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hier--soir · 9 months

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a lover's pinch | one

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: a one-night stand with a charming texan turns into something much more thrilling when you discover he is your new college professor. warnings/tags: au, age gap [20 something years diff], alcohol consumption, irrational sexual tension, smut, sex in a public place w/ a stranger [and i'm talking depraved/zero time wasted/known you for thirty minutes type strangers], oral [f receiving], protected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, a spot of degradation + misogynistic language, a split second of soft!joel, you get the picture word count: 5.9k series masterlist | main masterlist a/n: my friends.... oh boy, oh boy. this series is a complete au, self-indulgent, fantasy land idea that has plagued me for weeks. horny academic brain rot to the highest degree. hope some of you enjoy it with me x

Friday.

You sit with three almost strangers.

Listen to them talk about their summers and their families and their degrees as you twirl a straw around your half-empty glass, disrupting the melting ice as you try to wrap your head around what a master’s in environmental engineering might entail. One of them, the only man at the table, takes great pleasure in explaining it to you all for the second time. You take mental notes and hope he’s not expecting you to remember words like sparging and leachate.

They do ask you about your undergrad, and your internship, nodding and smiling curiously. They don’t ask what type of job you plan on getting after your postgrad, which is a welcome relief. The bombardment of questions from immediate and extended family is enough.

Cousins wondering aloud, saying you study Greek mythology, right?

Or your grandfather, before he died, berating you ad nauseam at family events about what’re you gonna do, kid? Be a historian? There’s no money in being a historian. Now, being a lawyer, that’s where the money is.

And you’d respond no, not quite Greek mythology, and no, I don’t plan on being a historian, as you gorge yourself on red wine and triscuits and wait for Christmas to end.

Thankfully you aren’t expected to rehash these scenarios with your almost strangers, who routinely ask a few well-mannered questions and then go back to talking about themselves.

After a week of living with them, in a new house, and a new city, you’re becoming used to their company. The way the four of you commune lazily in the kitchen most mornings, swathed in the light streaming through a window above the sink, making idle small talk as you wait for coffee to brew. How Pete and Trin study opposite each other at the dining table, while Nora prefers to spread her limbs across the couch, laptop balanced precariously on her stomach. She’s doing her master’s in education, which she describes as an expensive way to get a pay rise. She’s kind, with wild curly hair and dark humour, and is easily your favourite of your new roommates.

It was her idea to go out that night. One last hurrah, she’d called it. Before we enter the final circle of academic hell next week. And between four overworked, already burnt-out, twenty-something students, it hadn’t taken much convincing before you were sharing three bottles of wine and hightailing it to the bar with the highest Yelp rating.

The late August air is dry; a faint warmth that follows you into a quaint bar in downtown Biddeford. The space is small and crowded with patrons, with dim overhead lighting that casts a soft glow across the booth you’re crammed into. A thin sheen of sweat coats your skin, and your shirt sticks to your back uncomfortably. The others seem unbothered by the heat, nursing sweaty glasses and discussing how different Maine is from where they all grew up. You involve yourself here and there, offering up stories about your family and friends from back home, and suddenly an hour has passed, and then another, and you’re pleasantly tipsy, body humming as alcohol spreads its way through your veins, and your latest drink is practically empty, spare a few melting ice cubes.

“I need another drink,” you tell Nora, who nods absently before turning her attention back to the others.

You wander toward the bar, fumbling for your phone as you go. Fall in between two leather cushioned stools and rest your elbows atop the sleek wooden counter. Check your bank account and mentally traverse the list of reasons for returning to student-life when you see the number staring back at you. I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, your internal monologue runs, although you could admit how sweet a solicitor’s pay check would feel right now.

It’s a low, Southern drawl that pulls you from your reverie.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Deep. With a rough, lilting quality that piques your interest and has your eyes drifting upward from your phone screen.

You notice his body first; a tall frame with thick arms, thick shoulders, thick neck. A navy-blue t-shirt that stretches thin around his biceps, hugging the tan skin there. And then you look higher, and—oh.

Your heart stutters a beat out of time as you take in his face. Loose brown curls that are just long enough to hang across his forehead. Dark, almond-shaped brown eyes. So dark they almost appear black on the first glance. The strong nose and dark hair across his jaw, dappled with streaks of grey. A moustache resting atop a set of dark pink lips. Gone are thoughts of academia, of bank accounts, of your almost strangers. All replaced in an instant by wanton, pulsating desire.

Something like surprise cuts across his face, but it disappears just as quickly. In a far recess of your brain, you register that he must be at least twenty years older than you. You wilfully ignore the thought, perfectly content to continue admiring him.

A dark eyebrow ticks upward then, and you realise you haven’t responded.

“No,” you rush, flashing him a quick smile. “All yours.”

He gives you a pleased nod, a hint of a smirk passing over his lips as he sits down. He looks vaguely uncomfortable perched on the tall chair, all six-foot-something of him cramped onto such a small cushion. You cast a single glance back towards the booth, and then slip onto the stool beside him.

Silence descends between you for a moment. A song by The Eagles plays faintly, but you can’t figure which one - too distracted to make out the lyrics. You take a careful sip of the melted ice at the bottom of your glass, taste the last remnants of tequila in it, and watch him out of the corner of your eye.

“’m Joel,” that accent rings again, sending a volt of warmth through your chest.

You tell him your name, fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt. If he notices the tension in your posture, he doesn’t let on. “You a Southern man, Joel?” The name feels warm on your tongue. Soft and silken like honey.

“S’it that obvious?” he grins crookedly, pink lips tearing back to reveal a straight white smile.

“An accent like that is hard to ignore,” you smirk. “It’s not a bad thing.”

‘Thought it would fade a little since I moved here,” he explains. “Y'can take the man outta Texas, but… you know.”

You hum, eyes alight as you watch him speak. His mouth is beautiful, lips parting around prolonged vowels.

“You here alone?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “With friends.”

“Let me guess,” Joel tilts his body, glancing around the bar. His shirt shifts with the movement, hem raising to reveal the slightest hint of a soft, tanned stomach. He points somewhere over your shoulder. You shut your mouth, careful not to gawp. “Them.”

You turn, a soft laugh of surprise bubbling up through your chest when you spy the bachelorette party set up across the bar. Women dressed in gaudy shades of pink. One of them with a sash—reading Jenny’s Big Day—across her chest, a short veil pinned to her head, and an empty champagne glass clutched in her fist. One of them teary-eyed, gripping the bride’s arm and yelling something in her ear, sloshing champagne onto herself all the while.

“You got me,” you turn back to him with a grin. Hold your hands up in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t be caught dead missing Jennifer’s last night as a free woman.”

The corners of his eyes crease, entire face blossoming into a smile now. He has a dimple on his right cheek.

“Knew you were a good girl,” he nods. Says the words in a matter-of-fact tone. Something twists in your stomach, and your palms dampen. You wet your lips quickly and don’t back down from his gaze, allowing the corner of your mouth to kick up a little.

“And you?”

His eyebrows raise in a silent question.

“Who’re you here with?” you clarify.

“Just you, darlin’,” he says, left eye dropping in a quick wink.

It's easy with him, you find, and the two of you sit there for a while; exchanging small talk about Maine, the hot weather, the music at the bar, slipping in flirtatious comments that are about as subtle as a neon sign, until he finally spies the empty glass in your hand.

“What are you drinkin’?” he asks.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you say, hoping it doesn’t come across too eager. He seems pleased though. There’s something provocative to his gaze, a teasing warmth that raises the temperature of your skin wherever he looks. But whatever it is, it’s gone by the time he reaches across the bar for the bound beverage list.

He peers at the menu, squinting ever-so-slightly to see through the dim lighting of the bar. The skin beside his eyes is soft and creased with age, crow’s feet that hint at years of laughter and smiles. You wonder again how old he is. How much older than you.

“Forget your glasses?” you tease, testing the waters.

Joel’s eyes flash up to yours. The muscle in his jaw ticks.

“Watch it,” he says. There’s a playful note in his voice, but it rings deeper somehow—a hint of a warning.

Your thighs squeeze together on the stool, warm sweaty skin peeling off the tacky leather as you move. His eyes dart to the bare skin of your legs, and then back to the menu.

He orders you both a whiskey, and a moment later the bartender is sliding a crystal tumbler in front of you. A finger of amber liquid with a single grandiose sphere of ice resting in it. Fancy.

“Cheers,” he holds his glass out. You knock yours against it gently before taking a short sip, fighting a grimace as it burns down your throat.

He watches your face closely, tries to gage your reaction. You take another sip, holding strong in your efforts to show him that you can handle it. Whatever he wants to give to you, you can handle.

“So what brings you here?” he asks. You notice how large the glass feels in your palm, and how small it appears in his. Long, thick fingers wrap around the object, dwarfing it. He takes a sip, and you watch him swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you want to graze your teeth across it.

“To the bar or to Maine?”

“Either.”

“Well, I just moved into town last week, from the West Coast. It’s actually my first week back in the US; I was travelling before the big move.”

“Busy girl,” his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. You blink. “Travellin’?”

“I was in Greece,” you explain, sip your whiskey and definitely don’t grimace at the harsh taste. “For a month or so.”

“A month in Greece?” His eyebrows raise and he does a low, impressed whistle that has your stare zeroing in on his mouth.

“Ever been?” you ask faintly.

“No,” his reply is swift. “Never had much interest.”

And you’re nodding absentmindedly, but you can’t seem to drag your stare away from his mouth as he speaks. The trance is only broken when he raises his glass for another sip, and you shake yourself out of it, eyes shifting to stare into his brown orbs once more. They’re darker than you remembered, gaze loaded as he looks back at you. The tension was palpable when you first sat together, but now it feels impossible to ignore; an electric tangle of wire between the two of you that just keeps getting shorter and shorter. And you think, fuck it, if you’re about to descend into the final circle of academic hell, why not have a little fun?

“Can I tell you something, Joel?”

You say it softly, make your voice as sultry as possible. He watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes sparkling with intrigue. And then his mouth tilts into a sort of knowing smirk, and he’s nodding.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” you confess.

He hums, smirk broadening.

Sets his glass down on the bar top with a soft clink, and then lowers his hand to the bare skin of your knee. You gasp at the contact, nerves fraught. The callouses on his fingers scrape against your skin in slow, rhythmic circles, goosebumps raising in their wake. His fingers are long, and as he tenses them over you, squeezing your knee once, you see the way deep blue veins flex beneath the skin, hot blood pumping through him. Your stomach turns molten.

“Is that all?” he asks, a taunting lilt to his voice.

Your mouth is dry, eyes wide as you sense the proposition in his words. The hint of something darker—something greedy—in his gaze.

“No,” you say definitively. “That’s not all.”

A sharp tut escapes his mouth, fingertips dragging higher on your leg as he shakes his head. “Do you have any idea how old I am?”

“Don’t look a day over forty,” you hazard a guess, resting your shoe onto the rung of his stool, using the leverage to drag yours closer. Both your legs are between his now, thighs bracketing thighs. The denim of his jeans scrapes against your outer thighs, and you shiver. His hand pauses, fingertips just shy of the hem of your skirt.

Joel wets his lips. “Guess again, sweetheart.”

A low heat licks at the base of your spine, spreading its way through your veins until you feel like you could combust at any given moment. Fuck it.

“Don’t care,” you mutter, and drape your hand over his. You trace your nails over his skin, feel how the bones shift underneath it, how warm he is. He still doesn’t move, face pensive as he regards you. You arch an eyebrow. “You approached me, you know.”

His lips purse tightly. Another squeeze to your thigh, fingers moving again. “I know.”

Driven by boldness, by arcane desire, by animalistic instinct, you lean forward on your barstool and rest your hands atop the thick expanse of his thighs. Hear his breath kick as your nose traces the side of his square jaw, lips settling at the shell of his ear. Right at the soft, sloping crest of his neck. And you whisper those same words again, quiet enough that no one in the world can hear it but him, can I tell you something?

Your movement drove his hand higher on your thigh, the heavy weight of it now settled beneath your skirt, fingertips skimming the indent where your leg meets your hip, toying at the soft fabric of your underwear there. Painfully close to where you want him.

“Yes,” his deep voice rumbles.

Ever so slowly, your tongue slides out of your mouth to trail against his earlobe. Joel’s thighs tense beneath your palms, and you roll the balls of your thumbs against the muscles there.

“I want to kiss you,” you murmur. “So I’m going to. And then I want you to fuck me, just like I know you want to.” Your teeth graze his lobe, and you bite it once, gently, before rearing your face back to peer at him. “Hmm?”

The muscle in his jaw jumps, shifting beneath the skin, and instead of responding verbally he cups your face with a rough hand. Cool drops of condensation from the glass have stuck to his fingers, and the liquid smears across your skin as he cradles your jaw and draws your mouth to his.

Soft lips envelop yours, the coarse hairs of his moustache tickling your face as he steals the breath from your lungs. And when you lick into his mouth you can taste peppermint on his teeth, and then that oh so familiar whiskey tang across his tongue. You don’t mind the taste so much when it’s on his lips.

You nuzzle closer, dig your fingertips firmer into his thighs and grin when a deep groan falls from his mouth into yours. Wet heat pools between your thighs, liquid fire that stokes at your insides, begging for more more more of him. And, as if he can read your mind, Joel is dragging his mouth away, teeth grazing against your swollen bottom lip as he departs.

“Bathroom,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Now.”

Shock and excitement lace your blood, the proposition of something so dirty, so lewd, making your heart race. With your pulse a dull, thrashing roar in your ears, you allow Joel to help you down from your stool. Your legs feel unsteady now that you’re back on solid ground. Gripping your hand, dwarfing it in his, Joel tugs you away from the bar top and towards an obscured hallway. You amble past the bachelorette party, down the dark hall and then he’s pressing a dark hand against the ambulant bathroom door and dragging you inside, sliding the lock shut behind you.

