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oxbellows · 4 days

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Welcome Home! Nothing Weird Happened.

Written based on @emilybeemartin's spectacular Boromir Lives AU comics, with permission. I might write more, who knows.

My whole thought process here is this: if Boromir lives and makes it back to Minas Tirith, he is about to receive an absolutely ludicrous quantity of bad news. And I for one think it would be both plausible and hilarious for Pippin to be the one who ends up delivering that news. So here we are!

Trigger warnings for that whole pyre situation from Return of the King.

It was fitting, to Boromir’s mind, that the battle for Minas Tirith should be decided by dead men. So many had died for the city of kings already, their blood seeping into her soil like rain. Why, then, should her fate rest solely in the hands of the living? An unnatural justice rang out in the clang of steel against phantom blades, heralding the return of a hope long since given up for lost.

“None but the king of Gondor may command me,” the wraith hissed.

“You?” Boromir had roared. “You, Oathbreaker? I am the heir to the Stewards of Gondor. Generations of my kin have died for an empty throne. None but the king of Gondor may command ME. Here stands the king of Gondor before us, and you will suffer him as I have!”

And suffer him they did. Sickly green washed over the last armored oliphaunt as the dead claimed more souls for their own. Boromir pulled his eyes away from the spectacle and spun his sword in his hand, scanning the area around him for the next foe. He found none. Only the backs of retreating orcs, and weary Men attending to their fallen brothers. That and, out of the corner of his eye, the strangest possible trio of a Man, a Dwarf, and an Elf. Finding no enemy to engage, Boromir instead turned his step toward the strange trio to embrace his friends in the wake of victory.

Aragorn, king of Gondor, did not appear especially regal at the moment. He was covered in grime and gore, surrounded by the corpses of orcs left to rot in the open field. Gimli’s sturdy metal armor was slick with blood, and it dripped steadily off the edge of the axe that he had slung over one shoulder. Legolas, of course, was only as disheveled as he might have been after a short run, clean of the muck that covered the rest of them. His hair still fell properly at his shoulder, what witchcraft did the Elf use to maintain it?

Boromir could only imagine what he himself must look like. He knew that he was damp and smelled like death, which did not bode well for a lordly appearance. Nonetheless, even in all his heavy armor Boromir felt lighter than he had since childhood. The battle was over, fought now only by those straggling beasts that had not managed to escape the field on foot. Boromir was still, impossibly, alive, and so were his companions. So was his king.

The enemy may yet prevail, but Gondor would not fall before the White Tree bloomed again. It was more than his grandfathers had ever dared to hope.

“Is that blood in your hair or just its natural grease?” Boromir asked his king, sliding his sword back into its scabbard and stepping over the body of a fallen orc to approach him.

Aragorn laughed, raising one dirty hand to skim his fingertips over the top of his head. “I cannot say, Captain. I only know that in either case, I would wash it before I present myself to your lord father.”

Boromir clicked his tongue dismissively. “My lord father’s not the one we have to worry about. If my brother hears that I’ve brought Isildur’s heir home in such a state, he’ll throttle me.”

He almost continued speaking. He almost added, if he’s alive. Aragorn heard the unspoken caveat all the same. His dark eyes had a softness in them when he spoke.

“The battle is over, Captain of the White Tower,” Aragorn said. “We must turn our efforts now to the dead and wounded. May we not find you kin among them.”

If the taste of ash settled on the back of Boromir’s tongue, it could be attributed to the smell of Mordor’s filthy army laying dead at his feet, and not to the terrible image that flashed across his mind’s eye of Faramir’s bloodied and unblinking face.

“My father will be well,” Boromir asserted, determined not to speculate on his brother’s wellbeing. “He is past his time as a warrior. He will have commanded our troops from a place of safety within the walls.”

Aragorn inclined his head in assent. His hair really was a sight- black blood had matted chunks of it together, and where they stood now in the open field, with the sun just beginning to peek through the enemy’s unnatural bank of shadow, Boromir could see that his clothes were in much the same state. Perhaps this was why Aragorn so persistently favored black for his travel clothes. Were he wearing any other color, it would be obvious that he was as drenched in the blood of orcs as if he had bathed in it.

A warrior of staggering skill was this king of Men, but he preferred not to proclaim his deadliness to the world. He tucked it away into shadow until such skill was needed. Perhaps one day Boromir might look upon this man that he called brother and not be humbled by the mere sight of him.

Perhaps.

“I will search with a sharp eye, then, for Captain Faramir,” Aragorn promised.

Boromir closed the distance between them to grip Aragorn’s shoulder in thanks. Aragorn returned the gesture with ferocity, digging his fingers into the mail covering Boromir’s upper arm. Gimli thumped Boromir’s back in a heavy handed gesture of approval, and Legolas bowed his head with a coy smile. A river of unspoken words passed between the four of them, about great and important things like love and fear at the end of the world, and then they released each other. Aragorn turned his stride towards the Citadel to lend his knowledge of elvish medicine to the House of Healing. Legolas and Gimli set out together to help carry the wounded into the city for aid. Boromir made for the rocky outcrop at the city’s outermost wall, the one that archers favored for its vantage point. There he was sure he would find rangers, and hopefully news of Faramir.

The walk carried him past countless dead orcs and uruk-hai, but also more dead men and horses than Boromir had ever seen on a single field. For every pair of comrades he saw embrace in giddy relief, another wail of grief reached his ears from somewhere else. His mail grew heavier with every step he took.

Boromir had scarcely made it halfway to the archer’s outpost before he was stopped by the sound of his own name.

“Captain Boromir!” a familiar voice shouted. “You live!”

Boromir stopped and whirled about. There, about ten yards from Boromir, close enough to the outermost wall to be half-concealed in its shadow, crouched a man in a forest-green cloak. His hands still hovered over a fallen Gondorian soldier, as if he had frozen partway through checking for signs of life. Before the man in green rose to stand, he brushed a hand over the fallen one’s face, coaxing his eyes shut before stepping away. Boromir felt a dull pang of grief in his already overburdened heart at the confirmation that yet another of his countrymen was dead. He had no time to acknowledge that pain, though, as the man in green righted himself fully. The green cloak, brown leather vambraces, and longbow on his back all sparked immediate recognition.

Boromir knew this man, had met him before, but his weary mind failed to provide a name for him. It hardly mattered. The uniform he wore told Boromir everything he needed to know. Faramir had been clad exactly the same, the last time Boromir had seen him. This was one of the rangers of Ithilien, his brother’s own company. Hope swelled painfully in his chest. He hastened his step towards the ranger.

The ranger rushed to meet him and performed a quick, obligatory salute when they were close enough to speak comfortably. “My lord,” he greeted, breathless. “Your father thought you dead, but we in Captain Faramir’s company held out hope.” A wide grin split across his face. “You cannot imagine how sorely you’ve been missed!”

Seeing his smile finally dragged the ranger’s name to the front of Boromir’s memory. “Anborn,” he said warmly. “It’s good to see you alive and well. Tell me, what news do you have of my brother?”

Anborn’s smile dropped, giving way to a look of naked concern as quickly as a candle being snuffed out. “I have no news, my lord, none that is not two days old at least.”

"Then give me the old news,” Boromir pressed, trying not to snap.

Anborn grimaced and nodded. “My lord,” he said, haltingly, “The last time I saw your brother, my Captain, was on the day he rode out to reclaim Osgiliath with a company of forty mounted soldiers.”

Boromir could only stare for a long moment, turning over Anborn’s words in his head to try and make them comprehensible. No clarity came to him. “My brother is- in Osgiliath?”

Another grimace. “If he is still there, he is dead.” Boromir’s lungs constricted and froze. Anborn continued, “Osgiliath was overrun more than a week ago. I’ve heard rumors that Faramir made it back to the Citadel, but I cannot say any more than that without inventing rumors myself.”

“The Citadel,” Boromir repeated. He forced breath into his uncooperative lungs. He would go to the Citadel, and he would find Faramir there with their father, incoherent with frustration after arguing strategy with Denethor. He turned on his heel and started walking. Anborn said something as Boromir strode away, but he didn’t hear it properly over the ringing in his ears.

What he had heard of Anborn’s words clamored in his mind- it sounded as if Faramir had taken a company of only forty men to reclaim an overrun city. That would be absurd, though. Faramir may be prone to bouts of melancholy and brooding, but he wasn’t suicidal. And even if he did, for some reason, decide to seek his own death, he would never bring any number of Gondor’s defenders with him to do it.

Your father thought you dead.

Boromir broke into a run.

Faramir didn’t hold sway over all their troops’ movements. Faramir wasn’t the Steward.

He was moving too slowly. Stumbling to a halt, Boromir grasped at the leather straps holding his pauldrons in place and did his best to unfasten them with numb fingers. Denethor had not been the same in recent years. The shadow in the east had darkened his thoughts, day by day, and set him talking as if the end were already here. His gray eyes had glinted in a way that Boromir scarcely recognized when he’d spoken of the One Ring. He’d never favored Faramir, never encouraged him the way he deserved, but the cruelty that had colored Denethor’s every interaction with his secondborn in the year or two before Boromir left shocked him.

Boromir’s pauldrons landed on the ground in a heap, and now he doubled over to escape the shirt of mail. It was a difficult task without taking off his sword belt, but he managed. He needed to be faster, but he could not bear to go unarmed. The chain links poured gracelessly down over his head, yanking his hair as they went, and then he was free. Boromir took off running again, now unencumbered.

Faramir would never plan a suicide mission.

Would he accept one, though, if he was ordered?

Boromir’s feet touched white marble bricks for the first time in months that had felt like decades. He did not pause. Shouts followed him as he went, calling his name or exclaiming surprise. Arches and edifices flew by overhead. Rubble littered the street. He caught glances of bodies crushed under great stones.

Boromir made it to the stairs. His weary legs burned and protested, but he dared not slow his descent. He needed to know where Faramir was, now. He needed to know what had happened in Osgiliath, before any more ideas had the chance to take root in his head. If he finished the line of thinking that Anborn’s news had set off-

Boromir might kill his father with his bare hands.

So, he would not stop, and he would not think, until he found answers.

He reached the top of the stairs.

A small group of guards, maybe five or six, clustered together at the Citadel gate, all spoke over each other in urgent tones. Boromir could not hear most of their words over his own ragged breath, but he caught a few. He heard “Mithrandir” and “Witch King” and “wood”, and then, “Denethor.”

“Where?” Boromir barked. Every one of the men before him startled and turned to him with unabashed fear written across their faces.

If Boromir had looked a mess back on the fields, by now he must appear absolutely deranged. Half his armor gone, hair wild, white shirt drenched with sweat and blood- he could hardly blame the unsuspecting guards for the shock and confusion they displayed so brazenly at his question. Nor could he blame himself for the urge to grab the nearest one and shake him until he spoke sense.

Fortunately for all present, the guard furthest to the left, a man of slight and youthful stature underneath his plate armor, spoke up.

“The House of Stewards,” he said, voice trembling. He pointed in the right direction. “In the tombs. Both of them, lord and son, with orders from the Steward to be left undisturbed.”

Boromir ran like he had never done in his life.

For what possible reason would his father and brother be in the tombs in the midst of battle?

He threw himself against the door to the tombs of his forefathers. They gave way with no resistance, and as he stumbled through the opening, he noted that the floor was dusted with splintered wood. This door had already been broken through. There he stopped short.

He could not, for the life of him, make sense of the scene before him.

In the center of the foyer, directly on top of Húrin’s memorial etching, were the remains of- a bonfire? Heaps of ash and charred wood covered the usually immaculate white marble floor, built up into a high, still-smoldering mound in the chamber’s center. The air reeked of smoke. Neither Denethor nor Faramir were in sight, nor was anyone else. The tombs appeared deserted.

“Faramir?” Boromir called warily.

A clang of metal and the scuffle of unshod feet on stone answered his call, and then-

“Boromir!”

A small form collided hard with his midsection, forcing him to take a staggering step back. Small arms wrapped around him like a vice, a familiar vice, and Boromir abruptly realized that he was in the embrace of a hobbit.

“Pippin?” he demanded, aghast.

The young hobbit turned his face up to meet his gaze and a fresh wave of panic seized him. Pippin’s face was coated in ash and streaked with tears.

“Boromir!” Pippin cried again. “You have to help, Gandalf said that healers were coming but nobody came, there was screaming in the halls so I dragged him as far as I could but he’s heavy and I don’t know where Gandalf went and just- just- come here!”

The hobbit released his iron grip around Boromir’s waist in favor of clutching one of his wrists and started hauling him off to one side of the room, into a corridor of mausoleums. There, poking out of the nearest alcove, Boromir spied the lower half of a single black boot.

Pippin pulled him onward when his own pace faltered. With each step he could see more of the body that Pippin had apparently tried to drag to safety. A small, or rather, hobbit-sizedsword lay carelessly discarded on the floor beneath the alcove’s arching entrance where Pippin had dropped it. That would explain the clanging sound Boromir had heard just before being tackled, then. Which would mean that when he called out, Pippin had been guarding this archway with sword in hand.

Pippin’s relentless tugging finally forced Boromir to where he could see the stricken man on the floor.

It was Faramir.

Of course it was Faramir.

A rough, strangled sound echoed through the quiet tombs, and Boromir only realized a moment later that it had come from his own throat. Pippin darted from his side to kneel at his brother’s head, petting his hair and murmuring a soothing word. Faramir did not react in the slightest. He wasn’t dead; Boromir had seen enough dead men in his life to know with unfailing precision the difference between a dead body and a dying one.

No, his brother was not dead. He was only dying.

Boromir dropped to his knees.

In all this time that he had dreaded coming home and hearing that Faramir had fallen in battle, it had never occurred to Boromir that he might watch him die.

“He needs medicine,” Pippin pleaded, his little hand nestled in Faramir’s hair. Boromir now saw that the hobbit was dressed in the garb of the guards of Citadel, mail under a velvet tunic embroidered with the white tree. What had happened in his city? When had this barely-trained halfling become his brother’s last line of defense?

“Go,” Boromir rasped. He touched the hilt of his sword. “I will protect him now. Go to the House of Healing, down one level. Aragorn is there. He will listen to you.”

Without another word, Pippin took off at a sprint. Boromir and Faramir were left alone, together for the first time since Boromir had left for Rivendell.

Boromir wanted to scream.

Instead, he maneuvered himself carefully to sit at his brother’s side. How Pippin had managed to stash Faramir away in this little nook, Boromir had no idea. He could only just find room for himself against the wall without jostling the motionless body beside him. He reached a tentative hand out to lay it on Faramir’s forehead. He paused before he touched skin, momentarily stunned by the radiating heat. When his fingers settled on his brother’s brow, it was like touching metal that had been left in the sun too long. Faramir burned. Boromir gently smoothed his hand over damp hair.

It wasn’t just Faramir’s hair that was damp, actually. It was everything on him. His short beard, the finely embroidered collar of his tunic, the silk of his sleeves. If his fever was so high, it was not so surprising to find him coated in sweat. The choice of clothes, though, was undeniably strange. There was no blood staining the fabric. Had he not been hurt in battle, then? Had he simply been taken by a violent illness? Was there a plague in the city? That might explain the lack of gore but not the presence of finery. Boromir had only ever seen Faramir wear this tunic for ceremonies. He wouldn’t have put it on before battle, and he would certainly have taken it off if he were falling ill.

No, the only reasonable conclusion was that Faramir had not been the one to dress himself. A terrible, unspeakable suspicion wormed its way into his heart.

Boromir almost regretted sending Pippin away without first asking him what had happened to create this bizarre tableau. Almost. His answers could wait until Faramir had been brought safely into the care of physicians. He lifted his hand to stroke Faramir’s hair again, but the slickness that clung to his palm bade him pause.

That wasn’t sweat in his brother’s hair, it was something else, something more viscous. Puzzled beyond words, Boromir brought his hand close to his face to inspect it.

His palm was smeared with oil.

All at once, a dozen disparate fragments of information arranged themselves into nightmarish clarity.

Someone had dressed Faramir for a funeral. Someone had brought him into the place where the bones of their ancestors rested and covered him in oil. Someone had lit a bonfire in the center of the tombs.

Not a bonfire. A pyre.

Someone had tried to burn his little brother alive.

“No,” Boromir whispered, as if he could prevent his next thought from taking shape.

Only one person in Gondor could do any of this without being stopped.

In the tombs, the guard at the gate had said. Both of them, lord and son, with orders from the Steward to be left undisturbed.

Boromir launched himself upright, out of the cramped alcove, and was sick all over the marble floor.

For the second time in a day, Pippin found himself running for someone else’s life. At least he didn’t have so far to go this time. He could not remember ever being so tired. It was also fortunate that he knew already where to find the House of Healing. Gandalf had insisted he memorize the route there as soon as he’d made his oath to Denethor, which was a bit insulting, to be honest, but turned out very useful in the end.

The first time he’d entered the House, just a few days ago, he’d thought it was very full. Most of the rows of clean, simple cots had been occupied by rangers returning from outside the city. As he dashed through the sturdy oaken door now, though, he entered a different world entirely.

The cacophony of sound, smell and movement that surged up to meet him stopped Pippin in his tracks. The House of Healing was so crowded he could not see the far wall. He could barely see the nearest row of cots. Tall ladies rushed about in every direction, shouting orders to one another above a nauseating din of groans and cries. Pippin had been standing guard in a cloud of smoke for hours, and yet the onslaught of ugly and unfamiliar smells that accosted him here made him wish for the scent of smoke again.

His foray into the front lines of a battle had been terrifying. This place might be worse.

Boromir had said that Aragorn was here, though, and Pippin would walk headfirst into an army of orcs right now if it meant that Aragorn would help him. He never wanted to be in charge of anything, ever again, especially not trying to keep great lords and heroes alive. Aragorn was good at that sort of thing, he could take over now. Pippin took a deep breath and began forging a path through the chaos, calling Aragorn’s name as he went.

As he weaved his way through cots, ducking underneath outstretched arms and around long legs, Pippin heard questions following him that he had no desire to answer.

“How old is that boy? Who let a child in the guard?”

"Is that one of those halflings? The wizard’s pet or something?”

“Are you lost, little one?”

Some of these Men had the most terrible manners, clearly. Most of them were bleeding very badly, though, so Pippin could forgive them for their rudeness. He ignored them all and kept moving.

“Aragorn!” he shouted again.

A women that had been rushing by him paused for an instant to glare down at him. “Hush, you,” she scolded, in a voice that spoke of unquestionable authority. She wore a sort of veil with a nice brooch on it, so Pippin supposed she might be in charge here. “Lord Aragorn’s doing very important things right now and I’ll not have you disturbing him.”

Pippin’s heart jumped. “Where is he?” he asked.

The woman tsked and shook her head, making to continue along her original path. She held a bowl in her arms that Pippin was quite sure he did not want to see the inside of. Whatever it was sloshed unpleasantly when Pippin lurched after the women and grabbed a handful of her skirt to prevent her from leaving.

“The Steward has ordered me to fetch Aragorn! Show me where he is!” Pippin declared. He didn’t think it was a lie. Denethor was dead, so that made Boromir the Steward in his place, probably.

The woman gasped in surprise. “Lord Denethor lives?” she asked. “Wondrous news, we thought lord and son dead already.”

Pippin avoided the question about Denethor by standing up as straight as he could. “Lord Faramir needs medicine,” he said imperiously. “He needs Aragorn’s skill. Take me to Aragorn.”

With a quick hand gesture to follow and not another word, the woman took off walking at a brisk stride deeper into the crowded hall. Pippin had to run to keep up with her. After what seemed like a dozen maneuvers around clumps of people and cots, a figure clad all in black finally came into view.

“Strider!” Pippin cried with relief.

Aragon knelt at a young man’s bedside with a wet rag and bowl of water in his hands. He turned his face at once toward the sound of Pippin’s voice, a genuine smile gracing his lips as he did. Some of the panic that had been driving Pippin these last several hours faded away at the sight. If Aragorn was here, then surely things would get better now.

His relief faltered a bit when Pippin noticed that Aragorn was simply covered in blood- both red and black, and sweat, and grime that Pippin could not begin to identity. The Men gathered round him didn’t seem to mind Aragorn’s state, but then, most of them were splattered with blood as well, probably their own. Even Aragorn could not dispel the somber truth hanging in the air, that unimaginably many people had died today.

Faramir would join the dead soon if Pippin didn’t get a move on, so he marched past all those tall, bloodied Men to stand right at Aragorn’s side.

“Faramir’s dying,” he hissed, hoping he was quiet enough for none but Aragorn to hear. He didn’t especially want to deliver more bad news to the people in this room. “Boromir is with him, but he needs medicine, now.”

If Aragorn found this news distressing, he did not show it. He just nodded thoughtfully, and asked, “Can he walk?”

Pippin shook his head. Aragorn hummed an acknowledgment and rose to his feet. He handed the bowl and rag he’d been holding to another woman that Pippin hadn’t noticed before, murmuring something that sounded like instructions. He then spoke to the lady that had led Pippin, the one who seemed to be in charge.

“Ioreth,” he addressed her. “We have need of a stretcher.”

“It will be done,” she said, and turned on her heel to vanish back into the crowded hall.

Aragorn wiped his hands on his trousers to dry them. Pippin suspected he made them dirtier in the process. “Pippin,” Aragorn said. “Will you please lead me to Boromir and Faramir?”

“Yes, this way,” Pippin answered quickly. He was eager to be out of this terrifying place. He found it easier than before to navigate through the throng. He realized after a few moments of uninhibited movement that people were stepping aside to make way as soon as they saw Aragorn following him.

Had Aragorn already gotten around to being crowned while Pippin was busy? These people were certainly treating him like a king.

“Did you already become the King?” Pippin asked without thinking.

Aragorn chuckled dryly. “No, and I don’t think the lady healers would much care if I had. They care only that I know how to draw out the poison that covers many orcish blades, and that I’ve shared what I know.”

“Oh,” said Pippin, feeling queasy.

Finally, the door came into sight, and with a quick burst of speed, Pippin flung himself back into fresh air. Mostly fresh, anyway, permitting for some lingering smoke. The smell of blood and death that lingered in his nostrils seemed even more vile when contrasted against another, cleaner scent, and it made him gag. Aragorn placed a sympathetic hand between his shoulders.

“The battle to save the wounded is the hardest and the bloodiest,” he said gently. “There’s no shame in being shocked by it.”

Pippin couldn’t quite speak yet, so he bobbed his head in a jerky, shaking nod. He allowed himself two deep breaths before turning his attention back to the task at hand. Right. Faramir. Shot full of arrows and nearly burned to death, currently stashed in a mausoleum, actively perishing of fever. He had to bring Aragorn there, and then maybe he could sit down for a moment. He set off again at a jog.

Aragorn, being unfairly long-legged, could follow him with a brisk walk. Pippin was growing weary of these big people, he really was.

Back over the same cold marble stone he went, retracing his steps to the tombs. Two men carrying a stretcher had started following them at some point- Pippin hadn’t noticed exactly where they came from, but the stretcher they carried was already stained with red, so he suspected that they had been going back and forth from the House of Healing for a while already. Aragorn let there be silence between them for several yards, but began asking questions as soon as they crossed under a crumbling archway.

“What happened to Faramir to leave him needing medicine?”

“He was shot at least twice, I’m not sure when. Sometime yesterday.”

"Where has he been?”

“Well, he got shot when he was fighting in Osgiliath, and then the horse dragged him back, and that probably made it worse, actually, but then Denethor put him away someplace for a day or so and then brought him into the tombs and tried to burn him alive.”

Aragorn froze for a moment. “What?”

“Denethor lost his mind just before the battle started, he tried to burn Faramir alive on a pyre. And himself too, I think. He thought the world was ending.”

“Where is Denethor now?”

“He jumped off the wall.”

Aragorn took up walking again, now at a faster stride. “Boromir is with his brother now?”

"Yes,” Pippin confirmed, doing his best to keep up with Aragorn’s pace.

“Does he know what happened?”

That was a good question, actually. Had Pippin explained the situation at all? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember most of today, to be honest- it was all a blur of screams and fire.

He remembered the blinding panic he’d felt when heavy footsteps had entered the tombs. He remembered clutching his sword with sweaty hands and bracing himself to get torn to shreds by uruk-hai, and then abandoning his sword to hurl himself at Boromir once he’d heard the man’s voice. What had Boromir said, though? Anything? Had Pippin said anything?

He remembered Boromir dropping heavily onto his knees. The look on his face had been awful. He looked sad and scared and sick all at once. Pippin had never been sure what the word anguish meant, but he was sure now.

“I don’t think so,” Pippin finally answered.

Aragorn muttered something to himself, a string of elvish words that Pippin had never heard before. It sounded like what Legolas said when he missed a shot, though, so Pippin could wager a guess at what it meant.

At last, they reached the door to the House of Stewards. Pippin darted through, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Aragorn was still following. Through the foyer, around the smoldering remains of the pyre, down the corridor on the right, and there they were. The lords of Gondor. Not quite as Pipping had left them.

Boromir had extracted Faramir from the alcove where Pippin had dragged him to lay his brother out in the open. The fine silk tunic Faramir had worn lay in oil-soaked shreds scattered about the floor, and the mail shirt he’d had on underneath was similarly cast aside, half-obscuring a puddle of vomit near the entry to the alcove. Pippin was sympathetic- being in this place made him want to retch, too.

Faramir lay on his side in his undershirt. The fabric had been white once, Pippin knew, but blood, oil and ash had colored it through. Boromir knelt at his back, holding him steady by the upper arm with one hand and gently tearing the cloth of the ruined shirt with the other. The cloth didn’t move the way it should when Boromir tugged it. It stuck stubbornly to Faramir’s scorched upper back and shoulder, like it had been glued there.

Pippin gasped in horror as the realization hit him. Boromir couldn’t get Faramir’s shirt off because it was stuck to his burnt skin, fused in place by the heat of the fire. Had his skin melted? Could skin melt? The thought alone sickened him.

Boromir must have heard Pippin gasp, because his head snapped up to fix the hobbit with a wild stare.

Pippin didn’t usually think of Boromir as frightening. Fearsome, of course, but not to his friends. Certainly never to Pippin.

He looked frightening now. His eyes were wide, and his pupils were tiny pinpoints. His lips were pulled back into an animalistic expression, somewhere between a grimace and a snarl, showing just a hint of teeth. His shoulders curled forward, hunching slightly over Faramir’s still form, and through his thin, damp shirt Pippin could see he was shaking with pent up energy.

