#i fulfilled the prompt guys | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

capslocked · 6 months

Text

KINKVEMBER DAY: 8

[prompt: phone sex]

male reader x shin ryujin

16k words

The phone rings one too many times, and Ryujin is in the middle of scrunching up the paper slip that Chaeryeong handed her earlier that afternoon when she hears your voice.

The sounds of her scrambling for the receiver and her head smacking against the headboard come through in pretty good quality.

That never gets old.

"Stimulating conversations," you offer smoothly, like it isn't a euphemism and instead some high-brow intellectual pursuit. "How can I help you?"

Ryujin is speechless for an unbearable five, ten seconds until she lets out the kind of low chuckle that probably sounds better than it looks. "Hi," she says, "hello, I, uh- I don't know how all of this works."

"Why don't we start with who you're looking to speak with tonight?" you ask.

Ryujin sighs. She runs a hand through her hair, looking at the messy tangle of clothes on her bedroom floor with mild resentment. She’ll take her chances, figuring a direct approach is the best route when she doesn't really know where any of the lines get drawn or who is allowed to say what and who isn't.

"Um. Okay. Who you got?"

"We have a large variety of operators to suit any taste," you explain kindly. She appreciates that. "Do you have someone specific in mind? A gender perhaps, to start?"

"Well," Ryujin starts, running her tongue along the edges of her teeth. Lia has this thing she constantly says, that there's always a thousand and one reasons not to do something, and Ryujin is the first person to make fun of her for it - but here she is, finally putting that adage to use.

"I was actually calling to, um," she exhales loudly. "A guy? I mean look - girls. Girls are great, but if you - mmm." She clears her throat. Because she knows how she wants to do this, and it's most definitely: "A man."

You wait for a second before replying, and Ryujin allows the stillness to expand over and fill out every corner of her bedroom before a bright, "Alrighty, well," comes filtering out her phone, tinny but as enticing as ever. "That would be me."

"Oh."

"Yeah," you reply, easy and unhurried. You sound exactly like the kind of person whose company people pay handsomely to be around; the professionalism is undeniable, but there's something to be said for your tone. The softness to the vowels, the almost imperceptible upward lilt to the words - Ryujin gets that, maybe.

You're pretty confident in the answer, but you ask anyway, "have you ever done anything like this?"

Ryujin opens her mouth and hesitates for a brief moment.

"Well," she muses. She's tried porn, she's tried her own fantasies, she's tried cranking up the hot water and touching herself with the head of the shower aimed somewhere she's told by other girls: it's there, free of charge. "I haven't."

"But you have a boyfriend," you state. "You have a man, who you enjoy things with?"

Ryujin laughs nervously. "It's...it's been a little while. Not recently. Sorry. I know you don't-"

"No, no, not at all, you're doing fine, it's just that you sound very attractive over the phone. Excuse the assumption."

Ryujin laughs and rakes her fingers through her fringe. She knows it's a line, but she laughs anyway. She could - if she was looking for the deranged fulfillment of it - pore through a billion comments on instagram, on twitter that call her a lot of things: gorgeous, beautiful, hot. The last comment she read before almost deleting her app entirely was someone who decided to textually imitate a dog barking to a picture Yeji had taken of her in a coffee shop. There's a novelty, she thinks, in being charmed by someone who has no idea who she is.

"You have good ears then," she says, smirking into the receiver. "So do you normally do, what, ask questions? I have no idea."

"Yeah, it helps me build a profile," you reply, "but if you had something else in mind-"

"No, please, shoot." She grabs the pillow from behind her back and flops against the mattress, staring up into the ceiling fan.

"Do you feel comfortable sharing your age with me?"

"Twenty," she answers without missing a beat, even though that isn't right. It's weirdly important to her, keeping it private, and she isn't sure why - but then you say something pleasant and complimentary about college and new experiences that she's unable to register, and you ask her for her name so quick she just blurts it out:

"Ryujin."

"Pretty."

"Fuck," Ryujin grins, immediately chewing on her knuckle to bite back a gasp. "Sorry. The name is cute or, whatever. Whatever. Sorry for the curse. God, I don't really have a filter - what about you? Do you have a name, Mr. Operator?"

