbled, staggering at the sight in the mirror of Azriel right behind me, so close his chest was almost pressing against my shoulders, towering over me and looking so beautifully soft in the warm light that I almost missed him reaching for my brush.

My breath hitched.

“Az, you don't –“

“If you keep going at this pace, we'll still be here by the time the sun comes up,”, Azriel mumbled, but there was no heat behind his words, his lips curved far enough for the hint of a crease to form in his cheek when he carefully pulled the ties out of my braids. “Just brush your teeth. I got you.”

I stared at him, stared as something rose in my chest and I felt pressure behind my eyes, my breath faltering.

Suddenly I felt the urge to burst into tears.

Somehow, I tore my gaze away from Azriel's face, trying to swallow against the tightness in my throat and dropping my head as he started to carefully undo my braids. His fingers ran through my hair, gently untangling any formed knots, and I had to keep myself from squeezing my eyes shut.

By the time I finished brushing my teeth, Azriel had combed through my hair, mumbling soft apologies whenever the brush was tugging at a knot. Leaning past me to place it back on the shelf, my heart staggering when his chest pressed against my back and I could feel the warmth of his body seeping through his hoodie, he straightened back up, gently plucking at a strand of hair falling onto my shoulder.

“Ready?”, he mumbled, his voice quiet, and I nodded, because I was sure my own would break if I tried to reply.

Azriel took a step back, and I turned around, moving past him. He followed me as I dragged myself down the hall and into my room. The curtains were already drawn, and my bed looked so inviting and comforting that I just stripped out of my joggers, leaving them on the floor where I had stepped out of them before plopping onto the mattress.

There was a soft, deep chuckle, and my blanket was tugged out from under me, thrown over my body. My heart staggered gently, and when I laboriously turned around, eyes already beginning to close like they had just waited for this, Azriel crouched down next to my bed, tucking the blanket around my shoulders as I snuggled into my pillow, cracking open one eye to stare at him tiredly.

“Thank you,”, I whispered softly, and one corner of Azriel's lips rose, his eyes twinkling softly in the half light coming from the hall. Then he reached out, and something stuttered in my chest when he gently pulled the hood of my sweatshirt out from where it was half tucked under the blanket, easing the strain on my throat. He carefully straightened it, then he pulled his hand back, and his thumb brushed over my cheek.

“Do I have to stay here and make sure you're not jumping out of bed in ten minutes because you had an idea?”

My breath hitched, and I blamed it on being tired and without a filter and him just being too beautiful that I mumbled: “Yes.”

For a second, I expected Azriel to chuckle and wish me a good night, to get up and leave. Maybe I even wished for it, because what on earth had I been thinking –

Azriel's eyes dragged over mine. Then he blinked and gently nudged my side. “Scoot.”

I stared at him, stared as my heart suddenly thumped against my ribs. But Azriel just pushed himself to his feet and moved over to the door, closing it carefully. Then his dark shape returned to the bed, and feeling my breath hitch, I shuffled back, something beginning to rise and flutter violently in my chest as I made space. A second later, the mattress dipped as Azriel sat down and tugged up my blanket to move under it. I held onto it so it wouldn't slip away from me when he turned to lay down on his side, breathing out comfortably, and his warmth washed over me, mixed with a wave of his cologne as I could feel his body settle only inches away from mine, big and warm and solid and causing my heart to tremble in my chest. Then it stopped.

Simply stilled in my chest when Azriel slid an arm around my waist and tugged me forward until we were chest to chest, legs pressed together and his hand slipping up my back so he could wrap his arm around me and tuck me into his chest.

I dug my fingers into the soft material of his hoodie, his scent filling my lungs as I tried to keep my breathing even and my sleepmuddled mind could only focus on him. Him and his solid chest and delicious scent and even breathing and heavy arm draped over me, and something fluttered in my chest as warmth washed over me and all the tension melted out of my body. My shoulders sagged, hunching forward into his chest, and my fingers uncurled, arms relaxing as my hand slipped over his chest until it rested over his heart and I buried myself in his chest.

Breathing out, I felt my eyes slowly drop close, and Azriel's thumb started to steadily brush over my back. His nose nudged against the top of my head, then he mumbled, his quiet voice rumbling in the silent room: “Why's your mattress so fucking comfy?”

“Rhys bought a new one before I moved in.” My lips barely moved with my soft muttered words, my eyes already closed as I could feel sleep slowly take over my body. “Maybe he just likes me better.”

Azriel gently flicked the back of my head, and I smiled into his hoodie, slow and wide as something skipped against my ribs, and I thought I could feel Azriel's lips curve. Then he rested his chin on my head, drawing me closer, and sleep washed over me, gently pulling me away.

[highvern]

Teach Me IV

extra credit

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Pairing: Lee Dokyeom (Seokmin) x fem!reader

Genre: smut, humor, college au, frat!svt

Warnings: mentions of drug use (weed) and alcohol , phone sex, exchange of nudes, both are down horrendous, mutual masturbation, making out, dry humping, idiots in like, dokyeom has a praise kink and isn't ashamed, snippets of disgusting fluff

Length: ~5.1k

Note: ugh ... anyways! i know i mentioned potential angst in an ask but i'm weak

read more here

The best part of starting Fall Break on a Friday is having to do absolutely nothing for five blissful days. But because he is easily swindled by his friends, Dokyeom is ass over tits and the clock hasn’t even chimed 8PM. After the incredibly awkward week following your latest tryst, he’s thankful for the mind numbing freedom of alcohol, weed, and nothing but miles of mountain and woods.

Or he would be if wasn’t still upset you turned down his invitation to join him this weekend.