When Pippin was younger, one of Farmer Maggot’s dogs had gone missing. They’d found the creature hiding under a shed, nursing a bleeding paw, growling and snapping at any hobbit that tried to approach. Boromir did not make a sound, but Pippin swore he could hear the same wounded dog’s growling all the same.

Pippin felt rather than heard Aragorn approaching from behind him, and it was a great relief when Boromir’s gaze flicked up off his face to fixate on Aragorn instead. With what seemed to be a tremendous effort, Boromir opened his mouth to speak.

“Where is Denethor?” he rasped, voice shaking.

Aragorn took a cautious step forward, moving in front of Pippin. He held his hands up, fingers splayed open, the way he did when trying to settle a spooked horse. “Boromir, my brother-” he began, voice soft and steady.

Boromir interrupted before he could take another step. “Tell me where my father is, Aragorn,” he croaked. “Tell me so I can find him and gut him.”

“He’s dead,” Pippin blurted. “He set himself on fire and then he went off the edge of the wall and died.”

Aragorn stiffened. Boromir’s jaw went slack. He heard gasps from the men carrying the stretcher behind him.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have spoken. Gandalf was always telling him something to that effect.

Boromir let out long, low groan and slumped in on himself, bowing his head so low his forehead grazed Faramir’s hair. He released the firm grip he’d been maintaining on his brother’s upper arm to grab fistfuls of his own hair instead.

Aragorn moved swiftly to kneel beside Boromir. He wrapped one arm around Boromir’s shoulders and pulled him into a lopsided embrace. Boromir went without protest, deflated and boneless against his king. Aragorn spoke to him, too softly for Pippin to hear, and coaxed him to shuffle backwards just a pace or two to create space at Faramir’s side. The two half-forgotten men with the stretcher between them seized their opportunity and swept in to gather Faramir up. Boromir twitched forward when they lifted his brother, but Aragorn held him back with a hand on his chest. With quick, synchronized steps, Faramir was taken out of the tombs.

Louder now, so Pippin could hear again, Aragorn spoke with real regret in his voice. “I must follow them. I promise I will give all the skill I have to make Lord Faramir well.”

“I’m coming,” Boromir stated.

Aragorn fixed him with a hard stare. “It will be ugly,” he warned. “I’ll have to cut the shirt off his back, and I expect much of his skin to come with it. If he wakes it will be to scream.”

“I know,” said Boromir.

“I would rather not find your blade shoved through my heart while I work.”

Boromir flushed. “I would not.”

Aragorn raised one eyebrow. “All the same, if you wish to follow, leave your sword at the door for my peace of mind.”

Boromir opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of it and simply bowed his head in assent. Aragorn hauled himself to his feet and offered Boromir a hand up, which Boromir accepted without hesitation.

“Can I help?” Pippin asked, surprising himself.

Aragorn eyed him up and down. One corner of his lips twitched upward. “Yes, Pippin, I think you can help us all very much by staying at Boromir’s side and keeping him calm. If you have any more news to deliver, however, perhaps you could share it beforewe enter the House of Healing?”

Pippin recognized the admonishment for what it was and ducked his head, chastened. On the other hand, now that he mentioned it-

“Gandalf’s staff is broken,” he announced.

Aragorn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I see. Thank you, Pippin. Anything else?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Very well. If you think of something, take Boromir out into the hall and tell him.” Aragorn turned to Boromir and spoke sternly. “Boromir, if Pippin takes you out into the hall, I forbid you to pick up your sword until we have had a chance to speak.”

Boromir huffed out something very close to a laugh. “Wise council, my king.”

#@emilybeemartin #lotr fic #Boromir Lives AU

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mothisamess · 8 months

Text

Bakusquad x Insecure! Reader

_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—

or alternatively a reader that's just not confident bare faced

(more platonic but could be seen as romantic! more fem centric. sorry for weird formatting I wrote on my phone lol and not proof read I wrote this in less that 10 mins)

_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—

- It was no secret that you were one of the prettiest people in class 1-A.

- You were always put together.

- having your hair clean and always wearing at least some makeup.

- it was a very very rare occurrence that you wouldn't be wearing any. practically no one had ever seen you without it.

- the closest they got was after training or villain attacks.

- one night, you, Mina, Kirishima, Jirou, Sero, Denki, and Bakugo were having a sleepover in Mina's dorm.

- It was around 12am and everyone was winding down for the night. (Bakugo is not very happy about it. but it's the weekend so they managed to convince him)

- mina handed you a makeup wipe so you could sleep barefaced.

- you politely refused.

- mina pryed a bit more, she didn't want her pretty best friend to break out!

- you laughed a bit and made a joke about how you 'look like one of those old diseased hairless cats' without makeup.

Mina - ✩⁠

_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—

- she's shook.

- you're literally her perfect best friend like huh?

- she'll pester you about it for a while

- and if you say that it was caused by others at your old school...

- she loses her MINDDD

- bc youre gorgeous like what?

_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—

- she always hyped you but before but now it's extra!

- will 100% spread rumors about anyone who talks bad about you.

(and they're vileee 💀)

Kirishima - ✩⁠

- he's so surprised

- you look like that and think you look bad??

- aggressive positivity. literally shoving it down your throat.

- hype man!!

- he hypes you up more than Bakugo at this point

- if anyone's trying to be rude to you he will immediately stop them.

- he will not hold back in training and will definitely tell other people that they aren't nice

- and you know it's bad when even Kirishima isn't nice to you. before the person knows it all of class 1-A hates them.

_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—

Jirou - ✩⁠

- she's so surprised!!

- you're like a goddess in her eyes

- she doesn't say much about it that night but over time she subtly hypes you up!

- just small things like 'you're hair looks nice today's or 'where did you get that shirt?'

- she's a little nervous that she'll offend you so she tries her best to not seem as blunt as normal.

- if anyone says anything bad about you (in general but especially about how you look) she goes crazy 💀

- she will not hold back during training.

- (she has gotten scolded by Aizawa for it before)

_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—

Sero - ✩⁠

- he has to take a moment to take in what you said

- like huh?!

- how are you insecure?

- you'll def end up having one of those deep conversations another night where he finds out everything.

- def hypes you up

- practically everytime you walk into the common room he'll tell you you're outfit is nice

- you could be dressed like Adam Sandler and he'd still eat that up

- if anyone is rude to you he'll shoot a small piece of tape onto the ground so they face plant 😭

_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—

Denki - ✩⁠

- he side eyes you immediately and does one of those slow head turns 💀

- he'll pester you for a bit about it but after Bakugo slapps him over the head because he wants to sleep he drops it for the night

- BIGGEST HYPE MANNN

- hypes you up about everything, your handwriting, cooking, baking, drawing, grades, quirk, strength, everything.

- if anyone's every rude he will 100% give the person small shocks.

- especially in quiet rooms.

_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—

Bakugo - ✩⁠

- even though he might be bad at showing it, he didn't want his friend to break out either!

- but he hid it behind him not wanting to hear you complain about your skin

- won't hype you up but once he sees you with out makeup he'd definitely do a really sarcastic fake shock

- like 'gasp oh my god-! you- you- look perfectly fucking fine. say some dumbass shit like that again and I'm beating your ass.'

- will immediately scream insults at whoever talks about about you

- it could literally be a medical professional next to you on your death bed saying that you over estimated yourself in a fight and he'd still do it

_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—

#mha headcanons #bakusquad #bakusquad x reader #denki kaminari x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #sero hanta x reader #kirishima ejiro x reader #jirou kyouka x reader #jirou kyouka #mina ashido x reader #mha fanfiction #mha fanfic #mha x female reader #mha x gender neutral reader

583 notes · View notes

setsugekka · 1 year

Text

❥déjà vu (m)

↳ One year after the fulfillment of a particularly raunchy agreement with your best friends husband, the three of you once again find yourselves together over a bottle of pinot noir, an appetizer, and an unforeseen question laid out on the table:

If you could do it all again, would you?

kim doyoung x fem!reader — friends with benefits, gratuitous sexual content, porn with plot [21k wc] cws: open relationship, alcohol consumption, bdsm-heavy!! dominant doyoung, submissive reader, restraints, impact play, slapping, dom-drop+aftercare, unprotected penetrative sex, oral sex (m+f), gratuitous dirty talk/degradation/humiliation, cum play/facials/wet&messy, deep throating, safe word usage, ravishment play, infidelity play, spit play, doyoung has a big dick and fucks like a pornstar.

In the dimly lit ambiance of the swanky restaurant that you and your present company currently reside, and over the dull, pleasant hum of the chatter of the surround patrons, you suppose you can't help but reminisce, just a little bit.

One year.

Not on the dot, a few weeks give or take since the beginning of one such agreement, but nevertheless a time in your life that you've found yourself recalling perhaps a few more times than you'd care to admit. Admit to yourself, and especially to aforementioned present company.

You bring yourself back from the thought just in time to make eye contact with the man across the table from you — a knowing collection of features gracing his face, of course, he doesn't know the ins and outs of whatever it is that happens to take your attention in the moment, but rather, just that there had been something to stir you away from the present. The ringing laughter of your best friend just next to him finally coming into earshot to let you know that the two had been engaged in some other conversation that you must have tuned out slightly, you watch her snake an arm around his as his preoccupied one continues to top off your glass of red wine.

Thankfully, third-wheeling with the couple has become far more comfortable, though, you suppose you know what the reason for that may be.

Mina, with blonde hair tied back into a ponytail and a black sweater on — it must have been the evening for couple outfits, as Doyoung sports just about the same, minus the blonde hair, instead sporting his usual black with seemingly no interest in ever changing his look.

"I'm so annoyed I have to go on this business trip at all," Mina huffs, across the table and next to her husband. "But they did say that I would need to be gone like this occasionally when I took it, so hopefully it can be done and over with as quickly as possible, at least."

"How long was it, again?" You ask, fork gently pressed between your lips to clean it off.

She rolls her eyes as the response begins to leave her. "A month. I don't know what he's going to do without me."

Playful in nature, Mina cozies up with Doyoung next to her as she says it, to which he merely offers a roll of his own eyes before audibly inhaling to response. "Surely I can manage."

"He'll probably just work the whole time, anyways," You add. Your friend nods knowingly. "Aren't you writing a book?"

Lips to his glass, he begins speaking into at the tail end of his sip before placing it back onto the table to carry on with the thought. "It's finished. Loose ends here or there but mostly done. Back to the usual workload, now."

Humming, you carefully shovel another forkful of pasta into your mouth before your vision catches on Mina — a certain gleam in her eye that you know all too well by now to mean that the woman be up to no good, you slow in your motions as you maintain your eyes upon her in wait for what it is that she almost certainly be about to unload on either of you in the middle of this far-too-expensive restaurant.

"Actually," she starts with a jingle to her tone. Eyes now averted from either of you, she still maintains the wicked upturn of the corners of her lips as she hesitates only slightly before finishing the sentence with little more presented to either of you. "I kind of wanted to talk to you about something—"

"Who?"

The word drops from both you and Doyoung simultaneously, and as a result, pulls a resonating chuckle from the woman.

"Well, both of you."

Uh-oh.

Doyoung, once having had his head turned towards his wife, now slowly pulls his vision ahead again, but not without narrow, questioning eyes still remaining to his side as if suspecting her being up to no-good. For good reason, as well, because you maintain the same amount of surveillance on her in wait for what it is that she's about to bestow.

Like a villain sitting in her evil, hands twisting within themselves for all of the devilishness that be about to transpire as a result of her.

"I have an idea."

"Well, that much we can tell, you only get like this when you have one of your ideas," Doyoung can't help but quip back immediately. A man lovingly fed up with all of the nonsense that his wife bring to his life, while no doubt being a large part of the reason that he love her in the first place. "So, what is it, then?"

"No fun, as usual." She sighs before taking a hastened sip from her own glass of wine. Then, her attention turns almost exclusively towards you, as if equally fed up with the way that her husband be behaving in regards to her unknown genius. "Since I'm going to be gone so long, I was thinking — why don't you come stay at the house?"

A shocked, resounding ‘what!?’ coming from both you and the husband in question, once again.

Of course, Mina only laughs at the response from you two with a gentle shake of her head to top it off.

You don't entirely know what to make of the offer, and frankly, you're a little bit too afraid to ask. Instead, you're thankful for Doyoung's bluntness, and perhaps also his familiarity in navigating these particular waters with his wife — because you think you know what she's suggesting, but he most certainly will be the one to ask the question out loud.

"Are you suggesting another arrangement while you're gone?"

"Yeah, why not?" She chimes back as if it be the most normal thing in the world. That it be bizarre for anyone to so much as question it further. "It's a whole month, darling."

"Fairly certain I can keep myself busy enough to not die without having sex for a month."

In ways, this conversation not really involve you currently. Should it play out a specific way, suppose then your input be necessary, but for now: this is between the betrothed.

Mina finally turns in the booth to face him better, but Doyoung insists on maintaining his calculated stature in facing forward and staring out towards the nothingness of the restaurant. He's difficult to read in moments like this; unable to discern if he's upset by the proposition, the potential implications of it, or if he's interested and just unwilling to come of all too eager, and especially in front of you.

After all, the last time sure did end off with a bang, of sorts.

"Are you mad at me?" She asks cutely, as if knowing the answer already. A woman who knows her husbands buttons well, as he turns to give her his full, undivided attention almost the moment that the last syllable drops from her mouth.

"No! I'm not mad, it's just," he pauses, thinking through his word choice carefully as a result of present company, you're sure. "I thought we all agreed that it was a one time thing."

"Then say you're not interested and I'll drop it."

For a split second, Doyoung's eyes catch your own, but he pulls them back and away from you nearly just as swiftly.

You don't think you've ever seen him like this. So...flustered?

Swallowing so hard you watch the lump in his throat bob, Doyoung cocks his head to the side once as if stretching for the marathon of a conversation that his acquiescence to this may just result in. A marathon, indeed, because there would certainly be a whole load more negotiations to take place for a month of who-knows-what-really.

Hesitancy to admit that he's interested in the arrangement. Reluctance to admit it outright without seeming all too eager to re-engage. Tricky waters for the husband in question to navigate, certainly.

Eyes fluttering shut, he sighs. "I'm not against it, just...surprised."

And unfortunately, that means it's your turn now.

Both of their attention now turning to you just as the waiter comes and brings the bill to your table, you feel the heat of embarrassment rush to your face — as if this stranger be privy to the topics ongoing currently — you chuckle nervously as you take the paper in hand, only for Doyoung to just as swiftly tear it away from you before you have so much as a second to consider paying it yourself.

"Well?" Mina questions, chin resting inside of her palm as an elbow settles against the waxed wood of the table top.

For whatever reason, you choose not to acknowledge the man any further as you think through your answer. Assuming him far too busy calculating incredibly simple math especially for someone with a career in finance, all you are capable of is simply thinking him all too enamored in that to be paying any interest or mind to what your response to this question could be. So, with eyes glued to the table in front of you, you muster up all of the courage that you can, while simultaneously biting back the bubbling excitement that you're not too proud of having, before finally giving your best friend your full attention and giving the answer that you think be the one that everyone at the table be looking forward to hearing from you.

"Yeah. I'm down."

Three weeks later, you bring your belongings for your extended stay over to the house that you find already to be comfortable.

There's a certain air about it: a place that you've already spent countless days and nights at, but knowing the circumstances under which you're back inside of their humble abode offering a new set of eyes that you have long since abandoned since a year or so back. Kitchen countertops and upstairs walls that serve as reminders of all sorts of goings on between you and the man of the house — perhaps things you may find yourself revisiting as well as new, unexplored areas with him — there's an excitement within you that now takes the place of any uncertainty or reluctance the first time around.

Because you know Doyoung, and you trust him completely.

Dragging a large suitcase inside, as well as an over-the-shoulder bag and a laptop bag for work, you carefully set your belongings down on the white, marble flooring of the home as you listen for the nearing sounds of footsteps hurrying down the upstairs hallway and towards you. Mina tips over the railing with a bright, cheerful smile — somehow the happiest of the three of you about the way that things are going to carry out for the next thirty days.

"You're here! Doie! She's here!"

Of course, you don't hear from the man, and instead your friend rushes herself down the stairs and into your arms with a wide, tight hug.

"I'm also hungry, I hope there's food in this house," You playfully respond, but before Mina has the chance, Doyoung retorts plainly from the same railing that Mina had been lovingly doting on you only minutes before.

"Suppose I'm expected to keep you fed then, as well."

"Yes, dear," Mina dryly answers with a huff over her shoulder. "Feed and fuck her, that's the agreement."

It being so simply discussed out in the open perhaps something you may never grow completely comfortable with, and with eyes glancing upwards to gauge the mans response as a result of his wife’s words, Doyoung's eyes only roll before sauntering down the stairway just the same as the woman had.

"Are you going to make dinner tonight?" Mina questions as he arrives just behind her. Hands in pockets, he shrugs rather nonchalantly, as if it make no difference to him either way. "I could."

He meets eyes with you, a single eyebrow raising. "Should I?"

"Uh, yeah," you hesitate in response, arms still wrapped around his wife as the conversation carries on. "That'd be really nice."

"I'll go prep then while the two of you say your goodbyes."

And before exiting the scene, Doyoung leans forward and around to kiss Mina — her still very much attached from you, it results in a very full, somewhat-intimate moment that you're all too included in. Unsure if they simply not be aware of your proximity or just as much not care, you swallow and glance away until they're finished — Doyoung's eyes once again catching onto your own before he pulls away from the blonde woman and disappears inside of the kitchen just down the hall.

Shortly there after, Mina separates herself from you, as well. Bags already packed and set aside by the door, you ask her if she need any help in bringing her things out to while she protests, and simply tells you to go and enjoy your stay...

...as well as 'all of the things that the stay has to offer.'

You're not sure if you should feel guilty for the amount of anticipation you've been holding back ever since the initial conversation, but you can't help but wishing for the woman to hurry herself out of the residence, even just a little bit.

You love her, of course, and if her being there instead were an option you would happily choose that ahead of your own interests.

But it's not an option, and frankly, you want to fuck her husband again. No real need to beat around the bush about it, this time.

Two hours after the wife’s departure, the scent of dinner brewing emanates throughout the lower level of the residency that you're now expected to call 'home' for the next month. Surrounded by familiar, white walls and granite countertops, the tall man within be laid with the multitasking of dinner-making while you carry out the finishing touches of table setting. One hand carefully cupped around the tip of the last candle, you hold the lighter against the wick for the fire to catch, and pulling away, you glance over the handy work that you've done in the meantime as you wait for the food to finish cooking. With a heavy sigh coming from Doyoung, you glance over only to find him missing momentarily — popping up from his presumed kneeling position in front of the small, compact wine cooler with a bottle of white in hand.

"Are you going to get changed?"

His expression is somewhat deadpan, which you suppose is to be a bit expected of him, but the question definitely coming from out of left field given your lack of knowledge of even being expected to wear something other than what it is that you had arrived in.

Was this...a date?

Stammering slightly, you do some quick, on your feet thinking about anything that you may have easily accessible in one of your bags that not require a whole lot of putting together in the last minute. "Yeah, give me a second."

Nearly jogging out of the dining room, you hear the man loudly and in your direction. "Make it quick, dinner's in ten."

Pulling a loose, casual dress from your bag and quickly bringing yourself upstairs and into the guest bedroom that you're now to call your own, you can't help but divert your attention down the hall to the shared bedroom of the wedded couple, with one, main rule bestowed upon you by Mina days before your arrival. Her only request of the two of you and your adventures together while she be gone:

Never in their shared room.

No interest in breaking such a rule, instead, you think it charming as you disrobe quickly to change into something more fitting for the evening together. That even in all of the things the couple be willing to share in their marriage, some things still remain off limits, and only for them.

As you re-enter the kitchen area, you catch Doyoung as he pull his apron off from around his neck. Long, thin finger deftly working at the tie around his small waist in a way that reminds you of precisely the way that the mans body look: broad shoulders cinching so snugly at the middle — accentuated by the way fitted trousers and belt hug him and pull at the loose fabric of his button down shirt — he catches you looking well before you find enough awareness to bring your eyes away, and a flush of heat settles at just the tips of your ears as a result of being found out in such a way.

He says nothing, however, instead carrying on with the task of setting the discarded item onto the back of a chair and nodding towards the glass dinner table. "It's ready."

Walking steadily behind him, you realize that the close proximity of the both of you in such a way having long since reignited a sort of burning passion within you for the man — with eyes cascading over his shoulders and back as he bring himself forward, you feel the first, all too evident throb of arousal between your legs that you know, for a fact, you can't possibly place blame on anything else.

When the original agreement had come to a close, you accepted as much happily. A good, positive, growing experience for you in so many ways, but more than that, you were satisfied. Not just sexually, but with your relationships, your life, and your choices. Within the closure came a certain kind of acceptance of yourself in ways that you had never had the opportunity to find before, and now with the re-opening of it, what you really hope to find is more of that.

More acceptance, more trust.

In ways the nature of such agreement never truly able to be just about sex. You can't speak for him, but for you, so much more to be learned and experienced.

Reaching the clear end of the table, majority of the things residing atop it placed further down to accommodate the fact that only two people be sitting there this evening, Doyoung stops so abruptly in his tracks that you nearly collide straight into him — hands coming up to steady yourself and set space between the two of your bodies, it turns into a bit of a whirlwind, however, when you feel the familiar grip of fingers coming around one of your wrists and pulling you forward and in front of the man.

You don't get much more time between then and the few seconds following: expertly placed up and on top of the glass with your legs pried apart to make room for the man between them.

The first kiss comes equally hard and fast, as well.

Nipping into your bottom lip, you don't need much help navigating these particular waters as your hands already make quick work of his belt, followed shortly thereafter by the button and zipper of his black trousers — with such little time passed and a palm pressed against the front of his pants, you find only the beginnings of an erection forming, enough to have you groaning into his mouth with promise of what's to come all of the same, however.

A master of his craft, Doyoung having already pressed the majority of the length of your dress up your hips upon hoisting you onto the table, he dips a single finger down the front of your panties and between your folds, as if to test the waters already. From your position, it's easy to feel the ease in which he glides against you due to the slickness already presented to him — your reward thus far? An absolutely wicked groan of his own through teeth that bite down just a little bit harder into your lip.

"God, how long have you wanted this?" He says with a low tone, words delivered directly into your open mouth as you gasp for air at the feeling of him rubbing gentle circles into your clit just the way he knows you like it. "You're so wet already. You still think about it, huh?"

Less interested in playing games and more willing to be a far more active participant this time around — leaving behind the shyness and apprehension that came along with the completely uncharted waters of the first time — you tilt your head back just slightly and grin, taking in the feeling of him all over again.

"Yeah, I do," you answer with airy confidence. "Don't you?"

"Fuck yes I do."

Words coming through in nearly a growl, Doyoung drags his mouth down along your jaw to suck into the skin all of the way down your neck before settling into the juncture of your shoulder. Pointed sucks and nips into the skin there as if a man truly starved for your touch, you feel him pull you forward and tilt you back just slightly — adjusting the angle of your body so that the fingers teasing you can slip down further — middle finger gliding so easily inside of you, he gives you three pumps of it before adding a second to see how much you need to be prepped for him.

The answer is very little.

Barely any resistance brought to him as he fucks you open with his fingers, you lean back with one palm against the glass behind you to remain stable as the other fishes out his length from behind the confines of the fabric holding it. Long and beautiful, just like you remembered, you run the palm of your hand up the underside of his shaft before delicately wrapping fingers around him and offering him a few lazy strokes; for no other reason than to hear the way his breath hitches just beneath your ear as his mouth carries on its journey back up that way.

As the man carefully creates enough space between your bodies to hook fingers into the sides of your undergarment and pull it down your legs, as he quickly presses his own pants down his thighs just enough to not be a deterrent, you can't help but notice the palpable urgency that this instance carries: a man known for his intensity and ability to maintain stoicism even in the face of erotic desire, this time you find him nearly unrecognizable from any of the times before. No roles between you, no power dynamics at play.

Just two people and raw, sexual desire.

Forearms hooked up and under your legs for leverage, you reach down to him to angle and ease him inside of you with one, smooth drive of his hips — sinking into you with heavy, contented sighs dropping from the both of your mouths at the feeling of each other. Rocking into you shallowly two, three times, it's only then that Doyoung reach his hand up to grasp the side of your neck as if to hold you there, in place, and with all eyes on him, as well.

Pulling the leg still in his grasp up and tightly against the side of his body, he offers you a quick, hard, snap of his hips that finally has you feeling exactly how it is that you want him to make you feel.

Crying out, he settles his forehead against your own, looking you dead in the eyes as he offers another hard drive of his cock into you. The angle is just right for him to graze your g-spot with intense pressure, and already, you feel your thighs quaking around him at the sudden onset of it.

He starts slow, but is quick to find his pace against you, all the while holding you firm in his gasp for just the right amount of leverage that every forceful thrust into you be received with the utmost impact.

You had forgotten how easily he's able to have to falling apart under, and around him.

Electric intensity coursing through every nerve ending, toes curling as your moans quickly dissolve into pathetic whimpers, you feel the prickling of wetness threatening your tear ducts as you bite hard into your bottom lip in an attempt to bring yourself back, even just a little bit.

It's the first time, and relatively vanilla, at that. This man can not have you withering like this already, it's humiliating.

With his jaw tight and teeth gritted as he stairs down towards you, you whine out as the hand around your neck snakes up just ever so slightly and into the hair at the back of your head — fist clenching tight within the strands, and it's only then that Doyoung break his gaze with you and trail hot, dry lips down to the shell of your ear.

"Thought I forgot what you like?" He asks with a drop of venom to his tone. "Don't want to ruin you just yet, we still have dinner to eat."

There's that nasty mouth you had grown to love a year ago.

With impending orgasm on the horizon that no doubt that man inside of you can feel, he trades in shorter, quicker drives into you for fuller, longer ones — offering you the feeling of the entirety of his cock with every snap of his hips, and it's really then that you realize that Doyoung have your likes a little bit too under his thumb for your liking.

But only as far as ego goes. Physically, you already find yourself lamenting the day in which this must once again come to an end.

Walls clenching down around him, Doyoung hisses into your ear as you bite back the full, long moan of an orgasm that's soon to shake you, and dipping down only long enough to nip and suck into the skin below your ear, he brings his mouth back up to it right as you're on the verge of your release.

"How about you make me come, so that I can lick it out of you for dessert."

And that will certainly do the trick.

