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livehexmoments · 11 months

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SO...first time posting a fic in a LONG time!! It’s basically a possible first chapter for a longer fic that will probably never be finished FEWFRGH. It’s also a rough draft because i hate proofreading, sorry if there’s any mistakes :( To explain some context, this is an AU where Lionel is the player and lives through his attempted murder. Now he’s stuck with video game characters in real life (O and Irving is there too but dont worry about it, barely mentioned here i think). I just think Lionel is super fun to write and i love making him pathetic <3

“Hey, I know you guys are still pissed and want me dead and that’s fine. But I feel bad not feeding you at least. So can you promise you won’t immediately try to murder me when I come in?”

Lionel Snill was met with silence from the other side of the door. He sighed. It’s been about two days since….The Hex incident. It has been nothing but hell ever since. Playing through the game and realizing that it was about how miserable his creations were was bad enough, but the whole murder plot? The realization as the hex opened that the whole “murder mystery” was a trick to get him invested and for them to kill him? It still gave Lionel chills. The plan didn’t work, obviously. He was still standing after all. Lionel couldn’t remember the exact details of what happened, but he got up and moved away right when his hand was coming in to strangle him. The Hex sucked them in and they freaked out. Reggie yelling on the floor, trying to grab him and kill him, bullets flying, and the little guy (Jeremiah was his name, Lionel remembers) even bit his leg to keep him from running. He was lucky that he had a door with a lock and immediately ran out and locked it. He started grabbing chairs and his couch, blocking it and trying to escape the bullets flying out of it. It’s a miracle the door was still standing.

Eventually they ran out of bullets, mana, and energy, which gave Lionel enough time to reinforce the door the best he can and keep them there. He hasn’t really opened it since…Until Irving showed up. Apparently, killing a literal AI is a lot harder than thought of and Lionel had to open the door and drag a bloody Irving out before they tore him apart. Now Lionel was stuck with his murder hungry creations who most of them wanted his head on a stake and an injured AI who has been extremely unhelpful and quiet for most of the time.

Fantastic.

He tried calling Carla but she blocked him on any type of social media app ever existed. So that’s wonderful. Thank god he was able to take their weapons/magic away or else he doubt he would have lasted as long as he’s been now.

Going back to now, Lionel spoke up again, “Look. I know I screwed up bad. What happened to all of you and..what Irving did was awful. I’m sorry. I am trying to do better, and I can’t do that if you are still attempting to kill me. So just let me creak the door a bit open so I can pass the food over and I’ll leave you alone.”

Lionel was met with more silence. He sighed in frustration and shakily creaked the door opened regardless. He couldn’t let them starve in there. What he was met with the faceless one staring at him, which he visibly jumped at. The room was dark, so Lionel couldn’t see the others but the faceless one had his arms out, motioning his hands to the plate Lionel carried. Lionel realized what they were trying to do and passed the food to them while making sure the door wasn’t opened enough for them to escape. Once the transaction was complete, Lionel quickly shut the door. He let out a relieved sigh at how well it went.

“Alright. Great. That went well. See, I’m trying to be nice here. Feeding you with good food and-”

A feminine voice suddenly disrupted him behind the door, “Taste like shit.”

“...Well, I’m feeding you some food-”

An older voice spoke up, “Ehm…I never had food like this. Doesn’t look like food..”

Lionel looked frustrated and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine! I’m feeding you. At very least, I’m doing that! I may not make the best ramen but-”

Another voice appears, “This is ramen? There’s no flavor at all!”

“LOOK! I’m trying my best, okay?! Either eat the damn food or don’t, I don’t care!” Lionel jumped at the sound of a dish being thrown and smashed against the door.

“JESUS- Who did that?!”

He was met with silence once more and his patience snapped.

“Okay. Fine. Don’t answer. I’ll leave you alone.”

As Lionel was walking away from the door, he heard loud knocking from it.

“What now?!”

A young voice spoke, “I have to use the bathroom.”

Lionel stared at the door, in disbelief.

“...Bathroom? You’re video game characters.”

“And we use the bathroom! Cmon man, I have to go!”

“Does anyone else in there need to use the bathroom?” There wasn’t a clear response, but Lionel could tell with hearing the murmurs of agreement between them.

“Fine, okay. Here’s how this is going to work. I’ll let you use the bathroom, one at a time.”

Lionel continued to speak as the others stayed quiet. He honestly sounded a bit unsure as he spoke, “And if you try anything, I will not hesitate to…hurt you. Got it?”

The young voice quickly responded, “Yeah sure, can I just go, please?!” “Alright fine! I’m opening the door.”

He opened the door slightly to let the character come out and closed it quick to prevent the others from trying to run out with him. Speaking of which, turned out the voice was Weasel kid. Lionel had to stare at Weasel for a second, still can’t believing that his creations were alive this entire time. Weasel in turn, stared at him with an impatient look. His tail was flicking back and forth with his foot tapping impatiently.

“Well? Where’s the bathroom?”

Lionel snapped out of it, “Oh, uh, it’s down this hall, second door.”

There was a pause as both of them stood there.

“...Aren’t you going to-”

“No. You’re going first. I don’t trust you behind my back.”

“Jeeze, whatever.”

As they both walked to the bathroom, Weasel leading first while Lionel was following behind, Lionel snapped.

“Don’t ‘whatever’ me! You all tried to murder me! I don’t trust any of you. And secondly, I’m your creator! Is that how-”

“Yeah. It is.” Weasel turned to look at him with anger. His sunglasses were pushed down a bit, allowing Lionel to see the true fury behind his eyes. “How many times are you going to use that stupid argument anyway? It’s getting old.”

There was an uncomfortable tension. Lionel had to look away, looking almost guilty for setting the weasel off. Weasel simply pushed his glasses up with a snarl and kept walking forward, stopping at the first door in the hallway.

“Is this the bathroom?”

“...Second door.”

“Oh. Right.”

As weasel went through the correct door, Lionel stood in front of it. He silently wondered if his creations shared any traits with him. Weasel did seem like he forgets things if he already forgot the directions talk they had 1 minute ago. Before Weasel could close the door, he looked at Lionel standing in front, confused. Lionel explained, “Like I said, I don’t trust you. I’m standing right here. Do your business and when you’re done, you’re going back in the room and I’m taking someone else. Got it?”

Weasel huffed and slammed the door. Lionel jumped in surprise of how loud it was and sighed. Thank god Irving was a heavy sleeper or else hell could have broken loose. He

slid against the wall and sat on the floor, contemplating on how his life got to this point. Was he really that bad of a person? This was his karma wasn’t it? He sat there, hands in his face and trying not to cry in feeling overwhelmed. Lionel felt himself speaking before he could stop himself, his guilt taking over.

“..I’m sorry about Mr. Shrewd. It wasn’t your fault. I should have taken better care of him, not you. God, I knew I shouldn't have sold you off. The hell was I thinking?”

“. . . Did you regret it?”

Lionel snapped his head up to see Weasel standing over him with an unreadable face. He didn’t even hear the bathroom door open. Lionel sighed and locked eyes with him.

“Yes. Well..kind of. I hated what they did to you, but when I was younger, I was stupid and couldn’t see anything but chasing after the next big thing to get me famous. I should have kept hold of your rights, told those bad reviews to screw off and kept going…I’m sorry.”

“...”

“You don’t have to say anything, just…please, believe me when I say I want to do better by you guys. I will.”

Weasel’s face was cold. “I don’t believe you.”

“I know, I-I know you don’t. Sorry.”

Lionel stood up as Weasel was already walking towards the room, with a much quicker pace. By time he got there, Weasel was waiting by the door, his head looking down to the floor. Before Lionel could open the door, Weasel spoke up, “If..If you did keep my rights and wanted to make another game, would-..would you keep Mr Shrewd alive?”

Lionel had to pause for a second. He could tell Weasel that yes, he would have absolutely kept him alive. He was a memorable character so it made sense he would be in all the games but…It felt like a lie.

Lionel was sick of lying.

“...I don’t know. Honestly? I don’t think I would have. I didn’t care about my own Mr. Shrewd when I should have, I can’t see my younger self caring about yours the same way you cared.”

There was an awkward silence that lingered as Weasel stared right at him. Lionel wanted so badly to look away but he wasn’t going to do that. He wanted to be genuine. Weasel took a deep breath and clenched his fist.

“So he would have been dead? Regardless of anything?!”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

As he opened the door to let Weasel in, he swore he saw the kid wipe his eyes under his glasses. Lionel felt his chest hurt a bit and the guilt overwhelming at the sight. Good lord, he really was that cruel. Before he can even speak, the survivor stood up.

“..I see you all decided the order already.”

While the others stayed silent (Reggie giving him the coldest and meanest glare that burned through his soul), Chandrelle spoke up,

“Yeah. Video game characters need hygiene as well, for your information. He smells the worst.”

“Okay. That’s fine. Just…stay put, I guess.”

“Hm.”

Lionel did a quick glance around to check on Weasel. He was already at his old spot, with the faceless one rubbing his back to comfort him. Lionel took a deep breath and let the survivor out of the room. He closed the door behind them.

#the hex #the hex game #ignore the rest of the tags btw its just me rambling sorry #i have so many drafts of stuff DWADFWEGR #there's one fic i rlly want to post that's of the hex and im kind of proud of #i can only say its like 5000 words and its a ship fic with a character that barely anyone talks about so yeah....#but i havent proofread it and ik i want to change some stuff so we'll see maybe ill send as is idk

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backup-backdown · 2 years

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B’s Strawberry Patch [Fic]

[~3k words]

[Rating: General Audiences]

[Wammy’s era, backstory stuff. Fluff and trauma.]

Uhh. I wrote something.

Apologies for the minor mention of some unintroduced OC’s. Florence and Salle are students at Wammy’s who we know more about in all of the writing I haven’t posted yet. Because.... I’m lazy. but nevermind that, I finally did a little character study on B. Just a littel taste. Here you go.

“B, my boy, you need to get a hobby.”

The words were at first incomprehensible, then surprisingly harsh– At least, coming from Wammy. While he wasn’t exactly soft, he was certainly known to most of the children as kinder than Roger– You wanted to face him with your questions about uncertain feelings, embarrassing problems, normal things that Roger would treat like the rites of a Satanic ritual when discussed around children. Roger was much better at– and some could argue, relished– giving bad news or reprimands. For this reason, when Wammy was stern, B actually listened.

“I have a hobby.” B frowned, pulling at the loose thread on his sweater.

Wammy sighed, smiling softly. “B, you haven’t played the piano in months.” B looked up at him sharply, then back to his unravelling sweater.

“Because I’ve mastered it. Am I to play through a composer’s entire life’s work in order to beat it into the ground?” He was growing agitated, and yanked the thread as he spoke, bunching it up. Wammy laughed.

“I understand, B– You’re entirely devoted to your studies. It’s admirable, and perfectly in tune with what the program is intended for, but it’s also important that you branch out and explore interests not merely for the sake of academia. If it helps, think of them as extracurriculars. The–” He hesitated briefly– “The staff is, well… They’re worried about you. There’s a very high risk of burnout if you carry on this way, and your education and upbringing should be sustainable. You’re not meant to become a world specialist in criminal justice in a year, or even ten. This will take time, B, and while a full force effort is recognized, it is best saved for when it’s asked of you. For now, we are asking you to pace yourself.”

B snorted, snapping the thread. He looked up at Wammy, squinting at him from across his desk. “Well? What do you want me to do?”

Wammy suppressed another sigh with another long-suffering smile. “Whatever you want to do. I suppose you tend to approach things with the goal of mastering, completing, or otherwise overcoming them, and that’s perfectly fine for academics, but perhaps another approach would be better suited for constructive leisure. Have you given much thought to creative pursuits?”

B contemplated this, slumping deeper into the plush armchair beneath him. “I thought music was creative.”

“Well, generally if you compose your own pieces, then yes. But I seem to recall you vehemently refusing to do so when the idea was proposed, unless you’ve changed your mind–”

“No. It would just be another composer’s work in a different form.”

Wammy laughed. “I believe by your logic, no books are original, as they use the same letters as Chaucer or Dickens. But I follow what you mean, if partially. What about painting, or sculpture?”

B was silent.

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to try. I know that Mr. Barnes would be more than happy to teach his skills to someone, Lord knows he’s been burdened with his artistic background quite heavily in his time here, being forced to teach history. He’s been nearly bitter at times about it before. It would be a shame to let his other skills go to waste, perhaps the both of you could benefit from it.” Wammy was half-talking to himself by this point, and B could see the plans already formulating in his brain.

“No.” B knew he was being petulant at this point, but he didn’t want to be having this conversation. If he simply refused everything Wammy suggested, the old man would eventually get frustrated and let B resume his normally scheduled activities. He didn’t understand why it was an issue, really— At first B is told that he must study and work hard in order to receive his promised rewards, but, oh, now not that hard. What this meant, then, was that they all must have underestimated him. B scowled at the thought. Of course they did. After all, he was number two. Maybe this was their twisted way of keeping him in that position.

“If you’re not going to choose something to do, then I will choose something for you. I thought a creative outlet might allow you to expel your energy in a less exhausting way than studies, but perhaps you need something entirely different.” Wammy gazed contemplatively at B, hands folded under his chin. After a moment’s pause, he smiled.

“I think both the gardens and you might benefit from some hard work.”

~*~

Child labor. Wammy’s proposal amounted to child labor, B was sure of it. He and Wammy stood outside the greenhouse, squinting through the midday sun at the gardens surrounding it. While it wasn’t in shambles, it was clear that the greenhouse had been unattended for quite some time, and the bushes over grew, few blooms to snow despite the time of year. B curled his toes into the dirt beneath him, sulking while Wammy examined the area. Weren’t there laws about this sort of thing?

“Until you find some other activity you’d rather do, you could work in the gardens or the greenhouse— Given it’s cleaned up some, I’m sure you could find a more academic pursuit in botany, perhaps some floristry. However much effort you put into it is entirely up to you, but I’d like you to spend at least an hour out here a day, save for the first two days of the school week, and weather permitting. It would be entirely yours, with no supervision required by staff, although if you wanted advice from the groundskeeper, I’m sure he would be happy to help. Otherwise, you’ll have to think of something yourself.”

B pressed his lips together, folding his arms tightly around himself. It felt like a punishment, entirely unfair. But B could adapt-- he was excellent at suffering. He’d already begun forming his own ideas as to how he’d manage to make this experience bearable (nevermind the fact that Quillsh had just told him he could think of something else, this was a challenge as much as a punishment and B did not refuse challenges,) musing that this would be a fantastic way to fuck off and do as he pleased during school hours. Quillsh didn’t give him enough credit— B wasn’t all studying, with no play. He would let the others drag him on their adventures, smoke cigarette stubs someone had collected from the ground, and carve out grotesque scenes into fallen tree stumps. He couldn’t really offer those outings to Quillsh as a hobby, though, and to be fair, they weren’t very structured activities. They mostly just ended with someone getting a poison ivy rash, or returning to the house with a lunch sack full of worms.

This particular task was somewhat more restrictive than simply wandering around the grounds around the house-- He’d be within sight of the orphanage, close enough for other people to bother him. But people rarely did linger around the garden much, the other students instead choosing to spend their time roaming, or at the more closely maintained front garden. When he thought about it, B realized he couldn’t really remember the last time anyone paid any mind to the back garden. It was, even for it’s proximity to the house, a place of solitude. It would be his. He considered having a space to himself.