So he sneaks into his room and pulls up your Instagram. You're at the top of his results when he clicks into the search bar.

You posted a new photo this afternoon. A memory of a girls night out, sandwiched between two of your friends outside some bar, nothing but wide drunk smiles and closed eyes under the flash of the camera. Dokyeom already saw it. Already liked it. 

He keeps scrolling, down down down till he reaches his favorite picture. A frozen memory of you outside some cafe, slumped in an iron wrought chair, sunglasses obscuring half of your face; your mouth is spread over a wild guffaw, teeth flashing and the corner of your lips arched high in amusement. Whatever had amused you pulled your entire body in, shoulders curved up as your chest caves, chin tipped back. 

The soft pink sundress hugging you snugly is an added bonus. 

And somewhere in his muddled mind, Dokyeom decides he needs to talk to you. Right. Now.

After the third ring, the call connects.

“Heyyy, pretty lady.”

“Oh my god, are you drunk?” You laugh, and Dokyeom can imagine the same expression from the photo flashing across your face. 

God, she even sounds pretty. He thinks.

He whines through the goofy smile plucking the corners of his lips, “Nooooo.”

“Oh, really?”

“Maybe I’m a little drunk.”

“Only a little?” You jest.

“Maybe a lot-tle.”

“I can tell.”

“Wish you were here.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Haven’t seen you in like a week.”

If he wasn’t wasted then he might feel embarrassed, but Dokyeom finds the words slipping past him without a second thought as he rocks back and forth, caught in waves of emotion.

“How’s the cabin been so far?” 

The sudden change in topic scratches unpleasantly but he lets it go.

“Would be more fun if you were here.” He confesses. “What are you up to?”

“Laying in bed, watching Love Island.”

“What are you wearing?”

“Seriously?” You scoff.

“What?” 

“You’re so lame, Kyeom.”

“I’m curious about what you do when you’re alone.” He tries to sound innocent. “You’re alone, right?”

“Yeah, Ava left for the weekend.”

“So what are you doing this weekend?”

He’s fishing for the real reason you told him you couldn't come with him to the cabin. You’d been purposefully vague the few times Dokyeom probed since last Thursday, claiming any excuse under the sun: a friend coming to visit, getting ahead on assignments, pulling a few extra shifts at the library. Anything to avoid flat out rejection.

“You know, this and that. What about you guys? Any big plans?”

“Some of the guys mentioned a hike tomorrow. And Beer-lympics Sunday.”

“God, you’re such a frat bro.”

“I can do better.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. What are you wearing?” He tries again.

He hears you huff, “Pajamas.”

“Sexy.”

“I actually think this is your shirt.”

“Oh? Send me a pic.”

“What do I get if I do?”

“What do you want?”

“Are you hard?”

“I can be.”

“I’ll send you a picture if you send me one too.”

“Fuck, okay.” He agrees, tapping open his camera app and trying out a few angles, working himself up in the process.

Dokyeom settles for cupping the bulge over his pants, outline of his cock pronounced as he lightly squeezes. He’s highly aware of your obsession with his hands, so he tries to flex his arm forcing the web of veins to rise as the muscles clench.

“I’m waiting.” You goad on the other end of the phone, knocking him out of his concentration.

The five photos he’s snapped all look about the same. Settling on the least blurry one, he quickly opens your messages and sends it before changing his mind.

A sharp inhale announces its arrival on your phone. 

“Your turn.” 

He can hear the rustle of clothes and blankets through the speaker, and a whispered curse following a dull thud. Dokyeom can’t help the chuckle that escapes as he pictures whatever caused it.

The photo you send back takes him a second to decipher. You're definitely wearing his shirt, the bottom hem bunched across your breasts, the swells of flesh peaking out near the top of the picture; perfectly omitting your face. Tracing down your bare stomach, your hips are wrapped in powdery blue cotton panties. And if that wasn’t enough, one hand is stuffed underneath, pulling the elastic taunt across the crease in your hip as it stretches to accommodate your fingers.

Holy shit.

“You like it?”

“You're evil.” Head rolling back, Dokyeom groans as he takes it all in. “You want me dead.” 

You giggle at his tone.

“Fuck,” he mutters, continuing to study your figure. “You’re so hot.”

“Kyeomie,” you whine, obviously embarrassed under his attention.

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Yeah,” you mewl.

“Dirty girl.”

“Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?”

The back and forth of your relationship is the funnest part, in Dokyeom’s opinion. You like when he puts you in your place as much as he enjoys you putting him in his. It helps that even when he assumes the more dominant role, you still praise him as if he’s the best thing since sliced bread. It scratches that submissive part of his brain that always wants needs to be good. Especially for you.

“I can think of a few things.”

“Oh? Like what?”

Phone sex is unfamiliar territory. He isn’t sure how much is too much and the awkward parting last week still stains his brain. But you just sent him a photo with your hands down your underwear so Dokyeom tries to go with the flow.

“Could make you cry on my cock.” He flushes when you remain silent for a second too long . “Sorry, that felt awkward.”

“No!” You object, voice crackling through the speaker at the sharp increase in volume. “It, ugh, that’s hot.”

“What? Crying from my dick?”

“You don’t think so?”

Dokyeom’s cock twitches, as if to signal its eager agreement.

“I think anything involving you near my penis is hot so I’m not really a good judge.”

“Well, just imagine it. Remember that time we fucked at Wonwoo and Mingyu’s house party?”

“Not appreciating you saying other dudes’ names while my dick is in my hand but yeah.”

You snicker at his reprimand. “Anyway. Remember how I wanted you to fuck my mouth?”