Yelling out so loudly that you're happy to know that the two of you home alone and on a plot of land large enough that neighbors not be a concern, your orgasm rips through you, so desperate to grip onto something that one hand come up to curl fingers into Doyoung's forearm as he hold you by the hair in place for him to fuck into. Bringing his head up to look at you, as if the unsure about the motion and having to check in on the goings on visually — happy with the scene as your eyes roll back into harshly knitted eyebrows, you hear him groan from the chest — full-bodied and throaty as he comes as well with only a handful more drives into you before burying his cock entirely to empty his load inside of you.

The familiar twitch of him as he comes — mouth delicately hung ajar and looking down at the place where he disappears inside of you — a simple man who enjoy all of the carnal pleasures that sex offer him as much as any other. Prim, proper, put together on the outside but when given the chance, a man willing to say and do the the nastiest, filthiest things to and for a partner...for the both of your enjoyment.

The wetter, the messier — the better it is, for you and him, alike.

And as the two of you sit together for dinner only moments after, discussing the trials and tribulations of adult, workload life — with his cum dripping from your cunt and soaking into your panties, you know one thing is for sure, and that is that whatever is left of it inside of you by the time you two are finished here, he most certainly will be making good on his promise of dessert.

Waking up in the morning feels strange, even under the circumstances of a fake-dating agreement.

On one hand, it makes sense: preferring to sleep in the comfort of ones own bed, but as you lie awake, staring at the while ceiling above and listening to the hum of the dehumidifier that stand tucked away in the furthest corner of the room, you can't help but feel something. Some way about it.

However, it is early into the scenario — only day two, so perhaps it best to allow these feelings of uncertainty lie dormant for just a little while longer — given time to manifest into something if they ever are to, before bringing it to the attention of the man of the house.

Would it be a strange request? All things considered and through all of the other goings on, could something as quaint as the request to be slept next to be one unspoken hard limit for the husband in question?

A single, hard blink has you putting the thought out of your mind in exchange for rolling over to face the window as the delicate blanketing of morning rays wash over your frame. Snagging your phone from off of the nightstand, you check the time only to be be shocked by how early it is — only a bit past six — you come to realize that it explain the sound of rustling from downstairs that you originally thought to be nothing but the typical sounds of a house in the night.

For a moment, you contemplate attempting to go back to sleep, rolling onto your back once again and sprawling across as much of the expanse of the much-too-large furniture as you can possibly manage. Instead, it's the sound of the espresso machine ringing loudly through the residence that has you reconsidering your options.

Footsteps climbing the stairs, you can't help but listen in on the way that the man moves about when not in the company of you or others. Sounding as if he is, however, you hear him on the phone to someone or another — displeased at best, as well, given the strength to his voice despite being unable to make out the words. Shuffling around his office briefly only to disappear back down to the lower level, you decide then that you much too curious about Doyoung in a way that you hadn't quite expected: him as a person, him as an employee, him detached from sexuality almost entirely.

Feet into slippers and a light robe over your shoulders, you quietly tip-toe your way down to the kitchen where it seem that the majority of the early morning happenings be taking place — as you make your way closer, the distinct scent of coffee brewing and and continued sounds of an irritated man, none too thrilled about the conversation taking place, but it's only when you reach the nearest entryway and your presence demands his attention, that you feel as though you may have been walking into more than you had thought to be signing up for.

Black hair styled and slicked back with a gray suit adorning him — it would appear normal, given his occupation, if not for one, glaring, difference to the typical business attire.

No shirt worn underneath the jacket, instead, you find yourself faced with the expanse of smooth skin that you're already well acquainted with, sure.

But not like this?

Your being there appears to fluster him slightly as he turns his back towards you quickly and cusses under his breath despite still being on the phone. Informing the person on the other line that he'll call them back, you watch with a sort of innocent enjoyment as Doyoung pulls the jacket closed before turning to face you again.

"What are you doing awake?" He all but stutters out, a good attempt at maintaining his vocal balance through his embarrassment, you have to give it to him.

With a single eyebrow perked upwards, you offer him nothing more than a gentle grin at first, slipping through the doorway finally and pulling a mug down from one of the higher cupboards to pour yourself a cup of coffee. "I don't sleep so well in new places, it'll take a couple of days to get used to a new bed."

You can't be sure if ignoring the elephant in the room be what he desire right then and there, or if instead it only lending to more awkwardness — so, you make a judgment call then and there as you turn to seat yourself at the kitchen island and hopping into one of the tall stools that reside there.

"So—"

"Don't." He immediately interjects with screwed shut eyes and a palm up towards you.

A small giggle escapes your mouth at his insistence, but beyond that, you choose to let it lie as you quietly scroll through your phone. Doyoung, however, not as easily placated — shuffling around nervously in place, and if you didn't know any better, you might think him to be irritated at your lack of insistence further.

"It's not what it looks like."

Glancing up towards him, you blink once. "I assure you that I have no idea what it looks like."

It's the truth, because after all: what the fuck?

Rolling his eyes and accepting defeat, the man grabs his mug from behind him and seats himself across the way from you with phone in hand as if waiting for a call that he intend on answering the absolute second that it begins coming through.

"So, you know I wrote a book."

You nod.

"Publisher wants me to do some promotional photos for it, now I get word last minute that the photographer isn't coming and they're having a hard time finding someone who can make it all of the way out here in time."

"Is there a reason that they want you to be dressed like a Chippendales dancer for a book about business and finances?"

Groaning and tossing his head back so abruptly you think he might send the entirety of himself barreling backwards and out of his chair, when he comes back upwards, he looks approximately as pained about the whole ordeal as you might expect him to.

"Something about selling more books."

A questioning hum into the rim of your mug, you would be lying if you said that you didn't enjoy having a bit of the high ground over the man for once. Tables turned briefly as he sits across from you nearly nervously sweating the wax out of his perfectly styled hair — when the call begins to come through finally, Doyoung jumps up and out of his chair to answer it — hurried and excited at first, only to find himself sounding just as annoyed and despondent as you had heard him earlier on.

Guess it's not going well.

Turning to you once again as he ends the call and setting his phone onto the granite countertop with a heavy sigh, he tilts his head backwards with eyes closed as if in silent prayer for some sort of answer to this conundrum from some sort of higher power above.

Luckily for him, the answer only need fifteen more minutes to wake up and another cup of coffee, first.

"Did Mina ever tell you I got pretty into photography a few months back?"

"I'm sure she mentioned it."

Slow on the pick-up.

"I brought my stuff with me because you guys live in sort of a good area for landscape photography," you continue on, and thankfully by now the mans eyes start to pick up and raise towards you as you speak. "I don't really do people but it doesn't seem like you're in much of a position to be all that picky."

Quietly taking another sip from your cup, you sit by and wait for the reluctant acceptance: because he's a man out of other options, and you don't really have anything better to be doing this early in the morning, either.

"Fine." Doyoung sighs, tipping his own drink all of the way back to finish it off as if downing a shot of liquor to prepare him for the morning going forward. "Just make sure I look pretty, would you?"

"Of course, darling."

Snapping a few test shots, you pull your camera down from your eye and take a look through the display to check the turn out — given, it's a bit of a rough shoot with no lighting equipment and not much else to help you along your way, but you figure with what you're getting here currently that someone far more talented than yourself be capable of fixing anything decent you get in post.

Looking upwards again and towards your subject: laid out on the white flooring of an otherwise unfurnished room that the happy couple haven't had the time to get around to just yet, Doyoung keeps his attention turned well away from you as you cycle through the photos to determine any better way that you can make this work.

You think, perhaps, that he's still a bit bashful of the circumstances.

Leaning back against his elbows and forearms, you watch him glance towards the ceiling just briefly before finally looking at you.

"Well?"

It's a little bit funny how little he wishes to be doing this right now. Karma, perhaps, for years of subtle torment.

"They look good enough," you admit with a slight nod, sounding almost surprised at the fact. "I think we can get a few good shots pretty quick and have you back in your office writing boring reports, or whatever it is that you do, in no time."

"I'd much rather be doing that." He huffs, turning his attention away again. The movement gives you an excellent shot of the angle of his jaw, however — thus, you bring your camera back up to take a few more pictures before gracing him with a reply.

"I've never met a man so dismayed by being attractive."

"You think I'm attractive?"

You bring the camera down again, a slightly annoyed but playful cock of your head to the side that silently says 'really?', because frankly, it's a stupid question. This is a fact that Doyoung knows, as evidenced by the smirk that takes his lips as a result of your reaction to it.

"It's not the 'being attractive' that's bothersome," he continues on with the thought, offering you an honest response now. "Just don't really need or particularly enjoy this kind of attention on myself. It feels bizarre, especially as someone in my line of work."

It makes sense, and snapping a few more shots, you opt out of a verbal reply and only hum of acknowledgement, instead.

"I'll be happy to have it over with, and now I know, no more books."

Without pulling up from the camera, you carry on with your direction. "Look towards me."

Head turning slowly and eyes settling deeply into your own even through the lens, Doyoung settles into his new pose — a smoldering look to him that really would have you thinking that something like this be his chosen line of profession after all, but shaking it off, you press a few more clicks of the button and check in the view finder once again for how the photos are turning out thus far.

Doyoung's gaze, however, remaining firm on you as you do.

Jacket open again and chest fully on display, you make a good effort of attempting to ignore the flesh before you. Of course, it's far from the first time that you've seen him — and really, you've seen him in far less clothing and far more intimate scenarios, but something about this, you find, doing a little bit extra for your visceral attraction to the man.

Even worse, it's about seven in the morning. Who tries to fuck their best friends husband at seven in the morning?

You do? Maybe?

Mind wandering to the thought of whether or not it's something that is also on his mind, you figure it not too far from the realm of possibility: after all, the relationship between the both of you be almost strictly a sexual one, what else is there for either of you to be fantasizing about whilst in each others company like this?

"Is it good?"

The wording is a little strange, and that's because you know it to be a question with a hidden agenda behind it. A question he often asks you while buried deep within your body, as your eyes fall to his and your camera falls away from your face just a bit, you can quite easily see the sinister curl of one corner of his lips. Knowing, playful, a man with an agenda, indeed.

"Yeah," you answer cooly, not willing to allow him the satisfaction of knowing about your growing arousal. "They look good."

It's then that one of Doyoung's hands slowly glides up and to the front of his trousers — watching on as he expertly unbuttons and unzips them all the while maintaining perfect eye contact with you — there's a part of you deep down that is pleased with the non-verbal communication between the two of you and how far that it has come, even with so much time between the last time and now.

There's also a part of you that's willing to beg to have him in your mouth right now, but you'd rather not make that one so obvious just yet.

"Why don't you come get your reward then?"

Well, so much for the 'not making it that obvious' plan.

Slowly and gently setting the camera down on the only, lone dresser in the entire room, you just as carefully shrug off the robe you had been wearing — long, loose sleeves tending to be a bit of a detriment for these sorts of activities, best to be nimble and able to do whatever it is that you need to do.

The fact that you don't know what that is yet quite possibly the most enticing part of it.

Spending more time with the man in casual settings, you find it charming as well as that much more sexy to see the way he so easily slips into that dominant role. Not that long ago flustered and shy about you catching him in the kitchen in the same open suit coat that he adorn now.

Closing the distance between you and carefully settling down onto your knees between his legs, you watch as his hand slip down and beneath the fabric that still offer coverage from your sights — palming his growing erection just under, and worse than that — still maintaining that devilish eye contact with you like nothing capable of pulling his vision from yours.

"What do you want?" He asks with a sultry groan to him.

And still maintaining that initial desire to not completely give in to his whims, you instead decide on a bit of turnaround. Biting your lip, you look him straight in the eye to deliver your reply. "What do you want?"

It does give him a bit of pause perhaps — a single eyebrow perking up at the slight bit of defiance you dangle before him, but rather than deter him, he leans into it in full.

And you had not calculated the risk of being told precisely what it is that he wants from you accurately, either.

"I want you to spit on my cock, and then I want to watch you gag on it until I come."

It's a total knockout of a response, just like that. Throat running dry and heart thumping hard in your chest at the promise of exactly that, Doyoung's eyes remain on you as he offers you nothing more than a small shrug at your inability to properly digest the information.

"You asked," He adds with a much too sly smirk.

Hand shifting to be removed from his pants, Doyoung runs his thumb over the tip of his length to gather the bit of precum that's since gathered there, and upon its exit, he whispers a simple "come here" as he extends it towards you and presses the digit between your all too accommodating lips to suck him clean. Wet and wrapping around it, you run your tongue around him and offer a gentle suction before the man hooks into the corner of your mouth with a deeply wanting groan.

"Get what you want, then."

Taking his hand back from your face, you waste little more time before hooking your own fingers into the sides of his trousers and giving them a tug — hips lifting off of the flooring for just a moment to allow for the shift — you bring the fabric down just enough to be out of the way, watching as his cock springs free and the tip of it lie against his exposed abdomen. Perching over Doyoung's hips, you take him into one hand, a few languid strokes to feel just how hard he already is before dipping your head down and taking him into your mouth with the swirl of your tongue.

Breath hitching in his throat at the feeling of you, it's one of your favorite things about sucking him off — always just a little bit on the verge of falling apart beneath you entirely as you do so.

Pulling off of him for a moment, you glance back up the length of his body to make eye contact with him once again before allowing the lewd display of saliva to fall from your puckered lips and messily onto his shaft in hand. Then, it's back to business, taking him deeper and fuller into your mouth with light suction and long, slow bobs of your head around him.

"Yeah, just like that, baby," Doyoung whispers out, head falling back to take in the feeling just briefly before bringing his gaze back up to watch the way you work him — not wanting to miss a moment of the show. "Love my cock, don't you? Can't get enough?"

Moaning around him in affirmation, the words cause you to stroke him just that much faster — enjoying the way he sounds when you have him like this.

"Think you can take it all this time?" He asks, voice slightly broken already. "Bet you practiced while we were apart, didn't you? Sucking other cock just in hopes that you can take mine that much better if you were to get the chance."

Throbbing between your legs far from dull at this point with a man never relenting in the dirty talk, you once again groan around him as you also feel yourself falling apart despite being wholly untouched thus far. You can't see him, but you feel the shift of his weight to free one of his arms for movement, followed by the familiar feeling of his fingers collecting loose strands of hair as he intertwine them into the collection of it at the back of your head.

Leverage.

There's truth to his words, though. Not so much about sucking off ever Tom, Dick and Harry in town just to practice for the inevitable resurrection of your sexual relationship with Doyoung specifically, but you had seen other men since then, and you had sucked some of their dicks.

You're a little proud of the progress made, sure.

Bringing yourself up enough that only the tip of him remain between your lips, you take a deep breath in preparation for what's to come — the gentle, careful press of his hand down against the back of your head to force more of his cock into your mouth...slowly, inch-by-inch and with no rush to have you take the entirety of him in one go, when he reaches the back of your throat you focus on steadying and relaxing yourself for him. Hissing through his teeth at the feeling of burying himself so deeply within your mouth and throat, as he ventures further, you feel the welling of tears in your eyes at the light discomfort of it.

It's not bad, and far from enough to not want to keep going — rather, the excitement of having so much of him far outweighing those things, anyway.

Slipping into your throat delicately, Doyoung instead opts for short, shallow thrusts into you for the rest of the way, and once he feels your nose against his pubic bone, he can't help the breathy moan that escapes from his lips.

It's heavenly, hearing him so desperate beneath you.

Pulling you back up and off of him slowly, the two of you look at one another — you with teary, wet eyes and swollen, red lips — you think that the darkness in his eyes deepens just that much more at the sight of you destroyed on his cock before him.

"Think you can take it again?"

"Yeah."

"Such a good girl. Go ahead then, swallow me down."

Repeating the previous motions, before your nose settles against his skin, Doyoung instead opts for slow drives of himself into your mouth — gently throat fucking you with dizzying, incoherent sounds melting from his lips as you take just about all of him inside of you like this. It takes very little time before you hear and feel the familiar notions of him reaching his peak, a few harder, deeper drives of his cock up and into your mouth through his attempt to maintain his composure that have you gagging around him ever so slightly, and just as promised.

"Fuck, you take it so well now," he all but whines, eyes screwed shut and eyebrows knitted tightly together as he shallowly bucks his hips up into your mouth to chase his release. "Wanted to earn my cum, didn't you?"

You can't grace him with an answer, and he knows it well enough — the dirty talking is for you, really, knowing the way that every word pools between your legs — an unrelenting throb there now and unknowing if you'll be offered the same release that the man under you be about to experience.

In a way, you almost don't even care if you cum.

Suddenly, Doyoung pulls your head up and off of him completely to instead replace it with his hand — quickly stroking himself to completion only to empty his load on the expanse of exposed skin along his abs and sternum with a hot, heavy, whiny vocalization.

Catching your breath for only a second, in one, fluid motion you dip your head down to lick the white-translucent fluid off of his body as his chest heaves just above where you work.

Turning your head to grant you the ability to look up at him, the two of you make eye contact once again as your tongue dips out to collect his cum. Head falling back, he lets out an exasperated moan at the sheer sight of your desire for him.

"Ride my face," he suddenly demands, hands reaching down for your arms and already pulling you up and towards him. "Now. Come on my face."

A dizzying request from him and not one you had factored into the potential possibilities, you don't bother inquiring further as you struggle to your feet and discard your garments as quickly as possible before wobbling over to him and kneeling above his face with creeping uncertainty.

Doyoung wastes no time, however, digging fingers into the flesh of your behind and pulling your soaking cunt flush against his mouth — digging his tongue firmly into your clit and offering you the much needed relief you had been hoping for. Whimpering in his grasp, he goes at you hard and fast straight from the get go in a way that has you reeling with the threat of an orgasm that you knew wouldn't be all that far off from the horizon, anyway.

"Doyoung, fuck—"

Moaning against you, the vibration tickling your sensitive nub just that much more as he quickly circles over it with far more than just expertise, you find yourself thankful for the close proximity of the wall just behind him as you fall forward slightly and find leverage against it. "Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come—"

You sound somewhat surprised by the fact, large in part because you are. Not that you anywhere near able to follow the flow of time, rather, you know that it certainly hasn't been long since having made your way up here, and already Doyoung is having you tumbling over into orgasm.

In the last moments before you cum; grinding down hard against the mans mouth as he groan up into you and fingers digging into you flesh to hold you in place — you look down ever so briefly to find his eyes — narrow, lustful, and with a job to fulfill right before you come with an embarrassingly high pitched shriek, thighs quaking around his head as you bite the tail end of your yell back and indulge in the feeling of him sucking any coherent thought that you could ever possibly have in that moment straight out of you through your pussy.

And as you wind down from the exhaustion of your early morning escapades, you shakily crawl off of him, clumsily falling to the floor next to him and heaving in the afterglow of ecstasy. The two of you enjoy the silence for just a moment before Doyoung turns his head lazily to allow his eyes to fall upon your weary form.

"Breakfast?"

Huffing out an exhausted laugh, you can't help but smile at the nonchalance of it all as you grant him a nod. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"Cool," he says, bringing himself up and to his feet to shrug off the suit jacket entirely and leaving it bunched up on the floor next to you. "You suck my dick like that again and I'll cook you a six course meal every day until Mina gets home."

"Good to know."

With your nose buried in your laptop and comfortably sat in the lavish living room with no company other than yourself, you tab away at your keyboard to answer work emails and respond to other such employment related inquiries. Approximately a week into your stay at the current residence, you find yourself quite easily settled in by now: the two of you working on your own for the majority of the day, occasionally meeting in the kitchen or the hallway as either you or Doyoung come to and from your standard whereabouts, and, if given the free time at a whim — a quickie where ever either of you wish to have the other.

The entire circumstances fundamentally erotic — your entire being there at all deeply erotic in a sense — but with a week down and more rounds under your belt than days spent there already, you can't help but find that the simplicity of domesticity already setting in, in a way.

When Mina had suggested a sort of 'fake-dating' scenario, you hadn't anticipated it being so on the nose.

Because it truly does feel as though you and Doyoung are dating: engaged in a relationship beyond just the sexual, despite being intensely sexually charged and the entire surroundings of it being build off of that. You eat together, you chat together, you shower together occasionally — for all intents and purposes, you are, as Mina had suggested, dating; in some way, shape, or form.

It's not boring, but a sense of excitement and luster has already worn off in a way that you can't help but acknowledge. Of course, you still desire the man viscerally just as you always had the very moment you began your physical relationship with him...but the fact of the matter is just that: it's different now.

Upon sending out your last email at just before four in the afternoon, you shut your laptop in tune to the sound of Doyoung treading down the upstairs hallway and making his way down the stairs. Glancing up towards him, the two of you make eye contact, giving him pause for just a second before he continues his way down to the floor level of the home.

"What do you say about ordering in tonight, I don't feel like cooking again."

Dramatically throwing yourself back along the length of the couch, you swing your arm up and across your face like a damsel in distress at the mere thought of not being personally catered to. "What ever will I do? What's the point of even being here?"

He rolls his eyes at your overacting. "I'm going to order a pizza. I'll order two so that there are leftovers for tomorrow, then I can really punish you if I have to."

"Kinky," you quip back playfully as you bring yourself back up to a sitting position on the black leather. "Then what?"

Bringing his hands to settle on his hips, Doyoung simply stares at you with his head cocked to the side.

"If you think I'm going to be your tough, hard dominant boy-toy your whole stay then sorry to disappoint, but I'm only one man, I need some rest too, you know."

Of course, the banter is part of the fun of it. Something that the two of you have always engaged in, but as of late with the comfort of living together established, a new level of it unlocked. Easier and more fluid. Where once upon a time there be perhaps more truthful venom behind comments or words, instead now rest an adoring familiarity between the new faux-couple.

"Endlessly disappointing, aren't you?" You sigh in response, unable to fully hide your grin.

"So I've been told," he's quick to admit. "But if you're good tonight then there is something you might be pleased to discuss over dinner."

An intriguing promise of what's to come, and entirely unknowing of what it is that he be referring to, you find your curiosity to most definitely be piqued. Eyebrow quirking upward at the sly comment, you're mindful of the mischievous glimmer in his eye that you know to only present itself when the man have something very particular, and particularly raunchy, at that, in mind.

As the both of you settle into the smaller living room area just next to the dining room — fireplace lightly crackling in the not too far off distance and a cheap bottle of white wine opened and set on the tiny coffee table, as the television in front of you sounds off to fill the room with sitcom chatter and laughter, you glance over to the man just next to you: sitting with legs crossed in front of him and his plate balanced onto his lap as he bite into a slice of cheap, cheese pizza. It's a sight that you come to realize in the moment that you're unfamiliar with, all things considered: a particularly raw and true level of domesticity where Doyoung exist as just some guy, in the best way possible. You realize in this moment as well, that it's times like this that are likely cause for Mina's falling in love with him. A good man, after all — and more than that, seemingly perfectly well-rounded in all ways, as well.

Even so, as the flicker of illumination dances across sharp, pretty features — round, framed glasses perched upon his nose and rather unkempt hair in the front from a hand running through it numerous times that day — the conversation mentioned earlier weighs the heaviest on your mind with promise of, well, you don't quite know yet; but you sure would like to find out.

"So," you chime, semi-awkwardly on purpose and for effect. It's enough to garner his attention already, a man not all that wrapped up in the show carrying on before him to begin with. "About that talk."

"Right," he quickly responds with a single nod, setting the food down onto the plate in front of him and bending forward to set it onto the table between the both of you. "About that. I was curious how much of this...arrangement you were looking to explore in our time together."

The inquiry brings pause, finding the wording of it slightly difficult to navigate, because what does he mean by that?

You suppose your hesitancy is telling, however — Doyoung chuckling lightly under his breath before rephrasing the question more clearly.

"I mean...the first time we started sleeping together you were interested in exploring a rather dominant and submissive power play scenario. I'm wondering if you're wanting to explore that further."

'Further,' you think, being the operative word, and yes, yes you do.

Reaching forward for your glass of wine, you take a sip before answering him confidently. "Yeah, I've thought about it. I had done some exploring this past year but—"

Hesitating to think through your words carefully, Doyoung interjects with the thought you had been leaning towards anyway, and in a way, it proves your point just that much more.

"—Haven't established that level of trust with anyone?"

"Yeah, that."

He nods, finally spinning himself in place on the couch to fully face towards you. In a way he appears particularly earnest, as if even now still vying for that level of trust necessary to engage in the even harder, darker sides of BDSM as implied.

"Then," he says a bit more seriously than you would have ever really expected. "Tell me what you want."

You suppose that as far as situations that require a more serious touch, this be at the top of his list.

It's not something that you've spent all that much time thinking about, however. No list of 'things to try' on hand or a bullet pointed note on your laptop of all of the ways in which you wish for him to have you. Rather, they be fleeting, passing moments that you find yourself fantasizing about in private, discarded just as quickly as they find themselves making way into your mind.

But you do know that they still lie embedded in there somewhere, you just have to dig them back up.

As well as relay them to him in plain, simple words. It's not only an admittance of desire, but one of confession: 'this is all of the ways I've wanted you even since then.'

You swallow down the bubbling humiliation though, knowing that if not capable of bestowing upon him precisely what it is that you want of him that he be in no position to grant it to you.

He needs to know everything, because he has to have a plan.

"Restraints," you begin, inhaling deeply after the word leaves your mouth. "Orgasm control, impact play...basically all of the same but turned up a notch."

Doyoung nods, reaching towards his own glass of wine and sipping from the rim. Then, after thinking through your words, he offers another nod of understanding.

"Okay, then here are my rules: first, the same safe wording system will remain in place, we both know it and are familiar with using it so I think that's best. Second, no renegotiation mid-scene, it makes it difficult for me to be able to have an understanding of where you are and also gives me cause to have less trust in your word—"

Pausing again and with his head tilted down towards his lap, he glances up through his eyelashes at you for explicit eye contact in that moment.

"—And if I'm going to hit you, I need to be able to trust your word of when it's just enough, or too much."

"Yeah, of course."

"Cool," he finally sighs, dropping the tough and serious exterior to once again fall back into the Just A Guy role he had previously been enjoying. Doyoung slumps to the side and against the back of the couch with a contented grin as he finishes up his thought. "Tomorrow evening, then? Doesn't have to be then—"

"No!" You nearly shout, already thrilled with the thought of all that's soon to come to you. "No, tomorrow is good, perfect."

Standing to his feet, the man reaches down to take both of your plates into hand with intention of heading towards the kitchen. "I'm going to head to bed then. Long day, tomorrow will be longer now — try to get some good rest tonight."

Needing no verbal response, you sit back comfortably against the large cushions of the couch as he begin to head towards his exit — it's then, that a sudden thought comes to mind in an instant, and before your window for negotiation truly closes, you have to put it out there, now or never.