Joel’s on you in a second, arms bracketing you against the door as his wet mouth slips over yours. His hands are so big, all wide palms and long fingers splaying across the entirety of your back, tucking you against his solid chest. He bunches your shirt in his hand, twisting the material between his fingers as he pushes into your mouth. Tongue hot and wet, gliding against your teeth, your tongue, tasting you, devouring you. there’s nothing polite about it. No more wariness, no more hesitation, no more eyes that could see the two of you at the bar. He’s insatiable, touching you everywhere he possibly can, and even then it doesn’t seem like enough for him.

“Fuck, I want you,” you say against his mouth. He makes a low sound in response, and one of his palms lower to grab a handful of your ass, dragging your hips against his. You can feel him, hot and hard, straining in the confines of his jeans. Your hand presses into the crevice between your bodies to palm him through the material, grinning into the kiss when he groans. His lips trail a slick path across your cheek, past your jaw.

“Gonna let me fuck you here?” his hot breath fans across your neck, tongue darting out to taste the salty sweat there.

“Yeah,” you say. “Fuck—yes.”

He steps back, dragging you with him, and then he’s turning you around so that you’re facing the mirror. Your hips dig into the sink, and he’s holding you there, forcing you to stare at your reflection as he bites and licks and sucks down your neck with reckless abandon, leaving marks in his wake. There’s a low, steady throbbing at the apex of your thighs, and you can feel how your underwear clings to your skin, damp and ruined. You whimper, tilt your chin up to give him access to more skin. He grinds against your ass in response, and then he’s crouching down on the ground behind you.

Fast hands push your skirt up over your hips and then flare across your ass, massaging the flesh there. You feel a nip of teeth against the sensitive skin there and flinch into the porcelain. He makes quick work of dragging your underwear down to dangle precariously at your knees. And then long fingers are spreading you apart, revealing you to him. You tilt your hips back so he can see more. Moan at the sensation of cool air rushing to meet your dripping core.

You think you can hear him speaking, but can’t be sure over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the low music playing in the bar. And then it doesn’t matter anymore, because you can feel his hot tongue glide through your folds, parting you like the sea. He buries his face in you, nose nudging against your asshole as his tongue swipes at your clit, moaning roughly as he absorbs the taste of you. You’re gasping, hooded eyes staring back at you in the mirror, and this time you can definitely hear him saying you’re so fuckin’ wet. The flat of his tongue smears from your clit to your entrance, and then he’s sinking it inside you. You reach behind your back and card your fingers through his hair, gripping the salt and pepper curls between your fingers and holding him against you. Joel doesn’t complain, groaning as you tug on his locks in encouragement, in fucking desperation.

Your thighs tremble where they bracket his head, threatening to squeeze around him at any moment if it weren’t for his vice grip keeping your spread apart. A choked sob of a moan claws its way out of your throat and then he’s standing again, chest against your back as you hear the clink of his belt coming undone, and he’s saying, I know, I know, you need it so bad, don’t you?

Your hand skirts around the firm sink and slips between your thighs, fingertips ghosting over your throbbing clit. The sound of foil crinkling echoes around the room, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh as he rolls the condom down his length. You peek over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him, eyes widening as you take in the sheer size of his length. It’s long, with a prominent vein running from base to tip. It pulses, raging beneath the skin, practically daring you to drop down and run your tongue along the length of it. And you would if you thought he’d let you.

“Shit,” you breathe, skin tingling with a fresh wave of nerves and anticipation.

“It’s alright,” his voice is a low rasp, filling your ears like molasses, and his hand is rising to push stray hairs out of your face. “So fuckin’ wet f’me, I know you can take it, honey. You gonna show me how good you take co—”

He cuts himself off, eyes narrowing as he spots your fingers shifting between your thighs.

“So impatient,” he smacks your hand away with a grunt. “Silly little slut, can’t wait just a minute for me?”

A broken moan falls from your lips, shameful heat soaring through your chest. You shouldn’t love the way that word sounds falling from his lips, shouldn’t be so turned on by it, but you can feel how the ache in your core intensifies, and so you push your hips back against him.

“’m sorry,” you whine pitifully.

“You want it that bad?” Joel asks. His lips brush your earlobe as he nudges the thick head of his cock between your folds, gliding it through your slick once, twice, before notching himself at your entrance.

“I want it,” you gasp. “Wanted it from the second I saw you, Joel, please, pleas—”

Joel curses under his breath and loops a hand around your front, pushing the neckline of your shirt down to reveal your left breast. He slips his palm underneath the cup of your bra, long fingers pinching at the peaked bud of your nipple. Your skin burns under the attention, and you push your chest further into his hold.

“Shit,” he grunts, beginning to press himself inside. “I wanna fuckin’—wreck you, sweetheart.”

“Whatever you want,” you’re pleading, arching your back for him. Your fingers tighten around porcelain, bracing yourself. “Give it to me.”

You hear a muted, dark chuckle before Joel says, “Whatever I want, huh?”

And then he’s pressing inside you with a single, harsh thrust. His thighs come flush with yours and you gasp, face twisting at the sharp sting. The weight of him inside you is heavy, and you squirm at the intrusion, shifting on your feet. He allows you a moment—just a moment—to adjust to him, before he’s moving.

Joel finds a pace he likes and sets it. Heavy, unrelenting, expert rolls of his hips that have his tip brushing against the opening of your cervix with every shift forward. The air fills with harsh sounds of skin smacking against skin, and stilted moans and spilling from your lips as your hipbones collide rhythmically with the sink.

“Christ,” he spits, hand leaving your breast to grip your jaw. He forces your face forward, pace never slowing. “Fuckin’ look at you.”

You do as your told, gazing at yourself in the mirror. And you look wrecked. Hair a wild halo around your head, makeup smudged around your eyes and mouth, lips swollen and shiny with spit.

“Bein’ so—fuckin’—good,” he punctuates the words with his thrusts. His thumb digs into your cheek, and you can see him grinning in the mirror, lips peeled back to reveal that fucking perfect smile. “Dirty little thing, lettin’ a stranger fuck you like this.”

You mewl in response, stomach tensing as his cock grazes a particularly sensitive spot within you. Joel notices and seizes your waist, one hand holding you in place and the other falling to rub your clit while he pistons into you from behind.

“Shit,” you cry, eyes pinching shut as the intense medley of pleasure and pain begins to overwhelm you. Your orgasm claws its way up your chest.

“Yeah, you like that, huh?” he’s panting. “Can you feel you squeezin’ me, sweetheart. Go on, give it t’me, show me how wet that pretty pussy gets when you come.”

“Oh, fuck, oh—oh god, Joel.”

Your lungs feel empty, chest on fire as you rake in rapid breaths. Your entire body is constricting, muscles in your stomach drawn tight as you press firmer against the sink, thighs shaking with every impact of his hips against the plush of your ass. The pressure makes your head spin. And then something in the base of your spine snaps, and you’re falling apart in his grasp. Joel curses behind you, but the sound is faint, almost inaudible over the ringing in your ears. Your vision goes white, body shifting forward as he fucks you through the high.

And even as you begin to come down, muscles going lax and body slumping against the sink, Joel is relentless. He uses you; gripping your hips to keep them tilted at the perfect angle, and just fucking wrecks you, exactly like he said he wanted to. A stream of profanities fill the air as his movements become disjointed, and you know he’s close. Can feel the way his cock twitches inside you, desperate for release. You tilt your face to the side and stare at him over your shoulder. Those dark eyes meet yours and his face crumbles, hand reaching to grip your shoulder and hold you down as he nears the precipice. You rut your ass back against him and he almost shouts.

“Fuck,” he growls. “That’s it, that’s it..”

And then he’s coming, cock jerking inside you in sporadic movements, and you’re wishing he hadn’t worn a condom so you could feel the heat of him spread inside your cunt. It’s intense, the yearning you feel to have him dripping out of you once he’s gone. But you settle for watching his face through bleary eyes, admiring the way his lips part and chin tilts towards the ceiling, eyes pinching closed as his body convulses against you.

For an all too brief moment, Joel doesn’t move. He slumps against your back, forehead resting in the gap between your shoulder blades, and just breathes. Haggard, drawn out exhales that send whisps of your hair flying forward into your face but you don’t care, too blissed out and relaxed underneath his weight to say anything. And then he’s straightening, and you gasp in unison as he grips your waist and slips out of you. There’s a determined ache between your thighs, pussy clenching around his absence, missing the weight of him already.

You sag onto the cold surface. Your mind is a blur, senses dulled from the intensity of your orgasm. The music in the bar has increased, and you imagine that your roommates must be wondering where you are, but can’t bring yourself to care all that much. You can hear him throw the condom into the trash, then there’s a low rustling as he drags his boxers and jeans back up his legs. Body trembling, you close your eyes and wait. Wait to hear the door open and close as he steps out, and leaves you in the bathroom alone, as you know he inevitably will.

But instead, you feel those hands, almost familiar now, grazing your back. They drag your panties back up and smooth your rumpled skirt down over your ass.

“Hey,” a soothing voice murmurs. “You good?”

You peer at him over your shoulder, uncontained surprise no doubt evident in your face. Joel’s expression is soft; cautious. He grips your shoulder and pulls you up, straightening your body. Drags a thumb over the corner of your mouth, wiping away the lipstick smudged there. His touches are so gentle, so tender, in comparison to a few moments ago. It almost gives you whiplash, and yet you find yourself melting under his gaze, because fuck, he’s handsome.

“I’m good,” you breathe, and he bares his teeth in a smile, cupping your jaw.

“Sweet girl,” Joel says. His head shakes once, slowly, eyes darting across your features, as if trying to memorise them. “I’m gonna remember this.”

You heart is in your throat all over again.

Your fingers fumble to adjust your top, smoothing it out as you smile, humming, “Yeah… yeah, I think I will too.”

A heady silence swells between you. His thumb brushes along your lower lip again, eyes watching the way your swollen mouth yields to his touch. The tip of your tongue slides out and glides over the tip of his digit, just for a second.

“Probably got your friends all worried,” Joel says then, hand dropping to his side. “Must be wonderin’ where you got to.”

You swallow down the disappointment you feel. It burns its way down your throat and into your stomach, not unlike the whiskey had. I don’t care, you want to say. Take me home with you. But you nod and agree. Glance in the mirror and rake numb fingers through bird’s nest hair, trying to tame your wild appearance. You swear you feel his hand graze the hem of your skirt one last time, playing with the soft material while he stares at you in the mirror.

The bubble pops as he unlocks the door, outside sounds rushing in through the gap, infiltrating the space that once smelt like sex and lust and now just feels like any other room. Joel doesn’t kiss you again. Doesn’t touch you. He steps into the hall, and you follow him out. And when he trails toward one side of the bar, with a final lingering glance at you over his shoulder, you begrudgingly head in the opposite direction to the booth, where your almost strangers await you with curious eyes and pinched brows.

Tuesday.

You feel hungover on the day of your first lecture.

A dull ache blossoms behind your left eye, a persistent reminder of how little sleep you had the night before. Your fingers wrap tightly around a tall styrofoam cup, and you take slow mouthfuls of the black coffee inside, attempting to savour the liquid gold, and letting the caffeine act as a saving grace for as long as possible.

You were normally so much better than this, too. Years had passed since your undergrad, and in the past you’d prided yourself on being punctual and prepared. But apparently one of the professors for this semester had it out for you, because when the required weekly prep work for your 9 o’clock Tuesday morning lecture was released the day prior, you were stunned to find that it included an entire fucking book.

After spending a dutiful two hours going over the weekly notes and required journal articles, you’d found yourself glaring at three sentences, written casually at the bottom of the professor’s notes.

Also, read Hesiod’s ‘Theogony’. It will do you well to have these ideas and themes fresh as you undertake the first weeks of this class. See you tomorrow.

Cue you staying up until two am reading fucking Theogony, and walking to your first lecture with a near-permanent yawn sprawled across your face.

As you approach history commons, a guy wearing a bottle green shirt that reads UNIVERSITY OF NEW ENGLAND in garish gold lettering shakes a pamphlet in your direction. It has a picture of a girl in a tiny athletic uniform on the front, preparing to spike a volleyball. You avoid eye contact and sidestep him quickly, continuing into the building.

The theatre room is easy enough to find.

Thirty odd chairs line the space on an incline, all facing toward a desk at the front of the room. A projector hangs from the ceiling, displaying the beginning of a slide show on a white wall. The slide is a muted beige colour, with stark black lettering that spells out: The Language and Literature of the Odyssey and the Aeneid.

Your professor stands with his back to the room, shuffling through a myriad of notebooks and loose-leaf pages splayed across the desk. Standard.

You traipse your way up the stairs, buoyed along by the steady stream of other students shuffling into the room, and take a seat a few rows from the front. Not too far back that you seem disinterested, and not so close that your professor will notice you falling asleep on the first day.

You open your notes on your laptop and then slump back into your chair, slurping down the final morsels of coffee in your cup before discarding it to the floor by your feet. And then the room quietens as a final group of students file in, heavy door swinging closed behind them, and you allow your eyes to rest upon the man at the foot of the space.

He’s tall. It’s impossible not to notice that first. Tall and broad. A thin white dress shirt stretches across the arch of his back, fighting to pull free from where it’s tucked neatly into the waist of his brown pants. From where you’re seated, you can see a dark head of hair shaking side to side every few moments, the man muttering inaudibly as he peers down at his notes.

You glance down at your laptop again. Watch your cursor blink against the white screen. And then you hear it.

“Alright folks,” an all too familiar voice drawls. “Let’s get down to it.”

You stiffen in your chair. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, palms going damp as a memory flits through your brain. One of your own voice.

An accent like that is hard to ignore.

You can’t make out what he’s saying anymore, every word overpowered by the sudden roar of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Slowly—so fucking slowly—you peel your eyes away from your laptop and glance upward.

And there he is, in all his glory. Pearly white smile. Strong jaw. Dark eyes.

Joel… your professor.

Fuck.

thank you for reading!! x

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #ALP

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headspace-hotel · 1 year

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re: ohio chemical disaster

OP of the post I reblogged earlier regarding this turned off reblogs (understandable have a nice day) but I got a request to put the information in its own post, so here.