In Krasnoyarsk, he rarely belonged, and even rarer were things that belonged to him. His instinctive distrust had melted away the more time he spent at Wammy’s, and when Quillsh told him something was his, he believed it.

He liked it.

The strawberry patch was his.

When exams season neared, the patch wilted. The more demanding the classwork grew, the fewer qualms B had with simply letting the whole thing decay. But in the early summer, like glorious clockwork, the patch thrived, rising to vibrance under B’s distracted attention. It turned out it wasn’t that difficult to get the unmanaged patch to produce fruit.

It needed a great deal of cleaning out, to be sure. He mostly spent his first few days hacking bedgrudgingly at the waist-high weeds that had taken root amongst the main strawberry beds, plotting his violence vengeance on whatever idiotic staff member had presented Quillsh with their ‘concerns.’ He seethed about the idea that he, the top student who was clearly more well-adjusted (and better at being an actual human) than his competitors, would be at risk of ‘burnout.’ His anger cleared the entire patch of several bins of weeds, the rotted wheelbarrow half-submerged in dirt on one end of the gatden, and a few rotted strawberry plants by the end of the week.

The next day, he trudged out to the garden, and spent most of his hour sitting. Thinking. Mostly thinking about how ridiculous it was that he was out here, staring at a clean, barren garden, while the boy who could obliterate his name from the pages of history itself sat inside, likely miles ahead of him. He thought of ripping the remaining strawberry plants out of the ground, shredding their roots and small, light grean leaves, abandoning the whole project, giving Quillsh the finger, and kicking A’s ass. Intellectually and physically.

He couldn’t. Instead, he found a hose, blasted the tiny plants with water, then went back inside for the day. For a few weeks, stewing and watering the plants was all he really did.

Despite this, He was greeted by mid-summer with tiny green berries. He thought at first that some sort of larvae had attached itself to the flowering plants, but was struck with awe when he realized they’d produced fruit. He’d produced fruit, in a way. The sight of actual progress made him forget his plans for vengeance, and the bitterness in his mind was replace with all sorts of ideas for what he could do with the berries when they ripened. He was now motivated partly by the occasional desire to simply get away from the house, and moreover the thought of the house cook’s strawberry rhubarb pie. He became far more troubled with actually getting the patch to produce more fruit than actually managing it, and paid no mind when the roaming plants took root in the tulip beds across the garden. He did eventually clean out the greenhouse, reasoning that he’d need somewhere to store his supplies, and it didn’t hurt that some of the overgrown herb planters were salvageable.

That old bastard really had convinced him to engage in manual labor, but B had begun to like it. He liked the solitude, the feeling of protective satisfaction with his plants, and the signs of nature shown on his tanning skin in dirt and sweat when he returned to the house for the night. Roger would mutter about hiring a gardener on occasion, shaking his head at the sight of strawberry runners creeping alongside his office window (his office, which was set on the opposite side of the house from the garden, a good ways away from it) and B would pay him no mind. In the long run, both Roger and Quillsh were relieved B had found a less destructive hobby, and they no longer had to worry about finding half-completed, amateurish taxidermied roadkill in the staff’s records room.

As the patch flourished, B flourished in turn. He woke up at sunrise each day, slinking out of the house in his slippers to check the patch, evaluating whether or not he’d harvest today or tomorrow. He was immeasurable ecstatic after his first harvest, proudly presenting a basket of small, red, wrinkly strawberries to the house cook. Considering how ridiculously the patch had sprawled out, it was a rather sad harvest, but B was immensely proud of himself. He tucked away three of the jars of strawberry jam the cook used them for for himself, two to eat, and one to just look at.

All things considered, B was beginning to grow into a reasonably well-rounded child. More than he’d previously considered himself to be, at any rate. He didn’t want to admit that Quillsh was right, but finding his life no longer restrained to his studies gave him a certain level of peace. He snapped at his class partners less, and paid less attention to Roger’s lectures. He spent them staring out the window, lips twitching as he held back a smile at the sight of a tiny red berry on the window ledge. He even shared his precious jam with a few of his friends, out on one of their free-roaming adventures. Florence had brought the fancy crackers the cook kept hidden above the refridgerator, and they ate them together in silence, all agreeing wordlessly that it was the best jam any of them had ever eaten. B didn’t like the attention the patch had begun to draw from both students and staff, but it was mostly by reputation. It was a sacred site, and although the younger students still whined at the cooks to make more strawberry crumble, B and the patch itself were mostly left alone.

His menacing attitude that had previously caused other students to give him a wide berth wasn’t as effective as it once was, and though still not by everyone, he became liked. The cook was particularly fond of him, and although he didn’t mean for it, the ventures with jam and crackers in the forested grounds created a different kind of dynamic between him and his friends. He still got into fights, but more often, it was in defense of someone else-- Not himself. The violence wasn’t really needed in any of the circumstances he found himself in, but Salle in particular, who had a similar appetite for vengeance, but a smaller stature than would allow it, appreciated the thought. He became as protective of his friends as he did his garden.

He found that it was good to be loved, even if the price was learning to love in return. He still did not grant any attention to new students, and still despised certain teachers, but he’d finally found himself on solid ground. He’d given himself enough room for vulnerability.

He didn’t like it.

At least, he told himself he didn’t like it. There’d be a day where it all came crashing down, where someone betrayed him, or he was hurt, and he’d have to move again, and he’d return to drifting between places that were never homes, finding barren field after barren field. He knew it wasn’t right to feel as comfortable as he did, but despite his natural instincts, couldn’t dwell on his pessimism for long. B was starting to really believe he’d found a place where he belonged. A home.

The only thing standing in his way was A.

A had the one thing B did not– Approval. The title, the position, the chance for everything B was working towards. In the grand scheme of things, the strawberry patch didn’t matter. Even his friends, as helpful as they were, did not matter. There was only one thing that really mattered, and he couldn’t afford to soften and let the competition win.

A was number one. He was soaring ahead of B, it seemed, and the staff treated him like some kind of child-angel, like a superhuman being who could cure any disease with a touch of the hand. It drove him insane. Before he saw his own growth, he saw A’s growth. He saw A continuing to excel, to get ahead of him, in front of him, above him. The warmth he felt when receiving praise from the house cook for his progress in their lessons was instantly washed away with a cold jealousy for the reverent silence that overtook the room when A walked in.

A did not have hobbies. A’s inhumanity, which B had previously regarded as a weakness, was really his strength. A was never told to engage more in extracurriculars to avoid burnout– A was pushed, and pushed, and pushed because he could take it. B couldn’t. That’s what it was. He figured it out one day, two years after his work on the strawberry patch had begun. He was passing by the staff break room; the door was left cracked open, and he couldn’t help but eavesdrop. He didn’t intend on doing so for very long, but the sound of his name made his feet turn to lead.

“Yes, he’s doing well. He’s never cooperated this well with the structure before. Nearly no complaints from the infirmary this month, which is pretty remarkable. It’ll really be beneficial for him, he’s learning skills he might need later to… Well, you know.” A hum of acknowledgement from another voice. “I just don’t think he’ll take it as well as the others would. Like A.”

He didn’t know exactly what they were talking about, but he had a pretty good guess. These weren’t good intentions. They were just being proactive. All of them– the staff, Roger, Quillsh– they weren’t enriching his education.

They were softening a blow.

Florence finds him one afternoon ripping up the strawberry patch. He’s not harvesting, the berries scattered on the ground around him are already mushy and overripe, moldy bits sticking to each other in the sweaty August sun. He was uprooting them, ripping apart leaves, kicking clumps of dirt over his plants. His hair stuck to his forehead, plastered in sweat, a grim expression on his face. His shirt was stained with fruit pulp, and his hands were black from digging in the rich dirt he’d so carefully fertilized the growing season before. He didn’t look at her, and continued to destroy the beds. After that point, and for the remainder of his stay at Wammy’s, the garden remained empty. The plants rotted. The weeds returned.

#im getting used to just. creating again bear with me #i have so many ideas and feelings in my head and no way to execute them well so #sorry :))#beyond birthday #death note #my writing #Wammy's House #Wammy Kids #writing #also i realized this could read like b's whole reason for going insane and in a way it definitely. contributes. to him going rogue #but this story alone shouldn't be considered as a grand turning point #wammy's house was a neverending well of betrayal and dissapointment #barely proofread

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atyourmerci · 3 months

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♡ Everybody knows I’m a good girl, officer! ♡

♡ ♡

Summary: You are stealing at your local mall when you are caught by cop abby. She brings you to the back rooms where you use your body to get out of jail<333

Warnings: smut, MDNI, slight age gap not mentioned (reader is early 20’s abby is in her 30’s), dom!abby, sub!reader, fem!reader, degradation, ma’am kink, handcuffs, strap (referred to as her cock), spanking

A/N: I know I said this was going to come out later this week but I was sooo into this I couldn’t put it down hehe. I know yall feigning for her so I hope you enjoy, feast! Also not proofread I’ll do that later lmao

♡ ♡

You make your way out of the tall metal windowed doors, in your frilly pink mini skirt that barely covers the tops of your thighs, white crop top with jewels across your bare tits that says “princess” bags full of things that may have accidentally slipped in! And of course a cherry lollipop lazily strung out on your tongue.

Everything was going as planned as you confidently strolled out the mall doors as you always did, until…

“You again!” You hear a pointed voice yell from behind you, you can’t look back and give yourself up so you continue your pace, confidence slightly faltering. “HEY!” The voice only gets louder and closer, but you can’t bear to look.

All of a sudden what you assume to be the angered voice pulls your arm so roughly you stumble back with a wince, dropping your lollipop with a crash. You’re finally able to look at your match, a bruiting blonde as tall and wide as an ox. She looks at you with gritted teeth ready for conviction, all you can stammer out is a pathetic pout.

With furrowed eyebrows she scans your body up and down as if to make sure you were the convict she’d be tracking. Her eyes take a pause at your jewel adorned breasts, she seems to snap out of her gaze, “not this time princess, let’s go.”

She says it as you have a choice, she begins basically dragging you by the heels back into the mall. You think of running, but there’s no use, she’s twice the size of you, she could have picked you up with a finger and thrown you back in.

“Wh- where are we going!” You wiggle under her grip and she drags you, trying to avoid the gaze of innocent onlookers. She ignores you and mumbles something into her walkie, a bunch of codes you don’t understand but added in that she wouldn’t need backup, a sigh of relief floods over you.

“Please, im sorry I promise I’ll take everything back!” You plead as you make it further into the back of the mall. “Shut up brat,” she almost spits back at you, and tightens her grip even further into your fragile skin.

“Ouch! You’re hurting me!” You say in a wine as you reach what looks to be like a back room of the mall, with her grip still on your arm she uses her free hand to fumble at her keys to unlock the unmarked door.

She lets out a breathy giggle at your pouting, still focused on finding the key, “that’s going to be the least of your problems.” You don’t want to know what she means, and you don’t have the courage to ask so you continue wiggle around her grasp like a child while she unlocks the door.

The room is dark with only a small window at the top of the room that you can’t see out of, some boxes and cleaning supplies, a metal table with two chairs and a table lamp. As she walks her broad structure through the threshold she wastes no time to rip you by the arm and practically throw you into the concrete box.

“Sit” she barks and you almost jump into the cold metal chair, you gasp as your lacy clad cunt touches the hard chilly surface. She doesn’t take the same memo and stands before you, arms crossed. You are finally able to get a real look at her, she’s rugged but clean, long blonde that falls behind her, her arms barely fit into her uniform as her biceps protrude around the navy cloth, the veins pulsing throughout her hand.

You don’t mean for it to happen, but your pussy beings pulsing at the sight of her, you grip the cold metal of your chair averting her defining glare. it feels wrong, it is wrong, but it was an accident!

“Aren’t you going to beg for your innocence?” She cuts the silence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” You pout at her with doe eyes. “Lying to me is only going to make it worse sweetheart, try again”

“Okayyyy I’m sorry I’ll take everything back I promise!” You tug out your bottom lip. “Awh heard that one before, try again” she says pacing closer to you so that you have to raise your head to look at her. “It was an accident, I’m a good girl officer, I swear!” You bat your eyes in an effort to pull out a fake tear.

She lets out a giggle at your words, almost appeased with you, “does princess want to go to jail tonight, huh? Is that what you want?” She taunts you. “No please! I’ll do anything please!” You beg, real tears starting to form in your glossy eyes. “Oh is that so…” she pulls her thick hand up to your chin gripping it harshly so your flesh molds into her grasp “anything?”

“Anything, I’ll do anything!” You plead as hot tears run down your face. A devilish smirk adorns her face as if she already had her plan made out, you were fucked. Hook line and sinker fucked.

“Get on your knees,” she demands as she guides you by your jaw, your bare knees hit the cold floor, sure to be bruised. You see the mascara trailing from your eyes down your flushed cheeks.

“Don’t fucking cry you asked for this,” she says gripping your jaw tighter causing your eyes to close tight. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you!” She barks. You hesitantly unclamp the grip on your eyes, watching as she removes her grip at your submission, trailing them to her belt. With your fuzzy eyes you can barely make out a slight bulge in her pants over her mound.

She brings her thick fingers around the leather, releasing its grip. Her eyes never leave yours as she whips the belt out of her slacks and folds it in her hands oh fuck. “Here’s what’s going to happen princess, you are going to suck my fucking cock…” she beings unzipping her slacks to unsheath

a girthy black dildo, thick and long with veins trailing up it “…and if I hear one fucking complaint those pretty little tits are going to be covered in an orange jumpsuit, understood?”

Your mouth gapes at her size, there’s no way you’d be able to take her. She grips your jaw again bringing it so you’re an inch away from her length, “don’t make me fucking repeat myself slut.”

Yes is all you can manage out, emotions swirling in your mind and tummy, scared but yet turned on? You can feel the a line of slick escaping your dripping hole, needy. “Yes what?” She bites, she doesn’t tell you what she wants to hear but you can infer. “Y-yes ma’am,” you pout out, eyes wide and drool watering your mouth in anticipation.

She gives that devious grin, appeased with you, “good girl, now open that slutty little mouth.” You obey, opening your glossy lips in a small hole which she rips open with the girth of her cock, sending you into a choke.

“Yeah choke on it whore, you asked for this,” she beams with a maniacal grin. Tears start pricking at your ducts again as you sloppily take her, barely breathing at the depth she’s at. You try bobbing your head back and forth but she must not be amused with your efforts as she grips your scalp at its roots and bucks her hips to fuck you herself.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling of her pushing even further down into your throat, spit dripping down your chin. “Awh you like that princess? Like when I use that dirty little mouth?” A breathy grunt escapes her puffy lips. There’s no way you can verbally respond so you settle with a pathetic nod as she uses you.

She suddenly rips out of your mouth which sends you choking on all fours in attempt to regain your composure. She gives you a second to regroup, the first sight of mercy she’s let you have.

“Get up,” anddd she’s back. You stumble back to your feet, barely making it upright already fucked out. She takes you by the arms and turns you so they’re behind your back, and guides you to the rusty metal table, pressing you down so that your cheek rests on the cold material and your ass is bent over.

You feel the sopping wet cock nudge against your embarrassingly wet clothed cunt, you can’t help but let out a little whimper that you hear get a rise out of her from a giggle, “so fucking pathetic,” you bite your lip to hold back but it comes out anyways, “mhmmm,” god she’s right you are fucking pathetic.