"Oh! Doie? One more thing about the scene tomorrow?"

He hums in acknowledgment of your words, merely glancing back and over his shoulder at you in wait for what it is that you wish to add.

"When you hit me...leave your wedding band on."

Snorting through his nose with a chuckle, the man playfully shakes his head at the thought and the implications behind it — just as quick on the uptake of one of the joys of kink exploration within the confines of this arrangement.

No one is cheating on anyone, doesn't mean we can't pretend, though.

"Kinky minx," He responds coyly, dumping the dishes into the sink and disappearing into the darkness of the otherwise unlit household.

"Shall we?"

Doyoung's voice is calm and pleasant when he asks the question. There's a hint of knowing within it, a playful nuance in regards to what's to come from here on out that already has anticipation pooling between your legs in a relatively unexpected way. You were excited for tonight, of course, but a physical response as a result of him merely alluding to it not exactly something you had foreseen in your future.

You recall Mina telling you how good of a dom he is a year ago.

The evenings festivities call for a one drink maximum: a rule implemented by the man himself to ensure that the parties involved be well aware of themselves and within the grips of their own feelings and boundaries enough to ensure safe play. One drink offering plenty to take the buzz of nervousness edge off, after all.

Dinner is light. Enough to keep the both of you fed and fulfilled without weighing either of you down, especially when you can't be sure when or if you're to be gagged — and beyond that, on what, you'd rather not take the risk of throwing up all over him — at least, minimize it as much as possible.

None of this is all that new to you, though. You've played before, partaken in kink and gone to parties before. Engaged in such things with people who are not Doyoung in between then and now — but as you quietly follow him downstairs and into the basement below, you find yourself so much calmer with him that with any of your previous play partners before.

It's not a matter of poor vetting and even poorer partner choices: you've had fun, it's been safe, and everyone has left satisfied. However, there just be something special about your play partner now — a level of trust and understanding between the two of you that takes an edge of uncertainty from the back of your mind and discards it entirely.

You don't have to worry about him, not even a little bit. As a result, you don't have to worry about you, either.

"I can't believe you two have a dungeon, how cliche," You sarcastically quip as your foot lands onto the floor at the end of the stairs.

Doyoung glances at you briefly from over his shoulder and shoots you a roll of his eyes. "It's not a dungeon, we just wanted to keep the upstairs bedrooms available for guests. We had no other plans for the basement, so—"

"—So, you turned it into a dungeon," You finish for him.

Walking over to a small, unceremonious table, Doyoung pulls out a tube of hand lotion from one of the old, brown drawers and squeezes a small dab of it into palm. "If calling it that gets you off, then by all means."

As the man settle in and begin preparing for the activities, you take it upon yourself to glance around and take in the sights. Truly, it's nothing like the fancy, mommy-porn movies: no huge rigs or handcuffs hanging from the ceiling. Rather, it's sort of just a regular room — obviously re-done since moving in to serve this purpose specifically, you take notice of the king sized bed off at the furthest end of the rather small underneath of the home — satin, royal blue sheets and a single pair of restraints hanging from one of the golden bedposts there.

"Have you ever played submissive?"

It's a question that's rattled around your brain for a while now, suppose now is as good a time as ever to sate the curiosity. Doyoung comes up from behind you so quietly that it nearly startles you with another pair of wrist binds in his grips, and as you glance back and the two of you make eye contact, he reaches out for your hand — slowly fastening one of them to your wrist before answering the question.

"If you must know, yes," He says, tightening the restraint against your skin just firm enough for a good hold, and without causing pain. "One of those...'you gotta try it once' sort of situations."

"How did that go?" You ask further as he spins you in place to face him, fastening the other half of the tan leather to you. Doyoung offers you a sly grin first, slowly stepping you backwards on your heels and towards the bed, before gently tipping you and causing you to fall flat on your back to the mattress below.

"Didn't take."

While restraints, you find, aren't typically your thing, it's a situation in which you feel comfortable with him. You question momentarily if there be any other person in the world that you would be willing to be in this current scenario with: bound and laid out against the sheets of someone's basement bed, and the answer is a quite easy and resounding 'no.'

"Recite back the safe word system," He demands, tone dropping in a way that you know this be the beginnings of the scene at hand. You watch him as he rolls up the sleeve of his white, button down shirt — more or less still dressed up from the work day just before — sort of the archetype of the CEO dominant man that while typically you don't find yourself creaming yourself for...this time, it's sort of working for you.

"Green is good to keep going, yellow to slow down and lighten up, red is full stop to the scene. If unable to speak: two taps to someone's body is effectively a yellow sign, and three is a red sign."

"Good girl," he chimes, squatting down to the edge of the bed between your legs and hooking fingers into the sweatpants you're wearing. "Scene renegotiation?"

"Only to lessen, never to strengthen."

Pulling the fabric down your legs, panties and all, you feel the rush of cool air against your flesh in a particularly stark way — your body temperature seemingly already flaring up at just the mere discussion of the rules from here on out, you find this to also be an unexpected turn out of tonight's engagements.

"Sit up," He then requests; a near impossible task for you alone given your bind. He knows this, naturally, and reaches for the center of your restraints to pull you upwards and seated just as he desires.

Cold fingers just grazing the flesh of your torso as he grabs at the hem of your shirt and brings it up over your head, it's electric — felt through what you think could be every nerve of your body with barely any physical touch at all.

A worrying trend for your resolve tonight.

With you fully disrobed, Doyoung pushes you to lie back again, dipping down into his previous position and hooking his arms under your legs to pull your bottom to the edge of the bed. It's exciting already: the anticipation of what's to come and what he will do with you — relinquishing all power and ability to be an engaging participant in your activities in a way not yet engaged in since your time arriving in the home.

It's then that he dips a single finger between your folds — the touch is delicate, barely offering you any sort of stimulation at all, and as a result, you're already keening and attempting to melt yourself into his touch. This, of course, gives him great pleasure at the sight of you already so needy and wanting for him — evidenced on his face as he looks up at you from between your legs and gives your clit the lightest feathering of a swirl with the tip of the digit present there.

"In a rush?" He asks teasingly, still circling the collection of nerves between your thighs.

A dizzying offering of almost nothing to your body despite knowing how you crave his touch.

"What do you want?" Doyoung questions as if speaking to no one in particular, finger dipping down towards your opening and shallowing pressing inward as if intending to penetrate you. "I take it you want me to fuck you open with my hand?"

With a small whimper dropping from your mouth, he hums inquisitively. "Feel my tongue on you? Taste you like you have the last cunt on earth?"

"Yes," You finally whine in reply, but the response from you garners nothing from the man in question.

Instead, and in a rather surprising turn of events, Doyoung gives you just that: carefully slipping a single finger into you, slowly fucking into you with ease as a result of the ample arousal already having pooled there. It's shallow, slow, and far from enough to get you anywhere you're wanting so desperately to go, but better than nothing — a moment later, you feel the heated waves of breath across your labia as he brings his mouth mere centimeters from your mound.

Nearly instinctually you attempt to grind yourself down and against his hand and face, but it results in little given your lack of mobility. A light chuckle offered from him as a result of your wanting, you feel him press his lips lightly against your lower ones, but only to speak.

"You think I'm going to let you come?" He questions, offering one, long, stripe of his tongue through your slit finally and giving you the warm, wet, contact that you've been silently begging for. "You still want it even though you know I won't, that's how desperate you are for me, isn't it?"

Whining out a breathy affirmation of the fact, he serves you another press of his tongue against you for what you can only figure is 'good behavior.'

"I can always make you come so quick like this, can't I? Like your pussy was made for me—" He carries on the thought, pausing long enough to drag his tongue over you languidly and pulling from you the most desperate whines each and every time. "Body made for me, isn't it? Your mouth, your throat, your cunt, your ass...all mine for the taking, aren't they?"

The moan that tears from your throat at the words is nothing sort of humiliating.

"Answer."

"Yes, they are," You force yourself to reply through a breathy, broken voice.

"I know, you're so good for me. What a perfect little toy for me to come inside and toss aside until next time, aren't you?"

You don't have a chance to respond before his mouth is attached to you, tongue digging firmly into your clit and the sound of him sucking into you resonating through the otherwise empty basement. Eyes screwing shut, you only have a second of self-awareness to realize that he really might be able to make you come in record time at this rate. Curling his fingers up into you and running his tongue across you in just the way that he knows gets you there, you whine out loudly — back coming up and off the bed as he seemingly tries to get you there already.

"Fuck, fuck—" you breathe out as your body finds itself on the precipice of orgasm, but as a man all too good at what he does; expert hands and mouth bringing you just to the brink before pulling back from you entirely and watching your body tremble at the feeling of the loss. "—Doyoung please, please please."

"And what have you done to earn it, hm?" He asks, leaning forward and over your body to take your bound hands into his grasp and sit you upright at the edge of the bed before him. Still shaking lightly from the feeling of a ruined orgasm, hair strewn about your face and eyes glazed over from the need — Doyoung looks down at you with a gentle cock of his head as if charmed by the sight of you already so fucked out with so little having taken place yet.

Hands reaching down for his belt and subsequently releasing his erection from the confines of his black trousers, you're forced to watch him lightly palm himself just in front of your face.

How familiar a sight it is.

"You know how to earn it, don't you baby?"

You nod, although it's not enough for the man before you. "Answer."

"Yes, I can earn it."

"Good girl," he says, angling the tip of his length down and to your lips, only lightly dragging across before gently tapping you with it as a signal to open your mouth for him. "Though, suppose this is a bit of a reward in and of itself, isn't it? You love my cock, isn't that right?"

With only the tip of him presented between your lips, you're able to still speak around him. A simple "I do, please let me earn it" falling from you before you're able to even register the words and the meaning behind them.

It never gets old the way this man can have you falling apart with ease.

Hand dipping to the back of your head, Doyoung pulls you forward and sheathes as much of himself inside of the warmth of your mouth as he comfortably can at first — just like the last time, there's no aim for discomfort or pushing any particular limits this time — rather, he understands yours and your abilities well enough by now to know precisely the best way to go about having you, and equally as much, allowing you to have him.

Lips firmly wrapped around him, with each pulling back of your head, you look up at him to meet eyes — narrow, dark ones staring down at you to watch the way his cock disappears inside of your body.

"Fuck, that's it baby," he whispers out as he begins to gently drive himself into your face. "Such a pretty face, just made for me to fuck."

But for as much as Doyoung knows you and your body, the same can be said for you and his — you know this sort of engagement to be his weakness, and for all of the chiding he does at your inability to hold out on him, the very same can be said for him in these situations.

Bringing his hand forward and from the back of your head, he instead grasps your jaw, prying it open forcefully so. "Open, swallow it down. Take it all."

Giving you little time to adjust, you feel him press his hips forward and as a result, begin the drive of his cock down into your throat. Gagging around him, he pulls off quickly. "Color?"

"Green."

And with that, he serves you another, direct press of his length down into your throat. Easier this time, but the sound of your heaved breaths and gurgling around him as your nose meets his flesh going straight to that place deep within him that you can tell makes him want to come at a moments notice. As a result, he pulls back and from your mouth entirely — giving you a moment to catch your breath before grabbing at your chin once again and forcing your mouth open for him.

"My little cockslut has gotten so good at that. You sound so pretty when you're gagging around my dick."

Leaning forward, he allows a small dropping of saliva to fall from his mouth and into yours before once again pressing his length between your lips and shallowly fucking your mouth with a few, quick, thrusts.

"You want my come?" He asks firmly, stepping away only enough for the tip of him to rest against your mouth.

"Yes."

And then it comes: one light, open-palmed snap of his wrist against the side of your jaw.

"I don't believe you, make me believe it."

"Yes! Yes, please come in my mouth, please let me taste you, Doie."

Tightly gripping your jaw again, he holds you in place to rub the mess of saliva and precum thoroughly around your face — so wet that it's nearly dripping from you — Doyoung smiles down at you at the sound of the pet name leaving your mouth.

Because that's when he knows you're really fucked up for him.

Another, slightly harder tap of the inside of his fingers to your jaw — it doesn't hurt and it's far from jarring in any way, but the implications of it within the scene driving you absolutely wild in the moment, you're happy you asked for this in particular.

The glimmer of his wedding ring still present on his hand, all the while.

"So nice of my wife to offer me such a compliant play-thing to use as I wish while she's gone," he says, finally dropping his pants to the floor entirely and beginning the unbuttoning of his shirt as if to soon discard it entirely. "Suppose now I get to decide which hole I want to take, don't I?"

You nod, and as a result, Doyoung lands the hardest connection of his hand to your face that he's given you thus far. This time, enough to actually cause your head to move a bit, as well as the slightest sting to the skin.

"How many times do I have to instruct you to answer? Are you already so fuck-dumb that you can't remember one, single rule?"

"No! I know it, I'm sorry!" You quickly amend with a shake of your head. "You can have anything you want from me."

"I know," he plainly responds, as if already grown tired of the discussion at hand. Simultaneously, Doyoung pushes you to the side and back against the bed, only this time pulling you up by the hips and displaying you bent over and lewdly spread open for him at the edge of the bed. "I'll take what I want, that is your purpose here, after all, isn't it?"

"It is," You quickly answer this time as to avoid punishment.

Feeling the tip of his cock pressed against your opening, you hear the man chuckle from behind you at the sight before him. "Your messy little cunt is practically dripping. Begging to be filled with me. Pathetic."

The words garner a whimper, and pathetic is correct as you feel him drag the length of his cock up and down your folds in a simulation of fucking you. Slow, concentrated drives against you, but not into you, that have you keening and attempting to push back and onto him in a way that is far beyond humiliating — a new low for you, even given your previous encounters. You don't think you've ever needed to feel him this badly, and worse than that, you know that he knows it, too.

You're thankful when he readjusts his position, feeling the tip of him pressed at your opening again followed by the smooth, easy glide of his full length into you. A dizzying feeling of being so full of him after what feels like an eternity of being denied him in so many ways, Doyoung sinks into you from behind and sits flush against your ass for only a moment before leaning forward and harshly gripping his fingers into your hair.

Followed with a hard, rough, snaps of his hips into you that has you nearly toppling forward at the momentum of it.

"You thought I was going to fuck you for you?" He breaths out, venom lacing his tone as he delivers another, harsh, thrust into you. "You're nothing but a hole for me to fuck, and come in."

Pressing your face into the mattress, the man then focus entirely on his own pleasure: chasing his release as he fucks you hard, quick, and selfishly. No concern for the proximity of your orgasm as a result of him.

The irony being, of course, that after so much lead up to this moment, you're just about there, anyway.

Stopping briefly and much to your display, Doyoung comes around to the side of you to release you of your restraints, but as he settles in behind you and sinks into you all over again, you feel him lean forward to retrieve both of your wrists and twisting them behind you — new, better leverage for him to use your body with like this.

"God, your cunt feels fucking heavenly," he groans through rough drives into you and over the sound of your pathetic, fucked-out babbling just below. "Useless bitch not good for anything but taking my cock, guess you're good for something, after all."

"Fuck, Doie—" you whine out at the culmination of words and the feeling of him relentlessly pounding you.

"Yeah? Is the little whore gonna come anyway? Even when I just try to use your body to dump my load in, it still gets you off, that's how much you love it, huh?"

He's right. This one might keep you up at night in the future.

"Yes—" you whimper breathlessly, dangling on the edge of your now inevitable release. "Yes, yes, yes, please I'm gonna come—"

"Fine," he hums, similarly close to his own peak. "Come then, want to feel you milk me when I fuck my load into your messy little pussy."

And so you do. Your orgasm ripping through your body hard and quick — shrieking loudly against the mattress as Doyoung continues to pound you through it — shaking and clawing at nothing attainable as it tears through every inch of your body. You're barely aware enough to hear him groan out from behind you as his own takes him: cock deeply buried into your walls as he unloads inside of you — cock so hard and deep that you feel the pulse and twitch with every rope of cum that he delivers to your insides.

Slowly, carefully pulling from you, listening for the way his breaths are heavy and worn from the scene having just played out to perfection, as you fall to your side to lie flat against the bed to catch your own you feel the gentle, careful dip of the mattress from just beside you as he settles in just the same.

Silence blanketing between the two of you, you inhale to speak — only to be cut off by words of his own in an entirely unsurprising and frankly, shocking way.

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

The snap question comes out before you have a second to even really mull over what it is that he could be apologizing for, because frankly, everything went on without a hitch. It was everything you had wanted and maybe even more, and now he's apologizing for it?

Arm slinging up and over his face as if to hide himself from you in a way, Doyoung sighs. "You know I don't mean that stuff right? About this being the only reason you're here? I feel kinda..."

"You're dropping right now," you interject suddenly, reaching over to take his hand into your to offer him some seemingly much needed soft, physical comfort. "What do you say we head up to that big tub you guys have in the upstairs bathroom and take a nice, cozy bath?"

With a delicate squeeze of your hand, you take it as an accepting of terms — not even bothering to dress before escaping the basement and wobbling yourselves up to the next scene on the agenda: aftercare.

"When did you know you wanted to marry Mina?"

Sat up against one end of the tub with Doyoung's back to you, you run soapy fingers through messy, black strands — nails gently grazing the flesh beneath in such a soothing way that you all but feel the man melting into you presence, he hums at the question before sighing to answer it.

"Quite early in our dating, actually," The man replies confidently, head tilting back so that you can lather him up better. "Maybe three, four months in I felt like she was going to be the woman I spent the rest of my life with. Of course, we were kids so we dated for a long time before taking the step, but I knew."

A charming side of him that you typically find yourself unfamiliar with — listening to him muse about the love of his life, your best friend, and the ease in which he does so even in the most intimate company of yourself.

"Cute," you whisper from just behind him, wetting your hands again before setting them back within his tresses. "Who knew you were such a soft romantic?"

"Hey! I have many sides to myself!"

Happy with your cleansing, you take the shower nozzle into hand and instruct him to dip his head back towards you even more to gently rinse the suds from him, and once rid of them entirely, you delicately press his head back upwards to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better."

Planting a kiss to an exposed shoulder blade, your lips linger there as if to speak directly into his skin. "Have you ever dropped like that before?"

Doyoung chuckles at the question, as if slightly humiliated by the answer as he nods his head in affirmation of it. "Yeah, Mina could tell you plenty a story about coddling me after a particularly rough dom drop."

But rather than shameful, you find it adding a new level of humanity to the man that only allows for you to appreciate him and the role that he take on just that much more.

"You did well," you offer him in solace with a squeeze of your arms that encompass him. "It was amazing. I couldn't imagine playing like that with — well, anyone who isn't you, I suppose."

Reaching to find your hand, he takes it into his and presses the back of it to his lips for a small peck.

"Good, I'm glad. I had fun, too."

After drying off and heading back down to the kitchen for a late night, before bed snack, as the both of you head into your separate directions for sleep, it crosses your mind to ask him to spend it with you.

You find in the next two weeks that the majority of the time is spent much like the first: working from the home and occasionally meeting with your live-in partner for silly activities when the time should meet and the interest strike: the occasional blowjob in the kitchen, or being eaten out against the upstairs railing of the hallway — and if time really permits, bent over the back of the couch where you typically work from. Suppose it can be chalked up to the excitement of a sort of honeymoon phase shared between the two of you, after all, this just be yet another arrangement with an end date, and if the effort is to show, then you both have every intention of getting your proverbial moneys worth.

In the midst of a particularly slow work week for you, and a much heftier one for Doyoung, you find him out and about much less — earlier so offering you the handling of his credit card to order food to the house as you see fit on account of him having little to no free time to do any of his usual cooking — you accept it with a bit of a dropped heart. Sure, there's joy in having free reign of a rather full bank account not belonging to yourself, but more than that; the enjoyment of spending time with him now cut incredibly short and on a whim.

Your relationship together has shifted. It's not necessarily just sex (although that still be a large portion of it), but rather, the two of you melding together in a way that you figure neither of you had really seen coming. Enjoying the company of each other in non-sexual settings — in fact, you come to realize that dinner be one of your favorite times of the day as you wind down from working hours and instead just chat about normal, everyday things. Goings on in the world, work, maybe even some gossip about friends — a bizarre realization, and so far into your time spent here now: you and Doyoung are friends.

Sure, friends that viscerally enjoy the body of the other, but still just friends aside from that.

Waking late one night on account of what in particular — you can't be so sure — you grab your phone from next to you to read the time: a quarter past three in the morning. Having grown accustomed to the bed in which you currently lie, you settle your head back into the pillow to once again meander off to dream land; that is, before you hear the familiar clattering of keyboard typing from down the hall.

It's not that you can't sleep through it, you most definitely can — the sound not carrying far or loud enough to disturb you all that much — rather, it's the thought that Doyoung be up still, this late at night, and to work, at that.

Kim Doyoung is many things. Workaholic high on the list, certainly.

Slipping your robe on over your shoulders like so many times before, you once again carry yourself down the hall quietly — as if meant not to awaken anyone despite being the only two people in the home — as you reach the doorway where his study reside, you listen in for the sound of the keyboard again before entering and disturbing him in full.

But instead, you're met with silence.

You know what you've heard, though, and turning into the door, you suppose you can't be all that surprised by the sight that greets you: a man slumped back in his chair, head tilted back and against the headrest, utterly unconscious as the bright, blue light of the monitor before him illuminates his handsome features.

At the very least you're happy to find him comfortably dressed for late night engagements like this — gray sweatpants and a matching gray pullover sweater with the name of the widely regarded college that he had attended years back — you take it upon yourself to step towards him and with a gentle hand pressed to his shoulder, you slowly shake him back to his senses.

"Doyoung," you whisper, an attempt to pull him back into a conscious state with as little startling as possible. "Doie, wake up."

Thankful for the ease in which he comes to, picking himself back up to sit straight and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands, Doyoung blinks hard towards the screen before glancing up and towards you. "What are you doing up?"

"I could ask the same of you," You quip back, hands into your hips like a disappointed mother figure. "Let's get you to bed, Mister."

"Mom—" he drawls, playing along with the scene, but saving his work and shutting the machine down all of the same as he stands to his feet. "I don't wanna."

You sling an arm around his waist as his finds your shoulders — realistically the man have no problem walking, of course — but you find the scene charming all of the same. As you turn to your left in an attempt to take him to his bedroom, he fights the movement, instead pushing towards the right and down the hall towards your own bedroom.

"Lemmie put you back to bed, first," Doyoung insists, still motioning that way with his body weight against you. "It's the least I can do for you saving me from the grips of Excel spreadsheets."

A bit of a charmer.

Relenting, the two of you make your way down the darkened path and back into your bedroom. He lags behind you next to your bed, nimble fingers reaching into the neckline of your robe to help remove it from your body as you once again lie yourself in bed and cozy up within the sheets — still warm from your presence just earlier in the night.

Doyoung kneels down next to you, arms crossed against the edge and chin pressed into them as he gazes up at you.

"You're the most boring man I know," you start with a breathy chuckle. "Staying up late to do spreadsheets."

"Yes, I know," He willingly admits with a pleasant cock of his head. "Do you want me carnally?"

Reaching over your own body to playfully slap his arm, you opt out of answering the asinine question. Largely due to your awareness of it being rhetorical, but also in part to the both of you knowing that yeah, obviously you do. Embarrassing.

"Get some sleep." He finally says with finality to his tone, standing to his feet with intent to leave.

You figure, now is as good a time as any.

"Actually—" you start, the word coming out a bit more meekly than you had hoped when thinking it through in your head. You suppose it's the possibility of rejection that has to reeling with this sort of lack of confidence that is relatively unfamiliar to you. Still, you push forward with the inquiry; a disservice to yourself not to. "Would you sleep with me? Like, spend the night with me?"

The question gives him pause, and as a result, has you second guessing yourself, too.

"You don't have to, I mean, I don't know if you're not allowed or just don't want to, it's just—"

"—I'm allowed to sleep with you," he interjects suddenly to cut off your anxious word-vomiting, a small smile pulling at his lips as he continues the thought. "The only rule is we can't do anything in the shared bedroom, but yeah, I can spend the night with you."

"Oh," you whisper, perhaps the largest part of you not having anticipated this response after all. "Okay."

"Is that what you want?"

"Yeah, kind of." You answer with a tiny nod.

Instead of engaging in the conversation about it any further, Doyoung takes it as an opportunity to accept your terms and disrobe for the evening: you watch him intently, taking in all of the ways that his body move as he pull the shirt up and over his head to toss it aside — toned chest that you've seen so many times before now only visible through the slivers of illumination granted by the moon through your blinds — it feels intimate in a different way this time: like normal lovers. People not involved in an 'arrangement,' people who are simply dating and might even have sex with each other because often times, that's what people who are dating and attracted to each other do. Falling asleep in one another's arms in the afterglow of it, or maybe just falling asleep in one another's arms as the grand finale of the evening together.

His pants go next, and before you have much of a chance to think further on it, you feel the man slip into your bed and under your covers as you scoot across the mattress to the other side to accommodate for his figure.

"I picked out this mattress," he proudly chimes. "Good, right?"

"No wonder I sleep so well here, thing probably costs an arm and a leg."

"Yeah, it kind of did." Doyoung chuckles, turning to his side to face you.

Silence blanketing the room, with such little light shone in you find it difficult to keep track of where he is, or what he's doing whilst beneath the sheets with you. A gentle rustling of the fabric, you can't tell what he's doing until fingertips feather across the skin of your face to brush stray strands of hair from you.

He must have better night vision than you, and with even more of a shift of his body, you're met with the feeling of warm, minty breath on your face as he dips further into you for a kiss.

You meet him eagerly, maybe even too much so with teeth lightly sinking into his bottom lip and eliciting an ever so slight groan from him at the feeling. He's happy to meet your advances, however, mirroring the motion before parting lips and pressing his tongue into yours.

Barely creating space between you, he instead opts to speak directly into your waiting mouth. "This why you asked me here? Doesn't seem like you're trying to sleep."

You had been originally, but plans do change.

Rather than offering him a verbal reply, you slip a hand down and between your bodies to wrap fingers around his length — already attentive to the stimulation in part — and pumping him gently, you revel in the way his sighs into your mouth; choked and broken groans caught in a dry throat at the feeling of you palming him so deliciously like this.

You're thankful for your night vision finally coming to you, and allowing you to take in the sight of half-lidded, wanting eyes staring back at you.

"It's late," Doyoung whispers first, a lazy reasoning as to why you shouldn't be wanting to partake in such lewd activities currently. But rather than engaging in the banter with him, you bypass it entirely with the one thing that you know will make the man putty in your hands.