First thing: PLEASE be careful about claims that "The Media" is suppressing something as part of a malicious agenda, or that an event has been purposefully manufactured by "The Media" to distract from something else.

Not only is this a really common disinformation tactic (not only urging you to share/reblog quickly, but discouraging you from fact checking), treating "The Media" as a monolithic entity with purposeful agency and a specific, malicious agenda—particularly one that manufactures events to "distract" from other events—is a red flag for conspiracy theories.

There's already a post in the tag attributing the supposed lack of media coverage to "reptilians." Please connect the dots here.

Second—"the news isn't focusing on this as much as I think they should" is not a media blackout. Every major USA news source is reporting on the Ohio train derailment. Googling returns at least 4 pages of results from major news media sources. Even just googling "Ohio" gets you plenty of results about it.

This is an unusual amount of media attention for a U.S. environmental disaster.

Because this kind of thing happens all the damn time.

The "media blackout" narrative gives the impression that this is an unusual event that isn't receiving wall to wall coverage only because it's being suppressed—when the reality is that similar disasters happen a lot, and hardly ever get the attention the Ohio disaster is getting.

Consider this example, not too far from my local area: A few years ago, almost 2,000 tons of radioactive fracking waste were illegally dumped in an Eastern Kentucky municipal landfill, directly across from a middle school. Leachate from that landfill goes into the Kentucky River, which is where most of the central part of the state gets its drinking water. As far as we know, the radioactive waste isn't leaking yet, but it could start leaking at any time.

Zero national news sources covered this. Why? If I was to hazard a guess, I would say "because it's business as usual for the fossil fuel industry."

Consider also the case of Martin County, KY, which has had foul-smelling, contaminated drinking water for decades. Former coal country in Appalachia is poisoned and toxic, and laws have little power to punish the companies that created the destruction.

What happened in Ohio is just a little window into a whole world of horrors.

The Martin County coal slurry spill that is still poisoning the water 20 years later killed literally everything in the water for miles downstream (a book Mom read said 70 miles of the Ohio river were made completely lifeless). It was 30 times larger than the Exxon-Valdez oil spill, and it was in some sense "covered up"—in the sense that the Bush administration shut down the investigation because the Republicans are buddies with the fossil fuel industry, and proceeded to relax regulations even further.

Seriously, read that wiki article to get pissed enough to eat glass.

Hopefully the Ohio chemical spill will inspire real action to institute regulations to prevent shit like this from ever happening again. It's not the end of the world. It's not radically different from what industries have been causing the whole damn time. It is pretty bad.

I would urge everyone to actually search up information about it instead of getting news from Tiktok or Twitter, because the more false information gets distributed, the less momentum any effort to respond with improved regulations and changes to prevent future disasters will have. Plenty of facts here *are* public and being publicly discussed and pretending that they're not is actively detrimental.

#environmental disaster #ohio chemical disaster #ohio chemical spill

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justwannabecat · 1 year

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“That’s it! I give up!” Phantom yelled. As though he had said something blasphemous, all fighting stopped as the participants stared in confusion. “You humans think you’re the paragon of all existence, proclaiming that anything different is lesser. Well we aren’t! We’re just as sentient as you are, and we have thoughts and feelings! You just choose to ignore it so you can justify your xenophobic actions!”

Phantom turned to Technus, who had frozen in shock as Phantom went on his tirade. “And you! Tell the other ghosts I’m done saving them, too, because none of you care! You don’t care if property is destroyed, or if humans get hurt, or if other ghosts get hurt! All you care about is your stupid Obsessions! You’re too caught up in your own mind to see what you’re doing to everyone around you!”

“But your Obsession is Protection, is it not? You’ve never stepped down from a fight-“ Technus began. Phantom didn’t let him finish.

“My Obsession is Space! If I had my way, I’d spend my nights stargazing, or maybe even on the moon! Instead I’m stuck cleaning up your messes because you can’t control yourselves!” Phantom growled. He glared at the crowd of people who had gathered, curious as to why all fighting had stopped.

“Humans are cruel and hateful. Ghosts are ignorant and careless. I’m tired of wasting my time protecting both sides from the other and being blamed for it. I quit. If anyone dies, or is captured, it’s no longer my problem.“

Like that, Phantom vanished.

The Fentons celebrated, not even noticing Technus make his own escape. The crowd murmured, worry just as prevalent as confidence. The few phones that were recording the event were put away, and later the footage would be checked. Unfortunately, most recordings were corrupted beyond recognition.

Most, but not all.

——————————————————

Amity Park. Ground Zero for the start of the war between the Living and the Dead. Humanity and Ghosts.

Why it had only recently escalated to this, Batman couldn’t tell. His research found that there had been a portal opened to the Realms years ago, and the laws passed just a year after that. Most of the town was stuck behind an information blackout that the government refused to give access to. Whatever happened, Constantine assured him that it was almost certainly the government’s fault.

After almost three weeks of trying to get beyond the firewalls, he finally figured it out. “Research” that claimed ghosts were nothing but evil. News articles calling “Phantom” a troublemaker. Forums that spoke about how “Phantom” ruined the town while fighting other ghosts.

A video, old and grainy but still clear enough to be used as evidence. A glowing, white-haired boy that told everyone he was done. That he was tired of fixing everything. Of saving everyone. That nobody was good, everyone was bad, and they were on their own.

They used to have a hero, but Phantom left. Without him, both sides tore at each other until there was nothing but an all-out assault. They needed to stop this, but without a mediator they would not make it through to the ghosts.

If they could find Phantom, perhaps they could fix everything before it was too late.

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earthtooz · 1 year

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x : ABUNDANCE :*+ﾟ

in which: rin doesn’t know when to stop spoiling you and you don't know how to stop him either.

warnings: rich pro-athlete!rin, gn!reader- reader wears lip gloss and perfume but i am an avid believer that they are gn, rin is dramatic (tm), fluff, swearing. 1.6k wc

a/n: rin is a clown in my eyes LMFAO no but this was kinda self-indulgent and i just can't stray too far from itoshi rin before he inevitably pulls me back. haven't written anything for him in a while so it feels good to be back to my roots. also no i'm not off break lol i did say that i was still gonna write and come back to post hehe. ENJOY!! rbs appreciated !!

itoshi rin doesn’t know when to stop spoiling you.

and you didn’t know how to get him to stop spoiling you. you could never resist his presents no matter what shape or size, whether they were little nendoroids of your favourite anime characters to the latest designer bags, you would always accept them with a grateful smile.

however, there’s always a tug of guilt at your chest that makes you little hesitant, not wanting rin to waste unnecessary money on you. yet whenever you make this feeling known to rin, he scoffs and waves your concerns off, ending the conversation there as he urges you to open his presents, more concerned about your reaction than how much money is being extracted from his account.

what’s the point of money if he can’t spoil you with it? that’s always been his philosophy. besides, it’s not like you’re forcing him to, so what’s the big deal?

if there was a certain brand of perfume you wanted, he was going to buy it. if you needed a bigger monitor then he’ll buy it. if you needed a streaming platform to watch a certain show on then he’d buy it too, not a problem. in fact, you’re sure rin is funding the spotify premium for your account because he got tired of all the ads he had to listen to when sharing headphones with you.

despite rin’s insistence that he was more than okay to spend money on you, it didn’t stop the growing feeling of guilt festering in your gut. so eventually you stopped bringing up things you wanted to buy in front of rin, leaving to write them down in your notes app instead.

the pro-athlete doesn’t question the abrupt lack of complaints about things you needed to buy, leaving him blissfully unaware of the things you had been buying for yourself and him.

this dance continues for a little and it’s not until date night three weeks later that he figures you out. you never stood a chance against rin’s perceptiveness especially when one of his favourite things to do was watch you get ready for said date nights, leaving it only a matter of time before he’d realise,

“looking gorgeous as always,” he compliments whilst walking up to stand behind you, dressed handsomely in a crisp suit with his hair swept sideways- a hairstyle he began to wore more often when he realised how often you stared at him during a boring sponsorship event which turned out a lot more eventful thanks to the simple hair change.

you smile at him in the mirror as rin places a kiss on the side of your head, hand going to your hip before situating himself on the bed, glancing down at his watch to check that you were still on time for the dinner reservation.

when he looks back up at you, his eyes zero in on the foreign lipgloss you were holding in your hands and the small smile rin wore falls into a scowl. rin knows he didn’t get that for you, and judging from the sleekness of the packaging, it looks new. he withholds his suspicions, brushing them off.

alarms blare in rin’s head again when he notices the foreign highlighter in your hands. contrarily, you remain ignorant to rin’s inquisitive stare as you lean in close to the mirror to apply the product, too used to the usual intensity of his gaze to bat an eye.

the last straw is the perfume you use, spritzing it on your wrists, behind your ears and neck, doing a little fanning motion with your hands once you were done.

“okay, i’m ready, let’s go before we’re lat-” you say, turning around to look at rin, cutting yourself off when you notice the look of distraught on his face. “what’s the matter?”

walking over to where he sat, you leisurely lay your forearms on his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his cheek whilst doing so. the smell of your foreign perfume enters his nose and although it was a very nice and charming scent, the athlete’s nose scrunches in displeasure, eyebrows furrowing further.

“do i have something on my face?” you ask, backing away. rin grabs your hands before you can stray too far.

“no, not that,” he puts your hands on his shoulders again. “did you always have this lipgloss? and i don’t recognise this perfume.”

“oh, i bought it not too long ago.”

he looks at you as though you’ve committed the most blasphemous offence against him, which, you did. “excuse me?”

“i bought it?” you reaffirm, a lilt of confusion in your tone.

rin narrows his eyes, combating your confusion with scrutiny. “you bought it.” you nod. “with your own money?”

“duh.”

he exhales loudly through his nose and you can feel the judgement oozing off him. “no that’s not right. i have to fix this.”

abruptly swapping your positions so that you were now sitting on the bed, rin disappears into the bathroom, emerging with a pack of makeup removers before sifting through your numerous products, that look of concentration never leaving his face.

“we’re gonna be late, rin,” you say from where he planted you, watching helplessly as your boyfriend approaches to stand in front of you, crouching down to be eye level with you. rin takes out a wipe from the packet before gently rubbing it on your lips, touch contrastingly gentle to his fiery gaze.

“don’t care. this is more important.”

rin fiddles with the highlighter that he bought for you, opening it cautiously and using the same brush you always use as he carefully paints your skin with the glitter. it amazes you just how observant rin is as he traces all the spots correctly, knowing you down to of the most insignificant, tiny details.

he does the same with the lip gloss, opening the familiar bottle before putting a luxurious amount of the product over your lips. you don’t complain about it, not when rin’s nose scrunches in concentration and not when he makes a disgruntled noise because he overlined the lip gloss, wiping it from the corner of your mouth.

nevertheless, when rin pulls away, he admires his handiwork with a content grin, the scowl now fading. “much better,” he mumbles, grinning slightly. before you could say anything though, the athlete stumbles away to put your makeup away, returning with a bottle of perfume that he also bought for you.

“do not spray that on me. the scents will clash,” you threaten. rin blinks at you before grabbing your wrist, spritzing a small amount before repeating the same step on your other pulse points.

his actions were sweet and you understood that rin had good intentions, but through the endearment you felt for your lover, there is an undeniable feeling of dejection settling within you. “i liked the products that i bought,” you murmur, tone slightly downcast as you express your thoughts. “i like using my own money sometimes too, rin.”

the smile rin wore falls ever so slightly as he looks at your somewhat-dejected form, crouching in front of you instinctively as to get a better glance at your face.

“i feel horrible whenever you use your money on me. especially on things that are way too expensive and way out of my budget. i don’t want people- i don’t want you to get the wrong idea of us,” you confess the last part breathily, rubbing your arms awkwardly. “and i hate feeling like i owe something to you.”

“hey, you know that will never happen, we’re not like that,” he rubs a hand on your knee reassuringly. “i buy things for you because i know, and don’t talk about this lukewarm shit about ‘owing’ me. if anything i owe you for putting up with me.”

you let his words sink in with a sigh, focusing on the warmth of rin’s palm.

“and i also buy things for you because you only deserve the best. none of that mediocre crap that anybody can buy.”

“but what if i like the ‘lukewarm shit’?”

“then you need better tastes, but i guess i have no choice but to buy it for you.” he stands up ever so slightly to kiss you.

you back away, cutting him off with a press of your finger against his lips. “rin. no.”

he gives you a withering glare for denying his affection.

“that’s not the point. as much as i love and appreciate it when you do buy things for me, i would also appreciate it if you let me use my own money too.”

the soccer player backs away, eyes scanning your expression to decide on what to say next. he sighs when he sees the determination in your face and like a dam giving out, it’s the first sign of rin’s stubbornness surrendering to your pleas. “fine, i’ll respect your choice, but it doesn’t mean that i like it.”

you grin, pulling him back in for the kiss he wanted earlier, catching rin off guard briefly before his shock subsides, letting him melt right into you. your lipgloss was now effectively ruined but you didn’t have it in you to care much. rin could always reapply it for you.

“but i’m paying for dinner,” he asserts against your mouth.

“deal.”

you return home tomorrow to see the same products you bought for yourself on your shared bed. except brand new and still in their sleek packages.

what were you going to do with rin?

#personally i'm abt to make out with him- what... who said that... anyways... hope u enjoyed !!#sorry if this fic isn't coherent #itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi rin fluff #blue lock fluff #itoshi rin x you #rin x you #rin itoshi x you #blue lock rin #itoshi x reader #blue lock itoshi rin #itoshi rin drabble #itoshi rin #itoshi rin bllk #blue lock

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angelsrcute · 17 days

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HIDE AND SEEK. 𝜗𝜚

(´∀｀*)ε｀　) ౨ৎ N–sfw content !! ; Dom!Master!Scara + Sub!Maid!F!Reader ➜ cws: knife play, dub-con, hair pulling, dirty talk, hunter/prey, degradation, power dynamics, Mirror sex, unprotected + raw sex, baby-trapping, breeding kink, tit-play. ᡴꪫ‎

‎ ꒰ † ੭ — ‎For the event! This was inspired by some game where the master of a mansion kills his maids or smt, no idea which game it is tho + THANK YOU FOR 1.5K FOLLOWERS!!! giving kisses to every1 🫶

Master!Scara who appoints new maids every month, no one really knows why the maids disappear but they do know something is wrong with him. The place where his mansion is really shady too.