Dokyeom takes a sharp inhale as the memory rushes forward. You on your knees, eyes glossy and lips bruised, begging him to stretch your throat. The second the request reached his ears Dokyeom nearly came on your sweater covered chest, but he’d ignored your request, hauling your ass up onto the counter in favor of stuffing your cunt. You hadn’t complained.

“But you wouldn’t because you didn’t wanna mess up my makeup?”

“You looked pretty… didn’t wanna ruin it.”

“Yeah but I wanted you to.”

Another squeeze of his cock as he slips his hand under his boxers, “Yeah?”

“You’re really hot when you tell me what to do.”

“Fuck.” He groans, vocabulary limited by the husky timbre of your voice. “Are you touching yourself?”

“Mhhmm, doesn't feel as good as when you do it though.”

A pathetic thrust through his fist at the praise. “I know but I’ll make it up to you next time. Promise.”

“How?”

“Might tie you up. Fuck you till your screamming.” Dokyeom doesn’t know who he’s become but you seem to like it.

“Oh?”

Your reply is all breath, the same way you sign when he gives you his fingers after a long study session. The beads of pre-cum on his tip increase as he works his cock, almost able to fill the way you’d coat his fingers if he was there to give them to you.

“You like that? Want me to use your tight little pussy? Fill it up?”

“Want you to come inside me again, Minnie. So hot.”

“I know, pretty girl. So desperate for it aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” you squeak, “Are you close?”

“Send me another picture.”

Only a few seconds pass, filled with muffled groans on his end and the clack of your nails on yours. Dokyeom rushes to open the new attachment you’ve blessed him with, heart clenching when his stomach caves around a moan.

The photo is blurry from your haste but he doesn’t care. You're drenched. The crotch of your panties tinged darker as you pull them aside, flashing the way your entrance stretches around three of your fingers. Your clit just barely visible, puffy and swollen from neglect.

“Fuck, baby.”

“Minnie—” Your voice sounds far away, and he realizes you've put yourself on speaker so you can use both hands.

“Can you do something for me?” he grounds, squeezing the base of his cock to stop his impending end.

“Anything.”

Another deep breath before he lays himself bare, “Drive up here tomorrow.”

“What?” You ask, the springs of your mattress squeaking as you sit up, clearly confused by the switch in pace.

“I wanna see you.”

“I—”

“Promise I’ll make it worth your while.” Dokyeom scrambles.

Another pause before a timid, “How?”

“Whatever you want.” 

“Dangerous words.”

“Pretty sure I’ll enjoy it just as much as you.”

“I don’t know…”

“If you don’t want to, it's fine but,” he sighs, “if you can I want you to come. And not just because of sex.”

“Then why?” 

“Because I like—” He cuts himself off hastily. “Because I like spending time with you.”

As seconds tick by without response, Dokyeom is sure you're going to call his bluff. Or worse, laugh in his face. He’s sweating, heart beating irregularly as he waits for your reply.

“Really?” Shyness creeps into your voice.

Dokyeom nods before realizing you can’t see him. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll come.”

“Really?” Dokyeom asks, eyes wide and jaw slack. No way it's this easy.

“Really,” he can hear you smile. “But only because you said you’d give me whatever I want.”

“You’re gonna make me regret that aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.” You tease, enunciating each syllable as his heart beats in time. “But Kyeomie…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m still wet.”

“Can’t have that.” He tsks.

“Please,”

“Be a good girl and play with your clit.” Dokyeom instructs, slipping right back in.

A hitch in your breath precludes a satisfied “hmmm”. He wishes he could taste both on his tongue. 

“Touch yourself too.” You plea.

Dokyeom’s wound so tight a gust of wind would have his load all over his stomach. He tells you as much.

“Shiiit” You curse, catching up to him. “Close.”

“Yeah? Think you deserve it?”

If he was there, Dokyeom knows he’d see the frustrated kick of your legs and feel the daggers shooting from your eyes.

“You ignored me all last week, I don’t know if I should let you.”

“Dokyeom, please!”

“But since I get to see you tomorrow.” he tuts, covering up the catch of his breath as you plea again. “Let me hear it.”

The call devolves into choked curses and groans. He keeps the screen close to his face as he focuses back on the picture you sent, painting his fist with streaks of white as you beg him to cum, choke on how much you want to taste. Your stuttered “ah”s floating right into his ears as you twist and shake in your bed hours away.

When Dokyeom can feel himself returning to his body, he soaks in the lull of you catching your breath.

“You good?”

“Yeah.” You sigh dreamily.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Send me the address.”

“Oh and Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m happy you’re coming…”

“Goodnight,” you chuckle at the double entendre.

“Night.”

Even with the satisfaction of an orgasm coursing through his veins, the fizzing bubbles of happiness in his chest have nothing to do with the cum cooling in his underwear.

--

The drive to the cabin is two hours and thirty seven nerve wrecking minutes. Dokyeom has been up since six, texting you the address, asking you to let him know when you left, keep him updated on any pit stops you needed to make. Not to rush up the mountain and drive safely. 

The digital clock on your dash reads just past noon as you slowly creep up a narrow gravel road, praying another car doesn’t swoop around the bend. Of course a pack of frat boys would choose some creepy woods to set up camp for a long weekend. 

You dial Dokyeom’s number just to be safe. Barely a full ring passes before he picks it up.

“Hey!”

“Hey… I think I’m pulling up to the right place?” You scan for any sign of a driveway on either side of the road without any luck. 

“Oh shit, I’ll come outside. Jun got us lost yesterday when he drove up so it’s tricky.”