Firm, long strokes of his cock in your hand, you once again bite into his lip with a breathy moan against him. "Doie—" you all but whimper into his mouth. "—please."

You get little time between the moment the word drops from your lips and when you find yourself pressed back against the mattress with him hovering over you. A grin of victory splashing across your features as you feel him tug your panties down your legs and toss them aside without much of a care, just as quickly coming back up to bring his mouth to your own with a bit more hungry intent behind it than before.

Reaching down between both of your bodies to position himself to enter you, Doyoung drags fervent, hot kisses down your jaw and to your ear that bring the temperature of your body up just that much more. A once dull throb between your legs now impossible to ignore and full of want as he rub his cock up and down your slit to spread your wetness around before attempting to penetrate you.

"You drive me crazy."

As his hips press forward and his cock begin to sink into you — with a lack of foreplay you find a particularly pleasurable burn that come along with the resistance he's met with upon entering a body not quite made to be ready to take him. Jaw hung ajar at the feeling of him prying you open slowly with shallow, timely thrusts, you exhale heavily against his face as he once again meets you eye to eye.

Seated flush between your legs, he pauses for a moment to kiss you deeply — rocking into you with little withdrawal in a way that has his pubic bone continually bumping against your clit — you whine into his mouth as he drinks it down between dips of his tongue into you.

Cock nearly fully buried inside of you at all times like this, you feel impossibly full of him as he grinds against the apex of your thighs. One hand brought down and gripping firming into your waist as if to hold you perfectly in place to take him, he feels suffocating in a whole new way that you find you've never quite experienced before: in the absence of immense dirty talk and power play — sex with Doyoung be just as intense and enveloping, all the same. A man all too in tune to the needs of your body and mind.

"Feel good?" He finally whispers against your face. You think him to be well aware of the answer already, though.

"Feel so good, so good," you whimper in an airy, stifled tone. "You feel so big."

"And you take it all perfectly."

The words send your brain buzzing, the coiling of release beginning in your abdomen as a result of the relentless pace he has set against your clit — thinking of how far, how deep his cock is buried within you a dizzying thought as he continues to rock against you with just the right rhythm that can have you sent over the edge in no time.

"I want to feel you come around me, baby. Can you do that?" Doyoung asks in a whisper against your cheek as he trails pecks of his lips across your hot skin.

Teeth pulling at your bottom lip as you try to bite back the sounds that threaten to rip from your throat as your orgasm looms on the precipice.

Nails digging into the flesh of your waist as he attempts to drag you down harder against him for more friction, it's just enough while his lips and teeth simultaneously suck into the skin of your neck to decorate you with pretty marks to send you barreling over the edge. Doyoung feels it more than anything as a hedonistic groan drops unexpectedly from his mouth at the feeling of your walls gripping down on his cock still buried well within you as you come.

A chanting whisper against the heated skin of your neck, "Fuck, that's it, just like that."

Riding you out properly through your orgasm, it's only then that the man release his grip on you: opting now for long, fluid drives of his cock into you to bring him to his own end. It doesn't take long after the feeling of you all but milking him for everything that he's worth only moments before — once again burying deep inside of you with the twitch of his length to release warm, wet, ropes of cum deep inside of your now dripping heat.

Head coming back up from your neck to gaze into your fucked-out eyes, his vision dances over your features for just a moment — taking in the sight of you before once again greeting you with a deep, adoring kiss.

Wincing from the stimulation of having just come as he drags his softening cock from you, Doyoung flops to the side of you with a heavy exhale — a hand mischievously finding itself between your legs once again to play with the mixture of cum and other such wetness left behind in the aftermath of your unplanned rendezvous.

"So," he sighs out as the tip of his middle finger drags up and against your all too sensitive clit. "Those spreadsheets, huh?"

How cruel the world is — the most exquisite cock being attached to the most insufferable man you could ever know.

As the last day at the residence finally comes around, you spend the days just prior expecting it to be bittersweet, in ways. Naturally, you're thankful for Mina's return as well as yourself reentering a life of normalcy compared to the rollercoaster of a getaway as you've spent the last few weeks — rather, you're none bitter and all sweet for all of those aforementioned reasons.

Of course, your relationship with Doyoung has reasonably shifted. A man that once only served as a mark of unappreciated and relatively unwelcomed contention, now having morphed into one of your most trusted and perhaps even in ways, adored, people in your life.

You contribute it mostly to the little things. The ins and outs of living an everyday life alongside the man — allowing to view him in a new way, and maybe even the way that Mina does — that casts him in a brand new light. Hardworking, thoughtful, and above all else: trustworthy.

Putting your care and well-being: emotionally, mentally, physically — in his hands, and not only coming out on the other end just as well as you had gone into it, but in ways, even better.

But don't tell him that, it'll go to his head.

On the last evening and after that aforementioned six course meal that you had never actually expected to come to fruition, as you find yourself comfortably seated on the loveseat in front of the television and just next to the warmth of a crackling fireplace, you gaze over the back of the cushioning: watching the man with rolled up long sleeves as he pop a last bottle of some expensive wine he got from who-knows-where as a sort of parting gift only shared between the two of you.

Two glasses in hand, Doyoung hands you one and you share a light tapping of rims before taking your first sips as he sits down next to you.

"Excited to get back home?"

Mulling over the question momentarily, you hum into the edge of the glass before taking another, small sip and setting it onto the table just in front of you.

"Yeah, I feel like I've been on vacation too long being here, it feels weird."

Chuckling, he matches your action before leaning his head against the couch to look at you. "You've been working this entire time, hardly a vacation."

"That's true."

"Imagine my surprise finding out that you do have a job that isn't simply being friends with my wife!"

Tossing your head back as if in utter disbelief that he really be bringing this joke back, you whine out your response to him. "Are you really going to do this again?"

"Have to keep things interesting still," he starts with a sly grin, reaching for your arm and lightly taking it into his hand by the wrist. "If I'm too nice to you, you won't want me viscerally anymore."

The physical touch serving as a motion to have to closer to him, you follow his lead — pushing yourself across the furniture and pressed up against him with your side. Playing mad, you choose to ignore the way his fingers feel against your skin, but harder than that: ignoring his breath against your ear as his face dips down and closer to yours.

More than aware of his ability to feel your skin raising beneath his touch, you instead make an attempt to bring attention away from it.

What's the harm in a little hard to get fun on the last night, anyway?

That is, if you can hold out long enough to make it such.

"Am I supposed to still want you after this is all over?" You ask firmly, as if none too affected by the proximity of his body to your own. "Like knowing that your wife’s best friend desires you sexually or something?"

"Sure," he admits without missing a beat. "Doesn't everyone like feeling desired?"

You opt out of responding, but your lack of one does not offer the reprieve you had hoped as he continue on with the thought.

"The taboo nature of the husband and the wife’s best friend—" he whispers into you, hand on your wrist now long since abandoning its position and moving across to your thigh.

Yes, you had worn a skirt on purpose knowing the plans for the evening. Plans to only play hard to get, after all. Not actually make it all that difficult to acquire.

"—Plus, you already admitted you still thought about it long after the first arrangement ended. Am I supposed to believe you just needed a month to get it out of your system and thus you've now grown tired of me?"

"I could go off it just fine," You continue the ruse, tone pointed and unaffected as his fingertips feather up and under the hem of the garment laid across your legs.

As the tip of his middle finger edges just up against the front of your panties, you delicately attempt to squeeze your thighs shut, only for the man to take notice and disallow it immediately.

"Spread your legs."

Of course, you do as you're told. Not yet relinquished from the grip that he has on you.

The problem lie in how electric his touch is — knowing just the right way of engaging with you physically, pressing all of the correct proverbial buttons that time and time again has to coming undone for him as quickly or as slowly as he would like, depending on the circumstances — with his hand curling into your underwear and a single digit pressing against your slit, you can just about feel the way his lips turn upward at your compliance for him even now. Until the very end.

"Is that so?" Doyoung finally says in acknowledgment of your obvious lie. Eyes thin and intent on you as you try your best to not make your want for him so damn obvious. "Well, you're going to have to, after all. I can't help but wonder, though—"

Pausing the thought as he gently penetrates you with a single finger and you subsequently melting in his grasp at the feeling of it — you know you've lost, but suppose even in that there is victory.

"—Who's going to make you come the way I do? Who's going to have you a whimpering, begging mess for them the way that I do? Who will you be able to relinquish all power and control to the way you do with me?"

You know that he's using it as dirty talk in the present moment, but you'd be lying if you said you hadn't been asking yourself the very same questions these last few evenings spent at the marital home.

Who is going to replace Doyoung in your life?

"We'll have to find you someone nice to play with," he begins again, pulling from inside of you and turning his attention to your clit with the very same finger, instead. "Well, not too nice."

'We.'

The idea that Doyoung will be by your side, aiding you in finding and vetting any future play partners because not only is his safety important to him, but your enjoyment, as well. The idea that although it brings him great pleasure to be that sole person in your life capable of bringing you to that level of sexuality, that he knows your arrangement unsustainable long term, and him not wanting you to miss out on it just because of his unavailability.

Guess you really do have to hand it to your bestie, she really landed a keeper.

As the first, small, whimper drops from your lips, the familiar feeling of Doyoung smiling against you returns again as he meets it with praise, as always. "There she is," he says, as if having been working to summon the version of you that lie dormant and waiting to fall apart for him as he see fit.

"Come here," he whispers against your ear, low and up to no good, you're sure. "Why don't you come sit on it?"

So much for playing hard to get, the promise of being full to the brim with him one last time all too enticing to play games with, Doyoung pulls his hand away quickly to shove his pants down his legs and out of the way as you bring yourself to a knelt position atop the cushions. Turning to face him, it's a sight that you think may never get old, and that you'll likely have carried with you forever should you be able to maintain it: Doyoung's slanted lean against the back of the couch in wait for you to straddle him — long, beautiful cock in hand as he lazily strokes himself in preparation to penetrate you, and eyes gazing straight up and into your own — always granting you his full and undivided attention.

Wobbling slightly as you position yourself over his thighs and gently bear down against him, the man angling his length just right for you to impale yourself upon him, as you begin your descent and enjoy the barely-there string of his stretch, Doyoung brings his other hand up to your face to pull you down and close to his own — lips just lightly meeting — as he speaks in hushed, hidden, words.

"Sit on it before my wife gets home, yeah?"

It's something that the two of you had ballparked playing with the entire time: the infidelity that not be taking place, but rather, the illusion of it. Roleplaying.

Vaguely dabbled in at the end of your first arrangement, you suppose it only fitting to close off this one, as well.

Sinking down on him slowly, you whine into his mouth at the words. Kissing you delicately at first — more teeth and tongue added to the mix with every inch of him you bury inside of your heat — as you comfortably settle down and into his lap in full, the both of you let out an exhale that neither had been aware of your holding as your eyes meet once again before resuming any movement.

"Good?"

You nod.

Lips grazing down your chin and jaw as he sucks gently into the skin just below, Doyoung barely presses his hips upwards and against you, only enough to pull a threatened hiss from your mouth at the feeling of him almost too deep inside of you.

"Gonna have to be quiet," he whispers into your skin at the reaction of feeling him. "We don't want the missus to hear, now do we?"

"God, you feel so big right now," you say, unable to help breaking character in the moment at how impossibly full you feel. The commentary pulls a breathy laugh from the man beneath you and a small shake of his head in reaction.

"I'm trying to do something new and you just want to default back to that old shit, huh?" He jokingly chastises, hands snaking around to grasp onto your hips as a silent beckoning to begin moving. "Yeah, I get it, it's big, can we move on!"

With the both of you laughing now, the mood feels a tad bit lost — perhaps the initial one, but not the whole mood entirely. Instead, it feels perfect an ending for such a long, sexually-charged, exploratory month — full of growth and understanding and...maybe even some love there, yeah.

Maybe it's not impossible that there be space in your heart for love for him, given everything. Not romantic, or platonic, or familial — but somewhere in between. All of them and none of them simultaneously.

"Fine, geez, never met a man so upset about hearing how big his dick is," You respond with playful annoyance, finally grinding your hips down and against him to garner just that right amount of friction from inside of you that has you both groaning out in tandem at the feeling.

Bringing one hand up from your lower body and making quick work of your blouse, Doyoung palming the mound of flesh that sit eye level with him as you ride him steadily — leaning forward, he wastes no time circling one of the sensitive buds with his warm, wet tongue before fully clasping around it with his mouth and continuing the motion as you fuck him from what might typically be considered for the majority of your engagements: switched positions.

Groaning into your flesh as you find the perfect rhythm for yourself — fingertips digging into the flesh of your hip as he desperately attempts to fuck up into you and match your movements, as he pulls his mouth away from you and you both make eye contact, you realize that perhaps for once you're not the one at the mercy of the other this time, and rather, it's him.

Whining out with eyes clenched shut and dropping his back down against the sofa again, it's a simple "fuck" that escapes him, and nothing else.

But you're pretty sure you know what that means, and for once, you're not even close.

"Already?" You ask, somewhat curious, but somewhat with intent to be a little bit annoying, as well. It works just as expected, eyes flashing open and at you with the most despondent expression you could have imagined.

"Don't be like that, God."

With his jaw clenched so tight you can nearly hear the sound of his teeth gritting, you bear your weight down onto him harder — taking his cock as deeply as you can before switching to full, lengthy, bounces of your hips atop him. The switch immediately has the man beneath you moaning, and with a little bit too much proverbial pep to your step, you lean down to close to distance between your mouth and his ear just as quickly as the thought comes to you.

It's not a whisper, you don't bother making it such: really, who is going to hear?

"Gonna have to be quiet, don't want the missus to hear, do we?"

"Hear what?"

The sound of a third voice feeling a bit like how time feels the seconds before a car crash happens — the sounds of tires screeching before the crunching and clanging of mangled metal — you can't even help the shriek that resounds from you as your eyes immediately pull up at glance over at the entrance to the kitchen from the doorway hall.

Throwing yourself off of Doyoung in a fit of humiliation of also due in part to feeling as though you've been caught fucking your best friends husband (for good reason, you suppose), the man only flings his arm up and over the back end to grant himself enough leverage to turn himself to look at the sight you've only just laid eyes on.

"Saved by the bell, welcome home, honey."

"You guys are so fucking weird!"

The screech coming from you, obviously. Pulling your clothing back into place hurriedly as Doyoung does the same in a much more lackadaisical fashion, you hiss towards him as if still trying to avoid allowing the missus to hear the both of your goings on. "Did you know she was coming home tonight!?"

"No," he chuckles. "But thank God she did, huh? Things were getting a little out of hand!"

With a light tap of your ass, Doyoung stands to his feet to go greet Mina — bags still in hand as she stand with a wide, adoring grin splashed across her face.

"Have fun while I was away, darling?" She asks knowing all too well the answer. Of course, Doyoung happy to play along. "She's incorrigible, my love. Not a moment spent free from her evil clutches."

"I'm sure," Mina replies, kissing him lovingly as he walks past her and into the kitchen, all the while feigning his dismay.

"Are you going to come say 'hi'?"

"Ideally if I wait here long enough I will simply melt into the couch cushion and cease to exist."

Mina rolls her eyes at the dramatics displayed by you. "You do know I already knew you were here fucking my husband all month, right? Like, it was my idea and everything?"

Sighing, you flop around on the sofa like a child throwing an uncontrollable fit. "I know! But it still feels so weird that you...saw it! Why do I feel weird and you don't?"

"Because standardized monogamy and societal assumptions and traditional versus non-traditional relationship models; I don't think you actually want me to explain to you why but — it's fine. I caught an earlier flight in, I kinda knew there was a chance I might catch you guys. I had texted him but you know how he is with his phone."

Silence. Mina sighs.

"Can you say something? Please don't melt into that loveseat it was almost ten thousand dollars."

That being the thing that has you jumping up and off of the furniture in shock and horror, you finally look up at your best friend from across the room — taking in the sight of her gentle and loving smile and in that moment, you accept this snapshot in time for everything that it is, just the same as all of the previous ones this month.

A reminder to take people at their word. To believe what they tell you if there is love between you. To have the bravery and respect to trust someone when even in the shroud of doubt — they tell you that it's okay.

And so, you run your palms over your blouse and skirt in a rushed attempt to clean yourself up ever so slightly, and with one footstep towards the woman that you've held dearest to you for so many years, you swallow down all of the nasty feelings that no one but you and the heavy weight of unrelated parties expectations cast upon you: because after all — that has nothing to do with the three of you, right here, and right now.

"Welcome home, Mina."

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

—this is part 2. part one [here].

#doyoung smut #doyoung x you #doyoung x reader #doyoung x y/n #doyoung imagines #doyoung scenarios #doyoung fanfic #nct smut #nct x reader #nct x y/n #nct x you #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fanfic

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bakubunny · 5 months

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twelve days of kinkmas: a little tradition (1)

part 2

a/n: starting the month with a little bakugo fluff. was gonna do aizawa smut first, but @neon-gothicc inspired this with her denki fic so here u go i hope u like it friend.

pairing: bakugou katsuki x f!reader

prompt: mistletoe

tags: pro!bakusquad, mention of alcohol, katsuki has anxiety, shy!reader, first kiss

see the prompts and join the fun here

If his plan didn’t work, Denki was a dead man. He knew that much. It was early December, and Eijiro and Mina were hosting the first holiday party of the year. After telling them his idea weeks ago when they’d announced the party, Mina had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes and Eijiro was all stupid romantic grins at the thought.

As the couple got decor in place, setting out food and drink for the event, Denki helped set up decorations by hanging things that were a little too high for Mina to reach on her own. When everything was ready and the clock struck seven, people slowly began trickling in as the party started.

Katsuki walked in the front door after Sero. He looked around the room, not noticing much at first. Then he saw it, and turned around to walk out. Sero grabbed him by the coat and pulled him back in.

“Oh, no Bakubro. You dipped on every holiday party last year. You’re staying,” he said.

Denki, the little fucker he is, hung a sprig of mistletoe over every single doorway in the apartment that Katsuki could see. The two blonde men locked eyes, one with a glare and the other a nervous smile.

Yeah, he was a dead man.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

You were in the main living area where most everyone was gathered aside from him and a few others playing a game of some kind, looking like a dream, and Katsuki didn’t know how to handle himself. He couldn’t pull his eyes from the pretty red nail polish that complimented your outfit. It resonated in his head, the way you laughed so genuinely at every one of Sero’s stupid jokes as you sat near him. He felt like he was going to be sick. At some point, Katsuki caught your eyes glancing at the doorways once you’d noticed the first one, but you’d seemed unphased.

Of course she doesn’t care, you fucking idiot, he thought. You’re the only one who’s bothered by it.

As the night dwindled on, every once in a while people would “follow tradition,” giving chaste kisses to their significant other.

He’d hardly spent time with you at all. Truthfully, he didn’t have the courage to.

You’d been on his mind for years, little bits of banter going back and forth as you worked at the front desk of the agency. But he never had the courage to ask you out on a date. It felt stupid; Katsuki had all the confidence and smooth talk in the world when he’d first become a hero, knew just what to say to charm the pants off of any person he wanted to fuck. Then he met you three years ago, and it all came to a screeching halt. His stomach got tight, his mouth went dry. He’d fumble things in his hands for no reason, feel his cheeks heat up whenever you spoke to him. He fucking hated it. His friends never shut up on it, either.

Katsuki noticed there was no one in the main entryway to the dining room where snacks and drinks were displayed, so he took his chance and managed to get through the entrance and then to the bathroom unscathed. He slumped down onto the toilet and started at the floor for a long moment. Red, tired eyes looked back at him when he got up to wash his hands.

“I should just fucking leave. Don’t wanna be here anyway,” he mumbled to himself.

Another knot tightly wound itself in his gut.

It was too loud. Everyone was getting drunk. And tonight, he just didn’t care. He knew his friends must have something up their sleeve, convinced that he gives a single fuck about you when he’s told them time and again that, no, he doesn’t. That they need to butt the hell out of his love life. Because if he were to admit to them that he did, they’d only get worse.

Katsuki also knew that if he ended up under the mistletoe with you, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold himself back.

“Just talk to him, honey!” Mina said quietly with a smile. “Or go take his seat. That’ll start something.”

Your face flared with heat; you’d been debating on approaching Katsuki all night. He looked miserable sitting across the room, but was engaged in other conversation for the most part.

“No, you’re crazy,” you replied.

You stood up and went to grab a glass of water from the dining area. Denki called out as you walked away.

“Hey, wait, can you get me-”

You ran into a wall of muscle with your head turned back to look the other way. Katsuki stood in front of you seemingly dumbfounded and not having noticed you either.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry!”

“‘S fine, you okay?” he asked quietly.

“Kiiiiiss,” Sero shouted from across the room.

“Yeah, it’s tradition. You have to, bad luck if you don’t,” Denki quipped.

One look up and sure enough, you were smack under the entryway.

You stepped back with a nervous laugh and met Katsuki’s gaze. “N-no, it’s okay.”

“C’mon, just a little peck,” Eijiro said.

Katsuki watched your cheeks flush, and the words came out of his idiot mouth before he could stop them.

“Dunceface is right, y’know. Tradition’s tradition,” he mumbled.

With a smile and a sigh, you relented. You pushed onto your toes to reach Katsuki’s cheek and kissed him. As you pulled away, two large hands grabbed your face. Katsuki kissed you hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

The sudden uproar of noise in the room faded in Katsuki’s head as he kissed you once, twice, and again. His heart hammered in his chest. By the second and third one, you were kissing him back. He almost couldn’t believe it.

For once, he thought, Dunceface had a pretty good idea.

sorry i forgot to add the tag list 🤦‍♀️

if you’d like to be added to my tag list, let me know. ♡

gremlins: @callm3senpaii @arlerts-angel @dcsiremc @darkstarlight82 @bookcluberror @neon-gothicc @zazter-den @breadandbutter33 @i-literally-cant-with-this @she-who-writes-for-multi-fandoms @rinalouu @stvrfir3 @r4td0lll @emmab3mma @aria-chikage @mhadabiandhawks4eva @yazminetrahan @doumadono @dreamcastgirl99 @maddietries @jazzafayesworld @karebear5118 @unofficialmuilover @cherriluvs35 @erensslut @ruu-https @hana-yuri @keiva1000 @katsul0vr @trickster-kat @ayeohoh-blog @dinomeow @flamgosstuff @mistressreaper @angelltheninth @anonymously-ominous @amberexe2 @hisconsistency @nanamisbigassschlong @223princess @pastelbakugou @gold24fish

#idk if i like this but it gave me fluffy feels so 🤷‍♀️#it’s giving slight ‘michael in the bathroom’ vibes #if u haven’t heard that song i like it a lot but it’s completely unrelated to this #I hc katsuki as someone who’s got a fuck ton of anxiety and self hate under all that anger #maybe it’s incorrect but it feels right #bnha fluff #mha fluff #bakugou fluff #Bakugo fluff #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katuski #bakugou x reader #x reader #bakubunny #f!reader #kinkmas 2023 #fluffmas 2023 #aged up characters

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nochukoo97 · 10 months

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i will never not think about you

Pairing: Soccer Player!Jungkook x Reader

Summary: req: “May I request something, please? I'd like it to be a JK x reader enemies to lovers fic, when he hears you defending him when someone badmouths about him” alsoo JK PLAYS THE GUITAR HERE for reader 🥺🥺

Word Count: 1.3k+

a/n: this was a request sent to me and i turned out to really like it so i made it a fic to put on my main masterlist HAHAHA ❤️

You and Jungkook were notoriously known for despising each other, he often found ways to pick at you and annoy you, to which you retaliate back twice the amount.

Everytime he would see you, Jungkook always had something irritating to say, the type that would make you roll your eyes at his endless teasing.

But yet Jungkook seemed too perfect for you to find anything to tease him about, he was the school’s star soccer player, had top grades, and he had his values and morals straight. The only downside to this boy was that he could not leave you alone for the life of him.

As much as you “hated” him and envied his perfect conduct, there was this small feeling inside that you constantly pushed away: The sparks you felt in your chest when Jungkook was around you.

You would never let yourself even begin to think about that. It didn’t make sense to you, both you and Jungkook despised each other, so you pushed away those feelings, embarrassed that they had even come about.

———————————————

The canteen is bustling with noise and chaos as students walk into the area, rushing to reserve their seats and buying their food.

Luckily for you and Chaeyong, you had been dismissed early from class and managed to get there before the huge crowd appeared.

You listen to the conversations being carried out at the table with Chaeyong and some of her other friends, of which you weren’t too familiar with, but you gave you input here and there, finding their gossip quite hilarious.

“Oh my gosh~” Mina says, “And then she literally- wait shit that’s Jungkook coming this way!” She squeals as you internally cringe at her reaction.

Another thing about Jungkook was that he was popular amongst the girls, which was what you assumed gave him his ego.

“Hi ___” Jungkook sends you a boyish grin as he slides into the empty seat next to you. You frown at him as you also hear Chaeyong’s friends squeal amongst themselves.

“What?” You grumble as you look back at your plate of food, not in the mood to put up with a fight with him.

But you don’t have time to react when Jungkook slides out of the seat, grabbing his tray, but also using his chopsticks to grab a piece of meat from your plate.

“Jeon Jungkook!” You shout as he walks away grinning from ear to ear with his tray, heading to another table where his teammates sat. You groan as Chaeyong attempts to console you.

“___ why do you even bother to interact with him? He’s such a douchebag and I’m pretty sure he’s a dick, I don’t even think he’s that good at soccer and honestly he’s only popular because of his looks, nothing else,” One of Chaeyong’s friends, Jisu, mocks.

You immediately frown at her words, upset at what she had blatantly just said. “First of all, who are you to say that? Jungkook is literally the top player of our school’s soccer team and he obviously has the skill. If he heard you say that I can guarantee he will not be happy,” You say back at her.

Jisu isn’t quite the happiest at your response either, “Well my boyfriend, Chanyeol, can easily pick a fight with him if he dares to do anything, Jungkook won’t stand a chance,” She scoffs, clearly agitated.

“I can tell you one thing, Jungkook will not lose a fight with anyone here, he’s so strong your boyfriend won’t even be able to stand if they got into a fight, don’t try to use you boyfriend to defend yourself because it’ll never work,” And with that you stand up and take your tray to another table, not wanting to be around Jisu anymore.

Little did you know Jungkook had been standing behind the pillar next to your table and listening to every word you had said.