Master!Scara who doesn't know if he should call you weird or just oblivious, you apparently had zero idea on what was going on, needed money so bad. Well that just makes stuff easier, right?

Master!Scara who doesn't realise but he's falling for you, hard. That maid dress that's oh so tight because he was the one who chose it. So on the night where he's supposed to kill you, you play hide and seek with him. Ah, his favourite game. He considers letting you live cause you're just so cute, it'll be a waste of beauty if he kills you.

Master!Scara who hums while walking with a knife, the other maids already dead. Some blood on his clothes, he definitely knows you're hiding under the bed. But he decided to play along any way, just when you felt like you could escape, he grabbed your ankle and dragged you out.

Master!Scara who currently has you on his bed, hands tied up with his belt, face facing the mirror, and why does he have a mirror in his bedroom? God knows. Shoulders littered with hickeys as you try to bite back moans.

You looked so pathetic, eyes all teary, your gummy walls squeezing his length when he coos degrading words to you.

“Fuck– Do you like that, huh? Such a stupid slut, here you're saying no but your pussy says otherwise.” He mocks you with his infamous smirk.

Master!Scara who pulls at your hair and spanks your ass when you try to pull away. His knife so close to your throat as his cock kisses your sweet spot, thrusting you forward everytime.

He'd lick your tears, “I should just engrave–...my name on your skin, you belong to me, little slut. Say it..”

Master!Scara who says he's gonna fuck you pregnant when his kid, so you'd never leave him. Play his pretty little wife. Fuck, he's already getting hard off that thought. Teeth gently nipping at your buds as he blushes at the thought of them filled up with milk.

You'd look so cute as his baby momma!

#𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐄'𝐒 :: 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 (ᵔ◡ᵔ)#tw dark content #dom character #sub reader #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x female reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin impact x you #scaramouche smut #scara x y/n #scara x you #scara x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x reader

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holymusicalmothman · 8 months

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I Can See You - Live Action!Sanji x Reader

Saw a post about wanting a fic with Sanji and this song that @its-a-show-stoppin-number posted and I knew I wasn't gonna get anything done until I wrote this. I've never written anything like this before to be honest. I kinda word vomited in a sense. The story just exited my fingers and here it is.

Warnings: Suggestive, kissing, secret relationship, nothing explicit, only implied, objectification of Taz Skylar's jawline, like. Why’s it so fine. Like. Dear lord.

No use of y/n, or those weird descriptor things, reader is gender neutral. Reader is however you imagine them

Word Count: 1.5K

Main Masterlist

It wasn’t something you had seen coming. It wasn’t like you, to be honest.

But he was just so damn charming. How were you supposed to resist?

Sanji hadn’t been part of the crew for long. A few weeks at most. But you had been watching him from the moment the crew walked into the Baratie.

Tall. Strong. Nicely dressed. Polite. Respectful. Suave. Not to mention good looking. That jawline–in your defense, you HAD tried to ignore the blatant attraction.

Fleeting glances for almost a week, brushing past each other in the ship’s hallways. Fantasies filling your head. One specific dream of exchanging heated kisses in a dark corner had your mind racing whenever you were in the same room as the chef.

It was impossible to function properly.

Your job aboard the Going Merry was to document the events that occurred. Luffy thought it would be perfect to write down all of the adventures that would eventually lead to him becoming King of the Pirates.

And writing anything was impossible.

Blond hair and grey blue eyes kept your mind far too distracted.

So you decided to do something about it.

Especially since you had caught his eyes on you repeatedly throughout dinner.

So you took your time eating. A phrase which here means wasting your time until Luffy, Usopp, Zoro, and Nami had vacated the kitchen for the evening. Leaving you alone with Sanji.

As he stood to clear the dishes, your hand shot out, grabbing his sleeve and stopping him in his tracks.

You looked up into his eyes, your own wide with adrenaline.

"Please tell me it's not all in my head." You said softly. "If it is, I promise, it'll be like this never happened."

"And if I say it's not all in your head?" He murmured the words, the tension so thick someone could have cut it with a knife.

"Then I'd ask if you'd worry what the others thought. I'm not sure if relationships between crewmembers are allowed here. They weren't on my last crew. And I'm not too keen on asking Luffy if I'm entirely honest." You took a deep breath. "But I can't get you out of my head. It's like I'm addicted."

Sanji moved to rest his hands on either side of your chair, effectively caging you in. "So more like a secret mission. Just the two of us." He bit his lip and watched your eyes zero in on the action, a smirk spreading on his face instead.

You nodded, knowing you were in too deep to back out now.

Sanji continued, despite the fact that his eyes flicked down to your lips every few moments. "Everything professional, except when it's just the two of us."

You nodded again, your heart racing and palms sweating as the object of your desire leaned forward a little more, waiting for you to reach across that last gap separating the two of you.

Your eyes fluttered shut as that gap closed.

As your lips careened into the chef's, he exhaled heavily through his nose, pulling you up to stand and then closer so you were pressed to his chest, your hands flying to tangle in his hair.

The world around the two of you was a blur as you lost yourselves in each other. Clothes were shoved unceremoniously to the floor as you each tried to pull the other closer. You barely registered Sanji lifting you to sit on the kitchen counter, much less registering when the two of you had even moved from the table to the counter.

"You sure you want me sitting here?" You asked breathlessly, your newfound lover placing kisses down the length of your throat.

His laugh was husky against your throat. "It's a kitchen, darling. All the best meals happen in a kitchen."

That moment was the first of many. You had never regretted sharing a room with Nami more. While there were many kitchen escapades after that first one, the two of you still found a little thrill in having your secret.

You spent time talking as well. You learned about each other. Likes and dislikes, pasts, dreams of the future. Sanji told you about his childhood with Zeff and his quest for the All Blue. You told him of your dream to be a famous poet one day and of your life on the sea.

Something changed along those talking sessions. Something you liked. You wouldn’t call it a friends with benefits situation. You both knew it was something else, something deeper.

Those words were just waiting to be said.

You two would lock eyes at random moments throughout the days and his eyebrow would quirk and you'd look away.

Nights would be spent with each other, sometimes words weren’t even exchanged.

It was bliss.

One afternoon caught the two of you on the lower decks, encased by shadows. You had originally been working on writing down events in the logbook, but your lover had sought you out.

Sanji had you caged up against the wall, kissing you with a fervor. As if you were the last meal he'd ever receive.

He always kissed you like a starving man.

However, you heard Usopp's voice getting closer to your hiding spot, calling for Sanji, and the two of you quickly separated and righted yourselves.

He winked at you as you adjusted your skewed shirt. "You'll tell me more about how that dream of yours went later, right, darling?"

You smirked. "You wouldn't believe half the things I see inside my head."

Sanji grinned, unable to resist capturing your lips in another kiss before slowly pulling away and heading down the hallway.

Nami cornered you later that day.

"You've been hard to find lately." She stated.

You shrugged. "I've been hiding away trying to find a quiet place to work on the log." This was the go to excuse.

And Nami wasn't buying it. "It's been hard to find Sanji too."

Your eyes met her brown ones in questioning silence.

"I knew it." She muttered. "Sanji left his jacket on the floor in the hallway the other night. You do know we're not like other pirates, right? Nobody's gonna care if you two get together. 'Sides, pretty sure the only ones who haven't figured it out are Luffy and Usopp. But that's just a matter of time."

You were flabbergasted. "How in the--"

"You guys aren't very sneaky. Zorro found you two the other day. Plus the jacket."

Of course Zorro would find out first. But knowing that a relationship would be fine was also a relief to hear.

You had just finished telling Nami about your's and the chef's so-called "secret mission" when Sanji brought lunch around a few minutes later. When he got to you, he handed you your food and your logbook. "You left this in the kitchen." And with a wink he walked away.

"He's not even subtle about it." Nami stated.

You laughed. Sanji hadn't been subtle from the moment you met him at the Baratie. He had only stopped calling you 'madame' because you told him it made you feel old.

He had immediately switched to darling, being far too suave and charming for his own good.

You opened up your logbook. It had gotten easier to get back to your job lately. Apparently the dark hallway meetings and late night rendezvous worked perfectly in helping your focus.

You immediately noticed his note.

"Meet me tonight"

You snapped the notebook shut, grinning like a schoolgirl,and Nami only rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You two are the weirdest."

It was late when you began to make your way to the kitchen that night.

He must have been impatient, because you found him waiting down the hallway, still dressed in his suit and necktie.

You never knew blue could feel like fire, but his eyes were smoldering as they met yours. He had you up against the wall in moments, his lips on your own.

He never did anything halfway, it was all or nothing. That thought crossed your mind as you began to lose yourself in the way he kissed you. In the way it was tender and yet passionate. In the way he caught your lip with his own. In the way he would sort of nudge his jaw forward in little movements. In the way his tongue always seemed to ask permission by gently touching your own lips and leading you into deeper and deeper kisses.

You could drown in this man.

The words slipped out in between kisses before you could stop them.

"I love you."

But he just grinned. A smile so bright, were the sun out it would have felt threatened. Remarkably sweet for the heated exchange that had been occuring only seconds prior.

"I love you, too, darling."

And the heat was back. His hands, which had been holding you gently at your hips, slipped to lift you and press you harder into the wall as the passion returned.

Only to come to a screeching halt as someone cleared their throat.

Luffy stood a few feet away, struggling to mask his shock.

"While I'm happy for the two of you, maybe the hallways are not the best for such...activities?" he said.

You both nodded, mildly embarrassed to have been caught.

As your captain disappeared further down the hallway, a laugh bubbled out of you.

Sanji turned to look at you, bewildered.

Grabbing his hand, you led him away. "You heard our captain, gotta go somewhere other than a hallway."

Understanding spread across his face in the way of a knowing smirk. "I completely understand, darling."

I can see you, waiting down the hall for me, I can see you, up against the wall with me.

I can see you, throw your jacket on the floor, I can see you, make me want you even more

#opla sanji x reader #one piece live action x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #one piece x reader #opla #opla sanji #thismothwrites

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i-turned-into-the-stone · 2 months

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[Commissioned] Rave-Up: Hyunjin LOOSSEMBLE

Tags: Non-con, Drugs, Overstimulation, Rough Sex, A Lot Of Squirting, A Little Fingering, Thigh Fucking, Face Fucking, Cum Swallowing, Creampie (kind of mentioned breeding)

Character(s): M!Reader × Kim Hyunjin

Word Count: 4,836

The music blasted through your ears, pumping up the thrill within you. This was no ordinary party. It was a crazy-ass rave with zero rules and zero inhibitions. Neon lights lit up the joint, shining on a sea of people lost in the moment. You took a swig of your drink, savoring the sweet kick of alcohol mixed with the party's wild energy.

A bunch of tipsy women couldn't take their eyes off you. Even though they didn't really tickle your fancy, you played along, soaking up their attention. You danced, flirted, and ran your hands all over their hot bodies, riding that adrenaline rush.

But as the night rolled on, boredom started creeping in. The once mind-blowing activities had turned into a snoozefest, and the chicks who were once smoking hot seemed like dime a dozen. Just when you thought the night couldn't get any more dull, you saw her.

She was drop-dead gorgeous, hotter than most babes in this rave. Her long, messy black hair and that smooth midriff peeking out between her top and fitting jeans had you hooked. She was straight-up dancing like she didn't give a buck about the world. Her flushed face let you know she was in some higher state than normal.

Well, everyone here practically snorted or swallowed something before the lights went wild and the music deafened their ears. It all came down to what kinda crazy mix of drugs they popped with Molly to either stay aware or get lost in a cloud of bliss.

You maneuvered through the crowd, dodging the blinding lights and thunderous beats. You stood right in front of her as she grooved and jumped to the music. Her messy hair didn't seem to bother her, but her icy stare and the way she swiped her hair back told you everything.

"Come on, just back off. I'm not interested in whatever you're after," she poked your chest once and giggled like a half-drunk person. "Got it? So, move it." With that, she stepped down from the dance platform and headed towards the chill-out zone.

You were the one who scoped out this warehouse for the organizer, who happened to be your best friend's senior. The layout of this place was etched in your freaking brain. There was no way she could escape you. Whoever the hell she was, you were hell-bent on finding out.

Jumping down, you followed her into the hallway, checking her out as she held the wall and turned the corner. Nobody was around. They were all busy getting their minds blown by the sick DJ and performers on stage. Not that anybody would care.

Feeling the heat and looking for someone to play with, you figured it wasn't so bad for being sober. Tagging along behind her, you saw her messing around with the vending machine outside the resting area. The booming beats from the main area turned into a distant background buzz.

She didn't waste time noticing your presence and rolling her eyes. "Oh my god... Can't you get it through your thick skull that I'm not into you? Don't you understand Korean?"

"Yeah, I get Korean just fine. What I don't get is why you gotta be so rude. I just wanna be friends and have a blast together. Isn't that what this event is all about?" You tried to keep it cool as you watched her bend down, her round ass was firm. "No need to be a total bitch about it."

She scoffed, grabbing the canned drink from the pickup box. "Friends? Hilarious." Then she giggled, sneaking a peek at your crotch and spotting your boner. "You're not exactly subtle, are you?" She tiptoed closer and whispered in your ear. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but you won't find that kind of action from this Kim Hyunjin bitch, okay?”

Hyunjin stepped back, almost tripping, feeling extra pleased in teasing you, clueless that she was starting to get on your nerves. The fact that she got all wild at this rave but acted all prude and shit was a total contradiction. It pissed you off.