"I do."

Ryujin lifts a leg up and puts it down again. She doesn't know if she should already have taken off her pajamas or if that's weird. Or if the fact that it doesn't bother her means this is more or less wholesome. She turns over onto her stomach, humming into the phone and now she doesn't know why she's thinking about your face. You could be- well, fuck, you could be anyone, but there's this gnawing compulsion to put something together.

You tell her your name and she scoffs for a second, before quieting down and returning you a, "pretty."

"Ryujin, tell me." There's probably a slightly too long pause from your end of the line before you get on with asking her, "when was your last orgasm?"

She drops the phone right in her face. It bounces off the bridge of her nose before landing in bedsheets beside her and her eyes are welling with tears while she scrambles blindly across her bed, cursing into the receiver and squirming. She pulls the phone to her ear and catches the last couple seconds of you reassuring her that it's okay, that it's completely fine if she's hung up or gone.

"Actually, I have," and she curls her fingers into a fist, "never came in my whole life."

You clear your throat to keep a less than professional sound from coming out. A quiet space she feels necessary to fill: “Not even once.”

"Really?"

"I know. And I've only recently realized that's, uh - er- a pretty un-normal thing." Ryujin makes a waving motion with her hand even though you can't see it, trailing off into silence and blushing furiously. "Sorry," she apologizes. She doesn't know what she’s apologizing for, but she does it again. "Sorry about that."

"I should be the one feeling sorry for you," you rib.

"Fucking tell me about it."

"Hey, this reminds me, would you be averse to the idea of touching yourself?"

The question stutters Ryujin in her tracks, and she doesn't even say no but a drawn-out "nngh" leaks out before she can stumble into something more intelligible. "Isn't that, like, what you're supposed to do on these calls?"

"Every call is different, Ryujin."

She chews on her lower lip, rolling it under her front teeth. You say her name like you know her, and it's throwing her for a loop. The comfort you have with the whole situation - asking her a million questions and not demanding answers, taking cues and reassurances in stride and turning everything into some sort of ploy for getting her naked. Fuck, she'll take a bit of a plunge:

"Should I be touching myself?"

"It's not my place to say."

"Okay, well that's kind of a frustrating answer."

"So you're saying you like being told what to do," you tell her, and you hear the sharp inhale in reply.

"If I knew what I liked, you think I'd be calling a sex hotline and hoping some stranger might take pity on me?"

You laugh out loud, and her response is the quickest, the cutest little, "seriously!" before she chuckles too.

"Ryujin?" you ask.

"Yeah?"

"Are you straight?"

She nearly chokes - because it's like you're able to just read her mind - and if you can do that then there's nothing you can't do, maybe. And here, excitement feels a lot like apprehension. She twists and curls in on herself, thighs rubbing together, the flat of her hand traveling across her stomach.

"I'm-"

"Because no one should have to pretend that they're interested in guys," you interrupt her and, god, for as much time as she's spent dwelling on that, she wishes it were that simple.

It would be a hell of a lot easier if she knew why she wanted to get her face between Yeji's thighs and drag her tongue all over her clit until that prettier-than-perfect face of hers cinches up in a pleasure that comes with just the right amount of agony - or if she knew why she didn't feel anything like remorse or guilt or envy when her boyfriend came around instead of wanting, you know, to get on her knees with her mouth around his cock too -

Fuck, it's all very complicated.

"Straight," she answers. She likes cock, as much as anyone realistically can, and she knows the body on a man can get her dripping and easy in all the right ways. So, she just swallows. Says, "straight enough."

"If you were to touch yourself, right now, and someone - say, a man - were telling you exactly what to do: what would spring to mind, if anything."

"Mmm. Is this you asking me to touch myself?"

"Again. That's up to you."

Your voice is light. Very pleasant. Very male, Ryujin realizes. She gulps.

"Can you, I mean," she says, running a hand down the length of her thigh, pressing down at the hollow.

"Ryujin,” you say, letting her mull over how it sounds in your mouth. “Take a breath for me, please."