————————————————

Fast forward a week later, you find yourself stuck with being partners with guess who? Jeon Jungkook.

Your chemistry teacher must have played a sick prank on you both for pairing the two of you up for a project.

So that’s how you’re currently sitting on the floor of Jungkook’s bedroom, as he furiously types away on his laptop.

“Are you just going to sit there and stare into blank space or actually help me over here?” Jungkook looks up at you from his laptop, frowning slightly.

“You play guitar?” You ignore his question as you point to the guitar sitting on a stand in the corner of his room.

“Yeah, okay now back to the project,” Jungkook hastily replies, pushing your laptop towards you in hopes of getting you back on track.

Instead you frown as you push the laptop back, clearly uninterested in the project at the moment.

“Can you play a song for me?” You softly ask, not recognising your own voice. It was as if your underlying feelings for him had suddenly taken over your consciousness.

Jungkook slightly raises his eyebrow, surprised at your tone and your request but complies, as he puts his laptop aside and walks to get the guitar.

“What song do you want me to play?” Jungkook asks, after he expertly tunes the guitar.

“Never Not by Lauv, that’s my favourite,” You giggle as Jungkook playfully rolls his eyes, knowing that he’s heard the same song so many times before.

When Jungkook starts to strum and sing the song, you begin to gaze at him with admiration, heart thumping loudly in your chest as you listen to his honey-like voice ring throughout the room.

And when he finishes, your eyes light up as you praise him, “Oh my gosh that was so good Gguk, thank god you’re at least good at one thing,” You tease him towards the end, not noticing the pet name slipping out of your mouth.

Jungkook looks at you in amusement, not commenting how your “Gguk” made his heart almost explode in his chest.

“I’m pretty good at other things you know, Miss ‘Jungkook is good at soccer and he can beat your boyfriend up’ ” Jungkook laughs, seeing your shocked face.

“I- How- Wait! How do you-” You stutter through words as your jaw drops, “And that’s not what I said anyways!” You whine as you slap his arm.

“Well I just rephrased whatever you said because it seemed like you had a lot of good things to say about me,” Jungkook smirks at you as he puts down the guitar and walks towards your seated figure.

He approaches you and closes the gap between you two, causing you to panic and inch back further, only to be restricted by his bed behind you.

Now the only thing you could feel was Jungkook’s bed frame against your back and his whispering in your ear,

“Didn’t know Miss ‘I hate Jungkook’ loved me so much, hmm?” His breath hits your ear as he whispers, your cheeks turning to a horrible shade of red, breathing staggered.

Jungkook pulls back to stare at your reaction, but you can’t bring yourself to even look at him, letting your gaze fall to your fidgeting hands on your lap.

But the boy has other plans, when he lifts your chin with his fingers, connecting your lips together as you gasp at the sudden move.

“Relax baby,” Jungkook mumbles through the kiss, taking your hands and bringing them up to wrap around his neck.

You slowly began to relax into the kiss, unable to process how unimaginable this was.

When Jungkook breaks away from the kiss, you both look at each other, slightly panting.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” Jungkook coos as he laughs when you frown and slap his chest.

“Okay now sit here,” He pats the ground next to him, “I need to teach my girlfriend how to play my guitar”

#jungkook fluff #jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook ff #jungkook smut #jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #bts #bts ff #bts fic #jungkook angst #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenario #jungkook x you

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vickyvicarious · 7 months

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Letters van Helsing has now read:

9 May - "I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together freely [...] I shall try to do what I see lady journalists do: interviewing and writing descriptions and trying to remember conversations. I am told that, with a little practice, one can remember all that goes on or that one hears said during a day. [...] I have just had a few hurried lines from Jonathan from Transylvania. He is well, and will be returning in about a week."

24 August - "I found my dear one, oh, so thin and pale and weak-looking. All the resolution has gone out of his dear eyes, and that quiet dignity which I told you was in his face has vanished. He is only a wreck of himself, and he does not remember anything that has happened to him for a long time past. [...] ...after saying that she could never mention what my poor dear raved about, added: 'I can tell you this much, my dear: that it was not about anything which he has done wrong himself; and you, as his wife to be, have no cause to be concerned. He has not forgotten you or what he owes to you. His fear was of great and terrible things, which no mortal can treat of.' [...] I have had a great shock, and when I try to think of what it is I feel my head spin round, and I do not know if it was all real or the dreaming of a madman. You know I have had brain fever, and that is to be mad. The secret is here, and I do not want to know it. [...] I took the book from under his pillow, and wrapped it up in white paper, and tied it with a little bit of pale blue ribbon which was round my neck, and sealed it over the knot with sealing-wax, and for my seal I used my wedding ring. Then I kissed it and showed it to my husband, and told him that I would keep it so, and then it would be an outward and visible sign for us all our lives that we trusted each other; that I would never open it unless it were for his own dear sake or for the sake of some stern duty."

17 September - "Jonathan wants looking after still. He is beginning to put some flesh on his bones again, but he was terribly weakened by the long illness; even now he sometimes starts out of his sleep in a sudden way and awakes all trembling until I can coax him back to his usual placidity."

18 September - "But it is here that the grave shock that he experienced tells upon him the most. Oh, it is too hard that a sweet, simple, noble, strong nature such as his—a nature which enabled him by our dear, good friend's aid to rise from clerk to master in a few years—should be so injured that the very essence of its strength is gone."

He has also read Lucy's diary, the first entry of which (24 August) contains these lines: "I must imitate Mina, and keep writing things down. [...] Last night I seemed to be dreaming again just as I was at Whitby."

So, the impression he will have of the facts, upon writing his letter to Mina today, goes something like this:

Mina's then-fiance went to Transylvania and was supposed to return by around 16 May.

Instead, Mina found him terribly ill in a hospital in Budapest on 24 August, about three months later. He had been raving about great and terrible things, but could no longer recall them.

He had written a record of these things.

No one knows what is inside his record, but Mina has possession of it.

He is still fragile/slowly recovering.

Mina was with Lucy on Whitby, where Lucy was likely first attacked.

Mina kept a thorough record of those days.

So his goal in asking to speak to Mina is likely to try and get access to her journal from Whitby, and Jonathan's journal as well if he can manage it (less directly linked but suspicious). Not knowing that she has already read Jonathan's journal, it probably feels like a huge ask (since she sealed it up with great deliberacy) and he probably expects her to have no knowledge of the significance of anything she remembers from Whitby either. No wonder he is so polite and apologetic in his letter.

#dracula daily #van helsing #also he thinks that jonathan must not be able to handle what happened to him so he of course says not to bother him about it at all #he has no intention of involving her further though at this point #but since she has read jonathan's journal things aren't gonna turn out the way he expects

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scarlettriot · 9 months

Text

Okay, listen, I don’t need annnyone telling me how half baked an idea this is but it’s living rent fucking free in my head right now so I’m throwing it in a post (as opposed to in @twisteddaydreams1135 DMs like I have been).

A/B/O stuff. Alpha Kiri and Beta Reader. I write Beta’s a little differently so if you end up not liking it, it is what it is.

No real warnings here. It’s a lot of fluff and comfort honestly.

A Drabble that ended up being about 2K words… my bad.

No editing or proofing. Again, my bad.

Alpha Pro Hero Red Riot who co-owns and agency with Dynamight. Red Riot who’s in his 30s and not married or even mated. He works himself into the dirt because it keeps his mind occupied. Handles everyone’s paperwork. Picks up all the extra shifts at the office. His friends and coworkers can’t remember the last time he took a vacation, if ever!

But, Kirishima never complains. His pack his happy and he claims that makes him happy. But, the pack is getting worried. The dark circles under his once bright eyes never seem to go away. He only redyes his hair when Bakugou reminds him. He’s barely around for pack dinners and if he is home when they’re happening he usually just takes a plate with thanks and what he thinks is a genuine smile and goes to his apartment. He was still a phenomenal leader. So caring with that big heart of his. In fact, it seemed Kirishima cared about everyone around him far more than he ever cared for himself.

So, the pack came up with a plan, you.

You were new to the city, looking for work with your resume being passed around and Mina got her hands on it. A Personal Assistant could be exactly what big guy needed.

She brought your resume to Bakugou who agreed you seemed like a good fit with strong references and skills to match. And, you were a Beta. There’d be no chance your scent would bother Kirishima and both Mina and Bakugou agreed that was a good thing.

So, you started an hour before he did on a sunny Monday morning. In a small office right next to Red Riots. He came in with his protein drink and did a double take. They hired someone new? Since when? Last he checked him and Bakugou approved all hires together.

“Who the heck is she, do we even have room in the budget for a new hire?” He asked his friend after closing his office door.

“Made room in the budget for her. Her name is Y/N and she’s your new personal assistant.”

He made room because everyone took a small pay cut. Which they all agreed was worth it if it gets Kirishima to take a break and fucking relax for once.

“I don’t need a personal assistant. No one else has one!”

“Because everyone else can manage their time just fuckin’ fine. You can’t. You haven’t for almost a damn decade now. Not since—”

“Don’t.” Kirishima rumbled. “I know what you’re gonna say and just don’t. I’ll try and work with her but I make no promises.”

Bakugou knew that was the best outcome he could ask for right now so he didn’t fight him on it. Just nodded as Kirishima left his office and watched as he walked into yours.

Your new boss was nice. He lived up to everything you heard about him aside from a few things:

Kirishima wasn’t a fan of interviews. He would do them but he always looked incredibly worn down when he returned from one.

Kirishima had to be reminded to dye that red mane of his. You scheduled time for that.

And perhaps the biggest thing you learned about the man;

Kirishima HATED down time. You scheduled breaks in his day per his friends requests and either he flat out ignored them or he was in your office bothering you the entire time. Even on his days off he found reasons to be in the office. His newest was bringing you lunch.

You didn’t mind these little visits. In fact, you kinda liked the big guy showing up in your door way. He was a change of pace from some of the other Alpha’s you’ve worked with. And, not that you’d ever admit to crushing on your boss to anyone else, you could at least admit to yourself that you liked having him around.

Still, you had to remind him that this was his day off and he shouldn’t be at work.

“I’ll take a break when you take a break. After all, you are my personal assistant. If you’re working, I should be too.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works, Red.”

He shrugs those wide shoulders. “It is if I say it is.”

You just rolled your eyes at him and reminded him again that there’s still things you need to work on when he’s out of office. Just like how you keep working when he goes on patrol. But, he waved his hand and changed the subject as usual.

Despite feeling like he definitely didn’t need someone managing his schedule, Kirishima actually really liked having you around.

You were easy to talk to, you didn’t seem to judge him, and he knew you were doing what you could to keep his best interests in mind even if he wasn’t.

He wouldn’t dare admit it out loud or to anyone but he knew deep down he had a hint of a crush on you. It started when he watched you storm up to Denki and push a paper against his chest. “Kirishima is not handling your strawberry milk requests anymore, I’ve told you this. If you want special snacks so much, put the order in yourself.”

He knew his friend only did it to get a rise out of you. And it worked every time. It was cute to see the way you cared about him even if it was just from a professional stand point.

When he had free time in the weeks that followed he found himself fond of hanging around you. You were a Beta but whatever perfume you had on was pleasant and he could feel the worries he carried around with him for years ebb away when you were near.

That’s why even on his days off he sought you out.

He’d sit at the little table in your office and you asked him about his interest and found some common ground between the both of you. Things to talk about and fill the quiet time. It wasn’t in the job description but he was thankful for it nonetheless.

After reminding him yet again he wasn’t supposed to be in the office on his days off you asked him wouldn’t he rather be doing something different instead? Something more fun?

“The things I enjoyed doing aren’t really fun alone. I go for my runs and workouts and that’s about it.”

“You have plenty of friends, Red! And you’re still one of the most eligible Pro Hero bachelors, I get like 10 emails a day asking if you would agree to a date with people if you’re looking for something more romantic. You don’t have to be alone!”

“My friends have families that they spend time with on their days off, just as they should. They don’t need to go spending time with me. And I’m not looking for romantic right now.” or possibly ever again, he thought.

“Alright, so, what are you gonna do on your next day off?”

“Probably this!” He grinned all proud of himself.

But you had a grin of your own. “Might be a little difficult since I listened to what you said: how I should take time off when you do.”

“Oh…” Even though he tried he couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice. “That’s good though! You should take more time off.”

“Yeah…” You pushed some food around your plate for a moment and then he heard a little sigh before you spoke. “On my days off I like going to this little book shop I found.” You described the area and he knew exactly where it was. “It’s got a little café inside. I’ll probably go around 11 and be there for a few hours, if you wanted to meet me.”

He hadn’t agreed to plans so quickly in he could remember how long!

On his day off Kirishima was up bright and early, went for a run, came back and showered, changed into jeans and a nicer shirt.

“Where the hell are you goin’?” Bakugou asked, just as stunned to see the man looking so chipper and up and moving on his day off rather than secluding himself in his room.

“I’ve got plans! See ya later!” He called and headed to the bookstore without realizing he had two nosy friends following him. One blonde. And the other pink.

They watched him from across the street and saw him walk up to you with a grin like they hadn’t seen on his face in so very long and they knew hiring you was the best decision they could’ve made.

The two went home, not wanting to interrupt the plans, and left you two to the outing.

Kirishima stood beside you in line while you two talked about the different options the cafe had. You told him what items where your favorite and what you thought he might like.

It was while you waited off to the side for your number to be called that he said something that caught you off guard. “The perfume you wear, it’s nice.”

While the compliment was appreciated and made your cheeks a little warmer you looked up at him confused. “Thanks but I don’t wear perfume.”

Now he looked confused. “But, I smell it all the time. Have for weeks now.” Your eyes went wide as he tried his best to describe it. It wasn’t your shampoo or body wash, not even the lotion you wear from time to time.

You knew Alpha’s had good noses but you weren’t expecting this. “Kirishima, that’s not something I wear. That’s my scent.”

#I might expand on this #if the thoughts persist #a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #alpha kirishima #beta reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima drabble #best red rock shark ♥️🦈

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yuyuswrld · 5 months

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O Captain, My Captain

Series Intro

characters: various aot boys x reader

genre: SMAU with writing, romance, smut, angst

for my marco fans, there’s a little sneak peak at him at the end :)

notes: this series will be 18+ even though this introduction does not have any smut in it. please do not interact with me if you are under 18. all characters in this series are over the age 18.

You learned that Eren Yeager was a stone wall incredibly quickly. It was a shock to you, considering how popular he was despite being unable to converse with someone he didn’t know well. You’d have steered away from him forever if it had been up to you. However, knowing your luck, you had to see him every day after all your classes were over.

It was a slip of judgment to allow yourself to be recruited as the next manager of the volleyball team. Sure, you had watched a couple of games here and there for school spirit, not to mention copious amounts of alcohol at the after-parties. But when one of your professors approached you on your way out of class, describing a great way to amp up your resume and get all-expenses-paid vacations, becoming a sports team manager was the last thing you expected.

“It’s kind of funny, actually,” Connie starts to explain after you walk into the gym, noting the tasks you'll be in charge of before you commit to the offer. “Our old manager, Hanna, got pregnant with one of my homies. Now she’s off giving birth and whatnot, so we’ve been down a manager.”

“So what does a manager typically do?” You question, shifting the conversation slightly to get to the point. The more you look at the different stereotypical characters running across the courts and the loud smacks that echoed throughout the gym, the more your desire to take the opportunity dwindles. Sure, cute boys and another achievement on your resume are great or whatever, but you really try to avoid getting committed to sports – especially after crashing and burning last time. You shudder as a chill runs down your spine at the thought before Connie starts talking again.

“Oh, um. I won't lie, I honestly have no idea what she did, either.” You stare at Connie in silence, cocking an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Uh, is there someone who does?” You ask. It's getting difficult to ignore your doubts about your decision to come here.

“Yeah, I think so. Let me go grab ‘im.” Connie jogs further down the court, interrupting someone as they finish their current spike. But as your eyes focus in on who was walking closer, you knew you we’re going to have the displeasure of meeting Eren Yeager.

Connie runs over to drag his brown-haired teammate over, who takes his sweet time walking over after sparing you only a glance. He is good looking, sure – but you aren't fooled by appearances, and you've heard far too much about him to even remotely consider him attractive from listening to Petra gossiping about him. She had a big mouth and somehow knew everything about everyone, the good and the bad, but it came in handy when it came to staying in the loop at school. Eren had a nasty habit of cursing out any girl who made an advance on him, citing his career and how a ‘bitch’ would only get in the way of it.

You think back to the memory of Petra sipping her drink, watching Eren walk out of school and head towards his Hellcat in the parking lot. You two had been sitting at the school’s cafe as you enjoyed your “study” date, which had inevitably just turned into a gossip session.

“You see that guy? That’s Eren Yeager. He’s on our volleyball team and he’s a fucking psycho.” She'd rolled her eyes as she recounted the gossip she had gotten from her friend. “Apparently Mina – y’know the one from our bio class? They hooked up at a party and afterwards he accused her of trying to sabotage his volleyball career. He even called her a psycho. That’s not even the only time he’s done it apparently. I know he’s cute, but stay away unless you want to end up on a true crime podcast.”

You brace yourself for the upcoming conversation as he nears.

“You’re going to be the new manager?” Eren says in a monotone voice, as if being forced by his mother to make small talk with a distant aunt. The displeasure of being interrupted is written all over his face.

“No – well –” You start before Eren cuts you off without hesitation.

“Usually Hanna prepares the towels, fills the bottles with water, and mops the gym after practice. Coach Levi's pretty anal about the gym being clean, so pay attention to that. You’ll want to learn about formations and strategies, too; Hanna fucking sucked when it came to game sense. You’ll work with the sports director Erwin to set up practice matches and travel plans. There’s probably more, but that’s your job, not mine.” He jogs back over to do spiking drills without another word. Your jaw slackens, scoffing at the attitude. What a little shit. Connie shrugs at you in an I’m pretty sure that’s right way. You smile at him, politely dismissing yourself before trudging your way back to your professor’s office.

“Absolutely not,” you say, dramatically sighing to emphasize the sheer disappointment you feel from the experience. “I only talked to Connie and Eren, which was already too much. You’d have better luck with a dog trainer or circus clown to manage them.” Your shoulders drop, but you prepare to defend yourself as to why.

“Please,” Professor Hange begs, their eyes beading with desperation. “I was the one who introduced the previous manager to the guy that got her pregnant. On accident, of course, but they’re totally on my tail about getting a new manager to fill the spot!” They spin around haphazardly before collapsing on their standing desk in an unconvincing sadness. “I’ll even see if they’ll pay you as if you were working a normal student job.”

You internally cringe, but are now forced to consider the prospects. Chewing on your lip, you respond. You know if you look back on this moment at any point, you’d want to go back in time and slap yourself.

“If you can make it a paid position, I’ll do it.”

Unsurprisingly, Professor Hange got their way in the end.

next: part 1, reiner x reader

#aot #aot x reader #eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren x reader #eren smut #attack on titan #aot fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #anime smut #marco bott #marco bott x reader #smau #aot smau

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roselightfairy · 1 year

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I know it’s been a million and a half years since there was any modverse collab content, but in honor of the WIP prompt reminding me that this existed - and our own sweet friends at home - have some modverse kitty content from me and @deheerkonijn to you!

(elf cats live a long time shhh)

...

The furniture in the parlor was . . . stiff.

Not hard, exactly – the sofa where Gimli sat was cushioned enough that no one could have complained, and even if that had been the problem, there were enough throw pillows (lying scattered across the floor where Legolas had tossed them) to remedy them. It was just that it was almost . . . a little too upright to be quite comfortable, as though made for someone with better posture than he had – even if Legolas, lounging horizontally with his legs across Gimli’s lap, seemed to belie that thought. It was like everything in this manor so far: ornately-carved taps and deep-basined sinks; vast archways and tall, narrow windows with fastenings too high to comfortably open. Beautiful architecture: a building made to be looked at, not lived in.

And yet live in it they did – Legolas, who had navigated this place as easily as he did his apartment at home, knowing exactly which staircase to tug Gimli up to dump their luggage unceremoniously on the bed, rummaging unself-consciously through a tall liquor cabinet to help himself (and Gimli, too) to wine that would have come with an absolutely forbidding price tag in Minas Tirith. Thranduil, who had walked in on Legolas doing this in the kitchen and made no comment but a droll, “More excited to see the wine than your own father, then?”

He sat perfectly upright across the room in his own armchair now, nodding along as Legolas spun an epic narrative of their train journey here. Gimli sat quietly and watched him – watched them, father and son, the ways they took up space in this sitting room. Thranduil’s posture made the space into a council table, the armchair into its head; he sat as though holding court – but Legolas was the one who ran it, whose conversation held the room in rapture, both of them rotating into the captivating orbit of his presence. Gimli wasn’t sure how he felt yet about the Prime Minister of Eryn Lasgalen, but this at least he could admire – that he had made this place, stiff and upright as it was, a home for Legolas.

“– and then he was like, ‘Who do you think you’re visiting, the PM?’ and Gimli just said, ‘Yes,’” Legolas was giggling now, nudging Gimli’s thigh with a heel. “Completely straight-faced! I couldn’t stop laughing. Tell him the rest, meleth.”

Gimli laughed, despite himself – and was this a skill that Legolas had inherited from his father, then? He could feel the effort to put him at ease, to spread Legolas’s own comfort into Gimli – and it was working, softening the room around him like the furniture at his back.

He closed a hand fondly around Legolas’s ankle, trying not to track Thranduil’s eyes tracking the motion. “There’s not much more to say,” he said. “Or, at least, he didn’t seem to think so. Shut up for the rest of the train ride. Not a peep.”

“It was great,” Legolas interjected. “You would have loved it, Dad.”

“I’m sure I would.” Was that smile indulgent or tolerant? Either one was more than Gimli had dared to expect. “Well, I am glad you made it here, at any rate.”

“Me too.” Legolas twisted to aim his most endearing hopeful smile right into Gimli’s face. “I’m glad to show Gimli this place finally.”

“I had hoped you would manage it before your wedding,” said Thranduil. “Some other fathers might have hard words to say about that.” This with an arched eyebrow to match the wryness of his voice. “But, ah well, at least you came eventually. Oh – hello, Smudge.”

Gimli blinked, the non sequitur soaring directly over his head. Had he missed something? – but then, even as he opened his mouth to speak, a patter-clacking interjected in the silence and he turned towards the sound to see a slender tortoiseshell cat slinking its way through the gap in the half-ajar door. It moved very slowly, one dainty paw in front of the other, pale eyes narrowed as it took them all in.

“Smudge?” Gimli said.

“Smudge!” Legolas exclaimed with delight at the same time. “My best friend! Oh, Gimli, she’s been around forever. How is she doing, Dad?”

“See for yourself.” The cat – Smudge – made her way slowly across the room, pausing in front of the couch where they sat even as Legolas dropped a hand to the floor. She sniffed delicately at his fingers, nosing up and down his hand before stretching her head forward until his fingers parted around her ears – but just as his hand contracted to scratch her head, she turned deliberately away, letting his fingers drag along the full length of her body before leaving him to hop up onto the arm of Thranduil’s chair.

“Oh,” Legolas laughed. “Is someone mad at me for being away?” His voice turned into a croon at those last words, the tone he used when mock-scolding Athelas and Simbelmyne. “Were you so, so lonely without me?”

“You might have come back to visit earlier for her sake, if not for your father’s.” Thranduil’s long-suffering tone was spoiled by the twitch of a smile at the corners of his lips – and, to Gimli’s amazement, by the way the cat shoved her head into his hand, his fingers curling around the top of her head to scratch vigorously behind her ears. It might have looked regal, a monarch with his cat, except for the loud purring of the cat and the speed of his scratching fingers – not halfhearted at all, whatever he might claim.

“How are the kittens?” Legolas said. “I haven’t seen a picture in weeks – they must be so big!”

“Big enough to cause trouble.” Thranduil waved his unoccupied hand dismissively. “They’re around somewhere – they always turn up just when you don’t want them. Just like her.”

Did his voice – was that a shade of Legolas’s own croon in his voice?

“Smudge,” Gimli repeated, looking at the cat with a new respect. His first day in the home of Lasgalen’s Prime Minister and he had somehow already seen him soften!

“Smudge,” said Legolas, so fondly Gimli could practically see the hearts in his eyes. “She’s been around since I was a little kid; she’s like the mascot of this place. Cats live a long time here,” he added, at Gimli’s questioning look. “Must be the air.”

The air, or maybe the elves themselves – something about them that kept everything around them just a little younger than it should have been, just a little more sturdy. “How old is she then?”

“Late twenties now?” Thranduil mused. “She was only a kitten when she moved in” – moved in, Gimli noted, as if it had been a business negotiation – “but we didn’t know how old exactly.”

“But I was only a few years old,” said Legolas. “So yeah, must be late twenties. She was my best friend when I was little, Gimli. But she’s got a good few years left in her. Don’t you, Smudge? Come here!” He clicked his tongue.

Apparently, the cat’s ire was no more serious than Thranduil’s, for she hopped down from his chair and pattered her way across the floor back to Legolas’s beckoning fingers. When she reached them, though, he swept a hand under her and scooped her tiny body into the air as she squawked in displeasure. But Legolas only laughed, holding her up above his head as her paws flailed in the air.

“Ohh, you’re such a sweet girl, aren’t you,” he cooed, and lowered her onto his chest. “Come here, yes, that’s it.” In the same motion she had applied to Thranduil, Smudge drove her head into Legolas’s face, their noses colliding as Legolas giggled again. “Do you forgive me for leaving? Yes, I missed you, too. Oh, yes” – He laughed helplessly as the cat nuzzled his face, his neck, her paws now kneading at his chest. “Come here, I have someone for you to meet.” And without further ado he scooped her up again, sliding his whole body upright in the same motion, to present her to Gimli.

“Be careful,” Thranduil warned. “She doesn’t always take to strangers.”

“It’ll be okay,” said Legolas. “Just give her your hand to sniff.”

Gimli extended it cautiously. He’d never been much of a cat person – had never really understood how they ticked. But if this cat loved Legolas, surely they had at least that in common, right?

Her whiskers tickled his fingers, her nose cold and wet and velvety as it brushed just against his fingertips: once, twice. She withdrew, as if thinking – and then, cautiously, she nuzzled up against him just as she had with Legolas and Thranduil.

Gimli glanced to Legolas, and at his encouraging nod, he dared to scratch her behind the ears, too.

“She likes you,” said Legolas, grinning. “See, I told you she would!” He rested a hand on Gimli’s shoulder, warm and reassuring and meaningful. “Everybody does.”