She doesn’t say a word but you can hear her fumble behind you when you feel another cold metal at your wrist click click, bounding your wrist behind you. “Making sure you don’t try to touch that clit til I say so,” which you respond with an aggravated sigh.

“Is that a fucking complaint I just heard?” She grips you by hair, your face still shoved into the cold metal, but lifted so she glares into your eyes inches away. Now that she’s bent over you her cock presses into your throbbing slit that makes you whimper, “n- no ma’am.”

“That’s what I thought,” she losens her grip on your hair as you feel them run up your shirt and onto your already hard nipples from the cold metal. She pinches both after kneading them roughly in her large hands, “fuckkkk” you mutter out with the sensation of her bulge still rubbing into you.

She begins trailing her hands down your body and lifts up your skirt so that your bare ass is on display for her. “No use wearing this barely covers that little cunt of yours. You just want everyone to see it huh?” She runs her palms over your ass before laying a harsh smack into it, you jolt into the table at the suddenness of it.

She moves her fingers down to your covered slit, rubbing up and down slowly, slick pooling in your panties and down your thighs. “Of course you’re fucking soaked…” she grips down at your covered clit that bucks your hips back into her “…just dying to get used like a toy.”

“Please ma’am, please fuck me, use me please,” you beg pathetically as tears drop onto the rusty metal. She pulls down your lace so that it sits at your ankles. You feel the silicone tip run down your slit collecting all your pent up slick. Without warning she slips right into you, bottoming out immediately, “oh fuck,” you scream out.

She grips her hands at your hips and begins relentlessly driving into you without remorse, the gentle sentiment wouldn’t be in the cards for you. The noises escaping your lips were downright sinful, no one had ever fucked you like this, with such aggression. Even though you looked like a flower you didn’t want to be treated like it, and she knew it.

“Taking that cock so well princess,” she grunts out in a pant, probably the nicest thing she’s said all night. “Tight little hole just for me,” and she takes a harsh open handed blow at your other cheek. “Fuck ma’am please,” you cry out.

She snakes her arm under you down to your stomach, “you feel that? My cock all the way up in your tummy?” Pressing down on your abdomen and you can feel her, she’s so fucking deep your mind starts going numb, “ye-“ the words won’t form.

At your reply she bottoms out inside you, somehow getting even deeper and moves her hand to harshly pink your hard nipple. “Yes ma’am! I’m sorry- please don’t stop!”

“Good girl,” she coos as she pulls out and plunges deep inside of you again, going back to her pace. You can feel yourself nearing your peek, your tummy twists trying to hold it back. “M-ma’am can I cum please,” you beg. “Are you going to cum?” “I’m so close!! Please it hurts,” she leaves you with one last rut and pulls out of you, you being clenching around nothing and moan out at the absence.

You can barely make it out but you watch as she places herself down against the metal chair. She grips your arm and pulls you in, “wrap that filthy hole around my cock,” she spits. You obey, slowly inching yourself down onto her girth, hands still bound at your back gripping into her covered chest. She pulls you back onto her so that your face is nuzzled against the size of hers, blonde strips of hair now dangling messily in front of her face. She takes your feet and wraps them around her calf’s so that you’re wide open for her.

“Cum without asking and I’ll make sure you’re someone’s bitch in prison.” She takes your breast in one hand and the other on your clit, rubbing slow agonizing circles. “So swollen, just dying to cum on my cock huh princess?” She’s breathing straight into your ear, you can hear every little grunt that comes out of her, your body shivers at the new sensation.

“You feel so good ma’am.” You moan out trying to hold back screams from feeling her rough fingers on your sensitive clit. She picks her pace up so that your legs are shaking around her thick thighs. “Fuck fuck fuck,” is all that seems to come out of your throat.

“You wanna cum baby? Beg for it.” You can barely make out a sentence but you can’t wait any longer and she knows it. “P-please ma’am let me cum on your cock, I’ve been s-such a good girl!” She quickens her pace, now bucking her hips aimlessly into your abused hole.

“Whose fucking pussy is this?” She groans with a smirk onto your ear. “Yours! All yours ma’am!” You desperately blurt out, at the tipping point of your peak. “Show me it’s all mine, cum on my cock pretty girl,” if you weren’t already one foot in the grave, those words alone could have sent you six feet under.

Your vision turns white, sobbing out as she ruts her cock deep into your tummy and her fingers circle your swollen clit. You bounce onto you unconsciously, needing more as you ride out your climax. She grunts into your ear at your sweet little sobs while you desperately fuck yourself onto her.

You finally still yourself as you finish off your orgasm, you’re both panting in attempt to regain composure.

“I promise I’m a good girl officer,” You say in a whisper, still unsure if she’d still take you away in her cop car after abusing your body. She giggles at your pathetic attempt to claim innocence.

“I think I’ll keep this pretty pussy to myself for now.”

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson2 @lanafresitas @lookforthelight1 @fict1onallyobsessed @shewantstoknow

#abby anderson #abby anderson smut #the last of us #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby anderson tlou2 #abby angst #abby the last of us #abby tlou #sub abby

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sjyuns · 4 months

Text

HEAVENLY ┆ A PARK SUNGHOON ONESHOT

SYNOPSIS! park sunghoon has put a curse on you after smashing you heart into a million pieces — that you’d never be able to find anyone comparable to him. and now he’s back, cocky and flirty as ever to prove that he’s the only one you’d ever need.

GENRE! playboy! sunghoon x fem reader, kiss his face with an uppercut romance, exes to lovers, fake dating, mutual pining, fluff, angst

CAUTION! cursing, party, attempt of writing heartbreak angst, slightly toxic (?) behaviour, make out scenes, cheating allegations, sunghoon douchebag, sunghoon has major confrontation issues, smoking

WORDCOUNT! 9.5k

MIKAELA’S! IM BACK, he’s back. playboy hoon! finally writing after like three months, it’s not the best so please forgive me. written to CIGARETTES AFTER SEX’s discography. feedback and reblog are appreciated! NOT PROOFREAD

TEASER SERIES MASTERLIST

WHERE IT’S SO SWEET AND HEAVENLY

THE VERY definition of sin and salvation, Park Sunghoon brings out the best of you in the worst ways. The first, your first — your first kiss, your first boyfriend, your first love.

He pulls you in and invades your senses, every careless whisper, every note passed in class, every make out session in dim empty classrooms, Sunghoon makes you yearn for him and you would be able to tell him apart from everyone else by touch and smell alone.

You still remember the summer two years ago, when you sat in the passenger seat of his convertible, wind in your hair as you had the greatest time in your life.

“Frozen?” You say as the radio in his car starts blasting ‘let it go’, and Sunghoon looks over to you with a boyish grin on his face.

“Why not?” He says, one hand on the steering wheel and the other moving to brush a strand of your hair back, “Elsa and Anna are pretty cool.” He holds your hand, thumb caressing the smooth skin of yours as he watches you throw your head back, laughter ringing through the air at his words.

“They are,” you agree with a giggle before your other hand fists to your lips as a microphone. And you sing with him, at the top of your lungs. That summer, in his passenger seat, you fell irrationally and irrevocably in love.

He looks at you, trying to catch his breath, and he adores — the way your lips curve up into the prettiest smile, the way you radiate warmth, and the way you’re you, intoxicating, captivating, and all together godly.

And he kisses you like his life depends on it. It’s soft, hot, desperate, and tender all at once. Your lips smooth, falling open at the brush of his tongue and Sunghoon can’t seem to get enough, teeth tugging at your lips, fingers twined into your hair before he breaks it only to barely press his lips onto your again, shifting from the corner of your lips to the centre, and then to the rest of your face, tiny pecks everywhere, as if he was worshipping you.

“Let’s do this again when we’re eighty,” he whispers, eyes locked onto you and forehead pressed against yours.

“You really think we’d make it till eighty?” You ask, and Sunghoon wears that infamous grin of his. A scoff leaves his lips as he replies, “baby we’d still be together even if you’re in heaven and I’m stuck in hell.”

“You don’t think we’d ever break up?” You question, and he chuckles at your innocence. Him? Breaking up with you? And he wonders if you realise the way he looks at you, how he kisses you like your lips are heaven.

“No way, princess,” he murmurs, bending over to place a ghost of a kiss on your lips, “I could be clinically insane or have the worst memory lost but I’d never forget how in love with you I am.”

How stupid you were to indulge in such empty promises. You should have known, been more aware that you could never change him — his habit of losing feelings fast.

How quickly he threw away a year of memories, how he kissed it off you and how you couldn’t help but comply, tears rolling down your cheeks. And you hated the way his face flashed a glimpse of regret — as if he was sorry he got caught.

“She pushed herself on me, love. As soon as she heard footsteps approaching.” Sunghoon pleaded, and you truly wanted to believe him. The way his hair was unusually dishevelled, his eyes full of pain. Yet all you could envision when you saw him was the picture of his body against one that was not yours, looking at her the way he looked at you.

“I really can’t handle this right now Sunghoon,” you cry, twisting your wrist out of his hold. Sunghoon feels his heart crush — he hears it. It chips off piece by piece as he watches you crumble to the ground, hands over your face and he wants to go over to console you yet his feet are glued to the ground.

“I swear,” he whispers, soft yet it shakes both hearts in the room, “you and me.”

Your head hurts and nothing matches up. Maybe you’re a coward for not choosing to fight or maybe you’re just too tired. “I can’t,” your voice cracking uglily, “I saw it with my own two eyes.”

“I love you,” you say, vision stuck on the floorboards, too scared to look at Sunghoon’s expression — was it pain like yours was, or was it joy and excitement at breaking yet another girl’s heart, “so much Hoon,” you manage to croak out.

“And I’d always trust you, but I need some time to process this, alone.”

That was the breaking point, when his heart shattered into small sharp shards of fragile vulnerability. It just seemed like yesterday when the both of you laid side by side and swore your forevers. He was never one for love and romance but now he gets it.

There wasn’t any point living if it’s not with you.

And he blames himself — his previous actions and deeds that cursed him for life, the karma that haunted him for his unrighteousness. Maybe he does deserve it, he thinks, if this was what every other girl felt like when he had broken things up with them.

“Please,” he muttered, eyes red and tears running down. Sunghoon doesn’t know who he’s talking to anymore; if he was begging you to stay by his side or begging himself to stop inflicting pain on your precious heart.

“Not now,” your chest squeezes and your rib cage traps your ferociously beating heart to hold it in its place as you make a rash decision, “I don’t want to see you.”

Sunghoon thinks he could’ve turned into a grotesque monster the way you shunned him out. All bloody and contorted, far away from the charm he once used to hold. And he wants to disagree, yet he murmurs the heavy words of agreement.

You only hear the shuffling of feet — one that you can recognise from miles away, before the door clicks close and your throat burns from the loud sobs emitted from your heart.

As much as you wanted to indulge in such a cliche that you could be the one person who changed his way, this was sadly reality. That Park Sunghoon never belonged to you the way you belonged to him.

He’d always be wanted everywhere he went, and you don’t know if you’d ever be able to handle that.

ONE YEAR LATER

You’re kissing a boy whose name you don’t remember. Is it Park Jaemin or Park Jaeon? Is his surname even Park? Eyes closed and lips on lips, and it isn’t very polite of you to rate a boy’s kiss, but it’s all you can do to satisfy your boredom as his teeth carelessly bites down on your tongue. Fucking hell, you think, as you break the kiss only to meet the boy’s apologetic expression, it’s a two out of ten.

Dreading to tell your friends about yet another terribly gone blind date, you force a tight lipped smile as you wave goodbye to the boy whose cheeks are flushed red. As cute as he looked, you wished you would never see him again.

“God, why are men like this,” you complain right as you open the doors to your dorm room. Karina, your dorm mate and self proclaimed best friend sits up on her bed, patting the spot next to her in eagerness, ready to listen to yet another night of whining.

“It can’t be as bad as the lifeguard guy,” she says, tilting her head to examine your fatigued expression, “how was the kiss this time round?”

You don’t even bother saying it out, you didn’t even want to think about it again. Simply raising two fingers up at her, your back hits the soft cushion of Karina’s bed, a loud sigh leaving your lips.

“Still not comparable to,” she pauses, looking at you warily before continuing, “him?”

Him. God, it’s insane that he’s still stuck in your mind a year after he mercilessly stepped on your heart. You stay silent, and that’s all it takes for your dorm mate to flop down beside you, a big sigh leaving her lips as well.

You’re over him. You’re over Park Sunghoon. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. But despite days and nights of going out again and again with different boys to forget about him, changing habits and sleep schedules to leave memories with him behind, deep inside your heart you know that you’ll never get over Park Sunghoon.

He’s the reason why any blind date your parents set you up with doesn’t go smoothly. You’re picky, and you can’t seem to find a boy comparable to him. And you fault Sunghoon for making you like this — overly obsessed with the composition of people.

Like every boring blind date starts, the boy picks you up, drives you to your favourite restaurant and asks you the same questions, “what do you study?”, “how are you liking school?”, and oftentimes questions of more substance like, “how was your day today?” At least with those kinds of questions your answer could vary.

And everytime you get asked such questions you can’t help but remember him. Park Sunghoon, who told you that he practised knotting his tie an hour a day to prepare for your very first date together. How he likes KitKats so much but he’s boycotting Nestle so he doesn’t buy them, and how he absolutely hates the taste of coffee, but drinks it to look cool.

Your eyes start to burn slightly, and you squeeze them shut, trying to stop the collecting tears from trailing down the apples of your cheeks. You hate Sunghoon, you despise him so much you wish you could punch him and his god awful handsome face a couple times. Why, you wonder, why did he have to be such a good boyfriend? Maybe if he wasn’t you’d be content with a boy who wasn’t experienced in kissing, maybe you’d be fine with a boy who asks you how your day went just for the sake of asking.

And it doesn’t help that you’ve grown the exact same habit as him, that you had to restrain yourself from telling every single boy you sit across the table from small details about you like you used to tell Sunghoon.

Hands moving to furiously wipe the tears streaming down your face, you open your eyes to see Karina, who looks at you with sympathy. It’s become too common of an occurrence, and she hates that she can’t do anything about it other than offer you comfort.

“He was a good boyfriend, but there are better out there,” she says this time round, moving over to lay beside you. There are better boys out there, everyone is better than a boy who broke your heart. But he’s the one you want. Park Sunghoon.

No words are exchanged but a tight hug before you shuffle back to your bed. Your nighttime routine begins as your head hits the pillow and you start thinking about Sunghoon. You always think about Sunghoon before you fall asleep, you did since the very first time you met him, and you do now. The words he said, the way he looked. The inside jokes you had, the silent moments you shared. And if you ever dream, you dream about him. Because it’s Sunghoon, and everything in your life seemed to revolve around him.

It’s strange, how the moments the both of you shared felt like forever. Until suddenly you’re nineteen, and he’s halfway across the world. The earth becomes an hourglass, and you’re watching the sand pile up at the wrong end. And you’re thinking about how when you first met him, when you dated him, and when you were just beside him. Then your heart was like a kick drum at a rock show. But now, it is merely a ticking bomb of pain and anguish.

The arrogance and beautiful glory that shined with him — and you can still never forget the time it blinded you. How you were supposed to be the main character yet all you could focus on was the godly playboy who stole your firsts.

“I’d kiss you but your boyfriend’s watching,” Sunghoon mumbled, and he was so close you could feel his breath on your lips.

He held your gaze confidently, with a tinge of arrogance as his tongue darted out to lick his lip. You remember thinking that Sunghoon was the most annoying person in the world, because how could he have looked so devilishly handsome and have such an intoxicating effect on you.