Taking a left as you finally spot the red mailbox with a beaver carved into the dark wooden post at the end of the lengthy driveway, a two story cabin comes into view between the trees. Dokyeom jogs from the porch to meet you at the edge of the yard. Rolling down your window as he makes his way over, you greet him.

“Hey,”

“Hey,” he smiles, bright enough to blind a village.

“Um, where should I park?” 

“Just pull up behind anyone, it doesn't matter.”

“Alright.” 

Dokyeom walks next to you as you pull in behind a white sedan. Once in park, you pop the trunk before slipping out the door. He already has your bag tossed over his shoulder, tangling your fingers with his as he pulls you towards the house.

“Some of the guys went on a hike earlier so I’ve been helping Seungkwan and Mingyu clean up.”

“Oh, you didn’t need to wait for me.”

“I wanted to.”

Before you can think too much on that statement, Seungkwan interrupts by tackling you in a hug. 

“Oh thank god you’re here.” 

“Hi to you too.” You say, carrying his weight as he goes boneless.

“Hi,” he responds with a squeeze, before turning to Dokyeom with a blunt, “Goodbye.” 

Seungkwan pulls you inside the front door, beelining for the sliding glass doors that lead to the back porch.

“Hey!”

Without slowing, Seungkwan fends him off. “She was my friend first!”

“Yeah well,” Dokyeom flounders like a washed up fish.

“You dazzle with words. Now go away.” Seungkwan sniffs.

Sending an apologetic smile over your shoulder, you allow Seungkwan to usher you along. You spot another person in the kitchen, face shadowed by the hood of his sweater. He doesn’t look up when you and Seungkwan shuffle pass.

“Ignore Mingyu, his girlfriend broke up with him yesterday.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, anyway.” Seungkwan plops onto one of the chairs circled around the patio table. “Speaking of girlfriends—”

“Did you finally get one?”

“Being mean is bad for your health.” He deadpans. “As I was saying, did Dokyeom ask you to be his?”

“His what?”

“His girlfriend.”

Your ears ring at the nonchalance in Seungkwan’s tone.

“Why would he ask me to be his girlfriend?”

“Why else would you get up at the ass crack of dawn to come to this dump?”

“He said he wanted me to come.” You answer, turning your head to observe the lake beyond the thin tree line.

“After you told him no? Wow, didn’t realize he was that good in bed.”

Your hands itch to circle his neck and shake but Seungkwan is saved by the very man in question.

“Hate to interrupt but I thought you might want some coffee?”

You turn around, smiling as Dokyeom leans out of the sliding glass door, “Yeah, that sounds great.”

“We aren’t done talking!” Seungkwan calls as you reach the door.

“I am!”

Mingyu apparently retreated to his room after you stepped outside, nowhere to be found in the kitchen or living room beyond the counter.

The isolation makes you nervous which is strange because it’s just Dokyeom. But his words last night over the phone, coupled with Seungkwan’s on the porch twist your guts uncomfortably. 

It’s too late to bail. You can’t claim illness since Dokyeom will fawn over you like some mother hen. Besides, you don’t actually want to leave. You just can’t stand the nagging voice in the back of your head insisting this isn’t what friends do. Even if said friends are having sex. 

“Wanna show me your room?” 

“Sure!” Dokyeom is still cheery, eagerly leading you upstairs and down a maze of hallways. 

The outside of the cabin, while daunting, failed to betray how big it actually is as you pass door after door on your journey.

The room Dokyeom is sharing with Soonyoung is cozy. Two full sized beds with little room for anything else and an en suite the size of a closet. But at least you won’t have to battle it out with anyone else for a bathroom during the next three days. 

Dokyeom was lucky enough to claim the bed closests to the bay windows, framing a pleasant view of the backyard, dock, and sprawling lake. When you step closer, you can spot Seungkwan’s mop of hair as he leans on the edge of the railing that borders the porch; hand animated as the other holds his phone near his mouth.

Turning back to the bed, you spot your bag on the floor at the foot of it. The room is ten degrees hotter when you realize Dokyeom was lying right there as he talked you through an orgasm barely twelve hours ago. You awkwardly shuffle on your feet as you try to find something to say.

Dokyeom seems unperturbed, flopping onto the mattress, arms thrown wide in invitation. A shy grin twists your lips. Hair a mess, and cheeks flushed, Dokyeom looks cute. He’s always cute but navy crew neck and gray sweats transforms him into a cozy dream. The mattress dips under your knee as you crawl to lay next to him.

Settling your head over his heart, arms twining around one another, you feel your own give a peculiar squeeze. It’s truly no different than all the other times you’ve cuddled, albeit those were post-coitous; except it is. Dokyeom told you he wanted you here, that he likes spending time with you, and now he’s squeezing the life out of you as he snags one of your legs to wrap around his waist.

When sleep tickles your nose, pleasantly warm and inviting, you ignore how Dokyeom isn’t your boyfriend. What you have right now is perfect enough.

—

The sweet hum of Dokyeom’s voice lulls you awake, a simple melody you vaguely recognize from his playlist he insists on blasting during your hangouts. Gray light from outside casts the room sullenly dark. Storm clouds, swollen to a near black, eclipse the late afternoon sun. Dokyeom’s neck is the perfect place to escape the unavoidable sounds of the cabin filled with life, eyes firmly shut as you inhale the smell of laundry detergent and pine. 

One of your hands managed to twist under his sweater in your sleep, fisting his thin T-shirt as you attempt to beckon sleep out of hiding and back towards you. A pathetic whine escapes when Dokyeom jostles you in an attempt to find a more comfortable position, only silenced by his lips against your forehead and his stroking your elbow.

“Shhhh,” he coos. “Go back to sleep.”

“What time is it?”