Besides, it wasn't up to Hyunjin to decide what you could or couldn't get. It was the other way around. "A pretty name," you said, snatching the canned drink from her hand and cracking it open. "Too bad you won't be so pretty after I'm done with your sorry cunt." You poured the liquid over her head.

Hyunjin flinched when the cold drink hit her hair, drops dripping down onto her bare shoulders. "Hey! What the fuck!? You're crazy!" She shot you a glare.

"That's what you get for being a rude bitch, Kim Hyunjin." You laughed and splashed the rest of the juice on her dumbstruck face, making her gasp and cough before she wiped the liquid away from her closed eyes.

As you yanked on Hyunjin's hair, the can slipped from your grasp and clattered onto the hard concrete floor. She squirmed and struggled, trying to pry your hand away, but her efforts were in vain. With a firm push, you propelled her into the storage room, causing her to land on her ass, and swiftly shut the door behind you. Her voice filled the air, laced with anger and confusion.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" Hyunjin shouted, regaining her footing. But before she could take any further action, you swiftly delivered a stinging slap to her face, causing her to stumble backward.

"Don't play the innocent act, you pretentious bitch. You sniffed those candies, didn't you? What else would you do it for if not to have some fun?" The room was dimmer compared to the outside, yet you could still make out the glimmer of tears in her eyes and the sharpness of her glare.

Through clenched teeth, Hyunjin yelled, "That's none of your fucking business!" She rushed towards you, shoving your solid chest, attempting to slip past you towards the door.

You allowed Hyunjin to dart past you, her hand nearly grazing the door handle. Seizing the opportunity, you wrapped your arms around her from behind, dragging her towards the left side of the wall where shelves and cabinets were filled with spare beverages and snacks.

In the corner of the room, a table adorned with empty flat boxes caught your attention. You took your time, relishing the sensation of her soft ass inadvertently brushing against your clothed erection.

"Let me go! Uhh!" Hyunjin thrashed harder, desperate to break free, only to be thrown against the table, her front colliding with the boxes. "Fuck!"

She had no chance to turn around as you bent her over the table, applying pressure to her back to prevent her from getting up. "You're quite vulgar for such a cute girl," you chuckled, leaning forward and planting a kiss on her neck. Her eyelids shut tight in response.

Given your height advantage, accessing every part of her body was effortless. Taking advantage of this, you slipped your hand between her legs, feeling the fabric that covered her pussy, and began rubbing it roughly.

"Quit fucking touching me! Let go!" Hyunjin's hands instinctively went for yours, trying to yank them away from her sensitive lady bits, even though you hadn't even made direct contact yet. She knew right away that it was because of the damn MDMA she had tried out. Struggling for a hot sec had her already breathless.

"I know you're getting all wet from just having your pussy rubbed like this. No need to be shy," you said, pressing your palm harder against her groin.

"Fuck off, you asshole! You—You can't do shit to me!" Hyunjin's voice wavered a bit as she fought back, attempting to push herself off the table, hoping to break free from your grip.

"Really? You think I'm just messing around, Kim Hyunjin?" You eased up on pressing her back and pulled her straight up, wrapping your arm around her neck. "Curse at me one more time, I dare you."

"What the—"

You clamped your hand over Hyunjin's mouth, and she struggled to pry it off. Meanwhile, your other hand cheekily unbuttoned her jeans, giving her a clear idea of what was in store.

"Mmph!!!" Hyunjin thrashed harder, kicking the floor and twisting her body, but it didn't do jack shit for her.

You pressed your hand against her mouth even harder, tasting her sweat as you licked up her neck, all the way to her earlobe. Once the button was undone, you moved on to the zipper, slowly pulling it down. You could feel her heavy breaths against your hand while you gripped the waistband of her jeans.

With your arm straightened, her panties were on full display, along with those juicy inner thighs that you eagerly grabbed hold of, loving how plump and soft they felt.

"Damn, you're kinda thick, huh. Why were you hiding these goodies?"

Because she didn't deserve to be treated like this. Inside her head, she screamed about how wrong it was. But unfortunately, there was nothing she could do. Her body responded to your touches, weakening her resistance. You gave her thigh a hard squeeze, leaving a red mark on her skin, then delivered a slap to the other side, causing it to jiggle as she instinctively closed her legs.

Hyunjin's voice muffled against your hand. You assumed she was hurling vulgar curses at you as she grabbed your hand on her pussy. Her pulse raced with a mix of panic and fear. What you were about to do would leave a lasting impact on her, both physically and mentally.

Your fingers glided over her clothed pussy. You pressed your palm against it, feeling the wetness already seeping through her panties. Hyunjin's breath hitched as she felt your touch, her body arching.

"Let's see what kind of slut you really are now." You ran a finger along her slit, chuckling at the dampness despite her desperate resistance. "See? Just a phony slut, nothing more."

You ripped off her panties, the sound reverberating in the room. Hyunjin gasped as the cool air greeted her exposed core. Without wasting a moment, you plunged two fingers into her, feeling her tight walls clench around them.

Hyunjin's body trembled under your touch, her moans muffled against your hand. Her wetness coated your fingers as her body eagerly responded to your actions.

With each thrust of your fingers, she squirmed against you, her sensitivity escalating. Her inner walls tightened around your fingers, her satisfied moans growing louder as you picked up the pace. And that's when you felt it— her squirting, her juices drenching your hand as she screamed.

You continued prodding her insides, her body shaking as she rode out her orgasm. Her legs quivered as she struggled to stand, but you held her steady, refusing to let her escape your grasp.

"You're nothing but a filthy little slut," you growled in her ear. "Look at you, squirting all over my hand like a dirty whore."

Hyunjin could only whimper in response, the pleasure and humiliation merging in her mind. She felt a tingling surge coursing through her body, biting her lip in the hope that you would stop. But you didn't. Her body tensed once more, her inner walls tightening around your fingers as she neared her second orgasm.

You persisted, probing her depths without mercy as she cried out. And when she finally came undone again, the satisfaction of her scream and the intensity of her climax made you chuckle.

Her pussy was dripping, her arousal evident as it coated your fingers while you pumped them in and out of her with increased speed. Her body teetered on the brink of ecstasy. Then you curled your fingers inside her, hitting that sweet spot that made Hyunjin's vision go blank.

Another muffled scream escaped her as her body trembled, releasing her essence all over your hand and the floor. Withdrawing your fingers, you licked them clean, savoring her taste, as you observed Hyunjin collapsing against the table, her legs shaking from the overwhelming sensations.

"You've had your fun, so now it's time to return the favor like a bitch with manners, alright?" you quipped, casually undoing your pants. With a nonchalant gesture, you slid them down along with your boxers and even kicked off your shoes, stepping out of the jumbled mess of clothes.

Before the brunette had any chance of turning around or making a run for it, you wrapped your arms around her tummy and slipped your veiny cock between her supple thighs, giving her pussy a teasing rub. The pure bliss you felt made it all worth it, finally finding something worthwhile in the midst of this wild rave party.

Hyunjin then gasped as you roughly pulled her cropped vest off her arms and tore her flimsy white top in half, exposing her perky tits to the cool air. Wasting no time, you fondled and mauled her mounds. Her nipples instantly hardened under your palms.

She whimpered, trying to move her ass away while the upperside of your rock-hard cock sliding back and forth through her soaked pussy lips. Hyunjin trembled, her back arched and her ass involuntarily grinding back to meet your thrusts.

You pulled her against your chest, burying your nose in the crook of her neck. Her sweet floral scent filled your nostrils as you squeezed her thighs, pushing them together to fuck her harder. Wet smacking sounds filled the air with each slam of your hips.

"You like that?" you growled in her ear. "You like my thick cock splitting those pretty, needy pussy lips?"

Hyunjin whimpered and shook her head frantically, her hands clawing at the boxes on the table. You reached around to rub tight circles over her clit, and she cried out. Her pussy clenched and quivered on top of your cock as another orgasm ripped through her petite frame.

"Fuck! Oh God— Please stop!" she wailed, and hot juices gushed over your shaft and balls.

This girl's smooth thighs were next-level amazing. They had you on the edge of blowing your load right then and there. But there was so much more she had to offer, and you weren't about to let that go to waste. Your primal instincts were in full control, driven purely by raw lust.

You grabbed Hyunjin's hair and yanked her head back roughly, trapping her against the table before you flipped Hyunjin over onto her back, her ass at the edge and spread her trembling thighs wide. She stared up at you with horror as you lined your cock up with her swollen, squirting pussy.

"Please, no..." she begged, but you ignored her protests.

Pinning her down with your weight, you gripped her thick thighs and spread them apart. Your hard cock slid between her pussy lips, already slick with her juices. You didn't give a fuck if she was ready or not. With one harsh thrust, you hilted yourself inside her tight cunt. Hyunjin screamed into her own hand as you stretched her open, not giving her time to adjust.

"Shut up, you little slut," you growled, burying your nose in her hair. "This pussy belongs to me now."

You set a speedy pace, your hips slamming against her ass cheeks with every stroke. Hyunjin sobbed and squirmed beneath you, but you squeezed her thighs tighter, using them as handles to fuck her harder.

"You're fucking dripping for it, you dirty whore," you sneered, feeling her arousal wetting your shaft. "I knew you wanted this cock."

Reaching down, you rubbed her sensitive clit using your thumb. Hyunjin cried out as her pussy clenched and gushed more of her juices. But you didn't let up, pounding into her spasming cunt with animalistic force until she fell limp.

"No, please...I can't take any more! Ahh! Shit—" she begged, gripping the edges of the table.

Ignoring her pleas, you slammed your hips forward, burying youself to the hilt inside her abused cunt. "Shut your fucking mouth, slut," you bellowed, starting to pound into her harder, her tightness took your breath away. "This pussy is mine to use however I want, ugh!!!”

"No! Let me go, you fucker– Hng! I can't take it! you're too big!" she cried.

You backhanded her hard across the face, making her yelp. "I didn't ask for your opinion, whore. This pussy belongs to me!"

You gripped Hyunjin's hair in a tight fist, holding her head still as you ravaged her mouth with bruising kisses. She whimpered against your lips as if you care, biting and sucking until you tasted copper.

"Fucking look at me when I'm using you," you snarled, giving her hair a harsh yank.

Hyunjin's eyes flew open, dark pools of fear and arousal staring up at you as you rutted against her. She was completely spent, her frame trembling with overstimulation, but her abused pussy was still convulsing and squirting weakly with each grind of your hips.

"Please...I can't..." she gasped out, but her words were cut off by a guttural moan as you roughed up her tits.

You squeezed and kneaded the soft mounds, pinching her hard nipples between calloused fingers until they were red and swollen. Hyunjin arched her back, pushing her chest further into your cruel grip as you toyed with her sensitive flesh.

"Slut doesn't get to decide when it's over and when it's not," you said, giving her nipples a vicious twist.

Hyunjin yelped, and a fresh gush of liquid flooded over your cock, still buried to the base inside her. You pulled out slowly until just the bulbous head remained inside her swollen lips, then slammed your hips forward again. The sudden intrusion made Hyunjin's whole body jolt, her eyes rolling back as she took your punishing length.

Gripping her slim waist tightly, you set a ruthless pace, hilting yourself over and over again into her ruined, squirting hole. Wet, filthy noises filled the air as you ruined her pussy, using her as nothing more than a set of useless holes.

"F-fuck! Too much!" Hyunjin sobbed, her nails raking down your arms as she clung to you.

You didn't slow, couldn't slow, not with how perfectly her squirming insides hugged your cock. Each thrust made her silky walls ripple and flutter around you, milking your shaft for every drop. You could feel her juices pouring out, drenching your balls and legs.

"Do you feel how fucking soaked you are for this dick?" you panted against her neck, teeth grazing her pulse point. "This sloppy cunt was made to take my cock."

Tilted her pelvis up to take you even deeper, Hyunjin howled as you bottomed out, the bulge of your cock clearly visible moving beneath her taut stomach with each motion. Her legs shook with the strain of being spread so wide, her toes curling and back arching almost painfully.

"That's it, let me hear you scream," you growled, giving a sharp thrust that made her whole body twist and turn. "Let the whole fucking world know what a desperate little cumdump you are."

Hyunjin’s mouth opened in a silent wail as another intense orgasm crashed over her, squirting hard around your pistoning meat as she came apart. Reaching down, you rubbed her engorged clit using your thumb, her back bowing even further off the table as you assaulted her sensitive bud.

Your own orgasm rapidly approaching as Hyunjin's spasming pussy milked your needy cock, so you pulled out of her pussy, strings of stickiness connecting your shaft to her reddened entrance. Grabbing a fistful of Hyunjin's hair, you dragged the sobbing girl off the table and down to her knees in front of you. She shook her head weakly, but you paid her no mind, guiding the thick head of your cock to her plump lips.

"Open up for me, slut," you ordered, giving her hair a yank. "This load's going right down your throat. Must be thirty, right? Cumming so much like a broken whore.”

Hyunjin had no choice but to part her lips as you shoved forward into the wet heat of her mouth. She immediately started choking and gagging, her throat wrenching around your girth as you buried it as deep as it could get.

"Oh, fuck… Take it all you pretentious bitch of a whore," you groaned, feeling her nose pressed against your pelvis.

You didn't give Hyunjin a chance to breathe, immediately fucking in and out of her throat with rough strokes. Her mascara ran in thick rivers down her face as she choked and drooled around your nailing rod, but you didn't care, couldn't care about anything except the intense pleasure.

Gripping the back of her head tightly, used her mouth as a fuckhole, slamming in deep until she gagged and sputtered. You could feel her throat spasming, desperate for air, but you refused to let up, because her discomfort gave extra stimulation to you so kept fucking her pretty face.

"You were made for this, Kim Hyunjin. That's what you really are," you belittle her lower, heavy balls slapping against her chin, splattering her spit everywhere.

Hyunjin's eyes rolled back as she started to go limp, her jaw hanging open limply as you used her. Tears and drool streamed down her flushed cheeks, mixing with the mess of makeup and sweat already overlaying her face.