It all started when he showed up unannounced and uninvited to your birthday party — still in his school uniform, tie loosened and sleeves rolled up with his blazer hanging over his shoulder.

And you should have known better than to let him charm his way into your house. “What are you doing here, Hoon?”

Sunghoon loved the way his nickname rolled off the tip of your tongue, so addictive that he wanted to record it — to play it again and again, even if your tone was one of spite.

“Happy birthday princess,” Sunghoon completely ignored your words, taking steps closer towards you, “now, where’s my birthday kiss?”

He’s at it again, aimlessly flirting with you. You rolled your eyes, a deep sigh exiting your mouth, “it’s my birthday, Hoon.” How did he even know where you lived? You were sure you told everyone you invited not to bring him along.

“So I’ll give you a birthday kiss,” he grins, eyes glinting with mischief as he watches your facial expressions fall, ears burning red as you quickly turn around.

You hated Park Sunghoon and the unimaginable hold he had on you. “I’m going to find my mother. Do not, I swear to god, cause any trouble.”

“Your mother? It’s a little early in the relationship,” he moved swiftly to your side, arms casually slinging over your shoulder as he pulled you closer into him forcefully. “But it’s okay, I’m ready.”

Where in the world did Sunghoon get his cocky attitude from, you think as you try your best to pry and lift his arm away from your shoulder. Despite your surface indifference towards his advances, there were millions of butterflies invading your stomach at his every single action.

Before you can even try to escape, a voice calls your name and you stop to talk to Yunjin. “Park Sunghoon? What are you doing here?”

Sunghoon steals a glance at you, and he thought you looked absolutely adorable as you pouted at the image of multiple people seeing you with him; given how you always seemed to have complaints about his overly flirty nature and playboy ways.

But Sunghoon hadn’t fooled around since you transferred into Decelis two months ago, a personal record for him. At first all you were was a form of entertainment, someone who had cute reactions to his smooth pick up lines.

Then it all came crashing down, when he started to feel the need to bicker with you everyday and mess up your hair every time he saw you in the hallways. And somewhere in between the blurred lines, he fell in love.

“Here to celebrate my girl’s birthday,” he cocks his head towards you, who’s palms now cover your face in sheer embarrassment. God, now it’s going to spread like wildfire. His girl?

Yunjin’s eyes widen and jaw drops, “really? You guys are together? But I thought you were with Choi Soobin.” She asked, nudging you.

Sunghoon frowns at her words. Choi Soobin? Since when? Sunghoon literally followed you around school whenever he saw you, and he’s never seen you ever talk to that boy.

“Soobin and I are just friends,” you clarify, “also we are not a couple,” your finger gesturing to you and Sunghoon as you answer the girl.

“We’ll be one by tomorrow,” Sunghoon cuts back into the conversation, voice loud, and he catches your surprised expression as he smirks slyly.

Though he continues the conversation without a single stutter or break, Sunghoon’s feeling utterly disgusted. Is that the kind of boy you like? Nerdy losers who can’t do anything for the life of themselves? He doesn’t really like the thought of turning into those types of boys, but whatever you want, he thinks — he’s already practised abstinence for you, he might as well go all the way.

At the same time Sunghoon wonders if you’re really that oblivious to his obvious advancements towards you. He’s made it crystal clear: dumped his girlfriend, followed you around, talked about you literally all the time, and yet you’re still clueless.

And he whisks you away before you find the chance to clarify his words again. He’s determined this time round, to make it extremely straightforward for you.

“Hoon why in the world would you say stuff like that,” you groaned, hands slapping his chest. And he grins like an idiot at your touch, if this was what it took for you to initiate skinship with him, he’d be more than willing to proclaim himself as your boyfriend any day.

He placed a hand on the place you’d just hit, “it’s painful,” he pouted, and you almost feel a little guilty at your harsh actions, “can you kiss it better?”

Until that. You huffed, “I'm leaving,” you announced as you turned away, ready to walk right back into the crowd. Sunghoon quickly clasped his fingers around your wrist, pulling you into his chest.

Your eyes become those of a deer caught in headlights as your body is pressed firmly against his, his arms finding their way to your waist; a gentle but firm hold as he bent down.

“Wasn’t done yet, princess,” he smirked, and you feel some sort of danger looming over because Sunghoon looks like a devil enticing you to commit sin. His black hair styles perfectly like always and his red tie, due to his excessive movements, is now dropping down even more to expose his honey skinned collarbones.

The most you can muster is a mumble, “what,” and your eyes are glassy as you stare up at him, he thinks he might go insane — to just move in to place a kiss on your invitingly soft lips.

“I’d kiss you but your boyfriend’s watching,” and he literally spat the term out, unable to believe he’s labelling someone else other than him ‘your boyfriend’. He knew you guys weren’t together, but just for the comfort of his heart he had to hear it again.

It took you a while to process his words. “He’s not my boyfriend, Hoon,” and it’s that short statement coupled with the way you said his name that really did it for him.

Sunghoon moves in just as you finish your sentence, and he sinks into your pillowy lips. It’s paradise on earth and he thinks he will never be able to get enough of this feeling.

“Sunghoon,” you mumbled when he broke the kiss, slightly out of breath as you looked up with hazy eyes.

He chuckled, “sorry, baby, my bad. I’ll return your kiss back,” and Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate to give you another kiss, fingers caressing your waist as he pulled you closer to him.

This time it’s you who breaks the kiss, way too out of breath to even form full sentences without a few breaks in between. “You just kissed me.”

“Right, I just did that baby,” he smiles, those tiny fangs of his showcased as he gazes adoringly at you. “Actually, I’m looking for a girlfriend.” He pauses, eyeing your flushed cheeks and pink lips, “Are you looking for a boyfriend by any chance, princess?”

Now that you’re literally glued onto Sunghoon, you take the chance to look at him. Sharp nose, pretty moles that you could probably trace along all day, and his eyes which contrasting to his calm demeanour, held anxiousness as he waited for you to answer.

You’ve thought about dating Sunghoon before. Multiple times. Way more than you should’ve. And you never wanted to ever confess to it, because he was everyone’s crush. And not only that, he was annoying — constantly teasing you and making you flustered by his actions. You’d curse every time your heartbeat started to accelerate at his flirty words. You had thought that there was no way he’d ever like you back.

“I’m looking for a boyfriend,” you admit, letting out a soft giggle at Sunghoon’s overjoyed expression. And you decide that maybe now’s the time to get back at him, tease him a little to get him to stay on his toes, “maybe I should go find Soobin.”

His shoulders downturn almost immediately and his arms wrap around your waist securely, chin resting on the top of your head. “No fucking way,” he grumbles, “you’re my girlfriend now. And I’m your boyfriend.”

“Yeah, you are,” you say, voice muffled in the embrace of Sunghoon. And you hear him giggle slightly, the rumble of his chest exposing the boyish feelings your boyfriend was currently going through, “for now.”

Sunghoon lifted his chin from your head, fingers brushing over your cheeks before they landed themselves on your jaw. He tilts your chin up, “too bad my intention is forever.” And he placed chaste kisses on your lips again and again.

What a joke. What a liar, you think as you feel the cords of your heart tug at the memory. He haunts you and you wish you were here with him in his arms, fresh perfumed scent from Tamburins that he always used wafting into your senses, intoxicating you, consuming you.

Sticky cheeks and bloodshot eyes adorn your face as Karina shakes you incessantly, bringing you back to reality. “What,” you groan. You weren’t in the mood for whatever gossip she had to tell you — Sunghoon consumed your mind in ways that made it ache; you barely have space for any other thoughts.

She thrusts the phone into your face, the blaring screen making you squint as you recognise the familiar school news forum website. The big bold title of the post names ‘guys help me find this guy i saw on campus in omfg’ along with a picture attached.

You’re left speechless as a wave of emotions hits you and you feel like you’re drowning. This is not a dream, it’s real. And you don’t know if this was the universe’s way of pushing you to get over him or if you’d just managed to anger the world with your incessant wailing about the boy.

Because Park Sunghoon is back and he’s looking ten times hotter than you’d remembered.

Sunghoon sits with his long legs comfortably spread open and arms resting on the cushions of the couch, as if he was the owner of the house.

“So,” the girl straddled on his lap says, twirling her hair and batting her eyelashes at him, “what’s your favourite fruit then?”

They’ve been at it for minutes that felt like hours and Sunghoon doesn’t think he can withstand the urge to push her off his lap for any longer. Sunghoon grins cockily, “wanna know, babe?”

He watches with dark eyes as the girl, who’s name he can’t seem to remember, nods bashfully. It’s the fifth girl in three days, and Sunghoon’s getting a little tired of the same old expressions to his flirty behaviour.

“Strawberries,” Sunghoon tells her, “I could live on strawberries my whole life.”

“You like them that much, huh?” He almost visibly cringes at the sultry tone of her voice. That’s too much. But he doesn’t say anything, nodding his head at her words. “Why?”

He freezes up for a while. Why? Well, Sunghoon has never had a care for strawberries, but that summer, your lips were so stained with strawberries it was all he could ever taste.

And he remembers how your hands traced the veins of his neck, limbs tangled with his as he kissed your strawberry lips goodnight and good morning.

“Tastes nice,” he shrugs, and the girl moves on to her next question. Sunghoon, however, tunes her out like he had wanted to since she pounced over onto his lap.

He almost curses the girl for asking him such a harmless question, cursing himself for answering it the way he did. Sunghoon doesn’t have a favourite fruit, so why did his thoughts have to travel there, to the back of his mind, where he kept all his memories with you untouched.

Ironically, Park Sunghoon is here to see you. Despite having a girl planted on his lap, he finds his eyes constantly wandering every time people enter the house — it’s an unfamiliar game of waiting, one that Sunghoon’s never played before.

Hell, Sunghoon doesn’t even know if you’re going to come, but he’s bagging on it because he knows your parents wouldn’t let you skip the chance to network with your schoolmates. And now that he’s back as your schoolmate, Sunghoon swears that he wouldn’t miss the chance to ‘network’ with you.

Speaking of the devil, you walk through the door, and Sunghoon is in awe. Pretty little black dress with black heels, and god you still looked the same, maybe even prettier — yeah, definitely more prettier.

And his heart is thumping against his rib cage, nostalgia flushing through him as Sunghoon remembers the very first time he saw you in class after he came late. One look at you and he thinks all his efforts are in vain, Sunghoon wants to touch you, call you pet names and see your cheeks flush his favourite shade of rosy red, but the weight on top of his lap stops him, and he can only watch as you walk into the kitchen without a glance towards the couch.

Then he hears your voice, it's loud and smooth like it was back then, and he remembers because every single time he hears the nickname ‘Hoon’, he hears your voice. And Sunghoon will never forget the sound of your voice calling his name over and over.

“Soobin,” you call out, “Choi Soobin,” and his shoulders drop. Soobin? Out of everyone you could move on with, you got together with him? He’s better, Sunghoon knows he is, and he can’t believe the fact that you would downgrade to a second class nerd.

Sunghoon shifts in his seat, the poor girl on his lap thrown to the side as he attempts to get a view of the open kitchen where you stood alluringly. He disregards the scoff thrown at him from the girl, who walks away with hips swinging.

God it’s that effect again, and without even a look you have him wrapped around your finger unknowingly. Sunghoon suddenly feels the need to kiss you again, and he realises how much he misses you.

How selfish of him though, to crave for you as though you were his to miss at all.

Sunghoon clears his throat, arms folded and muscles bulging, trying to be discreet about the toll you take on his mentality. He’s here and you’re just a walk away — yet why does he feel so undeserving of being next to you.

The past was just a misunderstanding, and he wouldn’t have been at fault if he didn’t just hop on a plane to the other side of the world just as you were ready to talk it out.

But there you are now and he feels as if it’s his final opportunity before you slip through his fingers. Sunghoon wants to call your name, blurt out his feelings and kiss himself better; hell he’d never admit it over his pride but he had been thinking of what to say to you when he would finally see you again.

The lump in his throat’s the size of a cherry pit as he shifts awkwardly, finding himself on the way to the kitchen, on the way to you.

And he hates it — how fidgety you make him feel, how his palms turn sweaty like a teenage boy, how out of character you make him feel.

You’re just another girl now, an ex, a stranger. Sunghoon knows he’s just lying to himself, because you’d never be a stranger to him, not when you’re in everything he sees and does, not when he’s never had the confidence to tell his parents who constantly ask about you that you’re no longer together.

Filtering through the crowded room, he prepares himself, rehearsing the words he’s always wanted to tell you. Yet a flame in his heart burned luminously green at the sight of you laughing, with a boy that wasn’t him, with Choi Soobin.

“New boyfriend already? I see the princess has downgraded from a prince to a knight,” Sunghoon looms over you, a look of distaste all over his face as he looks pointedly over at the other tall boy.

You knew he was here watching, you could feel the gaze of Park Sunghoon from a mile away. And now he’s right behind you, chest pressed against your back as Soobin looks away from you to meet his gaze.

“Sunghoon?” Soobin murmurs in confusion, and Sunghoon smirks, waving him off as a gesture to leave the both of you alone.

That was one thing you’d always hated about Sunghoon, how he used his influence to control everyone around you, as if they were unworthy of your attention.

“Stay Soobin,” you say, before you turn around to meet Sunghoon’s gaze for the first time in a long while. Your heart slams against your chests like fists on a punching bag and feelings overwhelm you. You wouldn’t label yourself as someone emotional yet whenever you’re around Sunghoon you can’t help but drown in your feelings — love, hate, anger, and longing.

Sunghoon shoots you a sharp glare before returning his gaze to Soobin and cocking his head to the side. “I think I should leave,” he mumbles, tripping over his words before he steps out of the kitchen.

And there you find yourself, face excruciatingly close to Park Sunghoon’s as you try to choke down your feelings. He looked a little different, less playful and more mature, yet he still has the same sharp features you loved, and the multiple moles peppered across his face that you used to kiss every night.

“Is this fun for you, Sunghoon?” And he winces at your tone, loaded with disappointment and frustration but he remains quiet, reaching over to brush a strand of hair away from your face.

You can’t stop yourself from leaning into it, his warmth and familiarity. “Hm?” Sunghoon hums, his voice deeper than it was back then, “I don’t know, is this fun for you, princess?”

You’re taken back to highschool, when Sunghoon would press you up against the cool metal lockers and tell you how pretty you are, like a princess hence the nickname he has for you. Then, you couldn’t control the vibrant red that ruled over your cheeks and ears at the sound of that nickname and now, you still can’t seem to.

“You can’t just barge in here and act like you know me, Park Sunghoon,” you seethed, “like nothing ever happened.”

“I don’t know, princess, maybe you can refresh my memory,” he grins at the way your eyebrows squeeze in irritation, “a kiss for old times sake?”

You place your palms on his chest, using force to push him away yet he doesn’t budge. “Hey sweetheart, I know you’re excited to see me but it’s a little early to be feeling me up don’t you think?”

Immediately retracting your hands, Sunghoon lets out a laugh. It’s just as melodious as you remember and you can’t help but sigh at the familiar feeling of bickering with him. “Get the fuck off me, Park Sunghoon,” you groan.

“Woah, full government name? Baby I thought we were in love.” God, you think, how you wished you could kiss his face with an uppercut. It didn’t help that he was exactly the same as he was before and everything more, because you can feel yourself sinking deeper and deeper into him, more than before.