“Like five.”

Lifting back from his neck, you pout. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

A gentle peck to your lips in response leaves you speechless, a soft quirk to his lips as you gape. Collapsing back into his chest you’re left to bask in each other's presence as you take to silently drawing shapes on his stomach, smiling as he giggles from ticklishness. His thumb traces the curves of your hip, digging to the soft flesh of your waist.

A banging on the door makes you both jump out of your skin before Seungkwan’s voice cuts the air. “Come on love birds, dinners ready!”

“If we don’t get up, do you think he’ll go away?” Dokyeom whispers into your hair.

“No.” 

On queue the door flies open, smacking against the wall and rebounding into Seungkwan’s face.

“I said it's time for dinner. Now get your asses up!”

“Go away, Boo!” You demand, chucking a pillow in his direction.

“What happened to respecting your elders?” Dokyeom asks, eyes sharp as he tries to kill the younger man with his eyes.

“When my elder does something respectable, I’ll consider it.” Seungkwan claps. “Now chop chop!” 

The dinner Seungkwan so adamantly demanded your presence at is a huge pot of spaghetti and some loaves of garlic bread. Nothing overly complex but the bustling atmosphere downstairs is nice, comfortable.

Dokyeom introduces you to some of the fraternity members you haven’t met, as well as their dates. Squished between him and Seungkwan at the dining table, you barely engage in conversation. Not that you need to. They both fill the space with their own joking easily enough.

Instead, your mind focuses on the warmth of Dokyeom’s shoulder brushing yours, and how he rests his arm on the back of your chair once he finishes his plate. 

When the mess is cleared away, a few people scurrying off to who knows where, Soonyoung insists on a game of Beerio Kart as dessert. Excited to have a new person to torment, he drags you to the couch before you can object. In a blink, you find yourself wedged between the armrest and Dokyeom as he explains the game.

“The rules are simple my friends! No drinking and driving and you have to finish your drunk before the race ends. If you fail to do so you’ll be publicly shamed.” Soonyoung claps his hands together, the maniacal glint in his eyes a little too intense for such a silly game. 

“And for additional chaos,” Seungkwan adds. “I’ve changed it to blue shells only.” 

“Now may the best driver win!”

“Alright, the first round is Jun, Marci, Sam, and me.”

“This is gonna be a bloodbath.” Someone calls from the other couch.

And it is. Jun uses height to hold Seungkwan’s drink out of the younger man’s reach, resulting in Seungkwan launching himself from the couch in a flying kick. They’re both so occupied with one another they don’t notice the race is long finished and neither of their characters moved past the starting line.

A chorus of boos rises as the race times out, designating them as 11th and 12th place.

“Alright, next is DK, Y/N, Wonwoo, and myself.”

“Can I forfeit?”

Dokyeom turns to you. “You wanna quit already?” 

“Considering my opponents, yes.”

“New rule: no quitting allowed.” Soonyoung interjects.

“You can’t make that a rule!”

“I just did!” 

You respond with a thumbs down, much more effective than the middle finger you want to throw his way.

“It’s okay if you’re scared, Y/N.” Wonwoo taunts from across the room. 

“I’m not scared!”

“That’s exactly what someone who is scared would say!” Soonyoung chimes in.

Dokyeom just shrugs his shoulders when you look at him for assistance. Figures. He’s part of the reason you don’t want to play. He and his roommate rile each other up too much under normal circumstances, let alone when things get competitive and alcohol is involved.

“Fine, let's play!”

Soonyoung divvies out another round of lukewarm beer cans you’re required to drink as Wonwoo picks the track. N64 Rainbow Road because apparently he’s an asshole. The way he reclines back in his seat confirms it.

To avoid the inevitable mess Dokyeom will make in his haste to chug before the race begins, you stand, shuffling closer to the safe zone at the edge of the coffee table. He tugs at the back of your shirt for a second, prompting you to shake your head. 

Dokyeom pouts but stays silent. 

“Alright lady and gentlemen! Start. Your. Engines!”

Cracking open your can the second the countdown begins on screen, you gag at the taste of cheap beer as everyone whoops around you. You manage half the can before you have to stop under the threat of it coming back up. Dokyeom and Soonyoung are still drinking, the later shuffling in place restlessly. Wonwoo hasn’t even opened his beer, focusing on getting as far ahead as he can.

Hopefully Seungkwan’s meddling takes care of him.

The race track is chaos as you press your character forward, occasionally blown off course by a blue shell moving to knock out whoever is in first. Half way through the course, you chance a glance at the other corners of the TV. Soonyoung and Dokyeom have finally started lap one, only for Soonyoung to fly over the edge at the first turn and wait to be rescued. Wonwoo is caught in the mess at the front of the pack, only able to maintain first for a fraction of a second before being sniped by a shell. 

Once you round the third lap, you take your chance. Stopping in a corner of the track to down the rest of your drink, hoping everyone is too engrossed in the events on screen to see you start moving despite still swallowing a mouth full of beer. 

This is when you see Wonwoo make his mistake. He pauses right before the finish line, cracking his can open and nearly choking on the large gulps in his haste. You're gaining quickly, barely a quarter of the last lap remains between your carts. When he finally finishes the can and picks up the controller, you unleash the blue shell you’d been saving. Rosalina goes flying as you sail by, Yoshi claiming fifth place.

“Suck it!” You scream, jumping up and down in victory; joined by Seungkwan who hollers with you as if he won too.

Wonwoo is shell-shocked, literally. He finishes seventh overall, pulling behind another computer character. Soonyoung is on the floor as he and Dokyeom fight for second to last place. The shame goes to Soonyoung as the race times out once again.