A harsh grunt, grinding your hips against her face, you started to unload. You could feel Hyunjin's throat struggling and pulsing as you pumped thick ropes of cum straight down into her belly, filling her up until it leaked out around your girth.

"Swallow it all like a good little cumslut," you panted, giving a few more shallow thrusts to wring out the last few spurts.

Hyunjin choked and struggled to breathe around the flood of seed pouring down her gullet. A few moments later when you were completely drained, you pulled out, letting the last few drops splatter across her wrecked face.

Hyunjin slumped forward, coughing and gasping for air, a mess of makeup, drool, and your fresh cum all the while her ravaged pussy was still visibly leaking, her thighs soaked with the evidence of how thoroughly you had used her.

You took a step back and admired the utter wreck you had made of Hyunjin. She was sprawled on the floor, panting with ragged breaths. Thick ropes of your seed coated her face and dripped from her pale lips. Her makeup was smeared in streaks, mixing with tears and drool to leave her looking like a cheap whore. Her cunt was a puffy, inflamed mess, the lips swollen. You could see her gaping entrance fluttering weakly, as if her body was already craving more abuse.

Chuckling, you swiped a can of beer from a nearby cabinet and cracked it open, taking a long pull. May as well give this little slut a break and let her think she had a moment of respite. As you drank, you watched Hyunjin's chest heaving, her pert tits rising and falling rapidly with each shuddering breath. Her nipples were red, the dark peaks begging to be abused further.

You felt your cock stiffening once more at the sight of her pitiful, ruined state. Seems the whore's body was just made to be used, no matter how thoroughly you wrecked her.

Downing the last of your beer, you stalked over and hauled Hyunjin up by her hair. She immediately started sniveling and thrashing weakly, trying in vain to escape your grasp. But she could barely support her own weight, her legs like jelly after her overpowering orgasms.

You bent over and lifted her hips. Hyunjin screamed hoarsely as you lined your thick cock up with her battered slit and slammed forward, impaling her once again. Her raw, overstimulated walls embraced your invading cock like a vice.

"Please...no more… I'm sorry…" she sobbed brokenly, drool escaping the corners of her mouth as you started pounding away.

However, her body betrayed her as her ass unconsciously grinding back to meet your constant thrusts. You could feel more of her cum wrapping your busy cock once more as you pleasured yourself with her pussy, her silken walls massaging your cock.

"That's it, whore, milk this cock with your tight stupid pussy. It feels fucking nice, isn't it? You almost missed out on all this fun… Huu, ugh!" you grunted, giving her ass a couple of slaps.

Hyunjin moaned and clenched down hard, a fresh flow of her juices splattering out around your disappearing cock. Her muscles coiled with each stretching of her canal, her back arched sharply as she took your ruthless assertion. The battered girl’s body was completely overwhelmed, a slave to the intense sensations wracking her limp vessel.

You grabbed Hyunjin's arms and wrenched them back behind her, using them as makeshift handles to yank her onto your rougher thrust. She screeched incoherently as the bulbous head of your cock punched up into her cervix with each forceful thrust.

"That's it, take it all the way up into your fucking womb.” You offered her slender arms a vicious tug.

Hyunjin's stiff legs bent back, her toes not even touching the floor as you railed upward into the depth of her core. Her raw, overstimulated walls wrung erratically around your pulsing cock, her moisture pouring out in waves to pool on floor

It was all too much for her weakened body to endure. Hyunjin’s cries descended into guttural, animalistic screams as you used her like a personal onahole. Tears and drool streamed down her blotchy face, mixing into a smeared, filthy mess.

"Please...stop! You can't— Oughhh!" she howled, her voice cracking from the sheer intensity of the sensations overwhelming her.

Regardless, her traitorous cunt just kept leaking and squeezing around your cock, begging to be filled again and again, desperately milking your cock as if starved for your seed. You could feel your heavy balls tightening, signaling the impending explosion.

Spun Hyunjin around and slammed her down onto her back, never breaking the seal of her velvety vice. You immediately sank back into her hole, burying your entire cock in one brutal shove. Pinning her down with your weight, you wrapped one arm around her slender neck, squeezing just enough to make her eyes bulge. Hyunjin gurgled and thrashed beneath you.

Sinking your teeth into the soft flesh of her shoulder, you started snapping your hips in short quick motion. Hyunjin groaned and clawed at your restraining arm as you ruthlessly plundered her spasming depths until you finally unloaded, cords of thick cum flooding into her womb, draining every drop as you pumped her full of your seed.

By the time you finished pulling up your pants, Hyunjin was a slack mess on the floor, her eyes glued tight and mouth hanging open. You took a step back and admired the utter wreck you had turned Hyunjin into. Her broken body was splayed, covered in a thick coating of your cum and her own juices, her once silky hair a tangled mess.

Reaching down, you grabbed a fistful of her hair and wrenched her head up, exposing the deep bite mark you had left on her shoulder. Hyunjin's eyes fluttered open weakly, glassy and unfocused from the sheer depravity you had subjected her to.

"Why so sad? That's a good look for you, Kim Hyunjin," you smirked, giving her head a harsh shake. "All fucked out and bred like the useless cumdump you are."

Letting her head drop back to the floor, you fished out your phone and snapped a few degrading photos of her filthy tainted leaking form. Hyunjin didn't even react, just laid there motionless save for the occasional twitch of her thighs.

You brought your hand back and delivered a slap across her already messy face. A thin trickle of blood started from the corner of her swollen lips, but still she gave no response, no cry of pain. Just the slow blink of her vacant eyes as she stared up at you unseeingly.

"You're my slut now, you hear me?" you stated, gripping her jaw and shaking her head again. "You better come running with your cunt ready whenever I call." You shot her one last disdainful look up and down her soiled, abused body.

With that, you turned and left the storage room, leaving Hyunjin a broken, defiled mess on the floor. She didn't move, couldn't move, could barely even think through the haze of overstimulation and degradation. All she could feel was the dull, throbbing ache between her trembling legs. Her entire body felt numb, used up and discarded like a piece of trash after you had taken your fill.

More than the physical pain, Hyunjin felt utterly disgusted with herself. Disgusted at how her body had betrayed her, cumming again and again despite the filthy violation she received. Curling in on herself, Hyunjin let out a low, keening whimper as the first sobs started to wrack her shattered frame.

#kpop smut #male reader #kpop gg #kpop girls #non con smut #girl group smut #loona smut #loossemble smut #kim hyunjin #Hyunjin smut #loossemble hyunjin #girl group imagines #commissioned work

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ot3 · 11 months

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The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere

What is it, and why you should read it.

(Art by purple)

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere is a currently updating webserial by author Lurina. It's one of my favorite things I've read in a long while and I'd like to convince you all to give it a chance.

My elevator pitch is this: A time-loop murder mystery directly inspired by Umineko, with a lot of similar vibes to the Locked Tomb Trilogy - partially due to it's meditations on grief and mortality and partially due to it's far-future magical sci-fi world where we follow a fucked up lesbian necromancer on a task she is determined to see through to the end. A deeply complex, unique, and believable world that plays hosts to one of the best interpersonal dynamics I've read.

In a future so far-flung that it is past the heat death of the universe, humanity has constructed a new society that is post-scarcity but not post-stratification. Utsushikome of Fusai is one amongst a class of prodigious young medical arcanists (essentially grad students) who are invited to visit a recently legitimized conclave of top-of-the-line researchers studying immortality. Accompanying Su is her best friend Ran, a fellow arcanist. Over the course of the novel we begin to slowly unravel exactly what ulterior motives have brought them to this conclave and how events in their childhoods and years of working toward their shared goal has warped their relationship into what we now see. This relationship is the crown jewel of Flower's narrative, and getting to peel back the layers of it as you read is a delight.

Like Umineko, Flower is a murder mystery that prevents itself with in-universe Rules that dictate the murders' parameters, meaning there's a lot to chew on for anyone who likes solving mysteries. For those that don't, like myself, Flower offers instead a richly developed world and plenty of open questions about the sociopolitical and metaphysical implications of its own worldbuilding.

Below the cut, I'll go into more detail about the series (without spoilers!) for those of you whose interest has been piqued.

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere is currently ongoing, updating every few weeks. It's several hundred thousand words, so if you're looking for something substantial to keep you entertained, you've got it. As you might expect from the length, the pacing is decently slow. I don't see this as a bad thing at all, because within this pacing Lurina dripfeeds the readers enough new and interesting information at a regular rate that it never feels like your time is being wasted. But if you can't handle slow burns, I wouldn't recommend this one for you.

If you enjoyed the Zero Escape series and liked that they stopped solving murder puzzles to infodump about fringe science, I think you'll get a lot out of Flower. Characters are frequently interrupting their life-or-death scenarios to have lofty, philosophical and political discussions. It's a ton of fun if you like reading characters argue.

'People have to sleep.' 'People have to work.' 'People have to die.' But those were just vague rules, phrasing I'd used because it had been easier in the context of that conversation. What really mattered, on the day-to-day level, was the idea that it was all for something. If someone invented a elixir that made people not to need to sleep, it would, in retrospect, recontextualize all nights everyone ever wasted sleeping as wastes of time. Not something that occurred for some inherent purpose, but whims of circumstance, a tragedy of when you happened to be born. If you accepted that all unfair things in the world could be removed, if only someone knew how - fatigue, labor, death - then to exist in the world we had now, with all its grotesque imperfections, was to know that you had been violated by fate.

Along those lines it's just got a sense of humor I really enjoy. Pretty dry and cavalier. It manages to keep the mood light without feeling like it's undermining it's own stakes. I'm particularly fond of Su's penchant for telling incredibly depressing suicide jokes that just Do Not Land.

The peer pressure cut into me like a hot knife. I hesitated a little, biting my lip. "Well, uh, okay. I'll just tell a quick one." I swallowed, my mind quickly scrambling. "Okay, so, there's a woman who runs a dispensary for second hand goods. She sees a man come in who's a regular customer. He's kind of a mess-- Has a big beard, a bad complexion. He buys a razor, and tells her he needs it to clean himself up, because he has a date." I could see that I now had Ophelia's attention and that Kam was looking pleased with herself, but Ran was watching me, too. I could see the look in her eyes. It screamed at me, with such vividity that it could be sold at an art gallery: You better not be telling a suicide joke right now, or we're going to have a talk. But it was too late. The wheels were already in motion.

As I mentioned up top, the relationship between Ran and Su is just one of my favorite interpersonal dynamics ever. Period. The author is playing some insanely complicated 5th dimensional yuri chess and I am absolutely here for it as someone who likes characters who are deeply devoted to each other in a way that is deeply deeply fraught. I cant emphasize enough how obsessed I am with what they have going on.

Additionally, as stated, the worldbuilding in Flower is top tier. The author clearly understands how every part of her world functions, which makes the moral quandaries and politics presented all the more impactful because they're very believable. It's hard to talk about Flower's world without spoiling too much of the specifics that get slowly revealed, but it doesn't fall back on any typical sci-fi standard fare and feels like a breath of fresh air amongst recycled and repetitive worldbuilding tropes.

A lot of really fun side characters. Strong voices for all of the supporting cast (♥♥Kamrusepa♥♥) and even though not every character gets their own arc, they all clearly have plenty of interiority. Once again, another thing that makes Flower feel very believable despite it's absurdities.

Autism

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary with anyone?" She eyed him. "Anyone who seemed tense?" "Saoite, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but half of our class is so autistic that they constantly seem tense. You might as well ask me to find a specific turd in a sewer." "Just answer the question, please," she replied flatly.

Guys it's really good just trust me I don't want to spoil you for the more intricate plot beats but they're doing some crazy shit here. It's never a bad time to support an independent author's project. If you're sick of corporate mass-media and stuff needing to be marketable, getting into independent works owned and supported by individual creators is a great way to push back against that. I highly recommend it.

#media recs #the flower that bloomed nowhere

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usedpidemo · 8 months

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Voguish (Itzy Ryujin)

(Thank you for the commission! I hope its to your liking.)

—————

If you had any other choice, you’d rather be stuck at where you were previously: earning a modest income, just enough to get by from job to job, performing straightforward work, and most importantly, friendly clientele to attend to. It wasn’t surprising; you knew this industry was built on the backs of some of the most snobbish, arrogant people you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting, but—

“You’re late. Again.”

Shin Ryujin was probably among the absolute worst.

If you’re going to make an honest assessment, Ryujin isn’t that bad. Serving as her head stylist for the better part of a year, she’s by far the client you’ve spent the most time with. She doesn’t talk a big deal about the money she’s making or prattle into a conversation intricately designed to inflate her ego to the moon, unlike some of the other A-listers you’ve had the ‘privilege’ of working under.

However, her attitude is definitely up there.

It’s not even a little over a minute. In fact, you’ve been standing at her entrance door two minutes before the clock hits ten. Doesn’t matter if you’re in the right; her style, her rules. She doesn’t care that you're sweating buckets rushing her newly minted outfit from across the street up to the 27th floor. Any moment where she doesn’t look like a million dollars is a moment wasted.

“My apologies, Ryu—”

Ryujin’s glare puts the fear of God into your soul. “What did I say about using my name?”

You pause. Gulp your throat. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Shin.”

“Hmph.” Grimacing with disgust, she hastily snatches the dress from your possession, proceeds to slam the door on you, tone bordering on shouting, “Come inside. You’re late.”

Entering the door shortly after, you’re welcomed by a film crew in the process of recording her as she struts around the living room suite holding your dress in her hands. If there’s anything you’ve learned from attending to her, she’s as effortless of an actress as she is as a model. The moment her eyes face the camera, she instantly transforms into the picture perfect icon that has all of social media buzzing.

Moving out of the way has become muscle memory at this point. When she’s in front of the cameras, you’re merely an onlooker.

“So this is my outfit for tonight,” she says enthusiastically into the camera, proudly flaunting the outfit—a convincing facade to the untrained eye. For the press, she’s this likable, larger than life figure living her best life, attending all these invitation-only parties and wearing the most stylish dresses.