Her exhale leaves her with a heavy push and she tries not to laugh. Nervous tic. She's getting goosebumps, but she feels warmer than before.

"We could say this isn't the first time, you and me, in some very broad and abstract sense. How does that make you feel?"

"Strange." She touches her outer thighs again and arches her back. "Kind of horny," she admits. And it is odd - your words, the things you say - and maybe it's her nerves because the experience is new, and so are you, and so are her feelings, all wrapped in one.

"Do you want to do something about that?"

There's silence between you for what seems like a very long time, your breathing quiet but apparent - a signal you haven't abandoned her in some state of vulnerability. Ryujin inhales deeply. She's shaking in her fingertips. The tension has her taut and waiting, and that's funny, really, because it's what she's been doing for years. The rubbing. The touching.

Her hips rock forward gently and she answers the unasked question with a sweetly husked, "uh-huh."

"What are you wearing?"

"Ah, really?" Ryujin laughs. Her fingers pause at her waistline. "That old, bad porn trope."

"I like hearing about people's clothes, is all," you excuse yourself lightly. "Helps me get a sense of things."

"Yeah, alright. Sweats. Baggy ones." Her lips fall apart. "Shirt."

"Is that all? Nothing sexy."

"What's sexy?"

"Sexy is…"

She listens to you mull it over, listening for a ruffling or two. "For a girl with a nice body - some body - some curves," you continue, and Ryujin has to drop another finger to the hot line of her thigh, her lower belly. "You need lace. Silk. You've gotta leave the best bits a little hidden, at least for a while longer."

"Wow. You sound a hell of a lot like you'd enjoy taking someone's pants off," she half-teases. "Do you make all your calls like this? One sordid fantasy at a time, huh?"

"Something like that," you reply. And then, as if reading her mind, "are you doing anything, right now?"

"I'm touching myself," she exhales. "Are you?"

"Ryujin, not yet. Please be patient."

She makes a face even though you can't see it or taunt her. That's an unfair request - you have an unfair request.

"Just, wait," you tell her. She's drawing lazy, winding circles across her thigh. "Let me show you something, will you do that for me?"

"But, what."

"Tell me everything. All the things you're thinking. Things you want to do."

"Everything?"

"Yes."

She blinks away her initial disbelief and reaches around for her lamp to switch it off. Until it's just the hallway light peeking in through the crack between her door and the door jamb and you, a stranger who won't be seeing her face or hearing her say anything stupid. She shakes out a few more breaths, shuffles against the sheets, and glides her fingertips past her belly button.

Her hand rises up her stomach in one decisive movement, until her fingers curl beneath the bottoms of her bra, trapped in its underwire. "I'm thinking - unh - about, ah. My friend?"

You're quiet and let the silence linger, until she seems like she might not find her way; so you repeat, "Go ahead."

"And a guy she used to like, fuck, she'd show up here, drunk on, ah. A weeknight. Somewhere, fuck, around midnight. Walk past me into the kitchen where we had the - the light. God." Her hips stutter and she grits out the rest through her teeth. "In the refrigerator. Ah, yeah, a midnight snack. Always looked way too fucking good for, um, oh, for a casual booty-call."

"Does your friend have a name?"

"Yuna," she practically pants, and immediately realizes she shouldn't have said that either.

"Did you always know what was going on? Between Yuna and her-"

"Boy-toy, yes - it was so obvious, I always knew, yeah," she said, clumsily grabbing the sheets with one hand as she drifts further between the peaks. "Just - fuck - he'd be picking at, ah, something with chopsticks."

"In your kitchen?"

"My, uh, table. And I'd be working up the nerve to ask."

You sigh over the phone, "ask him what?"

"What it was, like, I knew she was only- shit." She keens high in her throat. "What it was like, fucking taking that cock of his, and bending Yuna's tight little, ah, ass over and, mm, railing her on the side of her fucking bed - and just pumping her full of cum just like that until- Jesus, she would walk around after and sometimes-"

You groan softly. This encouraging little sound.