When you turn back to the couch you're met with another blinding smile as you drop into his lap. 

“Looooooserrrr,” you taunt as you flick his nose gently.

“Yeah whatever.”

“It’s okay, maybe I can teach you sometime.”

He laughs, squeezing you into his chest. “God, you’re annoying.” 

“It’s so lonely at the top.” You furrow your brow in mock sorrow.

Another race ensues, more chaos and screaming echoing through the living room. The heat of Dokyeom’s chest sinks through the back of your hoodie, strong plains of muscle shaking as he laughs with the group. When Seungkwan and Soonyoung face each other in a rematch you tempt Dokyeom upstairs, kissing behind his ear before leaning back and giving him the “look.”

The “I-want-your-dick-in-my-mouth” look.

Of which he very is familiar.

Dokyeom lurches forward, eager to appease, forgetting you're still in his lap until your weight knocks him back down. Shaking your head you stand and pull him up behind you, moving towards the stairs uninterrupted as Seungkwan and Soonyoung threaten each other's life and limb behind you.

Tacky wood shiplap digs into your spine uncomfortable as Dokyeom crowds you against the wall. His lips ghost along your jaw, hands on either side of your head to prevent him from crushing you. You don’t have the same concern, pulling him closer with the fabric of his sweater. The door to his room is a few feet to your left but the idea of separating for even a second to make it inside is pure agony.

“What does the winner want for her prize?” he whispers, teeth grazing your earlobe.

“Depends.” You sigh, grinding against the bulge of his thigh. 

“On?”

“If my prize is separate from what I get for driving up here.”

Dokyeom nips your chin, dodging your attempt to connect your mouths.

“Depends on what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“I’m gonna do that anyway.”

“I wasn’t done yet.”

He stays silent, teeth bruising the sliver of shoulder peeking out under your collar.

“I want you to fuck me,” cut of with a hiss at his vigor, “and I want to film it.”

Backing out of your neck, Dokyeom blinks at you, mouth wide.

Peeking at him through your eyelashes, you wait for Dokyeom’s brain to restart. His mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out. Not a rejection or an agreement. Just surprise.

A heaviness curls in your gut. You thought he’d like the idea, especially from his reaction to the pictures you sent last night. And the videos he’s sent over the months you’ve been hooking up. Videos of him jacking off, cumming on his own stomach, your name on his lips. But maybe you assumed too much.

“Ifyoudon’twanttowedon—”

But a scream interrupts your rant as he lifts you by your thighs, ankles locking around the top of his butt and arms tangling around his neck like a koala. You hold on for dear life as he carries you down the hallway.

Palming your ass harshly with one hand, the other scrambles to open the door as he licks up your neck. The door rattles on its hinges as he kicks it shut but the blood rushing through your ears muffles it.

“Yes, yes. Holy shit, yes.” He’s whining into your ear, hips rutting into your core as he lands unceremoniously on the bed, crushing you underneath him.

You’re shocked for a second, woefully unprepared for his enthusiasm. But another harsh rush against you, coupled with his hands pawing up your shirt to palm your chest makes you bold.

Two things you know to be true about Dokyeom: 

First, he has a ragging praise kink. If you tell him he’s a good boy, he can come almost untouched.

Second, he loves the sight of his cum streaking across your body.

He was right to say he’ll enjoy this as much as you will.

“Yeah? Wanna come on my face?”

Another pathetic whine against your neck as he keeps curling his clothed cock against you. All of his weight settles between your hips as drives you to madness.

“Then go lock the door.”

[hyunsvngs]

One thing: Fem Skz x CUNNILINGUS, how would they react and who do you think squirts💦

~jassy

ohh YES

chan: she has a creamy pussy. neat curls on her mound, maybe in a landing strip or a little triangle. she likes you to lick over her clit and pump two fingers inside of her, curving them up into her g-spot until she moans nice and pretty for you through her orgasm. "that's it, baby, that's it- ah, ah, i'm cumming, don't stop!" ahh she so pretty. her thighs shake, her hands gripping the sheets, but she doesn't squirt - she's a creamer, through and through.

minho: likes to ride your face. her thighs grip your head tightly, her pubes trimmed and pussy pretty pink. she'll let you lick over her clit and dip your tongue between her folds over and over until she's just about to cum, and then she'll pull off, shoving two of her own fingers inside of herself to stimulate her g-spot until she's squirting into your mouth with a low, gravelly moan. "drink it. drink mommy's squirt, kitty cat, taste it all." she'll even make you lick her clean afterwards <3

changbin: ohhh the prettiest brown pussy with a lil bush... tie this bunny up so her tits are angled towards the ceiling, big and heavy and spilling down her sides. kiss down her tummy and eat this angel out slowly, delicately - make love to her pussy with your mouth. slow and easy is the way she likes it, even through her orgasm, creaming into your mouth and those delicious thighs shaking. "ah, binnie's cumming, mama, mama, your mouth- please, mama, i'm gonna cum!" she is so sweet

hyunjin: the sexiest. pussy waxed bare, her clit peeking out of her folds all pink and swollen when she's excited. she prefers more direct clit stimulation rather than fingers, so suck and lick over her clit, maybe brush your teeth against it if she's been a little naughty. her long legs will thrash, her toes curling - maybe bend her in half so you can suck her toes into your mouth while she plays with her tits, small and perky. "ah, that's- baby, that's filthy, you're filthy. fuck, eat my pussy, please." spit on her pussy and get it all messy and she'll squirt all over your face as a reward.