“It was a risque design, and I wanted to try something bold for once. It was love at first sight when I saw it,” she comments, and you know very well this wasn’t her first choice. They won’t know that this was the 12th option, handpicked just last night after weeks of trial and error, only to be thrown away right after. At her request, you had it ordered on incredibly short notice, and the plan almost fell through. It was hard to deny Ryujin’s wants, no matter how impractical or unfeasible they were.

In a way, this was to be expected. Ryujin emanates this young, it girl energy. Like any aspiring icon, she usually wants to stand out from a usually safe crowd. Not that it hasn’t stopped you from interfering a handful of times, much to her annoyance. After all, you’d assume she was going to a casual party or some red carpet event, not a prestigious gala with some of the biggest people in the world in attendance. You name it: politicians, CEOs of tech giants, industry titans who make the cover of Forbes and Time every other month. There are high standards that must be kept, and she’s doing anything but uphold those standards.

The camera pans away from her, and she immediately tosses the clothing aside with zero regard whatsoever. You manage to save it before it becomes near valueless. No matter how bothersome she acts, you can’t bring yourself to call her out on her antics; not just because there are several careers at stake, including yours, but you know what she’s capable of doing when her patience exceeds breaking point. It’s a firsthand experience to catch Ryujin in a state that isn’t picture perfect.

“Where are you?” Ryujin shouts from the other room, irate. “Slow as ever, my goodness.”

When you approach her, she’s on her phone, seated in front of the mirror with her legs crossed, having commanded the camera crew to vacate the room, leaving you alone with her. It’s only when you are together that she’s her true self, and it’s not far from what you usually experience even with other people around. They understand it’s in their best interest not to interfere.

Turning her eyes, she catches you idling with her sharp stare. “Well? Are you just gonna stand there and look at me all day? You already do that on the regular.”

Her behavior’s something neither cameras nor testimonies will ever publicly reveal: that Ryujin’s practically a spoiled brat behind closed doors. Any attempts to expose her have been silenced by huge settlements, NDAs, and every legal bind in the book. And when those don’t work out, there’s the strangely coincidental disappearance of potential witnesses that read like every tin-foil hat post written by some gullible conspiracy theorist on the internet.

In retrospect, perhaps there’s some merit to the rumor that her father is supposedly the head of some mafia organization, but you digress. She has never brought her personal history up in interviews, other than she’s been adopted by the founder of a relatively unknown investment firm. An elaborate lie.

She’s engrossed on her phone, unable to keep herself still while you struggle to apply makeup on her face. Time’s of the essence, she usually says, but she’s purposeful with how much time is wasted, with the primary objective of finding an excuse to lay on you. It was never going to be fair from the start. All the moments where you were late, in her eyes, were intentionally done to put you in the wrong.

To be fair, the numerous stylists who’ve taken care of her warned you in advance. You couldn’t deny the opportunity for a huge paycheck.

“Miss Shin, please stay still,” you say, carefully stringing your words together, delivered in the least offensive tone possible.

To your surprise, she complies. It’s a miracle. She never obliges with your requests, let alone direct commands.

Applying the rest of her makeup takes only minutes. Usually, you’d be going back and forth, and you’d be in front of the mirror for hours. See how easier everyone’s job is when all parties cooperate and collaborate effectively? You’re doing your part like it’s second nature; you only wish Ryujin was this accommodating more often, and not whether her brain flips a coin to determine her attitude for the day.

“You look amazing, Miss Shin,” you comment, staring at the mirror, her face radiating with the glow of a million bucks.

Taking her attention off the phone, even if it’s only for a second, proves to be a chore, as proven by her particularly grumpy expression. She scans herself, peers through every little detail in the mirror—showing more interest in herself during this brief moment than her dozens of photoshoots over the last month—and gives the smallest of nods. You even see the tiniest of grins escaping her lips, too.

Her steely attitude unwavering, she commands you, sternly, “Bring me the dress. Now.”

A clap of hands and the door opens like magic. Your co-stylist briskly walks toward you, outfit in hand, promptly handing it over before immediately leaving the room. No words are necessary; she makes it clear who’s allowed to touch her, let alone dress her, and it’s only you. Handling Ryujin was as meticulous and methodical as preserving a historical treasure.

She finally gets off her chair, hands prepared to loosen her robe before something catches her attention. “Door.”

It’s common sense. You hurry over to the opened door, slam it shut. Then the magic happens.

Ryujin nonchalantly slips her bathrobe off her shoulders, letting it freely fall to the floor. She’s draped in nothing but the thinnest of underwear, her asscheeks openly poking through the fabric. It’s amazing how she’s allowing you to see her like this, her barest, when most of her shoots and red carpet dresses have been nothing but conservative. Sometimes seductive, but mostly safe. There’s nothing left for your imagination. On the other hand, you’re so used to this vivid sight, it’s almost part of your daily routine. You shouldn’t be fazed, but her perfect figure has you staring, shamelessly, like it’s your very first time seeing nudity.

At times, it leaves you vulnerable. Like now.

“You were doing quite well too,” she comments, snarkily, gazing at your blank expression through the reflection, snapping you from your daze.

Gulping your throat, you find yourself embarrassed, ears flushed red. Even while you go through the methodical process of measuring and dressing her, the shame lingers. You find yourself unable to glance at the mirror. The very few flashes and glints that meet you when you turn you face your reflection, you find her suppressing a tiny giggle.

As you put on the finishing touches on her outfit, she brings the point home, “We’re already late by an hour.”

A quick look at your watch tells you it’s almost eleven. Ten minutes before the next hour. At first glance, it’s still early, but it can be deceiving. Parisian traffic is notoriously unforgiving, event or no event, showing no partiality. Getting from one place to another is a whole day’s work.

Then you remember the fans and paparazzi congregated at the hotel’s entrance. This crowd that you had to brute force through just to get her dress on time. The hotel security can barely hold them back, and you can hear several sirens screaming miles away, most likely police presence. Many persons of interest will be gathered in one setting, after all.

“How do you feel, Miss Shin?” you ask, taking a step back to let her soak in her meticulously curated appearance.

She blinks rapidly. Then she takes a deep breath.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

—————

Everywhere you look lies nothing but chaos. Chaos and cameras.

Barricade is filled with an indistinguishable mix of both paparazzi and media from all over the world. Lights, whether from above or from cameras, flash in every direction that it’s almost blinding. Deafening shouts pierce through your ears that whispering is impossible. You’ve been to as many red carpet events as these journalists and photographers, but you’ve never attended an event of this magnitude until now.

Left and right, there’s a random celebrity being interviewed by a news junket. The women you spot are dressed to the nines, adorned in colorful and graceful garb, while the men are decked as if they're attending Sunday service. You can see it now: another round of fashion bloggers berating and cursing the men for their simplicity and lack of creativity, but that’s to be expected.

Your phone vibrates from within your shirt pocket. It’s Ryujin, having disappeared somewhere in the crowd.

> Where u at? 😤

You immediately reply back. Your conversations have been practice for your future relationship:

> Can’t find you in this crowd

> Taylor Swift is just across me XD

> Scarlett Johannson too

> And I think I saw Zendaya and Yuna talking with each other, can’t confirm though, they’re far away

To which she answers:

> Stop playing around.

> Get over here NOW

> Do you style any of them?

> You don’t.

> Come here. NOW.

It’s a simple but strong warning. Aside from the fact that you’re there to attend to Ryujin’s needs and not larp as a celebrity, there's a change in her attitude during these events. She becomes strangely more attached. It’s become a byword for you to mention other women around her, yet she interacts with them in a friendly light for the cameras to see.

Ryujin’s preoccupied with what’s presumably the umpteenth interview of many when you finally reunite with her. She takes another moment to pose for the next wave of cameras, picture perfect as always, then after, she finally turns her gaze, meeting yours. It has been ten minutes since her last text, and you have many reasons to say why you’ve vanished.

None of which truly matters.

“There you are.” She says, glaring angrily at you, tone laced with contempt, sounding like you were gone for days.

“I can explain, Miss Shin,” you try to say, but it has no effect as she approaches you, careful as ever to keep a picturesque facade in front of the media. You can see her holding herself back from popping a vein. “Apparently President Biden and his wife are in attendance and we were told to make way for his entire security team—”

The way Ryujin pulls you by the ear while you both retreat from the chaotic crowd is comical. In a sea of cameras and eyewitnesses, some tabloid’s bound to catch you, take the unfolding scene out of context, and write a rushed article that spreads like wildfire, but no, it doesn’t draw an ounce of attention. She's a small fry in a pond of bigger fish, after all. Over your corner, you see a dozen Secret Service slowly guide the president along the carpet, parting everyone around old Joe. In a way, watching him brings you to a strange realization: that you can empathize with the poor geezer. You’re both in the same predicament, being strung along to places you have no zero interest in.

It’s an effective distraction. An air of tense, awkward silence falls upon you both as you stare at each other, your personal conflict hidden away from the public eye. You open your mouth, about to say a word, and—

Whack!

Ryujin hits you with the hardest of palms, all her pent-up frustration released with a single, powerful smack of your cheek. The force echoes throughout the enclosed space like thunder. Your lips draw a little blood. A quick rub of your face reinforces the consequence for your actions. Rough. Still, to say she looks unhappy after enforcing her will upon you is an understatement.

And just when you try to open your mouth (without the intention to complain; you’ve given up at this point), she follows it up with a second slap, with about half the impact of the first. This time, the other cheek. Her gaze is scathing, lethal, hypnotic—as if challenging you to try her already short patience. Say something, motherfucker, is subtly etched on her expressive lips without the need to verbalize them.

Another tense moment of silence. She makes sure your eyes never leave her contact. When it finally breaks, her judgment echoes in your head like the toll of a death bell—a lingering reminder that you’ve truly fucked up.

“You’ll be seeing me after tonight,” she says, each word delivered like an arrow straight to your heart. Before facing the world again, she adds another devastating blow, “My hotel room. Midnight. Sharp.”

—————

For the most part, in the eyes of the public, you seem to have done a fantastic job styling Ryujin for tonight’s gala. Within hours of the event, numerous articles published of the event list her among the best dressed stars, praising the bold nature of her outfit, as she intended in that vlog-style video from earlier. It’s all smiles as you watch her from afar, casually mingling with every celebrity in attendance. In case she needs to remain fresh, have new makeup applied, or change into a new dress for afterparty purposes—sometimes all of the above—you’re closely on standby. Ultimately, she doesn’t; not a single time she has called or texted for assistance. In a way, it’s alarming.

Her reminder sticks firmly on the back of your mind. Every word she says, she means it—no matter how small or big they are. It lingers even as her personal driver and bodyguard messages you with the instruction to return to the car, where she’s mysteriously absent, having been commanded by Ryujin herself to send you and the rest of her personnel home. It’s uncharacteristically strange; either she’s changed her mind and is having a good time at the event, or she’s probably drunk out of her mind, and the latter is typically the norm.

When you retreat to your room, you nervously watch as the clock slowly ticks towards the inevitable. It’s like witnessing your death. You know you can’t stop it, and you can’t look away, either. With the understanding that you’ll likely see the sun rise when it’s all said and done, you don’t even bother to slip into your sleepwear.

The clock turns midnight. Seconds later, you receive a text on your phone. The message. It immediately disproves any theory or hope of meeting her good graces:

> Meet me in my room. Don’t even think about hiding or running, cause I will know

Of course you comply; you really have no other choice.

Five minutes later, you’re at her door again, with nothing but your suit, ready to face her judgment. It swings open of its own accord. Without any formalities, you step inside the familiar living room, now tidied up and cloaked in near darkness—a stark contrast to the mess it looked earlier in the day. Not a sign of her presence can be seen or felt. If you’ve been feeling uneasy before, now you’re straight up anxious, and the terror leaves you pale.

The door slams shut. Now you’re completely in the dark, with nothing to latch or cling to but your own resolve, which is slowly fading too. You want to speak her name, but you know you’ll be trying fate again, and fate has dealt you a cruel hand already. You didn’t want to fall even further.

Your slow breaths are the only sign of life.

And the faint voice in your ear.

Wait—

Before you know it, you feel your throat tense up and your body tremble frantically. Faint shadows coil around your waist and neck, and in that moment, your fate has been sealed.

“At least you’re not late this time.” Ryujin whispers into your ear. Then your eyes snap wide open.

“Agh!”

A powerful surge of pain overwhelms your entire body, renders you weak in the knees. You fall to the ground, barely keeping yourself from completely melting onto the carpet with your hands. Still, the pangs remain too much. You can barely hold up on all fours, let alone move your arms and legs.

It’s not enough. A soft hand hovers across your arched back, brushes through your hair, before it’s immediately followed by a direct blow to your nape. Your shout of agony reverberates throughout the dark room while you’re forced further down on your knees. Nearly forced into a prostrate position, you’re barely holding on. Another hit of this force could knock you unconscious, maybe worse.

“You’re going to learn your lesson today,” says Ryujin, strutting from behind you, cloaked in what appears to be a white gown. She’s holding something that you can’t identify, but you can tell she’s not in the mood to play games. Sparks of electricity flash and fade close to her hand. It was a taser all along. You probably would have guessed that from the intense shocking pain you’re currently feeling.

“Bedroom, slowpoke,” she sternly commands you as she saunters toward the room first, leaving you alone to pick yourself up. You’re still reeling from the two shocks of electricity applied to your waist and neck; it stings. Your body struggles, aches, cries out in despair, but you ultimately muster up enough power to follow her minutes later.

What greets you in the bedroom is a dimly lit bed, with Ryujin as its centerpiece, and both ends of her figure bathed in a faint wave of orange lamp light. She’s draped in nothing but the same hotel-issued bathrobe from earlier, her legs crossed, gazing at you from behind designer shades, smirking with malicious intent. It’s regal, seductive, inviting, intimidating. You honestly could stare at this sight all day long.