And you hated how he looked so good, like he never ghosted you and gave up on your relationship, like he wasn’t crying constantly over the memories you shared together.

“Why are you back Sunghoon,” you sigh, at least you were prepared — having cried your heart out, panicking over what to do when you’d finally see him with Karina. “Why are you here disturbing me, why can’t you just go find another girl to bother?”

It hurt you to say this, yet the clear image of Sunghoon with other girls was painted clearly in your mind. He was a player, and you felt hopeless trying to change him.

“It’s always been you, love.” He bends closer towards you holding your gaze, “I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I wake up in the middle of the night calling out your name.”

“Will you please stop joking around,” you scoff at his unbelievable attempt at wooing you yet your heart pounds against the blooming flowers of your rib cage.

“Who says I’m not being serious,” he says, “besides it’s hard to find another girl to bother when you’re all everyone around me talks about.”

Your heart stops and your stomach dips as though you’ve just tumbled from a great height. It’s the closeness between the both of you that makes your knees weak, and his skin brushing against yours that jolts you like a spray of hot sparks. It’s how he knows exactly what gets to you, even if you’d never meant for him to.

His words pierce your heart, half agony half hope. And maybe if you loved him less you’d be able to bite back.

“We are long over and you know that,” you answer, so softly yet the pain drums against your whole being, “you made sure of that when you left without a word.”

Sunghoon feels constricted, and his shoulders feel the heavy weight of his guilt as he breathes. And since a few months ago, he’s always thought that the wound from your relationship had festered yet here, right in front of you, it still bleeds fresh.

“We never officially broke up,” Sunghoon points out. And he feels like such a desperate douchebag hanging onto the thinnest thread that could snap at any given second.

You scoff as you feel annoyance rise up in you, “you’d think that leaving your girlfriend to live across the world at the lowest point of your relationship literally shouts break up in every single angle.”

Sunghoon, for once, doesn’t have a cocky comeback to your words as they fizzle down his throat in silence. He opens his mouth yet bites back his tongue, guilt ridden.

You look at him, begging for an explanation that never seemed to come, “forget it, I’m an idiot for thinking that you’d ever waste your breath explaining yourse-”

“I get it, you hate me,” he groans, cutting you off as you fidget awkwardly at his words. No one could ever hate Park Sunghoon, even you — especially you. He sucks in a breath, ready to embarrass himself, bracing himself for rejection.

He can’t let you go like this, not when your heart blackens at the sight of him, not when he’s still madly in love with you.

So he does what he does best, he plays. And this time, it’s a game that he needs to win.

Park Sunghoon has a way with words, or maybe that’s just his charm — where every sentence and every word entrances, putting you in a state where you can’t seem to do anything but oblige to his commands.

You stand in one of your favourite dresses at the entrance of the restaurant, Sunghoon beside you as you try your best not to take a peek at him for the nth time.

You’re not here for him, you’re here for his mother.

At least that’s what you’ve been trying to tell yourself.

And you’ve been dreading it all, the feeling of familiarity — remembering how much you’d loved his parents, how well they treated you, and how you’d always meet up with them with Sunghoon.

Yet here you were again, a year later, trying to convince yourself that this was the closure that you needed to move on. It’s just an hour or two.

“Oh my gosh Sunghoon, you brought her,” a flowery voice cheered as you watched Mrs Park push back her chair to throw her arms around you, “I’ve been asking Sunghoon to set up a date for us to meet for the past year but he always claims you’re busy with Uni. How are you doing?”

You wrap your arms around her, a real smile blooming on your face, “I’ve been coping well, it’s much busier than I could’ve ever imagined. But I’ve never been better.”

Lie, lie, lie. It seemed like that was all you could do around things that surround your ex boyfriend; lying about your feelings, lying to his mother, lying to yourself.

“I can imagine,” she smiles, gesturing to the both of you to sit, “now that Hoon is back, I’m sure he’d look after you well.”

“Not even a hello to your own son and you’re already putting words in my mouth,” Sunghoon complains, rolling his eyes at his mother’s usual antics.

And at times like this he remembers how you’d squeeze his hands, as if warning him to listen to his mother, yet right now his hands lack the warmth yours radiate and he only has himself to blame.

After all he was the one asking you to join him, and he couldn’t have expected you to actually act like you used to. You weren’t his to touch anymore.

“It’s great that you’re back next to him,” Mrs Park comments, completely ignoring her son. “You’re the only one he listens to. He’s changed a lot since he met you.”

You let out a forced laugh, one that goes unnoticed by Mrs Park but not Sunghoon. And he questions if you actually believe his mother’s words.

Sunghoon used to think it was foolish to believe that people could truly change for the better — life was made to be a cycle, and no matter how long summer radiated, winter would still send a chill down your spine. Yet with you his world felt like constant summers in paradise, peace and comfort he hasn’t been able to find anywhere but in your arms that wrapped around his flaws and never let go.

“Barely any parties overseas, always studying,” she points out and you’re shocked at the new revelation you’d just made, “but he’s started smoking, maybe now that you’re back by his side you can fix that up.”

Sunghoon groans, “whatever.” His fingers run through his hair as you finally cave in, taking a glance at him. His sculpted features that followed you to your dreams, the rustic looking leather jacket that hugged his figure perfectly and just everything; from the way he breathes to the way he speaks. He’s everything.

Time ticks away as you find it harder and harder not to hold Sunghoon’s hand like you used to, holding yourself back from purposefully hitting his leg with yours under the table cloth just for the fun of it. And it wasn’t that you weren’t enjoying yourself — it was just how minutes felt like days being so close yet not being able to touch him.

The cold breeze of the night bites your cheeks, turning them a frosty red. You shiver as you blow hot breaths on the palms of your hand, rubbing them to keep warm only to find the weight of a jacket draped over your shoulder.

“I don’t need it,” you say to Sunghoon, without having any intention to give his jacket back, “I’m not that cold.”

“I can hear your teeth chattering from a mile away, princess,” he says, lips twitching.

“Sure,” you comment, “and when you’re cold later on don’t ask for the jacket back.”

Sunghoon lets out a laugh, it’s animated and excited as his head rolls back and his mouth widens. “Don’t worry about me, love, I’ve got it covered.”

Reaching into his pocket, Sunghoon pulls out a box of cigarettes, smoothly lighting one up before he breathes out a cloud of grey smoke. And you can’t help but look.

You hold your breath at the sight — his dark eyes alight under the moonlight and his jaw tilted a few angles up, hair messy from the night’s breeze, and finger clad rings that hold such death.

It makes you scared: scared of the love you have for him. Because it has ruined you once and it will ruin you again, you’d let it ruin you again.

“You shouldn’t smoke, you know,” you start, “it’s bad for your health.”

“You’re bad for my health, sweetheart,” he answers, “yet you seem to be everywhere I am.”

The silence of night engulfs the both of you, and the chatter from the restaurant tunes out as you meet his gaze.

It’s insane, you’re going insane. “You know you can’t just do that,” you say, trying to keep yourself calm.

“Can’t just do what, love?” He hums, smoke wafting around him. And it really should have disgusted you, the way he chose to blacken his own lungs yet it didn’t. It could never.

“That,” you point out, tearing your gaze away from him. “You can’t just return out of nowhere and pretend like everything is fine. Calling me pet names, making me meet your mother because you failed to tell her about our breakup. You can’t just rope me back in after I’ve spent all my time and energy grappling out of the hold you have over me.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you desperately try to blink them away. Your vulnerability on full display for Sunghoon to read — not that he ever needed you to tell him, he could read you like an open book.

“Stop playing with me Sunghoon. I’m not just a toy you can throw around and find when you’re bored.”

Only the soft cackle at the end of Sunghoon’s cigar can be heard as he stills. And he wants to tell you that he loves you, he wants to scream it to the world. You were never a toy to him and he has always been fully devoted to you, like a religion of his.

Sunghoon doesn’t know how to say it, he can’t really put it into words: the feeling he has when he’s around you. He’s addicted to it — the feeling of being alive, like he’s known you for lifetimes after lifetimes, like he’s free.

His proclamation gets stuck in his throat as he fumbles on a thorough response. It’s always been hard for him to show his true feelings, much more to actually say it out loud.

He’s never really been an emotional person, much less a confrontational one. It was why he liked playing around; baseless actions without reason, there wasn’t any need to show his true feelings or even feel much to begin with. He never had to explain himself, not once.

And at times like this when Sunghoon’s utterly scared, he can’t do anything but accept; that maybe you and him were just meant to be a precious memory.

Maybe it was time to let you move on.

Friends with deep history. That’s what Karina decides to title your relationship with Sunghoon. And you’d never thought it’d hurt this much, given you and Sunghoon were never once considered friends.

It’s a whole different type of pain and worry that gnaws at your heart — like an emerald monster of envy as you watch him interact with other girls in ways he once did with you, to hear him call others by pet names like he used to call you.

Sunghoon lets the word ‘babe’ roll off his tongue without a second thought, it’s the only pet name he could ever bear saying without much thought of you.

‘Babe’ was conventional, normal. It was everything you were not.

And he wonders if you realise it, if you pay attention to his every word like he does to yours, if you’d really moved on and accepted the fact that the two of you were friends.

It’s weird, Park Sunghoon has never hated any word more. The sour aftertaste it left on his tongue and the tension surrounding it. Fuck friends, he thinks, it’s only been a week of such an arrangement and he can’t take it any longer.

There’s only been two types of days throughout the week — ones where you’re beside him and he can smell the familiar scent of vanilla and honey and others, where seconds felt like months and minutes felt like years.

This isn’t what he came back for. He didn’t come back just to torture himself with close proximity, he came back to touch you, kiss you, to feel your breath on his lips, to feel your heart beat against his.

It’s been a week since Sunghoon swore to himself that he’d let you move on, give you space, and finally let you go from his grasp. Yet whenever he spots you with another boy that wasn’t him, his being burns.

His heart scalds as if it’s drowning in fiery hot lava. And Sunghoon doesn’t sob or wail, his grief horribly discreet, persistent, and almost as silent as bleeding from an unstitched wound. It feels unspeakably lonely, draining and his mind’s a blank state. A sickening wet feeling.

How the memories haunt him everywhere he finds himself to be; your favourite cafe, a poster of the movie you’d made him watch multiple times he could recite half the movie script, the bitter coffee he forces down his throat just to torture himself.

“Because it’s kinda cool,” he remembers telling you, “stuff like coffee runs, or caffeine adrenaline that runs through my veins after the bitter taste coats my tongue.”

The heavenly laugh that you let out, the one that makes him want to keep on loving you. “Caffeine adrenaline, really Hoon?” You said with a grin on your face, “I don’t think there’s such a thing.”

“Yeah there is,” he insists, mirroring the goofy grin plastered on your lips, “and it makes me want to kiss you.”

Now all time does is pass and he finds himself in front of your favourite cafe, wondering if you still order your favourite chocolate pastry and get it all over your lips; if there’s someone else who kisses the stains of chocolate away like he did once.

And he shouldn’t have been surprised to see you there, in your glory, a plate of your favourite chocolate pastry in front of you half eaten.

At least some things don’t change.

He watches you intently, as you take another bite of the chocolaty goodness, nodding inattentively at the words spouted from your company’s mouth.

Sunghoon thinks the boy in front of you is doing it all wrong. If he was in front of you now he would’ve teased you for being a messy eater, bent over the table just to kiss the chocolate away from your lips as you tell him to stop while laughing.

You find your attention dwindling from the boy in front of you. He was good looking, for sure, defined features and a nice smile. But Sunghoon’s more handsome, Sunghoon looks good with and without glasses but the boy in front of you would never be able to pull glasses off.

If Sunghoon was here, he’d have already made me laugh at least thrice, he’d have planted a kiss on my lips, calling me a messy eater, he’d have already changed the topic to keep to your interests.

You look away from the boy, scanning the interior of the familiar cafe, one that was supposed to be your favourite yet you’ve never really thought much about the interior or their food. Everything’s dull and you figure that maybe it’s the company you’re around that matters instead.

The cafe wasn’t your favourite, Sunghoon was. With his witty comebacks and chivalrous smirk, the tall figure and eyes you could stare at for days.

And then you see him, and he’s just there. You don’t know what to think anymore. Just that you’re here and he’s here. That you’re supposed to hate him for leaving yet you can’t find a tinge of hate in your heart. That moving on was clearly for the better but everything’s mundane without him.

Sunghoon’s already looking at you, and when you meet his gaze he lets out a string of curses under his breath. This wasn’t a good idea. You and him in a place scattered everywhere in your memories, just a few steps away yet miles apart at the same time.

He can’t take it any longer. So Sunghoon leaves, fingers clenching the pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

You frown at the sight of his back, turning as he left the cafe without a second thought. A sense of déjà vu encompasses you. Is this how it’s always going to be — turning away from each other without a smile, seeing him everywhere yet not being able to talk to him, holding the label of friends but never having a proper conversation?

“Hey, you okay love?” You grimace at the name he calls you, looking back at the boy who did nothing but blabber away all this while.

“Uhm, I think I have to go,” you say, chair pushed back hurriedly as you make your way out without a second thought. Head turning to find a boy in a denim jacket, the boy that held your heart in his hands.

“Sunghoon,” you call once you spot him, puffs of smoke wafting over and around him as he leans gorgeously against a wall. “Is this really how it’s going to be?”

Sunghoon lifts the cigarette between his fingers, cold eyes that once held no emotion seemingly brightening at the sight of you. “What are you doing here princess?” He asks, small puffs of smoke exiting his mouth as he talks, “boy not to your liking? He seemed bland.”

“Why are you doing this Sunghoon,” you say exasperatedly, “why are you everywhere that I am, why do you follow me in everything that I do.”

“Am I distracting you from your dates, love?” Sunghoon laughs, and you’re annoyed at how he dodges your questions perfectly, how he manages to twist everything yet hit the nail on the head.

“You promised me that you’d let me move on,” you pause, catching your breath, “you owe me that. You owe me space.”

“You think it’s that easy to give you up?” Sunghoon’s eyebrows furrow as the cigarette in his finger dims and drops to the ground, “I wasn’t lying when I said that you’re all around me. I can’t even-”

“Then why,” you cut him off, vision already blurry, “why did you leave without a word, why did you leave just when I was ready to talk, why didn’t you answer the thousand messages I left you, why did I have to find out you were gone from someone that wasn’t you. Why?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Sunghoon says shakily.

“You didn’t have a choice?” You scoffed, “I cry myself to sleep wondering who you were talking to instead of me, wondering why you did me so wrong and everything that was wrong with me. I checked my phone, Sunghoon, every fucking ten minutes hoping to see your name on the screen and if it wasn’t I would cry again and again. You always come and go as you please, whatever is convenient for you. I bet you’ve never once thought of my feelings, yet all I could think about was if you were coping well on the other side of the world.”

Sunghoon stands and he marvels, your words striking him like a final knockout blow. And its realisation all over again that he loved you, he loves you, and you still loved him.

He’s always thought you’d hate him for what he’s done, the suffering he’s brought into your life. Being serious never yielded him much results so he kept pretending, passing it over.

“And you think I didn’t,” he wails, and it’s the first time you’ve seen perfection with flaws, “you think I didn’t look at your texts and cry? You think I’ve never had any sleepless nights thinking if texting you back would be the right choice? I thought it would’ve been the best for you, I wouldn’t have been able to treat you the way you would’ve wanted to be treated and I didn’t know how long my father would’ve made me stay there if I didn’t beg to come back.”