jisung: oh you guys know i love fem jisung. fuck her open with one of those huge bad dragon dildos and lick over her clit at the same time, nose buried in her bush while she thrashes and babbles for you. she's messy when she cums, tongue lolling out of her mouth with drool spilling out of it, squirt gushing from her pussy so hard you have to pull the dildo out. always announces she's coming as if you can't see it! "mama, mommy, mom- mommy, mommy, cumming, cumming, i can't hold it, i- 's so good, mama, please, please-"

felix: sweetest girl. prettiest sweetest girl. she loves to 69 with you!! her cropped mullet tickling your inner thighs as she moans into your pussy, bucking her waxed pink core into your mouth. finger her open with one, two, three fingers while you lick over her clit - shit, even get your whole fist in there, she loves being full. suckle on her clit and tell her she's a good baby, so sweet and delicious for you. she always tries to make you cum first, but poor baby is just too sensitive - "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm gonna cum, i'm gonna cum so fucking hard, i can't hold it, i can't!"

seungmin: even fem seungmin is mean. if you're licking her cunt out, she wants you to lick her asshole, too. pushes your head down and makes you eat her ass sometimes as a punishment if you've been naughty - you don't even get to taste her sweet core. she'll have you spitting all over her more private hole before she even considers letting you lick over her clit. "do you think you can make me cum like this? from licking my ass? hmm, you better try. you don't get to cum unless i do."

jeongin: prettiest pussy. imagining her with her hair styled like the skz family ep with the fringe! lithe thighs spread wide, her hair splayed out on the pillow beneath her head as she whines and bucks her hips into your mouth. she wants to ride your face in a different way - let her hold your head to her clit and buck up into your mouth. she'll be extra sweet to you if you're licking her cunt too - that shit eating grin on her face, eyes forming crescent moons as she praises you. "that's it, good girl, good fucking girl. eatin' it so well, baby." she'll even squirt in your mouth if you're extra good!!

[luveline]

aaahhh okay wait imagine Emily is away on a case longer than usual and comes home without telling r to surprise her and sees that reader has been like idk wearing her shirt or sleeping with her pillow or idk just like something to feel close to her

thank you for your request ♡ fem!reader

Emily knows you're in her bed before she's so much as opened her front door. She lives in a nice building across from Washington, DC, in an apartment that glows with the lights of the city. It takes time to get home after a case, but the view isn't one you'd find anywhere else. 

She'd fly a hundred hour flight if it meant getting to ch ome home to you. It sounds silly and corny, like a fairytale she didn't believe in, but there's something about you that inspires cliches. Like, your beat up converse arranged neatly so as not to disrupt her tower of high heels and boots. Your coat on the rack with the arms and hood smoothed down, and the way you arrange Sergei's food and water bowls intricately every time you visit because you're aware of Emily's penchant for orderliness. 

She knows you're here because of all of these things, but really, she has a freaky sixth sense when it comes to you, and seeing you curled up on her side of the bed cements it perfectly. 

She locks her gun away in its safe and puts her shoes and jacket away. Quiet, she slinks to where you're sleeping with the sheets up to your nose and bends down to check you over. She knows nothing has happened since she saw you last, but it doesn't matter. She needs to look at you properly. 

You're on your side, face angled down, arm a lump under the sheets. Emily smiles and, despite the singing urge to wipe away the day's faded makeup and brush out curls crunchy with hairspray, lingers, holding her hand up to your face, stroking a short line.

You won't wake from it. Maybe you're a heavy sleeper or maybe you know it's her, but she never wakes you up when she comes home. 

Sergei snores little nosed snores from his fluffy bed. Emily laughs as you do the same, though she frets (and she'd deny it if anyone asked, but frets all the same) that you can't breathe with the blankets smushed to your nose as they are. 

Gently, she pulls down the sheets. 

Her lips fall from their fond smile. Tucked in your arms like a life jacket is a soft white camisole, the last shirt Emily slept in before she left. 

She isn't excessively loud about loving you —she isn't quiet about wanting you, but that isn't the same— and you aren't overly forthcoming. 

Which isn't to say she doesn't feel loved, Emily knows she's loved in the same way you must know it, with the burning, aching sort of desire that has you pinching her hips when she walks by, or begging her to share a shower with you even if it'll make her late for work. But Emily hadn't realised how much you loved her in this sense. The difference between missing her company and missing the intrinsic smell of her skin is unsaid and yet yawning; you love her enough to curl around a dirty t-shirt. This is the kind of love that grows old together. 

Emily's particular about things, but not tonight. Fuck it, she hopes she gets mascara on the silk pillow case as she climbs into bed behind you. Let it be a monument to how she feels, any hint of fatigue replaced with silky soft wanting. 

"'Mily?" you murmur, covering her arm where it curves over your waist. 

"No," she whispers, "axe murderer. Sorry, babe, welcome to your nightmare." 

"I had a good run." You push her back a touch as you roll onto your back, squinting at her through thick-knitted lashes. 

"You can sleep. I'll still be here in the morning, I promise." 

"Y'here now. Missed you, Emily," you murmur, turning more, vying to hold her waist as she holds yours. You sound a little upset, but that could be the sudden wake up call. 

"I'm sorry," she says, smiling at you in hopes of getting one back. "But I'm home early. That's a good thing, right?" 

"Can I put my face in your neck?" you ask. 

Emily tries to say yes. All she can summon is a mute nod and a tight smile —she's happy, yeah, but she feels strangely like crying. It's a scary thing, finding out how loved you are. Suddenly she has to worry about it being taken away. 

You wrap your arms around her, your skin hot with a furnace like heat. Mumbling, your face fits into the curve of her neck, your lips skipping against it as you say, "Love you… you okay?" 