In that moment, Gimli wasn’t sure Legolas was talking about the cat.

He flicked his eyes across the room to where Thranduil still sat, watching them – still with that tiny, almost soft smile, as though at the sight of his son, all of his dryness couldn’t help but fall away.

At least they had that in common. And Gimli felt, all of a sudden, a rush of fondness for Thranduil – for his father-in-law – for the home he had made for Legolas here, for the love he felt for his son and his cat. For sharing his fancy furniture and his expensive wine with Gimli, for welcoming him here, for the sake of the person they both loved.

And as an irrepressible smile began to bloom on his face in turn, as he relaxed back into his seat, Gimli thought that the sofa might have become just a touch more comfortable than it was.

#modverse #my fic #adventures in cowriting #cats #legolas x gimli #thranduil #smudge the cat #don't reblog this yet there's going to be a picture

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milkybellybites · 25 days

Text

The List - Teaser

The List

idol!Haechan x idol!Reader

Genre: Enemies to lovers

WC: 977

Not proofread!!

Being a soloist in a company of many groups can be boring. Boring dance pratices, boring interviews, boring recording sessions, boring everything. Everyone had there groups to laugh with, but not you. So, what else were you meant to do when all of NCT 127 were sitting in front of you during an awfully boring company meeting? Rate them all, of course.

TEASER

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**THIS LIST IS PURELY MY PERSONAL OPINION BASED ON EXPERIENCES I HAVE HAD WITH THESE INDIVIDUALS**

(and their looks)

Taeyong: Personality - 10/10, he is too kind for his own good. Looks - 10/10, do I even need to write anything here?? OVERALL: 10/10

Johnny: Personality - 8/10, funny, funny, funny. Thats about it. Looks: 9/10, like a God, uses his height as a threat (not funny.) OVERALL: 9/10

Jungwoo: Personality - 8/10, gets along witn basically everyone. Looks: 8/10, a little cutie. OVERALL: 8/10

Mark: Personality - 8/10, LOUD. Looks: 7/10, cute face but a little short for my liking. OVERALL: 7/10

Taeil: Personality - 7/10, not talked much but seems nice. Looks: 7/10, lowkey looks like a dad. OVERALL: 7/10

Doyoung: Personality - 7/10, very bullyable. Looks - 8/10, cutie, but still bullyable. OVERALL: 7/10

Yuta: Personality - 6/10, haven’t talked to him much. Looks - 5/10, intimidating but still smash. OVERALL: 6/10

Jaehyun: Personality: 4/10, frat boy. Looks - 6/10, smash. OVERALL: 6/10

Haechan: 0/10, no explanation needed. This boy is the worst thing to ever walk this earth.

“Y/N, are you paying attention? This is important.” Executive Director Jang asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. We need to work hard this year. Make lots of money.” I reply lazily, while quickly shutting my diary.

The director gives me a stern look before turning back to the projector, pointing at some graph while blabbering on about nonsense.

“I cant believe you just made that.” I hear my manager, Mina Lee, whispers to me while gently elbowing my side.

“What? Its not like they are ever going to see it.” I whisper back, quietly laughing to myself while looking down at my book.

“If you say so.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Do you wanna see it?” I ask my small group of friends, already reaching to grab the pink diary from my tote because we all know what the answer is.

“Duh.” Ningning, one of my bestfriend since trainee days, laughs.

Karina quickly snatches the diary from my hand and flicks through the pages. As soon as her eyes land on the list, Ningning, Giselle, and Winter are all quick to gather around her.

“Get me a pen, please. I have some thoughts I would like to add.” Winter sweetly smiles at me. That smile never means anything good. She is either going to write something god awful about one of them or something very TMI about her ex-boyfriend, Mark.

“Me too!” I hear the other three call from down the hall as I make my way to my bedroom.

One pink pen for Winter. One green pen for Karina. One blue pen for Giselle. One purple pen for Ninging.

I toss all four pens down on the floor infront of the giggly group of girls sitting on my living room floor. They all practically pounce to grab the pens, then start scribbling god-knows-what onto the list.

“You guys can’t tell anyone about this. You know that right?” I say, leaning back on the beanbag next to them.

“Yeah, of course. Imagine if the media found out about this. They would have a field day.” Giselle laughs, still scribbling away.

Suddenly, I have a odd feeling in my stomach. I never thought about that while writing the list, “Haha, yeah.” I quietly reply.

“Hey, you’ve got nothing to worry about. We won’t tell.” Karina smiles at me.

“Plus, we would all get our asses handed to us by the company. If you go down, so do we.” Ningning laughs.

The reassurance from my best friends lightens the feeling in my stomach.

“There! We're done, you can have it back now.” Winter smiles at their work before handing it back to me.

My eye widen as I see all of the things they have written. Devil horns above Haechan’s name - which makes me laugh - ab drawings next to Jaehyun’s name, an angel halo ontop of Taeyong’s name, extremely TMI things written about mark and his “great ability to turn you into a tsunami”, borderline psychotic things about Johnny's height and how Giselle would “Climb him like a tree”, and so much more.

“Yeah, no one should see this. Ever.” I laugh while slowly looking up at my best friends.

“I agree.” Karina laughs while hiding her red cheeks behind her phone.

“Wait. Let's sign a pact.” Giselle excitedly sits up, “Hypothetically speaking, if anyone finds the list, we all have to own up to what we wrote so Y/N isn't the only one under fire.”

That night, we all signed the same pact, which is as follows:

I solemnly swear on the God of all Gods, that I will not share, show, speak about, or leak “The List” to anyone under any circumstance. EVER. If “The List” is exposed, I will own up to my part in making "The List". If any of us are to lose the diary that contains “The List”, I will do everything in my power to get the book back. I will not mention the diary containing "The List" or “The List” in public, and in case I really really need to I shall address it as “My weekly grocery list”.

If I chose to break any of these rules, I will adhere to any punishment set by the rest of the group.

Sigh here:

Karina :p GISELLE y/n Winter NINGning :)

#nct 127 #haechan #mark lee #donghyuck #taeyong #milkybellybites #yuta nakamoto #taeil #johnny #jaehyun #doyoung #karina #ningning #giselle #winter #nct jungwoo #aespa

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lockefanfic · 2 years

Text

Toy - Part 7: OT9

It took an impressive amount of bodily coordination, dexterity, and pure, unfiltered lust to do what Myoui Mina was doing.

Perhaps it was her training as a ballerina that gave her such control over her limbs and the muscles and tendons that moved them so elegantly, so efficiently, maintaining a perfect tempo and rhythm at all times. Perhaps it was her experience gained over years of performing on stage, learning and memorizing and executing the increasingly complex choreographies that she and her group performed on a near-daily basis.

Perhaps she just loved what she was doing, and her body responded to her need accordingly.

Regardless of the reason, you had little bandwidth left in your pleasure-addled mind to ponder the amount of effort it was taking the young woman to do what she was doing - and do it so well.

You were afraid to look down, afraid that the mere sight of it would push you over the edge. But while your eyelids could, reluctantly, block at least one of your senses, the other four were free to do as they pleased.

You could hear all three of the other occupants of the room, each with their own distinct sound, each adding to the lewd soundtrack filling the space and your ears with its obscene melodies. To your right, Buzz would let out a soft grunt here and there, punctuated by the odd profanity in Korean or English or some mixture of both. To your left, Woody was a little less hesitant to withhold the slow, steady stream of grunts and sighs and profanities that were leaving his throat.

You could hear Chaeyoung, too, somewhere behind Mina, from the sound of it. Here and there she would let out a sound that seemed like approval, or amazement, or wonder. Once or twice she let out a soft sigh, probably one through lips that she was currently biting down on.

Mina herself only let out soft gurgling noises - her mouth was quite occupied at the moment, after all.

“God that’s fucking hot,” Chaeyoung hisses through her teeth, and that’s what finally manages to convince your eyes to open.

You look down - and the sight is utterly sublime.

Mina is on her knees in front of you, as naked as the day she was born. Her long, slim body and delicate, beautiful features alone would have been enough to place her amongst the most wonderful sights known to man.

But that wasn’t it, no, not by a long shot. With admirable dexterity, her slender, slim fingers are pumping the cocks of the two men standing on either side of her, their shafts mere inches from her face. With a hand on each shaft, she pumps their stiff lengths at a slow but steady rhythm, somehow possessing the bodily control to add an occasional twisting motion to her wrist, corkscrewing her fingers around the shafts, increasing the pleasurable shocks she was sending through the two men with each pump of her hand on their cocks.

Even that wasn’t the end of it.

Her head bobs up and down the entire length of your own shaft, taking your cock in and out between her perfect pink lips. Her tongue works in random patterns along your underside with each entry and swirls around your tip just as it is about to leave her mouth - each entry and exit is utterly exquisite, masterful, each one causing delicious little spikes of pleasure to course up your spine and into your helpless, overwhelmed brain.

And just when you thought that was enough, she had the gall - the audacity - to look at you while she was doing it.

She was a beautiful young woman, of that there was no doubt. But she had always seemed aloof, detached, in her own little world apart from you and the toys and the other girls. She seemed above it all, a princess with no time or desire for the earthly, physical pleasure so often indulged in by her friends.

But now, here she was, pleasuring three men at a time with her body - and doing so with a sense of ease that impressed you just as much as it pleasured you. She appealed to all of your senses at once, but it was the sight of the perfect, ladylike, demure Myoui Mina looking up at you with lustful eyes as she took your cock in and out of her mouth while pumping the shafts of two other men - that was what did you in.

“I’m gonna fucking cum,” you hiss between your teeth.

“In her mouth,” Chaeyoung hisses from behind Mina. Wearing only a tiny navy blue thong and nothing else she too is quite the sight herself, but it spoke to the mind-numbing lewdness of the act playing out in front of her that you were able to ignore the younger Korean woman for the most part.

“Cum in her fucking mouth,” she continues. “Follow the rules.”

And it doesn’t take you long after that. Your right hand reaches to the side of Mina’s beautiful face, cradling her delicate cheek for a moment before grasping the side of her skull with a slightly more forceful grip, driving yourself in and out of her mouth for a few more strokes until finally, mercifully, you bury yourself as deep as you can inside her mouth. Your cock pulsates between her tightly pursed lips, and your entire body twitches and quivers as you send rope after rope of thick hot cum into the back of Mina’s throat.

Your cock slips out from between her lips, quicker than you would have liked - and when she begins to cough wetly you are momentarily afraid that you have hurt her in some way. But after taking just a moment to clear her throat a sly, lustful smile appears on her spit and cum slick lips.

“Next,” she says, softly, a drip of warm semen falling from the corner of her lip as she does so, her eyes fixating you with one last sly look before turning towards the man to your right.

And just like that Buzz steps in front of the young woman, his own needy cock already pointed at her lips. And not a second or two after she has finished swallowing the last mouthfuls of your cum down her throat, she has already taken his cock into her mouth.

You can do little more than stumble backwards onto the hotel room couch behind you, breathless, still overwhelmed by the sensations that until a few seconds earlier had bombarded your helpless brain. You take a moment to catch your breath.

The last twenty minutes had been such a blur - you had been hanging out with the other two toys in the admittedly lavish downtown Seoul apartment that the girls’ company had rented out for you. You were looking forward to a quiet night of rest and relaxation when Chaeyoung had called and demanded that the three of you come up to their penthouse suite.

The three of you had known by now what such a call meant, and after a long day of work chauffeuring the girls around town you were each eager to fulfill the other, more rewarding half of your duties. You were expecting Sana, or Momo, or Nayeon, or some combination of the three to greet you at the apartment.

None of you were expecting Mina.

The youngest Japanese member was standing in the center of the girls’ living room, wearing a ridiculously tiny set of black lace lingerie beneath a loose, see-through black robe. Standing proudly behind her was Chaeyoung, topless, her nipple piercings the only adornment on her upper body.

The three of you had had your encounters with the other girls, of course, but until that point neither Mina nor Jeongyeon had called upon your services. Jeongyeon lived with her sister, and while she seemed friendly and approachable enough, you rarely saw her outside of work. Mina seemed to have little interest in you or the other two, spending most of her time locked up in her room even when you were engaging in lewd activities with her groupmates just a few walls and a couple of feet away. She had no trouble living up to her reputation as the biggest homebody of the group. You’d supposed she was more interested in Netflix dramas or video games to care much for sex.

And so to see her there, in that lingerie, and to have Chaeyoung explain to the three of you what her friend had wanted to have happen - it was something none of you were ready for. You could only stand there, dumbfounded, as Chaeyoung went over the rules, slowly stripping first the robe, and then the lingerie from her older friend’s slim, perfect body, as though she were unwrapping or unboxing some new present or gift. Soon Mina was naked, and shortly thereafter Chaeyoung was motioning for the three of you to come forward - and for the clearly defined activities to begin.

Back in the present, Buzz is nearing his peak, if his steadily increasing grunts were any indication. He’d been a toy before, of course, but surprisingly, this was his first time with Mina - and you didn’t blame him for how quickly he was approaching his orgasm, particularly considering the speed at which the obscene spectacle you’d suddenly become a part of had brought you to your own.

With a final grunt and a hissed profanity Buzz grasps the back of Mina’s head with both hands, throwing his head back and letting a moan leave his lips as he fills her mouth with its second load of semen in the last ten minutes. Mina takes it with practiced ease, breathing easily through her nose, before she finally taps Buzz’s thigh and he releases her head.

Like she did earlier with your load, she coughs softly to clear her airway before swallowing as much of his cum as she can down a greedy, thirsty throat.

The sly, devilish smile returns. Throughout her time with you and with Buzz she had been pumping Woody’s cock, not missing a single beat - and when she finally turns to him, you could tell he wasn’t far from cumming himself.

“Next,” she says, and Woody, ever the impatient one, wastes no time. He slips his cock between her lips and Mina opens her mouth wantonly, taking it inside her warm, wet cavern. Even from your position on the couch you could tell from the wet, slick sounds leaving the young woman’s throat, and the heady grunts and sighs leaving Woody’s, that it was pleasurable in the extreme.

You were still having trouble reconciling the sight in front of you to the image of Mina that you’d had in your head. There she was, that same ladylike, demure, shy princess - on her knees, having taken two loads into her needy mouth and seconds away from a third, her eyes fixated on those of the young man pumping away between her lips. She drools a slick mix of saliva and semen from the corners of her mouth and down her chin, over the creamy, perfect skin of her long neck, and finally onto the small, round mounds of her gently swaying breasts.

Woody wasn’t far from his orgasm even before Mina took him into his mouth, having watched the impossibly beautiful woman blow two men before him while she pumped his cock all the while, and so it surprised no one in the room when he clutched Mina’s head in a similar way to the two men before him. Two more thrusts between her soft pink lips and he was cumming, filling her throat with a third load of fresh warm semen, the third in under fifteen minutes.

She took his load a little better than the first two, her throat working quickly to swallow the warm cum down in pace with the spurts hitting the back of her mouth. When Woody’s slick cock leaves her mouth she takes a moment to wipe her lips with the back of a hand before licking the glistening mix of saliva and cum from it, looking for a moment like a cat licking milk from its paw.

She gathers the spilt cum from her chin and throat with delicate fingers before sucking and licking the long digits clean, a sight which caused your spent cock to stir.

“My god that was so fucking hot,” Chaeyoung says, and for a moment you curse yourself for having forgotten she was even in the room - not that any one would have blamed you given the spectacle that had just occurred moments before. But when you focus on her again you find her on her knees behind Mina - with a hand in her own panties, no doubt stroking the slick flesh between her thighs.

All eyes are on Mina - and when her glistening, slick lips open to say a single word, it stirs all three of you back into action.

“More,” she says.

“You… you heard her,” Chaeyoung says, her sentence interrupted with a soft sigh, as though the sound of Mina’s spoken desire had caused a spike of pleasure to course up her brain. “Woody, you’re up first this time. And… her pussy is next.”

With admirable gusto Woody rises from the couch next to you, cock already half-stiff as he takes it into his hands and brings himself to full hardness in just a few seconds despite being just a few minutes removed from cumming in Mina’s mouth. He was always the most eager of you three, having the least self-control - not that anyone in his situation could have faulted him for it. Who could have reacted any differently, given the situations and opportunities he’d been given over the past months? Who could have blamed him, given the sight of Myoui Mina, naked, on the floor, waiting for him to fuck her?

The beautiful Japanese girl has laid down on the hardwood floor of the apartment, leaning back on her elbows and spreading her legs. On her face is a look that could have melted titanium with the smoldering, unrestrained heat emanating from it.

It was a sentiment you’d found yourself repeating over and over again in the last few months, but the sight of the naked young woman brought it to the forefront of your thoughts once again. Here was a woman that, clothed and on stage, was utterly gorgeous. But here, naked, with nothing save sex and lust and the slick glistening juices dripping from her mouth and the freshly shaved opening between her legs, she was utterly sublime.

There was no need for words - and indeed Mina herself had only said two the entire evening. Her actions said all that needed to be said. With slim, dainty fingers she reaches between her legs, and with her index and middle fingers she parts the pink lips of her pussy, revealing the slick, glistening flesh between them. Even from the couch you could tell she was positively dripping - clearly having three men cum in her mouth had been almost as pleasurable for her as it had been for them.

Woody didn’t need to be told what to do, not when the sight in front of him told him all he needed to know. Dropping to his knees between Mina’s spread legs, he takes his tip and places it at her entrance - before sliding inside her wet, warm pussy.

Mina gasps, Woody sighs. He fills her to the brim, stretches her tight little pussy around his considerable length, relishes in the way her slick walls hug so closely around him as buries himself inside her body.

His hands on her warm, flushed inner thighs, he begins to fuck her.

The rest of you watch, enraptured, as Mina’s body is rocked over and over again with his thrusts, each one sending a delicious little ripple through her torso, giving her small, round breasts and the taut nipples atop them a wonderful little bounce. The warm, wet sound of slapping skin begins to fill the room, quickly reaching a firm but steady rhythm as the young man and woman fuck on the floor.

There is a movement to your left - and you knew even without looking that Buzz was stroking himself to the sight playing out mere feet in front of the both of you. Your own hand reaches for your quickly stiffening cock - only to be beaten to it by Chaeyoung’s hand. The young woman has slid onto the couch next to you, one hand on your quickly stiffened shaft, and the other busy between her drenched panties. You drape a hand over her shoulders, capturing a small, round breast in your palm and squeezing it, delighting in the feel of her taut nipple and its piercing poking your palm. When you turn your head to face her, you find her already facing you, lips half open. You share a heated, passionate kiss for a moment before you return your attention to the spectacle on the floor in front of you, neither of you wishing to miss a single moment of it.

Woody lets a long, pleasured sigh escape his lips as he increases his pace between Mina’s legs, fucking the young woman with long, hard strokes of his cock. Of the three of you he was always the least willing to hold back, the least able to conceal his emotions and reactions - again, not that you could have blamed him. Could anyone have hid their reaction to the sight, feel, and sound of fucking one of the country’s most desired women on her living room floor, with an audience watching every move?

He leans his head back slightly, continuing to pump away at the woman beneath him. Mina’s sighs turn slowly into pleasurable moans, but even as they raise in volume she does not form words - her wordless, formless moans form a beautiful backdrop, a lewd melody to the wet slap of skin on skin and wet juices moving against slick flesh that was filling the room.

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight, Mina,” Woody hisses between gritted teeth as he intensifies his rhythm, the grip on the woman’s thighs tightening. Mina’s only response is another moan, a soft, mewling sound that somehow said, even without the unnecessary complications of human language, that she was loving every moment of this.

“I’m gonna fucking cum Mina, god, I’m gonna cum so hard,” he continues. His thrusts quicken. The wet slap of skin on skin loudens, matched only by the moans leaving Mina’s throat as she, too, approaches her first orgasm of the night.

“Cum in her!” Chaeyoung snaps, her outburst not affecting the rhythm with which she was pumping your cock nor the thrusting of her fingers between her own drenched pussy lips. You take the opportunity to pinch her pierced nipple with a thumb and forefinger, giving the barb a slight twist and wrenching a sigh from the young Korean girl. “Cum in her,” she repeats, the words half-moan, as her eyes shut and her own orgasm beckons. “Remember the rules.”

“Oh god I’m cumming,” Woody says, Chaeyoung’s words pushing him over the edge, somehow making what he was experiencing real, as though his brain needed convincing that he was not in the middle of some ridiculously lewd dream. He buries himself inside Mina’s pussy and lets his orgasm overtake his senses. He lets out a grunt with each spurt of cum that leaves his cock to paint Mina’s walls, filling her with warm, thick semen.

Mina orgasms at the feel of her pussy’s first load of cum that evening - even though every occupant in the room knew it wouldn’t be the only load it would be receiving. Her body quivers and trembles on the floor, fingers clutching in vain at the floor as her body is rocked by pleasure. Her moans peak, increasing in volume until they are cut short with a sharp, wet cry.

It takes the two of them a few moments to recover, but when they have regained some of their senses Woody finally withdraws his spent cock from her, rising from his knees to ensure the three occupants on the couch had the best view of the thick white slop of semen that emerged from Mina’s pussy. The sight of it elicits a soft cry from Chaeyoung - and her body goes rigid for a moment as she experiences her own orgasm, becoming a trembling, mewling mess for a few moments on the couch.

Your eyes still glued to Mina’s, you reach over to Chaeyoung’s right hand, pulling it from her panties by the wrist - and bringing it to your mouth. Chaeyoung whimpers as she watches you suck and lick her clear, tangy juices from her fingertips. On the floor, Mina spreads her legs, squirming on the floor to ensure her opening was pointed directly at you.

“Next,” Mina says, even as her left hand drifts to the slick flesh between her legs, where she plays with the cum flowing from her opening. Sultry. Lustful. Sex personified, given voice and female form.

You rise from the couch, taking notice of the whimper that leaves Chaeyoung’s lips, as though she were momentarily upset at having to let you go. But Mina’s draw was too great, and your body compels you to take up position between Mina’s legs. She spreads them eagerly, eyes fixated on yours, half-lidded and needy.

You lean over her body, holding your upper body up with hands on either side of her head. Mina wraps her thighs around your hips, reaching down between you to line up your tip with her slick, drenched opening.

“God, fuck her,” Chaeyoung hisses from the couch. “Fuck her hard. Fuck her into the floor.”

“Fuck that slutty cum-filled pussy,” Woody snaps. “She needs another load in that hole of hers.”

All Buzz can do is grunt in approval, his hand working at his shaft in anticipation for his own turn with the wanton, naked woman squirming on the floor.

You slide inside her.

That she was so tight, despite the rough fucking Woody had given her and the fact that her walls were slick and saturated with a healthy load of his cum, was almost unbelievable. But her pussy grips you so tightly as you stretch her out with its second shaft of the night that it is almost unbearable. The other girls were tight, of course, but Mina was just as tight as them - even though she was mere minutes from being fucked and filled with cum.

You let out a sigh as you bury yourself inside her to the hilt. Mina moans in response, her thighs and legs closing around your hips, locking you inside her. Your arms almost give out with the pleasure of her walls tightening around you. You open eyes you had no idea you’d shut, forcing yourself to look down and watch that beautiful, delicate face of hers as you slowly, carefully ease yourself out of her tight little body for the first time.

She lets a little whimper leave her saliva and cum-slick lips as you exit her body for the first time. It turns into a little sigh when you thrust back inside - a sigh that tells you she wanted it faster, harder, that you needn’t be so soft and careful.

She bites her lip, a flash of perfect ivory on slick pink lips that still drooled cum from its corners. She gives you a slight, barely noticeable nod.

And so you begin to fuck her harder, steadily building your rhythm, savoring each and every entry and exit in and out of the perfect young woman beneath you, your cock drilling almost vertically into her pussy, nailing her hard into the cold, unforgiving floor. She is so tight and slick and creamy around your cock that every withdrawal makes an obscene, wet sound to be followed by a slick sloshing sound as you penetrate her, sloshing and mixing the slick mix of fluids inside her pussy. You can feel her juices and Woody’s semen gathering at your base and dripping down your balls, and it spurs you, makes you even stiffer, drives you into fucking her harder and harder.

Without any cushioning between you and the hard, unforgiving floor Mina might’ve thought the experience uncomfortable and even painful - were it not for the hard length plunging in and out of her creamy, messy pussy at a hard, fast pace, each thrust a wonderful little burst of pleasure that she wanted, needed more of. It overwhelmed everything else her senses told her. Her world was pleasure, and the cock between her thighs that was the source of it. Her legs close even tighter around you, thighs tight around your hips, ankles locking behind your butt, her legs and feet working to pull you deeper and faster inside her with each thrust.

For a moment you had trouble believing the lascivious, utterly sexual creature beneath you was the same Mina you thought you’d known. This behavior seemed more fitting for Nayeon, or Momo, or Sana. But this was Myoui Mina, ice princess of Twice - even if it was a side of her that she rarely, if ever, showed.

They thought her a perfect, prim, proper lady. She supposed that on some level they were right - most of the time, she seemed completely uninterested in some of the lewd indulgences of the other girls. Not that she judged them for it, far from it, she just didn’t have the same constant need for it that they did.

For Myoui Mina, the need for sex, for fucking, for being filled with a man’s cock came rarely. It just wasn’t an overwhelming need for her like it was for some of the others. Her cravings for it were rare.

But when it hit, it hit her with the force of a thunderbolt. She wanted it all. And she wanted it hard, fast, in its purest form, without the frivolities of foreplay or emotion or affection.

And so as you pound her, nail her into the floor and fuck her drenched, cum-filled pussy with a reckless rhythm, she loved every moment of it.

Your forearms give out on you unexpectedly, your muscles no longer able to keep you upright. But it turns out to be a blessing in disguise - Mina wraps her arms around your neck, drawing you closer to her, your sweaty, wet torsos pressed against each other. Her taut, tight nipples press against your pectorals, and her moans and sighs sound all the clearer with those perfect lips of hers so close to your ears.

You drill into her, pound her, fuck her into the floor. You abandon all semblance of technique or control, becoming little more than a feral animal, a slave to his needs, responding only to the pleasured moans that leave needy throat and fill your ears. The onlookers on the couch goad you, tell you to fuck her even harder, to wreck the body beneath you, fill her with yet more creamy, hot cum - but you barely hear them all.

All that exists is the beautiful young woman beneath you, reduced as she was to a mewling, moaning mess. She speaks to you with her body. She tells you without words that she wants more, another load to fill her needy pussy.