“But now that you’re here in front of me, I’ve realised how stupid I must have been to make such a decision. I missed you and I still miss you even when you’re here — and it occurs to me that I’ll probably never move on from you because you’re the first person I’ve ever truly loved unconditionally, the only one that’s ever mattered.”

A strangled sob of tears leaves your throat as you bury your face in his chest, trembling wildly as tears travel down your cheeks. “I hate you,” you croak out, fists clenched, “I hate that I miss you.”

“I missed you everywhere.” He says, fingers running through your hair to your back. And for the first time, Sunghoon lets the pain and ache bleed into his voice.

“Here,” he says and his lips brush against the place your heart beats, “and I’ve missed you here.”

Once Sunghoon kisses you, your heart slows and everything seems so dreamy. How much you needed him terrified you, and you couldn’t imagine that this was what love was like for everyone. Maybe it was just you, just you and Sunghoon. Maybe together you were just a volatile entity that would either implode or melt together, thrilling and exotic, sweet and heavenly.

It’s silent for a minute and you miss his voice again.

After a period of sadness, happiness doesn’t just jump in your life. It grows slowly into the cracks and fissures of you, like small plants that sprout in cracked concrete.

“Can I kiss you, princess?” Sunghoon mutters into your mouth as his arms wrap around your waist. Your arms around his neck as he hoists you up in the waters of his swimming pool.

It’s weird, how it feels like he’s never left. And ever since you’d cried your hearts out in each other's arms, you’ve both been making an effort to communicate with each other.

“You just kissed me, Hoon,” you laugh, water droplets harmonising with the sound of your laughter. And Sunghoon just stares like he did last night and the night before. He isn’t obsessed, yet when your fingers run through his hair he can’t help but think he is.

“I know, but I want to,” he grins, “I want to kiss you again.”

“You don’t have to ask,” you say in slow tenderness. His star mapped skin, cacophony of laughter, and his smile that makes you feel a little less alone — it makes you feel like the sun’s out in the middle of the midnight sky.

“Consent is what hot guys do,” he smirks, and you almost fall back in laughter.

“Really?” You reply, “I don’t see any hot guys around here?”

Sunghoon groans, “I’m right here? You’re saying that as if you don’t want a piece of me.”

You don’t think twice before leaning into Sunghoon, thoughtlessly holding him as you fall in love all over again with all your heart.

“You know who I want a piece of,” you sigh, head buried in the crook of his neck. “This new hot guy in school, everyone’s been raving about him for the past month. Bet he kisses well.”

“Oh,” Sunghoon gasps, “what is his name?” You roll your eyes at his facade of obliviousness.

“I think it’s Park Sunghoon,” your lips raise as you turn to look at him.

“That’s me baby,” he chuckles, “too bad I already have a girlfriend.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” you frown.

“Yeah, too bad I’m all hers,” he mirrors your frown, “now can my girlfriend allow me to kiss her?”

You giggle, nodding your head before Sunghoon presses his lips on yours. And it’s everything and nothing at once — heartbeats merging as one, heaven’s on your lips and Sunghoon feels the need to repeatedly repent his sins. He wants to touch you until his palms burn.

And unlike the rollercoaster of emotions his heart once felt, it feels calm, it feels as though he’s finally returned home.

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yuutx · 4 months

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ೀ ׅ ۫ . 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋, 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐄𝐗 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐈𝐌 ! (𝒜𝐿𝐻𝒜𝐼𝒯𝐻𝒜𝑀)

al haitham x f!reader . 18+ content. ⟆ nsfw + oral sex (f receiving). praise kink. face sitting. clit rubbing. ⟆ mdom + fsub ⟆ not proofread ! ( ˘ ᵕ˘(˘ᵕ ˘ )

god ive wanted to write smut about my husband sooo badly ( i need to add him to my selfship post ! ) also im vv sorry for not posting many fics or deleting some of them,, i doubt my writing abilities alooottt. also sum1 pls tell me if this fic layout is better/better looking than my usual one ♡ + ↻ are rlly appreciated ! !

Your sopping cunt rutted against his tongue, hips stuttering with each drag against the warm, wet appendage. Slick smeared across his face, leaving a sticky reminder of his own ministrations, a mess he didn't seem to mind one bit. Alhaitham hummed, a deep, pleased sound that vibrated up his tongue and straight to your core. It was like his very being was dedicated to the task of making you fall apart, his hands keeping your hips in place as he fucked his tongue into you, lapping at the sweet essence your body provided.

Each time he pulled back to catch a breath, he dove back in just as quick, eating your pussy with such passion that your head spun. Your hands found purchase in his hair, and your thighs clenched around his face with the effort to keep still but the pleasure was far too much to contain, hips bucking and grinding down on his tongue with fervor. It felt like he was devouring you, the sounds of his mouth meeting your dripping heat a cacophony of obscene, erotic noises. The way he looked up at you, the teal of his eyes nearly completely swallowed by the darkness of his pupils, a haze of lust over them. You were a sight to behold, the way your chest heaved with the effort to take in air, how your cheeks were aflame, the way your eyes glistened with the need for more. He couldn't get enough, wanted to taste every part of you, and you were more than happy to oblige.

His thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing firm, insistent circles and you could barely hold yourself together, a sob escaping you. You were so close, the knot in your belly threatening to unravel with each movement, with each brush of his tongue and thumb. His name left your lips in a litany of curses and praises, begging him not to stop. Your head spun with the force of the pleasure that crashed over you, the feeling of his tongue against your clit, sucking harshly as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. Your toes curled, and you could feel the tears pricking the corners of your eyes, your release finally, blissfully coming.

" H-hha-Ha-Haithammmm, please, please I'm—I'm going to—" You babbled, unable to even finish your sentence before he doubled his efforts, laving at your pussy as you rode out your orgasm. He groaned, the way you spasmed around his tongue only further egging him on. He lapped at you like you were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted, the sounds of your pussy squelching and his mouth meeting it echoing off the walls. Only when you whimpered from overstimulation did he stop, pressing a gentle kiss against your throbbing, used clit.

"You did so good, my darling," he praised, and the heat returned tenfold, your core fluttering at his words. "You look so beautiful when you cum." You shuddered, a whine leaving you as his thumb rubbed slow circles against your folds, the pressure almost soothing. You could only manage a few shaky breaths before he was lifting himself, kissing a path up your belly, his hand finding yours, entwining his fingers with your own. "Are you ready for another round?"

The grin on his face was downright sinful, the look of his lips coated with your slick only spurring you on. Your breath was taken away from you, your heart hammering in your chest as you nodded, eager to be at his mercy.

"That's my girl."

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loganlermanstanaccount · 1 year

Note

PLEASE! I BEG THAT YOU WRITE AN MIGUEL O’HARA FICTION! IM BEGGING!! PLEASEE!!!! (Sorry if I come off harsh)

Ask and you shall receive!! A quick thing I wrote (not proofread), thanks for the ask <3

Touch

Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror), Part 2, Main Masterlist

summary: Miguel misbehaves. You teach him a lesson. part one maybe?? idk y'all let me know if u want a pt 2. (Part 2 is out!)

warnings: pwp!! light f-dom, angry (ish??) sex, grinding, slight m-sub, (m) begging. mostly just filth. I am soooo desperate for any character played by Oscar Isaac. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: I apologise in advance, native Spanish speakers. Me and reverso tried our best.

wc: 1.4k

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

A great crash from the workshop has you running from all the way in the kitchen, apron still on.

He looks tired, hunched over his desk. Great hulking shoulders hang, tense in the dim light of a single lamp.

"Miguel?" It's soft, in the metallic hum of lights. "Everything okay?"

He shifts, looking over his shoulder at you. "M'sorry for the noise mi sol, just tired."

"...maybe it's time to call it a night, baby."

He waves you off with a flick of the wrist. "Give me ten minutes, I'll come to bed."

"That's what you said half an hour ago, Miggy." It's under your breath but loud enough that his super senses pick it up.Your voice is fraught, frustrated - no doubt at the nights he'd spent away from you. Whether coming back late from tinkering in his workshop, or on the streets; he'd meet you fast asleep in bed, and wake up to an early morning rush. Either way, he seemed like a stranger in your own home; consumed with his work. It was taking its toll.

You pad back, returning to the kitchen in silence. You clean up the remnants of a dinner Miguel had picked at, sighing. You loved him, and you knew he loved you; but he lived in his own world sometimes. Sure, the world needed him; but what about you? After everything you had given each other, how could he discard you so easily?

It's only after a while Miguel realises the noises of you clearing up have long subsided, that he heads into the kitchen to investigate. It's meticulously clean, your apron hanging up on its peg by the door. On the counter, the remainder of his dinner boxed up in tupperware, with a post-it-note on the lid. 'For Miggy <;3' , it reads.

His heart aches as he walks towards your room. You're dressed in nothing but his t-shirt, knees drawn and curled up into yourself. He slides into bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Mi vida?" He mumbles. "Mi vida, I know you're awake."

You respond with an unceremonious grunt, back still turned. You're mad at him, and he deserves it.

"I'm sorry." He says, listening to the rise and fall of your chest in the dark. He sits up. Sighing, he cradles your arm, tracing circles into the flesh. Gentle, and oh so soft. "I'm an idiot, you know that. I fucked up. Couldn't see how much you were hurting."

You stir, turning to face him. In the neon lights that stream into your room, his face falls. He brings a hesitant hand to cup at your cheek.

"Say something. Please." Imperciptably, he watches your eyes fall to his lips.

You kiss him, passionate and hot and angry. He can barely breathe when you envelope your plush lips around his, snaking your hand towards his back. You claw at his shirt, raking a hand into his hair. When you separate, it's obscene; a sliver of saliva still connecting his lips to yours. His scarlet eyes are low as he licks his lips; chasing your taste. You both sit up.

"You haven't touched me in weeks, Miguel." Your voice is dangerously low, hand wrapped around his neck.

He wraps strong hands around your waist, guiding you to straddle him. For once, he's grateful for the flimsy fabric of his t-shirt - thin around the apex of your pebbled nipples. He paws at your hips, hands trailing towards your bare thighs. Just as they come to rest towards their crook, you snatch his hands away.

"Let me make it up to you," He hisses at the contact, leaning into your touch. "Por favor, sólo una probadita, just a taste, my love."

"No touching." Dramatic, he protests, cursing in Spanish before you bring a thumb to his mouth to silence him.

"No. Touching."

Eyes lidded, looking up at you, it takes everything not to break; you fight the urge to kiss the tip of his nose and whisper praise into the crook of his neck. Instead, you coax your thumb into his mouth; as he swirls his tongue around it, like he would on your clit. Miguel savors it like the sweetest honey, grateful you'll even touch him considering how he's been acting.

He swells in his pants, hard as the crotch of his sweats graze your bare pussy. Beautiful tits pressed against his chest, you draw small circles with your waist against the seat of his crotch. Precum spills as his hips jump up to meet you, desperate for contact.

Immediately, you stop. With a pop, you pull your thumb from his mouth and Miguel moans at the loss.

"Mierda. Baby, please-"

"No. Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to use you to get off. You're gonna watch, if you're lucky. And then I'm…" You swirl your hips, causing him to groan. "... going to bed."

"¿Entiendes?" You croon, spiteful in the slow sway of your hips. "Do you understand, Miguel?"

"-f-fuck, ok, ok-" Desperately nodding, he grips the sheets by his side. Closing his eyes to steady himself, he slumps his head on your shoulder. God, he's trying so, so hard not to cum right there; turned on by the lull of your sweet voice. He likes it when you get angry and treat him like a toy - painfully hard at the way you light him on fire. Everything about you; your scent, the way you taste, the grip you have in his hair; turns his senses up to eleven.

You grind on his crotch, steadying yourself with your other hand on his shoulder. Plush lip tucked under your teeth, it takes all his willpower not to capture you in another kiss: hungry and consuming and overpowering. He can tell you're serious; everytime he grinds his crotch into yours, you will yourself to stop and tighten your grip.

"Miguel…" You warn, moaning softly into his ear. "I m-meant what I said…"

When his hips snap up the third time; you growl, frustrated. Both your hands move to his chest, pushing him down onto the mattress so he's on his back. He looks good like this; at your mercy and putty under your hands. You push up the lip of his shirt to expose his midsection and pull down his sweats. A happy trail snakes down to his neatly trimmed cock; its deliciously curved tip springing free. Precum covers his cock, so when you slide him between the lips of your pussy it glides like he was made for you. You bite down on your lip so hard, it almost bleeds.

With this new angle, you plant your hands by his head; grinding your clit onto his dick desperately. The slick sounds drive Miguel crazy, and when his hands fly to your waist to help you along, you don't move them.

"You're s-so pretty, mi vida… prettiest thing I've ever seen. Need it. Need you. Use me, please, hump my cock like I'm your toy, p-please, please…"

He knows your body better than you do. You're close, dangerously near the edge. With the way your thigh shakes and the spasms that slow your rhythm, he knows. You don't break eye contact with him under you, moaning as you slide on his cock. Desperate, you chase that sweet spot, electric when he angles your hips just so…

"M'gonna cum, fuck, Miggy-" You writhe desperately. He's close, too, shamelessly humping your pussy like a feral animal. He can taste it; white hot at the tip of his tongue. Finally, you cum: a leg shaking, biting orgasm that rips through you. You clench around nothing, but it's not enough for him. So, so close; and it's ripped away from him when you come down, in the aftermath.

Unceremoniously, you pant and roll off of him; spread-eagle atop the sheets. Miggy curses softly at his ruined orgasm - still rock hard. He's glad you feel good, but he knows he can make you feel better, broad hands pawing at your hips. You slap them off, and turn your back pointedly. The slope and curve of your ass taunts him.

"Fuck off, Miguel."

"Baby, I'm sor-"

"Fuck. Off."

Sighing, he takes the hint. Grabbing the pillow, he pads off to the sofa in your living room, adjusting his hard on. He'd give you your space, tonight, and begin to win you back tomorrow morning. He needs you, more than you'd ever know.

#across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #smut #spiderman 2099 x reader #light angst #cuz i can't help myself #kat_writes😼#miguel o hara x reader

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azullumi · 2 months

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“there’s so many fishes in the sea but i never learned how to swim” ; aventurine

summary — a guide to pining presented by yours truly, aventurine.

pairing — aventurine (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — fluff, secret pining but like aventurine can be too obvious, not proofread, 0.8k ; headcanons

tagging — @toorurs (sorry boo i forgot to tag 😭)

note — i know i could have done better with this one, my brain wasn’t just working and im also on a trip. this is day 6 and 7 of writing for him until i get him !!

Aventurine yearns for connection yet he erects tall walls of self-preservation, fearing vulnerability, attachment, and betrayals (the shadow of his fear of losing someone dear to him all over again will haunt and follow his steps). He’s always distant, seemingly detached to the people around him like a leaf that never touches the ground as the wind carries it away; his only drive for relationships is due to mutual-benefit or a give-and-take situation. So what happens to him when he falls and yearns for someone?

Love is violence, he knows that but his eyes would stumble after your shadow and he wonders what it feels like to live in it. He’ll lie under your gaze and he’ll dream what it feels like to be seen, what it feels like to be loved by you. He will seek ways to be close to you but not close enough that you’ll know the rhythm of his heart spells out the letters of your name. In each moment of longing, it is all tinged with a taste of bitterness as this yearning, though desired, is a precarious precipice—everything will crumble and fall once he speaks about it.