Before you entertain the thought, she cuts it off. “Strip.”

Her gaze lingers as you quickly bare yourself in front of her. She grins, giggles, adjusts her glasses with each piece of clothing removed. It flashes at her widest when you’ve divested your shirt and your pants, revealing your chest and your evident bulge, unknowingly growing hard behind the elastic fabric. It seems to spark a new idea within her, even though she’s the type of woman who follows through with her plans after they’ve been organized and premeditated.

She hops off the bed, slowly saunters toward you with trained, modellike fashion, using you as a makeshift catwalk. Turning the corner, she retreats behind your back, gripping a hand on your neck, craning the other down your bare chest. Her tongue tickles the back of your ear, which morphs into the smallest of smooches while she drags you to the bed like a hostage. As she hauls you over the mattress, she continues to feel your skin and body, your ears titillated by the gentle moans and whimpers from her sultry lips.

Your bump knees with the bed before she sends you flying over the edge. Temptation comes knocking at the door of your suppressed lips; you’re itching to cry out in pain, pleading for a bit more consideration. You know it’s a futile effort. When it comes to sex, Ryujin was anything but gentle.

“Don’t look. Stay still.”

Following her command is second nature to you; even when your positions were interchanged, it was merely an illusion—you were never in control. Ryujin plants a palm around your throat, forcing your stare against the bedrest. The clanging sound of something resembling a belt or a buckle keeps you curious. Tense, breaths keep you calm. Deep down, you know what’s about to happen; there’s no stopping it, you can only brace for impact.

In the gap between the point of no return, she tells you her mindstate, how her frustration and apparent jealousy never receded. “I hated every minute I spent there. You have no idea how difficult it was to keep a face in front of everyone, especially after seeing Yuna. Fucking. Yuna.”

Your reaction comes out, not through coherent words, but through a labored groan. You feel her finger circle rings around your ass, sticky and wet. Of course she was there, social media couldn’t stop buzzing about her appearance—and she rarely shows up to these galas. Now it’s all making sense. After all, you were Yuna’s stylist before Ryujin snatched you away.

Ryujin continues to apply lube around your sensitive hole, occasionally fingering you. Holding in the groans from the discomfort proves to be impossible, but she prefers to hear you whine, especially when her name is spoken. It’s the perfect reprieve from the evening’s frustrations, keeping her from raising her voice to the ceiling. “She pisses me off so fucking much. First stealing my thunder at every fashion week, now this? I thought she hated art galas?”

It’s evident that she doesn’t like Yuna in any shape whatsoever. If not for the cameras and all the famous people in the building, she’d already be trading blows with her. If there was any one person she wanted dead, it would have to be Shin Yuna. Of course, knowing this, you never included your time with her on your job application, let alone mention the fact you briefly spoke at the event behind her back. She was in an already spiraling mood, and you didn’t need to make it even worse.

“I was thinking of using dildos for tonight, maybe just my fingers even, but I don’t think it’ll be enough. I really hope you understand.” That last sentence—she sounds apologetic, remorseful, but the warning is ultimately shallow; she’ll rough you up, wreck you, ruin you, and enjoy every moment of it. You’re merely a blank canvas to her twisted fantasies.

“Oh, oh–fuck!” She cries out, joining your deep scream in harmony as she plunges the dildo into your warm, wet hole. This isn’t your first experience on the receiving end of Ryujin’s strap, yet every plunge feels as destructive and spine breaking as the first. No pleasantries or formalities, just apply the lube then hit. The idea of teasing you goes against her very blunt, assertive nature.

“Shit—oh fucking shit, you’re so goddamn tight,” she says, snaking a hand around your waist as her plastic dick slowly penetrates your hole, little by little. She has you grasping at pillows, staring at the ceiling then down to the sheets, until you find the twisted image of her hips slowly pounding against your ass, letting the pleasure of pegging overwhelm her. It should be excruciatingly painful, an agonizing reminder to never get on her wrong side, but no, there’s something hot about getting dicked by a tough woman like her that arouses you.

Eventually, she comes to her senses, finds her footing, and remembers that she’s meant to punish you, not reward you. She knows how good you make her feel, even if your cock is meant to be inside hers, not the other way around. You can’t help speaking your mind, and it boosts Ryujin’s ego to the moon. “Please. Fucking use me, Miss Shin. Fucking ruin my hole like how I ruin yours, miss.”

Even upside down, you can see how visibly delighted she is to hear those words every single time. Can’t hide that wide smirk plastered on her lips, no matter how upset she is. It’s intoxicating. No matter how hard you’re huffing, the pleasure she derives from using you keeps you going.

Slamming your eyes shut, Ryujin does what you both want. Fucks you with her dildo hard, clenches and quelches with each careful, intricate stroke. Sometimes you’re in that position, taking her ass and ravaging her body as your own. Now it’s her turn, and she’s been taking after you. Between thrusts, she slaps your cheek, pulls on your neck and hair. You’ve built this alarmingly toxic work relationship, but the sex has never felt this invigorating, so cathartic. The perfect use of frustration to be channeled into something pleasurable and rapturous.

You’ve never seen Ryujin this focused, this committed to wrecking you. She’s using your hole with such ferocity you think she’ll make you bleed out. Behind those glazed, pleasure-filled eyes, she sees nothing but red. Difficult as it is, you follow a string of moans from her lips hidden beneath a continuous echo of groans from your end. It doesn’t help that these walls are thin and everyone on this floor can hear your escapades.

Neither of you care. There’s a good reason as to why she booked the whole floor to begin with.

The bed quakes, and quakes, and quakes—until it doesn’t.

A puzzlingly calm fills the room after countless minutes pass. Ryujin’s frantic breaths close the silent gap, having pulled the dildo from your hole. It’s slick. You realize the change of pace.

“Miss Shin, why did you stop?”

She doesn’t reply immediately. When she does, she’s still catching her breath between spoken words. “I told you—it wasn’t going to be enough. Lay down for me, will you?”

Without a second thought, you comply. This gives you an opportunity to truly see her in the flesh for the first time tonight. She’s wearing a combination of corset and lingerie, her juicy thighs layered with lace garter. Hopping off the bed, she unbuckles the strap around her waist, tossing it aside to the floor. You then focus on her plump ass, accentuated by her slim thong.

Damn, she looks better now than she does naked. You feel proud that she’s wearing your tailor-made lingerie.

Before you entertain the thought of undressing the very underclothes you’ve prepared for her, she slips the boxers off your ankles. She climbs onto the bed, stands atop you. Even with her short stature, in this position, she’s larger than life, a dominating presence that only desires complete control.

“Hmm, I don’t know what I should do. I could let you fuck me, but that doesn’t sound right for a punishment,” she comments, playfully placing a finger on her chin, jokingly thinking. For a brief moment, it does appear that she’s stumped.

When the idea hits her, her eyes widen, and she has this self-conceited look, as if she’s got it all planned out.

She reaches a hand down to her knee, slowly peels one of the stockings down to her ankles. Then she does the same for the other half. The way she positions both legwear on your cock is intentional; it’s to stir the idea of pounding into her cunt a real possibility. Your gaze remains fixated on Ryujin’s face, ever flawless in her scantily-clad figure, being her model self atop you.

As she tugs on the lace of her panties, you start reacquainting your mind with the image of her tight cunt. She lowers it, barely down her thighs, enough space to tease, enough to make your heart race. Her attention is nowhere close to you; she has other priorities, and fingering herself is one of them. She rubs a digit around her heat, moans out in ecstasy with the same energy as getting fucked. The trembles of her body send aftershocks that reverberate all over the bed.

It’s already hot enough to get fucked by Ryujin’s strap, but this—the sight of Ryujin pleasuring herself, mouth gaped wide open—is a hundred times better. This is the same reaction she has shown throughout the numerous times you’ve railed her, even though you’ve seen that face during sex. Against the mirror, against the water’s reflection, against the tinted windows of her cars—her face serves as motivation that keeps you hard whenever she demands it. Your hands begin to move on their own, reach down to the groin unknowingly, unsure of whether she’d want you to masturbate or not.

You feel your hard cock, already partially soaked with precum, dripping on her garter. As much as you want to keep them on, you can’t go against the deep seated urge to masturbate with her. Her foot begins to lean against your waist, right as you begin to stroke your shaft with your fingers. Moaning alongside her, you thrust your hips upward, passionately murmuring her name, with nothing but a singular thought: her pussy.

It’s etched on your needy lips. “You’re so sexy, Miss Shin. Please let me fuck you, God—”

She whines as though your hot breath is against her neck, growling a tone higher than normal. Her left foot is slowly clenching around your balls, the other at the bridge between your thigh and your crotch, gently nudging your free hand to move aside. She’s beginning to apply pressure on you, perhaps a subtle gesture to make you stop and give way for her feet to take over, but you’re engrossed in the moment to fully realize. Then again, subtlety isn’t her speciality.

It’s only when her foot presses down on your active hand that you slow to a complete halt. You gently rest her soles on your shaft, slowly wrap her soft toes around your tip. For the most part, their grip is shaky, but when they stick, they feel so slick, so warm, and significantly better than whatever effort your fingers can muster. She can’t wear heels without a few kisses placed on them, you recall; something about being Cinderella growing up, how she prefers to be treated, to receive nothing but showers of praise and attention, and you’re doing just that.

Her digits seemingly acknowledge what they’re stepping on, and soon enough it becomes the perfect makeshift ring to stimulate your cock. Her toes just feel the best, most direct spots around your sensitive shaft, gradually building momentum for when you eventually paint her pretty feet. At least, that’s the goal. You’re both drowning in pleasure, chasing separate highs, but using each other’s bodies as conduit for your own personal gain.

And it’s not that she doesn’t know; she knows. You’ve caught a glimpse of her half-lidded eye peeking down. She sees it, merely chuckles at the notion, and continues to finger herself atop your helpless body. Mutual trust brings you together; she won’t stop you as long as you won’t do the same to her.

“Yes, fuck, I’m gonna cum so hard,” you say, breaths hurried, and it isn’t a matter of if, but when. “Every part of you feels so good, Ryu.”

You’re past formalities at this point. She’s too far gone to care that you've called her by her casual name. Her fingers, both slick and warm at once, are catching fire from the frenzied pace she’s rubbing her clit, certain her dripping juices will find solace on your splayed figure. Racing with her orgasm, her underwear is halfway down her meaty legs, her very foundations shaking. Inadvertently pressing her foot tightly on your cock, she’s holding on for dear life, and it threatens to steal your soul before you reach that immaculate high.

With friction at an all-time high, one rough, slippery slip between her toes, all while your loins burn , moving as if you’re burying yourself deep in her cunt, eager to fill her with seed. The thin thread snaps. Sends you careening over the edge.

Your fall is accompanied by the endless scream of her name. To have your cock be graciously drained by her feet, it would be disrespectful not to. She’s still going, chasing that high even as your cum geysers all over her feet, spills over your knees, your belly, on the sheets, as if her own slick didn’t already make an utter mess of this five-star bed. You’re mentally cheering her on, distracting yourself from the endless cascade of seed gushing beneath you.

This disastrous mess finds you again, this time in the form of Ryujin’s orgasm. She orgasms, cries her loudest cry, her features at their most corrupted. Her pussy gushes like a rushing waterfall, completely soiling her legs and panties with her slick juices. Your groin manages to salvage whatever her thighs haven’t absorbed, and it’s a sticky pool that latches onto her dainty feet. When she steps off your cock, the squelch of wet seed splatters on the sheets until she touches the ground.

You both take some time apart, let the aftermath of your orgasms fizzle out. Ryujin assesses the damage to her body; she’s still a model, after all. She hastily rids of the soiled underwear, treating it like some kind of contaminated object that can only be cleansed by fire. From the looks of it, she’s committed something dangerous, and you’ve done something scandalous.

“Shit. We got carried away,” you say, lifting your head from the bed, panicked.

“No. You got carried away,” she replies, facing you with that familiar icy gaze. The honeymoon period is over. “Did I allow you to plant my feet on your cock? Huh?”

Swallowing your throat, you understand that she’s technically right, but also, she most certainly enjoyed the feeling of stepping on you—something you can use against her. Still, Ryujin’s word overrides all reasoning, no matter how logical they are.

You see her facade fall apart when she approaches you again. She climbs onto the bed like a cat, arches her back, and sends you back down to the mattress when she pounces on you. On her lips is the widest smirk you’ve ever seen on her.

She wants more.

Rising to her feet, she plants her toes directly on your chin, oozing with the remains of your cum mixed with hers. “You did this, now you’ll clean it up.”

As your tongue laps it up, she occasionally disrupts your rhythm by kicking you several times. Not that you’re hurting her (you couldn’t even if you tried) but for the delight of bringing you misfortune. It’s completely in line with the typical abuse and inhumane treatment you face from her during work hours. You won’t complain, but that was never in the cards, anyway.

“I can’t believe my stylist is a complete freak. Fucking hell,” she comments, glaring you down as you give her toe the occasional kiss. She’s visibly disgusted by the realization sinking in, but deep down, she knows you’re the exact stylist she’s been looking for.

—————

And as if that’s not enough, she’s found a punishment perfectly suited for you.

“Just so you know, you’re not getting paid after the stunt you pulled on me today,” says Ryujin, in reference to your accidental disappearance during the red carpet. You’re laid out on the floor, prone, your groans stifled by the living room carpet. Meanwhile, her feet tread all over your bare back at a steady tempo, leaving what could have easily been hickeys red marks and footprints on your skin.

“How long do I have left, Miss Shin?” you ask, voice almost indiscernible.

“About ten minutes,” she replies, looking out the hotel room window, watching dawn slowly break over the Parisian sky. “Don’t ever disappoint me again, do you understand? Freak.”

——————

(A/N: First commissioned work complete! Definitely exploring elements out of my specialty, did you expect her to peg OC? Fun dynamic to write, thank you for reading!)

(P.S. If you want to have your own story/idol written, you can send me a commission :D)

#smut #kpop smut #itzy #ryujin

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