“Gonna fucking cum,” you grunt into Mina’s sweat-damp neck. If the others heard you you didn’t care. You are vaguely aware of Chaeyoung’s voice likely telling you to cum inside her, but you don’t quite hear it, so lost are you to the sensations and feeling of Mina’s tight, wet, creamy pussy and every entry and exit you make in and out of it.

Mina lets one last, mewling cry leave her lips before she succumbs to her second orgasm of the night. You follow her into bliss, pounding into her one last time, driving yourself as deep as you can inside her body and nailing her to the floor before you cum.

You fill her pussy with hot, creamy, thick semen, giving it its second load of the evening. Mina moans and sighs with each rope that fills her, still lost in her own orgasm. She tightens and pulsates around you so tightly you think for a moment that she might tear your cock off were you to move - but you are happy to lie there, embedded hilt deep inside her as you empty yourself into her messy, creamy depths.

It takes Mina herself pressing her palms to your upper chest and slowly, carefully pushing you up to an upright position before your senses slowly return to you. Her eyes, half-lidded, speak to you once more without saying a word. She tells you she loved it, loved the way your cum felt inside her, loved the way it had already begun to leak out of her sloppy, messy hole.

Without breaking eye contact with you, her glistening lips part and she speaks.

“Next.”

You slip out of her as your tired bones leave her embrace. When your cock leaves her sloppy pussy it leaves behind a thick, creamy stream of cum, yours and hers and Woody’s. Her opening is an outright mess, dripping heavy drops of juices onto the floor that quickly form into a puddle of thick white liquid.

But Mina is unfazed by it. She turns around on the floor, her tired, weary body somehow still having enough energy to move, until she is on her hands and knees atop the dirty, sticky floor, that large, round, firm ass of hers and the sticky pussy below it pointed at the occupants on the couch.

“Your… your turn, Buzz,” Chaeyoung manages to say. You join her on the couch, and she has only enough energy to give you a short kiss before she bends over your stomach as you collapse on the cushions. Soon you feel her tongue and hands working on your cock, slurping up the thick juices slathered on it, relishing the taste of her friend’s juices and the combined semen of two men.

With surprising speed Buzz leaves the couch to take up position behind Mina, taking his stiff cock and placing it quickly at her entrance. He takes a moment to slide the head up and down her drenched lips, covering his tip with her juices and the warm semen dripping from her entrance, relishing in the way her freshly fucked lips open once more for another cock. But his momentary reserve of self-control is quickly used up, and with his hands on her hips he slides inside Mina’s warm, creamy, slick pussy.

He lets out a groan as he fills her, and he quickly ramps up into a steady, hard rhythm, fucking the young woman from behind with a pace that surprises you with its speed.

Buzz had been, for lack of a better word, a bit of a mentor to you and Woody. He’d been there before, after all, been a toy several times in the past and done what the two of you were experiencing for the first time. But he’d admitted early on that Tzuyu and Mina were the only two that he’d yet to sleep with - and while you’d certainly bugged him about how you’d already had Tzuyu, you knew that the opportunity for a first fuck was what leant him this newfound energy.

Soon he is fucking her hard, hands gripping her wide hips tightly, clapping his crotch against that round, full ass of hers with each thrust into her creamy, cum-filled pussy. It’s a pace and roughness that you’d not seen him exhibit before, and you would’ve thought for a moment that he was hurting her - were it not for the fact that Mina herself was pushing back against his cock, driving it deeper and deeper inside her with each thrust.

You had to admit that you were more than a little jealous of Buzz and the fact that he was the one to fuck her from behind. Even from your point of view on the couch the sight of that round, full ass of hers bucking against Buzz’s hips was utterly beautiful - you could only imagine how Buzz felt about it. Mina’s butt had definitely had its fair share of attention focused on it in the past couple of months, and you knew from the way she moved that she relished every moment of it.

With a strangled cry she throws her hair back in a cascade of raven strands, looking back over her shoulder at the man hammering away at her pussy, fixating him with a glare that was unmistakable in its message - more, she said, without using words, her body speaking, saying more than she could have with language.

It was becoming a pattern - the third toy to have his turn at one of Mina’s holes didn’t last very long. It was unsurprising, given that they had likely spent the last few minutes watching her being filled with two prior loads.

Buzz, despite his efforts, is helpless to repeat the pattern. You could tell by the increasing pace of his thrusts that he would last only a minute or two longer before he too succumbed to his peak. He grips Mina’s large, firm ass cheeks with tight palms, relishing in the way her flesh filled his hands.

“Fucking spank that ass,” Chaeyoung spits as she lets your sloppy cock leave her lips for a moment. “Spank her ‘til she’s red.”

“Fucking do it, bro,” Woody snaps. “Spank that ass while you cum in her pussy. That’s the fucking nicest ass in the country.”

Buzz obeys, delivering slap after open handed slap to Mina’s ass, each one eliciting a sharp yelp from the girl. Woody was right - it probably was the nicest ass in the country. Arguable, probably, but certainly a contender, particularly given its owners propensity in recent months to show it off as much as possible.

“I’m gonna cum in you, Mina,” Buzz hisses, even as he delivers another snack to Mina’s right cheek, leaving it red and flushed.

“Cum in that messy, slutty pussy,” Chaeyoung hisses, even with her lips pressed to your quickly hardening cock. “Fill it with another load.”

Buzz gives Mina a few more thrusts before he buries himself inside her and cums, filling her drenched hole with its third load of cum of the night. He continues to thrust even as he spurts rope after rope inside her, as though wishing to push the combined loads of three men deeper and deeper inside the mewling young woman’s womb. Mina can do little more than gasp and sigh and moan as she is filled yet again.

When Buzz slips out of her he collapses on his butt on the floor, finally drained of energy. Mina’s ass remains upright but her upper body finally collapses to the floor. A thick stream of cum quickly appears at her well-fucked, cum-saturated hole before dripping onto the floor and collecting into a small puddle beneath her quivering body.

For a few moments no words are spoken. The four of you can do little more than watch as the cum drips from Mina’s well-used, well-fucked pussy and into the quickly expanding puddle beneath it.

Eventually she finds the strength to raise her upper body onto two shaky forearms, and then onto her knees. Every movement of hers causes another glob of cum to drip from her pussy.

She reaches behind her, gripping the reddened, sore cheeks of her ass - before parting them to reveal her asshole.

“More,” she says.

“Jesus,” Buzz swears, even as he strokes his shaft to the sight of her third and final hole.

Chaeyoung’s mouth reluctantly leaves your newly stiffened cock, giving it one last slurp from base to tip. “Do it, Buzz,” she hisses as she leaves the couch, taking up position on the floor in front of Mina. The two girls kiss - passionately, lustfully, swapping the miscellaneous bodily fluids in their mouths - before Mina embraces her, leaning her upper body atop her for support. Chaeyoung glares over her friend’s shoulder at Buzz before speaking. “Get your cock nice and wet… and fuck that ass.”

The three of you are sore and near spent. But it spoke to the undeniable, powerful pull of Myoui Mina’s body that all three of you quickly return to full stiffness, your cocks brought to full attention by the prospect of fucking the gorgeous ass in front of you.

Buzz takes up position behind Mina once more, and while his cock is already slick with his own cum and that of two other men - not to mention Mina’s own generous juices - he nonetheless takes a moment to slip his cock between Mina’s slick lips, coating it with yet more of the bodily fluids dripping from her body, making sure it was more than generously lubricated.

When his cock is glistening and slick, he places it at her rear entrance. Chaeyoung reaches around Mina’s body to part her ass cheeks.

Buzz slides inside her. Slowly, carefully.

It spoke to Mina’s experience with anal sex - or perhaps her practice with toys of the rubber variety - that Buzz was able to slide so easily into her ass. Or perhaps she was so needy, so lost in lust at the prospect of having the third of her holes fucked, that her body was happy to let his shaft penetrate her most precious entrance. Regardless, Buzz soon fills her to the brim with his shaft, and the two of them let out long, lustful moans.

Slowly he withdraws himself from her ass, spending a moment half-buried in her before he thrusts back in. Soon he has settled into a slow but steady rhythm.

He is careful, considerate - the way the three of you always were when it came to anal sex with the girls. As much as they said they enjoyed it, you all knew that hurting them was the last thing you wanted.

But Mina, as she had made obvious throughout the evening, was not like the other girls. She turns her head around to look over her shoulder at Buzz, and for the first time that evening she says something other than the two words she’d used to that point.

“Harder!” she hisses, “Fuck my ass harder!”

Buzz, spurred into action, does just that. The two of you on the couch are momentarily shocked by her outburst - before the implication of what she had demanded, and the ease with which she was taking Buzz’s cock in and out of her ass, settled into your lust-addled minds.

“Do it,” Chaeyoung adds, even as Mina returns to her embrace. “Fuck that ass. Fuck it hard and fast. Give her what she wants. Fill this last hole with your loads. Fuck it like you fucked her mouth and pussy.”

Buzz increases his pace, fucking Mina’s ass with a pace only slightly less fast than the one he’d reached when he was drilling her pussy mere minutes before. His brow furrows. His grip on her flushed, sore ass cheeks tightens. The tightness of her hole, the sight of her bent over and taking his cock in her most private of holes, the taboo of fucking the ass of the most introverted, quietest member of the group, the vocalized moans and sighs leaving her mouth - and above all, the hissed order for him to fuck her ass harder - it pushed him towards his third orgasm of the night with surprising speed.

His brain is unable this time to announce it as he had with his previous orgasms, as Chaeyoung had said was one of the rules. He only has the bandwidth to mumble out a grunt before burying himself inside Mina’s tight, hot ass and spurting rope after rope of semen into her depths, emptying the last of his cum inside her.

It couldn’t have been more than five minutes since he’d entered her. Not that you - or anyone else - could have blamed him for not lasting longer inside the ass of one of the most beautiful women on earth.

Mina lets a long, soft moan escape her lips as the third of her holes is filled with cum for the first time. This one is unlike the others - less of pleasure, more of accomplishment, as though having a third and final hole filled with cum was some sort of perverse achievement to be recognized.

Even before Buzz has time to slip out of her and fall onto the floor against the couch in an exhausted, spent heap, Mina has turned her head around in Chaeyoung’s arms to face Woody.

“Next,” she says, even as Buzz’s cum appears in a thick glob at the entrance to her ass.

Mina turns once more to face Chaeyoung, and the two kiss once more, tongues dueling within hungry mouths. Mina fills her younger friend’s mouth with a moan as Woody takes up position behind her and fills her hungry asshole with his cock, sliding inside her hole with relative ease. Even as he begins to fuck her butt Mina continues making out with Chaeyoung, their lips and tongues making a mess of each other’s faces.

Chaeyoung’s lips leave Mina’s, her tongue sliding across the older woman’s cheeks and chin, licking up the remnants of the loads of cum that had somehow missed her mouth. She slurps them all up, hungrily, greedily. Mina moans in pleasure - at the feel of her friend cleaning her face of semen, and at the cock filling her ass again and again with thick, hard meat. Eventually the sighs increase in volume as Chaeyoung begins pinching her nipples, even as she continues to suck tightly on a warm spot in Mina’s neck.

“Mmmmhmmmmm,” Mina sighs, “Yes, yes, fuck my ass! Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”

That was what it took - anal sex - to get her to vocalise her pleasure. She’d been silent when she was taking loads in her mouth and pussy, relying mainly on her wordless moans and sighs to communicate, pausing only to say “next” when moving to the next toy and “more” when moving to the next hole.

It was yet another surprise in an evening full of surprises. To hear Mina - perfect, princess-like, demure, lady-like, any one of a million similar adjectives - to hear her say the things she was saying, it was overwhelming. It seemed like some sort of fever dream, even more so than the myriad of other ridiculous experiences you’d had in the past few months.

But it was all real, and it was all happening on the floor mere feet from you.

Woody’s pace increases, the telltale sign of him nearing his orgasm. Unlike Buzz, he has the wherewithal to announce his impending peak.

“Gonna fucking cum in your ass, Mina! You want it? You want this cum in your messy, slutty little asshole?”

“Yes!” is the response, a wet, strangled cry that sends spit flying from a drooling mouth. “Yes, do it, do it, fill my slutty little ass with your cum!”

Woody does just that, burying himself inside her sore pink hole before filling it with a second load of cum. His moans of pleasure are matched only by Mina’s. Like Buzz, he is unable to remain in an upright position for long. Soon he slips out of her, falling on his butt on the floor next to Mina. Before long his cum, too, begins to drip out of her well-used, well-fucked ass, joining the obscene puddle of juices on the floor.

Mina turns her head from Chaeyoung’s shoulder. You knew what she would say, even before she said it - and yet the word, that single word, that single syllable, manages to spur you into action like nothing else you’d heard that night.

“Next.”

“Fuck, Mina,” you spit as you leave the couch to take up position behind her. Others might have balked at being the third man in under ten minutes to fuck a well-used hole, but you had to admit that the sight of Mina’s gaping, cum-dripping asshole was nothing short of utterly sublime.

As you bring the tip of your painfully sore but still rock hard cock to her rear entrance, you lock eyes with Chaeyoung over Mina’s shoulder. In the younger woman’s eyes is a look of pure, unfiltered need - almost as though she wanted to be the one you were taking, not Mina. One of her hands is cradling Mina, the other is working busily between her own legs.

“Do it, baby. Fuck her ass. Wreck that hole.”

”Do it,” Mina gasps, turning her head slightly, a breathless plea leaving drooling lips. “Ravage my body. Wreck my asshole. Pound my ass so hard I can’t walk for the next week.”

To hear her say those words was almost enough to have you cum right there and then.

You press the tip of your cock at the open, gaping hole of her ass, swirling it around the entrance, collecting more of the copious amounts of cum leaking from it. She was certainly not lacking for lubrication. And you were not lacking for the need to fuck her needy little ass as hard as she was demanding you to.

You slide inside Myoui Mina’s ass.

She is so tight and wet and hot that you think you could’ve cum with your first thrust inside her. You’d had plenty of experience with anal sex, particularly with the other girls, but none of them came this close to being so tight and hot around your cock. Even the plentiful, thick loads of semen saturating her hole did little to hide her tightness. Her tightness almost took your breath away.

“Fuck her,” Chaeyoung snaps, her words jarring you into action. “Fuck that ass!”

You would have been happy to stay there, buried balls deep in Mina’s ass, but Chaeyoung’s words - and the slow gyrating of Mina’s hips and thighs as they try to spur you into action - eventually goad you into moving. Slowly at first, but with a steadily increasing pace, you begin to fuck Mina’s ass with long, slow strokes.

But your slow pace is not enough, no, not for Mina. Soon she is bouncing her ass and entire lower body back against you in an attempt to take you harder and deeper inside her. She swears in a mixture of English and Korean and Japanese - and while you made little sense of the sounds coming out of her mouth you knew what they meant.

Harder. Faster. Rougher.

And so you obey. You move one of your hands from her hips to the small of her back, tracing a path up her sweat-slick spine and its delicious curve. The feel of your fingers on her sweaty back entices her into curving her back as she molds herself to your touch. Your hand eventually reaches her shoulder, where you find a solid grip; you reach forward with your other hand to grasp a handful of raven black hair, pulling back and up, tearing her face from Chaeyoung’s neck with a startled cry.

Then you fuck her ass hard and fast.

You almost surprised yourself with the liberties you were taking, drilling in and out of her butt with the same speed and depth that you’d used on her mouth and pussy earlier - but if she cared, if she was in any sort of discomfort or pain, she didn’t show it. No, her body reacted in quite the opposite way, and her voice - which had hitherto refrained from using words - had suddenly become her primary method of communication.

“Yes!” she shouts - a loud, full shout from a wet, sore throat. “Yes! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck me like that, wreck my hole, pound me, fuck me until you cum in my slutty little ass!”

You grunt in reply, because it was all you could do, the faculties of human language having long since abandoned your grasp and ability. The rest of you, every fibre of your being, was focused on pounding Mina’s tight little hole as hard and fast as you possibly could.

The other girls did little to hide their needs, little to obscure the fact that they wanted sex and got off on it. But it was Mina’s seeming indifference, her ladylike attitude, as though she were above it all - it was what made pounding her ass so unlike the pleasure you derived from the others. There was a perverse pleasure in watching her take your cock in the most taboo way possible, of seeing this perfect, ladylike woman reduced to a mewling, moaning, cum-filled mess that begged and cried for a harder, rougher pounding for her ass - it was utterly sublime. There was no other word for it. It was otherworldly.

For a few delicious moments there is absolutely nothing in the world aside form the tight hot sheath of flesh around your cock, the warm flesh of her shoulder in your right palm and the strands of sweat-slick hair in your right, all topped with the lewd, filthy, obscene words spilling from Myoui Mina’s mouth.

Her body drips sweat and semen and spit and her own pussy juices. Equally filthy words tumble from her sore, drooling lips. You wanted to remain frozen there, with her tight little ass wrapped around your cock and those obscene words and moans spilling from her lips.

But try as you might, you couldn’t have it last forever. Not when you were already sore and spent from filling the cum-filled young woman with two loads of your own to match the six already filling her body. Not when the sheer, pure pleasure overwhelming you was more than enough to cause you to cum at any moment.

When Mina orgasms for the third time, her ass tightening exponentially around you - there was little you or anyone else could have done.

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

“Mmmm, ohfuckohfuckohfuckyesplease, do it, do it, cum in my ass!”

And so you do it, burying yourself hilt deep inside the quivering young woman’s asshole before filling it with the last of your cum, giving her every last drop you had left in your body, leaving rope after rope inside her sore, well-used, cum-filled rectum.

Your world almost blacks out. A part of you feels like you’d just emptied your very soul inside Mina’s body right along with your last load of semen.

Before you know it, you are on your butt on the living room floor right alongside Woody and Buzz. At some point Chaeyoung crawls over to you, drapes one of your arms around her like some sort of blanket, and falls asleep with her head on your chest. Buzz has curled up into a ball on the floor a few feet away, and Woody has already begun lightly snoring.

Your last sight before sleep takes you is of Mina, rising from the floor on shaky legs. She drips with juices, hers and those of the three men who had just taken her, from every well-fucked, well-used hole. Flowing down her thighs is a sizable stream of cum, her own slick fluids mixing with six loads of semen dripping out of her pussy and ass.

But on her lips is a sly smile of contentment.

She walks away towards her bedroom as the welcome embrace of sleep overtakes you.

---

You could have stayed in that shower for the whole rest of the day.

You sigh as you let the water pressure massage the back of your neck and top of your back, relishing the warmth of the water as it flowed down your sore, tired body. As pleasurable as the previous night’s activities were, you were looking forward to taking it easy today, perhaps spending a good chunk of it sleeping and recovering.

Son Chaeyoung had other plans, however. Not that you were opposed to her stripping naked and joining you in the shower.

She greets you with a kiss - one that begins soft but quickly escalates in passion as you wrap your arms around each other, letting the water soak your bodies as you hold each other closely. When she breaks the kiss she spends a few moments with her forehead pressed against yours, a content smile on her lips.

You weren’t quite sure where things were going with Chaeyoung - there were certainly moments when you’d felt that her affections had advanced beyond those that she would show to a mere fuck buddy, moments when you could have been forgiven for believing that maybe, just maybe, she had wanted something more from you than mere sexual satisfaction. It was there in the soft, emotional kisses that she didn’t share with the other toys, or in her occasional flashes of possessiveness when you had your sessions with the other girls.

One day, perhaps soon, you might ask her about where your relationship was going. But for now you were content with keeping the beautiful young woman in your arms, regardless of what your relationship had in store in the future.

“Good morning,” she says, softly. “I bet you’re sore as hell.”

“Hell yeah,” you admit, stepping backward so that your back was leaning against the shower wall. Chaeyoung joins you, keeping one of her arms around your neck - while the other began to drift towards your cock. “Probably not as sore as Mina, though,” you begin. “Is she okay?”

“I checked in on her this morning, and she’s fine. Better than fine, actually - she was just lying there casually watching an anime on Netflix and having a bowl of ice cream like she hadn’t just had a fucking foursome the night before. She’ll probably lock herself in her room for the next couple of days, playing with her video games or legos or whatever it is she does in there all the time. We probably won’t see her outside of work for a week or so.”

“I was kinda surprised that she would ask us to do that,” you say. Chaeyoung’s fingers have closed around your quickly hardening shaft, and even though your sore, aching cock protested, you couldn’t help but feel the first embers of need begin to light in your loins.

“Yeah, she’s super quiet and ladylike ninety-nine percent of the time… but when she wants to get laid, she really cuts loose.”

“I dunno, she seemed pretty tight to me.”

“Tighter than me!?” Chaeyoung spits, looking up at you with a half-serious angry look. Her hand tightens around your cock.

“Of course not,” you say, earning a loosening of her grip around your shaft.

“Hmph. You’re just saying that because I’m giving you a handjob in the shower.”

“Of course not,” you repeat, earning a reluctant smile from the young woman. “Not gonna lie, I was expecting maybe a… less intense time with Mina. I had no idea she would want to do something like that. I didn’t know she was the type.”

Chaeyoung smiles slyly, her gaze focused on your now fully stiffened shaft. She continues to stroke it with soft pumps, even as she speaks.

“It’s pretty rare that she gets horny, but when she does, she’s a real bitch in heat. I was a little surprised too when she told me she wanted to try it. We call it ‘running the OT9.’”

“The OT9?”

“The Oppa Train 9,” she explains. “Three loads in all three holes, from three different oppas.”

You couldn’t help but giggle a little at the name. Chaeyoung, reluctantly, lets a little chuckle escape her lips.

“It’s a stupid name, I know. Sana came up with it. And for the record, not all of us have done it,” she continues. “Mina’s done it now, obviously, and Momo. She took it like a champ, and I think she wants to do it again some day. Sana wants to try it soon, I think. Oh… and that slut’s done it too.”

Even without her speaking the name you knew who Chaeyoung was referring to. The growing friction between Chaeyoung and Nayeon had been impossible to ignore in recent weeks, and you were more than a little curious about what was at the root of it.

“Chaeyoung… about you and Nayeon-”

“Whatever,” Chaeyoung interrupts. “I don’t wanna talk about it right now.”

“Should I stop seeing her?”

“No, it’s fine,” she answers with a sigh. “Just promise me the next time you’re with her… that you’ll make it extra rough.”

“I will.”

The two of you stand there in silence for a few moments. Chaeyoung’s rhythm on your cock continues unabated - and you take the opportunity to bring a hand to her chin, tilting it up and giving her a deep kiss. Your tongue glides over her teeth before she captures it between her lips, sucking on it lightly, teasing it with her own tongue. When you break the kiss, you plant soft kisses on her cheek until your lips are next to her ears.

“Do you ever wanna try it?” you ask. “You looked like you were almost ready to join in last night.”

“Are you asking me if I want to have a train run on me? You want to watch me take nine loads like a slutty little pornstar, do you?” Chaeyoung asks with a sly smile.

You smile back before giving her a playful shrug.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” she answers, returning her gaze to your cock. “At least, not when we had other toys in the past. But now that you’re here… maybe someday.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say, bringing a hand up to her right breast, cupping the small mound and teasing her piercing with your thumb. “I think you’d look so fucking hot dripping nine loads of cum out your holes.”

“Mmmm,” she hums, a soft, pleasured sound as the rhythm of her hand on your cock quickens slightly. “Right now, I think there’s only one load I’m interested in. You think you have enough left in here to give me one?”

“I’ll always have a load for you, Chaeyoung.”

She looks up at you with a smile - sly, full of devilish intent.

“What about three?”

“I think I can do that,” you answer, catching on to her meaning.

“Good. I want it in a different order from what you gave Mina, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I want you to cum in my pussy first - so I can taste us on your cock when you fuck my mouth.”

“Fuck yes.”

“Then, I want you to cum in my mouth - so I can get you nice and wet and slick for when you fuck my ass.”

“Fuck, Chaeyoung.”

“Do you… wanna know a secret?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never let anyone cum in my ass before,” she says, eyes half-lidded now, words slurring into sighs and moans as she continues to pump your cock. Your fingers tighten around her nipple, teasing and twisting the piercing, making her squirm. Your other hand reaches around her body and grasps a full butt cheek before giving it a wet slap.

“I’ve had toys fuck my ass,” Chaeyoung continues as you squeeze and palm her reddened butt cheek, ”I’ve had them stretch it out… but I always made them pull out and cum on me afterward. On my back or on my butt. I guess I hadn't found a toy I liked enough to let cum inside my ass. Maybe I was saving my first anal creampie for someone special.”

“God, Chaeyoung. I want you so bad.”

“Yeah? So you don’t want me to call the other toys over here and have them join us?” she asks, with a teasing smile.

“Fuck no. I want your ass for my own. I want to be the first and only one cumming in your ass.”

“Yeah?” Chaeyoung growls, a carnal sound from lustful lips. Your newfound possessiveness of her seemed to pour gasoline on the already blazing ball of desire between the young woman’s legs. You smile to yourself as you come to the realization that possessiveness and jealousy were likely some of her kinks.

“I fucking want this tight little body of yours, Chaeyoung. I want it all to myself. I want to own you. I want you to be mine.”

“Mmmmfff,” she growls, a wordless sound of desire. “Do you wanna be the first? Do you wanna be the first toy to give me a creampie in all my holes? Do you wanna be the first to claim my ass? Stretch it out, leave it wide and gaping? You want me to drip your cum from all three of my holes? I fucking want it. Oh god, I want it. I want to be yours.”

“Fuck yes.”

“Good. But first things first… my pussy and my mouth need loads too. You better not keep them waiting.”

Your hands move quickly to her ass, picking her up off the shower floor and pinning her back against the wall. She captures your face with her hands and kisses you passionately, even as you bring your cock to her pussy. She moans into your mouth as you enter her.

You came to a realization that morning, as you took her again and again in the steamy, hot shower.

The other girls were amazing, of course - but you were Chaeyoung’s toy first and foremost.

---

Author’s Note: omg I need a shower in holy water after that filth please don’t judge my writing ability on this I can write fluff too I swear. The next chapter in the Bird series will have enough fluff/angst to make up for this I promise :P

Filth and smut aside, I hope you’re all being excellent to yourselves and each other. Thank you all for the constant support and love you’ve shown me. Times have been tough for me lately irl (nothing too serious, just a few things that haven’t gone my way), but I always feel a little better when I hear from you guys and how you enjoy my work. Even if it’s just leaving a like - I appreciate it all and you have no idea how much it means to me to know that someone else out there has had their day be just a little better because of something I’ve written.

I love you all and wish you nothing but the best in your own lives <3

#twice #mina #smut

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