So he settles with stolen looks with wishful thinking that you’ll cast a glance at his direction, he settles with the small things at first before he begins to become selfish—he’ll make up reasons just to see and talk to you, think of excuses just so he could linger a little longer in your presence. He’ll make up games and initiates bets where he knows he’ll always win but would let himself lose anyways; winning or losing didn’t matter to him in those moments with you.

“Go ahead, guess.”

You fell into a deep thought, staring at the two hands balled into fist that are in front of you. Your eyebrows were scrunched, trying to listen to the voice of your instinct but everything was silent inside your head.

“Take your time. After all, whoever loses has to follow what the winner wants.” Aventurine spoke and you could discern the hint of amusement in his tone as he watched you fall into some sort of predicament—all you had to do was to choose which one of his hands was the coin in. It was just one of the simple games you’ll play with him every time you see each other. Come to think of it, his visits to your department have been quite frequent despite having no particular business, official or not.

“Shh. I’m thinking.” You answer, lifting your index finger to your mouth in a hush gesture. It took you a few moments of silence and thoughtful humming before you pointed at his left hand, “That one.”

But he opens his left hand to show nothing on his palm, his right hand revealing the coin at the same time, and you are hit with a wave of disappointment. A chuckle slips past his lips and you just sighed—there was nothing you could do but to admit defeat. “Well then, what do you want me to do?”

Aventurine, without a single second of hesitation, answered. “Let me take you out to dinner.”

The thing is you could have laid yourself bare to him, you could tell him all of the sins that taint your skin, the words left unspoken in your mouth, the growing mold in your lungs. He’ll see the rot and will choose to stay, he’ll see the cobwebs and dusty bookshelves, and he’ll love you still, he’ll see the torn wallpapers and ruined floors and he’ll still adore you (he’ll find you where you are most ruined and he will love you there).

(His hand would gently tug and hold at the cuffs of your sleeves, letting the warmth and closeness of his touch linger in hopes that you’ll see him in the sun that holds you gently.)

Many people claim that they love you but do they adore you the same way as he does? Would they cross bridges for you when he’ll swim oceans just to see the way your eyes catch the light? Would they traverse the stars just to listen to the sound of your laughter?

(He’ll see the dirt in your hands and will help you wash it off when others would simply walk away.)

He’ll think of you as he laid in his bed, satin sheets all wrinkled and messy as his pillows scattered around his form, and he wondered how nice it would be to have your things among his. to have the smell of your perfume mixed with his, to have you in his arms before he sleeps (he has dreams of his dreams and you’re always in it).

All this yearning, longing, and adoration will turn into a sword that will make him bleed the more he holds on to it and you’ll stay in his thoughts as the blood will run dry on his being. He simply hopes he crosses your mind once in a while so that he won’t feel pathetic for thinking of you all the time.

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venusbby · 1 year

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post it, or don't ♡

characters/pairings: itoshi rin x reader

warnings: one cuss word lol, not proofread sorry if there's any typos!!! have a good day people.

✿ summary: your tired boyfriend is not a big fan of your spam account being filled with his overly cute photos.

"stop that—"

"stop what?"

"you're taking pictures of me."

"im not, rinnie."

you definitely were.

how could you not take pictures of him when he's sprawled out on top of you like a house cat?

although he was trying his best not to put all of his weight on you, it was impossible to control himself. especially when his body was quite sore from his new workout routine.

rin was unusually clingy today, his exhaustion was responsible for that. initially, all he needed was to lie down on the bed and let his muscles rest against the mattress— but then he realised you were already there, scrolling through your social media.

he just couldn't say no when you opened your arms and called out to him with that soft voice of yours, and he had already started to dream of the satisfying feeling of your hands running through his hair by that time.

and that's how he ended up with his face nestled in your neck and his legs tangled with yours, much to your enjoyment and his instant regret when you clicked on the camera icon and watched the mess of the dark green hair that tickled your cheek.

he didn't realise anything at first because his eyes were closed and he was actually considering falling asleep right then and there. however, the clicking sound of your phone was enough to make him groan and hide his face further.

but your laugh was so soft yet contagious, right next to his ear, and he was holding onto that one string of hope that you wouldn't record a video of his immediate complaints.

"babyyy, say hi!" you said while doing the exact thing he didn't want you to do— recording a video. it was so fun to get on his nerves sometimes.

all he could do was give the side of your bare hips a light squeeze as he tried his best to speak quietly so the video wouldn't pick up what he was saying. "you make me fucking miserable."

your cheeks hurt from how hard you smiled. "alright, okay. i've got my pictures, im satisfied. i'll leave you alone now."

rin slowly peeked up when you placed your phone on the bedside table and shot a glare as you looked down at him. "you're not posting that. i'm tired of seeing my face on my own feed."

"yeah! totally not posting that."

"y/n." it's become a daily thing for him to use your name in that warning tone. "not even the paparazzi post as many pictures of me as you do."

you rolled your eyes. "it's because i'm your biggest fan. just one?"

"no."

"rinnie, pretty please. you just look so cute. gosh, you look even cuter right now." you tried to soften his edges a bit, feeling your chest implode with love because God, your boyfriend was so effortlessly cute. especially when his tired eyes were covered with his dark strands.

all you got in return was a grunt and rin was back to burying his face in the crook of your neck. he really didn't have the energy to deal with your weird ways of convincing. he just needed sleep, and you— he had both of his favourite things now.

you knew he granted you permission once he stopped, or more like gave up, and thanked him softly.

rin hummed as your hands ran over his neck and shoulders and lightly pressed his stiff muscles. a massage to top it all off, your boyfriend was quite literally seeing stars.

"squeeze harder," he mumbled, exhaling slowly when you did as he told you to.

"so, you've been working out."

he didn't respond, waiting for you to say something more related to that as you pondered while pressing your thumb into his skin to ease out the tension.

"don't i deserve a photo or two?" you proposed, a shameless grin on your face when you heard your lover make another noise in annoyance.

"maybe if you don't post that video," rin said, planting a quick kiss against your warm neck as he continued, knowing he had found a good solution. "i'll send you some."

and a few days later, you realised that it was a pretty good deal.

fjskfjskfndmcndkv. this is all i have to show. bye fellow rin enjoyers.

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dr-felitas · 2 months

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to love is to learn

synopsis: aventurine is still unexposed to the many concepts of this world. but that doesn't mean he won't try to get to know them if it's for you.

pairing: aventurine x reader | wordcount: 1.0k | content & warnings: hurt/comfort, insecure aventurine, established relationship, my ass wrote this in an hour and its super late rn i just wanna upload this and my lazy ass did NOT proofread this + im on mobile so hell, kinda HELLA rushed ; ficlet

a/n: just the other day me and azul were talking about what body parts of aven would be sensitive and we got to his collarbone and azul said that he thinks that it'd be super evident so i pointed out that it might be cause he was used to starvation and barely ate even when he got to the ipc/had the chance to do so. SO I JUST HAD TO WRITE SMTH.

tags: @azullumi

aventurine shudders under your touch. your nimble fingers trace across his collarbone, featherlight movements, touch so delicate, it makes him tremble.

the pads of your digits lightly dance across his clavicle, one finger turns into two. your index swiftly slides over the pale skin that separates the bone that lies underneath. while your thumb starts inching closer the neckline of his satin pajama, diving beneath. at that he can't help but flinch.

“oh god.” he laughs out. “someone's being touchy today.” his voice is filled with joy. hearing, seeing, knowing that aventurine has fun around you, makes you crave for more. his laugh is an intoxicating drug. something that you'll always long for, absorbing it until every part of your body is stained with the tantalising essence and puts you to your demise.

you don't stop your actions, instead continuing to glide your fingers along his delicate body. “sorry, for i couldn't help it!” a giggle escapes your mouth.

“i just thought about how pretty it is.” you let out a small hum.

“my collarbone? pretty, how come?” he's confused, what is the beauty you see within his body?

his body is fragile. it's a hollow shell he carries around. ugly and not worthy of your attention even less your admiration, abused and marked in burns. when the digits that he carries around like a sacred body part of his, roughly engraved on his neck, come in contact with any kind of substance, liquid or his own fingers. he's reminded of the mishap his body was or rather is in. how it was abused and dragged through the mud.

putting his calloused fingers around the tattoo, stings. the touch lingers like a nostalgic scent which still remains on an old piece of clothing, one that has never been washed so the smell never fades away. it burns up at the slightest touch. hurting just as much as when it was freshly inflicted onto his young body.

kakavasha doesn't even know what he looks like. the only person he sees in the mirror is aventurine. sure he walked past puddles of dirty rain back in his childhood, reflecting his younger self, but the images are vague and blurry. he doesn't know what kakavasha looks like and he probably never will.

and neither do you. the only thing you have in front of you right now is aventurine. a shattered soul that doesn't know where it belongs. his being consists of a thousand fragments, they're scattered thoughts that are similar to broken mirror shards.

they reflect the tales of his heart and reveal its greatest desire. mirroring those untold stories like the surface of the water. thoughts and wishes that are full of pureness, almost childlike.

the broken pieces that make up the man who's named aventurine long for a haven which he can call a safe space - a home. but on the other hand he thinks that he's not permitted to find such a place, that he's not allowed to stay, undeserving of it.

“no particular reason. i just like the way it stands out, it's easy to find and trace.” the words that roll off your tongue sting. they probably hurt as much as a paper cut you've received as a little kid, but it's not like kakavasha knows or is able to relate - he didn't get to grow up like the other children. but he can't blame you, you're oblivious to his past.

his body has gone through physical and emotional abuse. beat ups, labor or starvation. the reason why his collarbone is so evident, the face you adore is so slim, and his rips slightly poke through his body, is all because kakavashas hunger has never been satisfied and the dryness in his throat has never been quenched.

even after he put on the mask of the man who calls himself aventurine - a wealthy man, who’s a member of the ten stone hearts that makes more money than he spends, he's still reluctant when it comes to eating. of course he could buy all the delicacies that kakavasha never got to try - never even knew, but he hesitates.

the concept of chewing and swallowing the bits is still something aventurine can't befriend himself with. it's unfamiliar - he's not used to it, the feeling of a full stomach, what it's like to be satisfied after a meal. it's something foreign to him, a feeling he's not sure he'll ever get accustomed to.

he doesn't think he deserves to eat. to know what it feels like to be full, the rumbling that comes from his stomach is the one he grew up with is what brought him here. he fears that if he gets too comfortable with something or someone he'll forget who he is.

a lost soul that mourns after the past, but saved itself from the dark abyss, freeing itself. not allowing himself to get too close, always keeping everyone that comes near him at an arm's length. worrying he might grow too attached.

so why is he still here? here with you, chattering happily and conversing freely, he doesn't deserve it - he doesn't deserve you.

but is it wrong to be selfish for once? he knows the answer already: it is. but he can't help it, not when you coax him into this position, one which he can't leave, no matter how hard he tries.

“i love you.” you trace the letters along his neck, over the tattoo that is engraved on his skin.

you don't need a verbal answer to know that he feels the same way. perhaps, he himself hasn't realized it yet but he's conveyed his love for you many times already. just like now as he continues to lie in bed with you.

the both of you are oblivious, but that doesn't mean that either of you will stop in your tracks, turn back and leave. (even though he sometimes wishes to do so)

both satisfaction and love are two unfamiliar concepts for aventurine. but he'll try to get to know them. for the sake of you.

#toorurs #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine x reader #aventurine hsr #hsr aventurine #aventurine imagines #kakavasha x reader #aventurine fluff #kakavasha fluff #aventurine

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lexisecretaccx · 3 months

Text

Smile for the picture - Matt Sturniolo

(Femreader x Matt Sturniolo, Smut, semi public, Photobooth sex, p in v, slight breeding kink, male receiving, hot asf, not proofread so apologies for spelling mistakes!)

Summary: Matt and Y/n find a Photobooth and go to take photos when it takes a steamy turn and things turn sexual..

As me and Matt walked through the quiet part of the mall, we came across an old fashioned photobooth, “let’s take photos in there!” I say excitedly, quickly dragging Matt to the Photobooth.

“Fine..” Matt sighs, and he pulls back the curtain of the Photobooth, there’s a cute little stool only big enough for one person, Matts face lights up only barely as he notices this, “I’m gonna have to sit on your lap, but that’s ok.” I smile to Matt as he sits down on the stool and I seat myself on his lap and pull the curtain shut.

I wiggle around to try get into a comfortable position to take photos, eliciting a soft groan from Matt. “You okay?” I look at him as his eyes are squeezed shut. “Yeah sorry let’s take a photo..” he breaths. I click the camera button as it snaps a photo of me and Matt, my hand holding his jaw as I pull a kiss face and he looks at me smiling for the picture.

“That’s so cute omg, we have 3 more we can take, I’m glad it lets us pick when to take it instead of taking so many in a row.” I ramble on as I lean forward to take a look at the screen.

I feel matts hands snaking their way up and down my sides until he rests them on my hips, gripping slightly. “Mhm, whatever you say baby.” He spoke, barely listening to what I was saying. “Are you paying attention to what I’m saying?” I ask him and give him a slight smirk but his eyebrows remain slightly lifted in the corners as he bites his lip softly.

“Are you turned on right now?” I lower my voice and speak in a surprised tone. “Fuck.. you gotta stop wriggling on my lap y/n it’s really fucking with me.” He whispers in my ear. I smile to myself, also having a slightly warm feeling between my thighs.

“What if we like.. fucked in here?” I whispered as I turned myself around on his lap to face him. His eyes widened as he looked between my eyes and my lips, “what really? we’re in public baby, you don’t like that stuff.” He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, “Well I wanna try new things with you Matt, also it’s not that public, there’s like 20 people who come down this part daily.” I kiss his lips softly.

“You’re my beautiful girl,” Matt whispers before kissing just below my ear and sucking on the sweet spot, causing me to let out a soft moan and my wetness grows. “I love your pretty sounds baby.” He kisses down my neck until he’s at my collar bones, “did you wear this little dress just for this hm?” He spoke against my skin as he moved the strap of the dress slightly with his long fingers.

“I wore it for you, I know how much you love fucking me in it.” I whisper into his ears as I grip onto his shoulder with one hand and use the other to prod at the heat growing between my legs, trying to get at least some friction. “Fuck you’re a good girl.” He grabs the hand that I was using to touch my heat and flips me around so im now facing away from him.

“Stand up for me,” He smirks as I do as he says and he pulls his sweatpants and boxers down in one swift motion, revealing his long member springing up to his stomach. He pumps it a few times, throwing his head back as he does so, “can you..” he hints for me to give him a blowjob, as if asking me to suck his dick is rude or something.

“Yeah of course babe, I don’t have a hair tie or anything tho..” I say looking to my wrists for where I usually keep my hair ties.

“I’ll hold your hair for you,” he adjusts himself to be at a comfortable position for both me and him. I get down onto my knees and wrap my hand around his dick, “fuck your hands are cold.” He breaths out as he grabs my hair into a makeshift ponytail.

I plant small kisses on his tip as to tease him before taking it into my mouth and slowly taking it further before it hits the back of my throat, I start to suck faster and I look up at Matt through my lashes as he’s struggling to look at me because his eyes keep closing due to pleasure.

I place one hand on the stool he’s sat on and the other one on his thigh for stability, I feel his cock twitch inside of my mouth as his tip kisses the back of my throat and tears brew in my eyes from trying not to gag.