Her smile shocks back to life. She presses it to your forehead without hesitation. "I'm fine now. Love you. You can go back to sleep." 

"I really really missed you." 

Emily feels each word fan against her neck. It's a sensation she's sure she'll remember for years to come. "I missed you, too." 

[drivinmeinsane]

i need you to talk more about colts nipple piercings please

I hope some filth will suffice. Any mention of tits (especially with pierced nipples) is enough to pry me off the projects I'm working on and drag me out of my cave to post a drabble. I’m a simple person.

COLT SEAVERS {Playtime}

Colt Seavers x GN!Reader ※ { drabble } ※ { masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: Colt's chest gets some appreciation. ※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content. ※ Content/tags: Male Breast Worship, Consensual Use of Restraints, Nipple Play, Cumming in Pants, Bottom Colt, Edging, No Use of Y/N, No Pronouns Given for Reader ※ Word count: 1028 ※ Status: One-shot / Complete

Muffled sobs and the creak of a bed frame pollute the room’s silence. It’s not something that can be helped. Not when the creator of the noises is so fraught with the desire to be used.

There, put on display atop the mattress, is Colt. His mouth is stretched open wide, jaw straining to accommodate the gag tucked between his teeth. The stuntman’s hands are bound over his head and secured to the bars of the frame. He’s anything but relaxed. How can he be when he’s still wearing pants? His erection is straining at the material of them. Moisture is pooled at the place where his cock’s head bulges the distressed fabric of his jeans. If he were not also confined in his underwear, you’re sure you would be able to see his flushed skin and dribbling slit through the unraveling threads.

He’s been left leaking for a long time. You have reduced the blond man to bucking in place, squirming, in the attempt to find the friction you’ve not been granting enough of. Tears are leaking from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks until they are stopped by the strap holding the gag in place.

You like Colt spread out like this. Maybe moreso than when you have him on his knees. He is more desperate this way.

Tearing your eyes away from the pretty picture he makes all wet and eager for your attention, you focus your gaze elsewhere. You’re not here for his cock. It’s an afterthought. It’s his chest that you’re interested in. All bare and reddened from where you have already mouthed at the tender flesh long enough to drive the bound stuntman insane, it waits for you.

In gestures of proper care, you have let him have a rest that he did not want, but needed. You had offered him water, carefully angled the glass so that the liquid slid into his mouth with ease before gagging him again. Even his arms and hands had been rubbed to ensure his circulation is satisfactory. It’s time to resume your play.

“Are you ready?” you question only to get a frantic nod in response.

Pleased by his enthusiasm, you slowly get onto the bed. He’s nearly shaking with how badly he wants this. Catching his raised knees with your hands, you push ever so slightly. He lets his legs fall open, hoping you will finally give him what he has been not so silently begging for—a filled hole.

You’re not.

Instead, you shuffle forwards, feeling the mattress shift under your weight, until your own knees are nestled in the apex of his thighs. You lower your body, draping yourself over his. His cock twitches, eager, underneath your stomach. Colt tries to rut against you without permission. Your shirt gets rucked up in the attempt, smearing the precum that has beaded up through his pants against your bare skin. Punishment for the infraction comes quick.

The fingers of your left hand clamp down hard around his left nipple. Upon receiving the harsh contact, Colt moans around the gag and throws his head back. The motion bares his neck, highlighting the sweat gleaming tantalizingly over the curve of his Adam’s apple. It makes you want to lick the column of his throat. You resist.

Letting up on the pressure, you roll the nub between your fingers. It’s hot to the touch, nearly as firm as the bar adorning it. His piercings had seemed so impractical at the time, but they’ve quickly become a source of entertainment for the both of you.

Needing to chase your own release, you brace your knees against the bed and swing one leg over to straddle his thigh. It’s thick between your own. Setting a steady pace, you grind your pelvis down against the firm appendage. Having just had a reminder, Colt knows that he is not allowed to move with you, to race to completion at your side. He keeps himself still even as your mouth seals around the nipple that is not being caressed long past the edge of over stimulation by the dry brush of your thumb.

Your tongue traces over the ends of the barbell, flicking lightly at the metal rather than his skin directly. It drags a guttural, pleading moan from the man underneath you. You raise your head, sucking firmly on the stuntman’s nipple as you do so. It leaves your mouth with a wet pop, swollen and used.

“Not yet,” you tell him.

Spurred by his quiet whines, your pace becomes hurried. Your underwear is soaked through, chafing against you with every thrust of your hips. You’re hovering on the edge. This session is rapidly reaching a conclusion.

Colt shifts under you again as you stop teasing his nipple with your fingers and switch to cupping his other breast with your right hand. You adjust your position on top of his body to lick over the newly abandoned teat with slow passes of your tongue, wetting it. At the newly introduced sensation, the stuntman jerks, drawing his legs up just enough to give you a better angle to rut against. Your licking turns into sucking bites of the soft skin under his nipple.

Like thunder rolling over the plains, your orgasm hits you. You ride him as you ride it out, hips stuttering and pressing against the tensed muscles of his thigh. Your release leaves you panting wetly against his chest. Your lips are grazing his sternum as your hips slow and finally still.

As a reward, your hand leaves his tit. You drag your fingers down the blond man’s sweat-slick body. His abdomen tenses in anticipation when your touch graces it before reaching his belt and then finally one of the places where he’s been craving your touch. Not bothering to undo the button and fly of his jeans, you press the palm of your hand against his erection. You rub it against Colt, traveling along the swell of him. Your fingers find and circle the head of his cock through the layers. His precum clings to your digits, sticky. He cums, making a further mess of himself.

“Good boy, Colt.”

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