“Fuck I’m close..” he whispers in between soft whimpers and groans. I hum around him causing him to twitch even more before his grip on my hair tightens and he pushes my head down softly, causing me to gag.

That must’ve been the thing that tipped him over the edge because not long after he breathily said “I’m cumming baby..” and he released his hot white liquid down my throat, I removed my mouth from his member with a slight pop and I swallowed the last bits of cum in my mouth.

Matt say there breathing heavily as I quickly remembered we had 3 photos left so I clicked the photo button and got a picture of his worn out expression and the back of my head cropped off the bottom of the photo. Matts eyes widened when he realised that I had caught that on the camera and he lifted me up by under my arms quickly causing me to squeal softly.

He span me around to face the camera and pulled down my panties, before softly rubbing his finger around my arousal leaking out of my heat and licking his finger. “I’m gonna get a photo of you with my dick inside of you okay baby?” He lifted my dress slightly before pulling me down onto his cock, I let out a light moan as I sink onto his length, not being able to take it all fully inside of me. “Atta girl.”

He grips my hips tightly and bounces me up and down on him as I begin to moan loudly, one of his hands comes around to cover my mouth “as much as I love your noises baby, you need to keep it down..” Matt hushes me before placing his hand around my neck but not choking me.

As he continues to fuck up into me I feel my eyes rolling to the back of my head and matt lets out hard groans as I grip onto the wall in front of me and to the side of me for stability.

I feel myself clenching around him as his pace quickens and soft moans leave my lips, I start to feel my legs shaking slightly as the knot in my stomach is begging to be released, Matt kisses my shoulders softly whilst I bounce on his large member. “I know you’re close baby, release for me..” he says between moans.

I let myself go with a loud moan that I try to stifle by biting my lip but I fail miserably, I feel my body go limp and arousal dripping around his cock as Matt helps me through my orgasm, just as I’m at the peak of my pleasure, matt whispers into my ear “smile for the picture baby..” and I hear the Photobooth camera snap. I turn my head around to face Matt as he’s still slowly fucking into me,

His forehead sweaty and his hair messed up, with a grin plastered across his face, quickly interrupted by his orgasm reaching closer, “fuck I’m gonna cum again..” he whimpers slightly as his eyebrows knit together.

“I’m gonna fuck my kids up into you baby, okay?” He asks but I know he’s gonna do it anyway, I nod limply as I feel his hot cum shooting inside of me and Matt whines loudly, before leaning forward and taking another picture of us both fucked out and his head laying against my shoulder, kissing my collarbone softly, his dick still inside my walls.

“How many should we print?” I speak breathily, before slowly lifting myself off of his cock and holding on to the wall to keep myself steady as my legs are still slightly numb. “Print 4.. in case we lose a copy..” Matt says quietly, leaning his head back against the wall.

“Okay baby.” I pull my panties up from around my ankles and Matt stands up before pulling his sweatpants and boxers back up again. I print the photos and I hear them pop out from outside the curtain. I fix my hair and Matt fixes his as we open the curtain and stumble out, not really hiding what we were just doing in there.

I grab the photos and laugh softly when I see our faces, I hand all of the strips to Matt and he puts them in his pocket to keep safe. A middle aged woman walks past with her husband and she looks us up and down before her facial expression changes to that of disgust and she rolls her eyes, her husband oblivious.

I mean it is a sight, two young people stumbling out of a Photobooth with their clothes slightly messed up as one of them clings on to the other to stop her legs from giving out.

Matt wraps his arm around my waist to support me and we walk out of the mall.

“That was fun..” Matt smirks to me, “It was but it was so risky, and did you see the way that lady judged us?” I reply. “She’s just jealous her husband probably needs a pill to get turned on.” Matt laughs snarkily. I hit his chest lightly “you can’t say that Matt.” I laugh softly before kissing him on the cheek.

“I’m taking a picture of these strips and I’m setting it as my background.” Matt smiles while pulling two of the strips of photos out of his pocket and handing one to me so we can both hold one in the picture.

“I can’t believe you actually set that as your background, especially on your lock screen, what if Nick or Chris sees it?”

“I don’t care, plus they wouldn’t pay attention to what the photos actually are.”

—💋——📷——‼️——💌———❤️———💌——‼️——📷——💋—

A/n: Omg I love this, public sex is kinda hot honestly. Also idk why I love the idea of them taking the photographs during.. yk. Like it’s kinda hot also. I love doing one shots so please feel free to recommend something in my inbox, whether it be smut, fluff, or whatever! I love you all and thank you for getting over 800 notes on dont hold back❤️💋

Taglist: @kvtie444 @blahbel668 @mattsleftnipple03 @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @hysteria-things @sturniologurl4l2008 @jakevwebber @braindead4l @mattybearnard

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolos #matt #smut #chris sturniolo fanfic #photobooth

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jacaerysgf · 1 month

Text

Distractions

Summary: Despite how close the two of you are you're sick of waiting around for Jace no matter how much you like him, so you decide you’re going out on a date! but he doesn't like that.

r.q: childhood friends to lovers with modern frat boy Jace and he's like rlly popular and known to go from girl to girl. reader is like really smart and different from Jace so people get surprised when they find out you two are really close. Jace is always dragging you to parties and you’re always at his football games and he gets really protective over you. idek where im going with this 😭 but w smut too, your fics are acc amazing ty for your work 🙏

w.c: 2.5k

c.w: reader has hair (unspecified type, could be a wig wtv), Jace's anger issues, idk what locker rooms look like, cregan <3, fingering (f!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up guys), not proofread (as always)

a.n: I CANT STOP WRITING FOR JACE every request of him i get becomes my priority, literally when i woke up and saw this i had to get to writing it immediately like there’s smth wrong w me, anyways hope you all enjoy <3, this ones probably not my best T_T

Knocking on the door cuts through the music playing out of your speaker while your getting ready. “Come in.” you already know who it is. Your longtime best friend and housemate Jace who comes in with a smile on his face before it turns to shock as he looks you up and down, “woah.”

You finish clamping your necklace around your neck and look at him, “what do you want?” He leans against the door with his arms crossed with an amused look. you ignore how your heart flutters at him and turn away to adjust the dress you currently had on. “i just wanted to tell you im about to head out for the game, its a little odd to get all dressed up for a football game no?” The looks falls from his face as you drop your gaze from his in the mirror and fiddle around with your hair. he says your name breathlessly as he pushes away from the frame and takes a step into the room. You finally lift your head and meet his gaze in the mirror. “I'm not going to the game tonight Jace.”

He flinches as if you had thrown something at him and stutters for a moment his face covered in pure confusion as he brings one of his hands to his neck. “what do you mean you're not coming? you always come! if this is about me eating your leftovers then im sorry i thought you left it for me-” “i have a date.”

There it is. You didn't want to tell him. Hes always been, well a little protective of you, but you mostly blame it on your introverted personality while he's more of a people person. Youve had a crush on him for as long as you can remember but he's never been interested in you not the way you wanted him to be anyways, barely staying single or without a girl on his arm for a second you don't even know the girls names or maybe that's the point. He doesn't bring them around you but you know he's with them when he returns home super late with his hair all messed up. You fear he does it on purpose, he must know you like him and he doesn't bring them around you to make you upset.

You really didn’t want to tell him. You had thought maybe he would have just left for the pregame and just shot you a text and you could have faked some sickness or have pretended to go to sleep early. You walk over to your bed sit down grabbing your shoes to put them on. His silence is off putting. and you don’t dare raise your head to look at him.

“with who?” “This guy from lab, mark.” you finish lacing your shoes and stand up, finally looking at him and noticing the blank look on his face. “Jace-” “I don’t like this. i mean i don’t even know the guy how do we know he’s not some serial killer or something? Mark? Why don’t you just push it off for a couple days, come to the game and ill find out if he’d a good guy-” “I'm going whether you like it or not.” you cut him off. You couldn’t let him stop you from forgetting about him even if it was just for a bit. You grab your purse moving to push past him only for him to grab your arm. “Jace-” “You look beautiful.” The skin where he was holding you burns. You don't say anything as he lets you go and keeps his back turned to you. “text me?”

You try to ignore the pit that forms in your stomach at his sudden change of tone. you want to say something to him, you’re not used to seeing him like this. he would usually be pestering you about how you he asked you out or did you really like him but he was quiet. The sound of a horn outside brings you back to reality and you nod at his back as if he could see you and walk out. Putting on a fake smile as your handed a nice bouquet of flowers from mark, gulping to try and swallow the pit in your stomach.

—

“who the hell does this guy think he is?” His fist slams into the wall of lockers he's pacing in front of. All his gear is put on, his helmet is laying on the bench next to cregan who can only watch his best friend act like an idiot with an annoyed face. “Who the hell are you to care? Her boyfriend? No. So you have no say in it.” Jace bites his nails as he ignores the urge to hit the wall once more. “she’s my best friend.” “and? shouldn’t you be happy she’s on a date with this guy. i like mark he’s nice. what you like her or something?”

Jace ignores how is blood boils at the idea of you now sitting in your pretty dress smiling and giggling at some other guy that's not him. that doesn’t mean he likes you��. Jace attempts to come up with an excuse in his head about why he's so upset and why he's always been so upset over you going out with other guys, he usually just tells himself he's all worried about you and then he finds some girl to take you off his mind for the night…. that doesn't mean he likes you.

Cregan watches with a raised brow as Jace has an internal conflict with himself. He expected Jace to turn to him and admit it but all he does is grumble to himself and grab his helmet walking away from him. “I don't like her.” Cregan just shakes his head and picks up his own helmet following after him, “that fucking idiot.”

—

Mark is nice. Hes cute. He told you you could order anything you wanted off the menu since he was paying. He pays attention to you when you talk. Hes not Jace. You try your best to not think about him but you can’t help it. You wonder how the game is going, you’ve never missed one of his games. Maybe you pushed it too far and should have scheduled this date for a different day, but you know if you did Jace would have managed to convince you not to go and you would have fallen into the same cycle you always do. You nod your head and hum as mark tells you some story as you phone begins to buzz. You ignore it but it just keeps on buzzing to the point even mark looks concerned. “You can check it i don’t mind, ill use the restroom.”

You let out a hushed thank you as you check you phone to see what looked like a million texts from cregan.

‘hey i know the two of you are like fighting or wtv but you gotta see him asap.’

‘never seen him lose his mind like that’

‘got himself hurt’

‘nothing too bad but he’s bleeding’

‘know he thinks it cost us the game’

‘now he wont talk to any of us not even me’

‘think his head wasn’t in it’

‘know it’s not my place but he likes you so much’

‘losing his fucking mind over you not being here and being on some date’

‘please, for his sake at least try to talk to him, know you’re busy sorry to bother but I'm worried for him’

You stand out of your seat in shock as your heart begins to race. He was hurt? He likes you? Mark hadn’t come back yet so you open your purse and throw down some bills before running out of the restaurant. You sprint your way back to campus where the field was, thankfully living in a college town meant everything being super close by, you cant hear anything other than your own racing heart and the sounds of your feet as they slam on the floor.

You slam the hallway door open and cregan and some other guys look at you in shock. You stand there and take some steps towards cregan barely being able to catch your breath. Cregan stands up and looks at you shocked, “You ran here?” You just nod as you look at him expectantly, “where is he?” He uses his thumb to point behind him to the locker room doors, “Completely alone, everyone's already left.” You nod as the guys wish you good luck and leave.

You just stare at the doors for a moment, clarity finally hitting you as you realize how ridiculous it was you just left your date and ran all the way here. You couldn't just ignore cregans message. Pushing open the door its dead quiet other than the sound of running water. You walk slowly into the room the door closing behind you louder than you expected causing you to wince before you call out his name. He doesn't answer so you walk around the wall to where the showers were and you can see him outlined in the curtain and almost gasp but you cover your mouth to prevent anything from coming out.

“Jace?” His head finally snaps up due to your voice being so close and he looks in your direction, calling out your name softly in question. “I’m here.” “What are you doing here?” He turns off the shower and you turn your back incase he stepped out of the shower. You attempt to suppress the heat and want that fills your body as you imagine him naked before shaking your head, “Cregan texted, i was worried about you.” He just hums. You wish you could see his face but you hear the curtain open and the sound of him stepping out. “What about your date?”

You freeze as you clutch your purse tighter in your hands as you let out a deep breath. “What about it?” Hes suddenly standing so close to you you can feel his breath tickling your back and you gulp. “You’re here and not there, why?” One of his hands slides down your arm to grab your clenched hand as his forehead hits your shoulder, he's takes a deep breath as he awaits your answer. “Does it matter?” You don't want him to ask because you don't want to have to answer him. you don't want to have to admit to yourself you just wanted to be with him and nobody else.

“You wanna know why it matters? Because i was so fucking mad that you weren’t here i threw the fucking game and hit my head. because nobody makes me lose my mind like you do. Needed you here and you weren’t. You were out with some stupid fucking guy and i was so pissed.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder and you try to suppress the whimper that climbs its way up to your throat. “What are you saying Jace?”

His hands move to wrap around your waist and his head moves to your neck, You can feel his wet naked chest soaking the back of your dress and the heat of his breath on your neck “You know what, That i would go find a new girl to fuck because i couldn’t have you, that i think about you all the time because i like you so much, that it makes me sick when i think about you with a guy that's not me.” He begins to suck at your neck and you now do nothing to hold back the moan you let out as his grip moves to your hips pulling you back against him closer. “You mean it?” His hands slide down to the hem of your dress and he slides his hands under it and upwards pulling your dress up to poll around your hips, “of course i do baby, can i touch you?”

You let out a strained please and he pushes your underwear aside to run a finger down your slit letting out a groan, “fuck..” He quickly sticks two fingers into you and you fall back against him, withering under his touch as he moves at a rough pace, clearly very eager to please you and his other hand comes down from your hips to play with your clit. Your knees almost buckle from the amount of pleasure but he keeps you pressed tightly against him curling his fingers.

You swear he has magic powers because as you were right about to cum he pulls out of you and you whimper. He chuckles at your reaction and twists you around to face him, “want you to come around me.” He pulls you into a heated kiss as you two frantically pull off your dress, kicking it to some random corner of the locker room along with your underwear. “I don't have a condom.” You hear him swear and mumble to himself but you cup his cheeks to stop him, “I'm on the pill.” “It’s not the same-” “what are you not clean?” “of course i am-” “Then fuck me Jace.” He looks in your eyes for any signs of hesitation and when he doesn't find any he quickly pushes himself into you.

You feel like you can’t breathe, he pushes you against a nearby wall and feverishly pounds into you as his hands move to play with your tits. Hes talking but you can’t decipher what he’s saying so lost in your own pleasure. “fuck you feel so good fuck.” You tug on his hair and pull him to kiss you, your on the brink of release as the feeling of his thumbs rubbing on your nipples and the combination of the millions of emotions racing around you. You grip on his hair tightly and he groans, “You close?” You nod you head, “Wait for me.” You open your mouth to complain but his hips begin to move faster and his hands move to your hips to slam you closer to match his thrusts. “Want to come together.” His words are slurred as he’s approaching his release. Your hands scratch down his back as he groans in your ear, taking your ear and sucking on it.

“Come.” He breaths in your ear and you do, he hisses as he feels you pulse against him, your fluid completely covering him and he cant help but follow suit. He kisses you running his hands down your arms. As the two of you settle down he makes no move to pull out of you, seeming content within you.

“I'm gonna get a fucking earful from cregan.”

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