"-fuck - sorry, I mean. Yeah, he, sometimes he'd make her walk around with his, ah, stuff inside. Down her fucking pants and, it's like, fucking disgusting, I swear-"

"And?" You breathe a heavy edged noise over the line.

Actually okay, so maybe this was more than she bargained for, maybe she bit off more than she can chew - maybe, she feels like her insides are collapsing; all the fire pooling around in her stomach and gathering into a melting sort of weightlessness.

"And it makes me feel fucking-"

"Fucking what."

"Why am I talking about this, why-"

"Talking to me? Fucking wet, Ryujin, answer the question."

She pants down at her phone and then turns her face into her forearm, rubbing and making sounds. She thinks about, oh, fucking Yuna and how she showed up to hang out once, with cum leaking down the crease of her inner thigh, smearing against her skin and down between her legs.

"Wet." She swallows. "How do I-"

"Say that you wish it was you," you tell her. "That you wanted that, to be fucked. To feel a cock inside."

Her head falls back. "That," she manages, "fucking, that."

You drawl so that the question might roll off, easy: "Is that the kind of girl you are? Told not to curse, not supposed to let anyone else play with you - you just need it, don't you? Do you need someone's cum? Just tell me."

"I think so, ah," and she stops moving her hand. "I think I'm gonna go now. This is fucking embarrassing, like. Okay, sorry."

"Don't hang up," you tell her, and the soft edge to it is one she really wants to indulge. "Don't," you repeat, a little louder.

You start talking, about the same sorts of things she's imagined herself: the sex and the sounds and what he can do to her. You build a slow and aching heat between her thighs that has her dripping through her underwear and grinding against her fingers. Telling her how she's the one that needs to be filled, needs a man who can wrap her legs around his waist, get to the deepest parts of her, the parts untouched and willing.

Ryujin gets that - she wonders, half out of it and stroking faster than she usually would be, how much of it has anything to do with who the voice is on the other end of the receiver, and how it could be what a desperate, pathetic, tired part of her has always wanted.

"Are you?" she asks, panting over the phone.

"Am I what?" you whisper back to her.

"Are you," and you hear how she inhales sharply through her nose, a desperate gasp leaving her lips on the exhale, "going to, um. Are you touching yourself right now?"

Your reply is immediate, and her eyes flutter and close the second you tell her exactly what she wants to hear:

"God, yes."

She drags her hand up the center of her body, runs her fingertips over her jaw and presses the heel of her wrist to her neck to feel her pulse slamming hard.

"I'm fucking throbbing, Ryujin; you sound gorgeous like this, like nothing I've ever heard, I'm stroking my cock just picturing you, please-"

"Tell me." She's mouthing into the center of her palm, saying the words, tasting salt and musk. "Fuck, ah," she babbles, "tell me what you would do with me."

"I'd get you on your knees," you tell her without hesitating for a beat.

"Fuck."

"I'd come up behind you and tell you not to be scared, baby. I wouldn't hurt you, I'd just touch you real gentle. Push my fingers past your tongue, slide a little down your throat."

"Uh huh," she moans, her head falling back and rolling, rocking against the mattress.

"Want you sucking on my fingers. Need your hands around my cock, or better, my balls, play with them. You're going to take those fingers - every finger I got, all five, yeah?- all ten of them," you joke, "and open up your tight cunt - like you are now, like such a good fucking girl-"

The girl fucking yelps. Just this honest sound of depravity; it's what she's paying you for. It's a silly line of bullshit, but it makes her bite hard and ache a little around her own knuckles and moan in her palm and dig her nails hard into her flesh. Her thumb fumbles across the top edge of her underwear and you pant again into her ear as if on cue, giving her a small bit of guidance that has her jolting in pleasure. She didn't know that was there, fuck, fuck-

"Like that, Ryujin. Breathe," and she does.

"Please," she whines, trying to find somewhere for her arm to settle, resting finally in her hair - setting the phone to speaker in a foolish moment of lapsed-judgment, just before it nearly clatters off the side of her bed.

Keep going - she's telling you over and over - keep going, and you’re picturing her there: eyes closed, legs spread wide, bent knees quivering and toes curling into the sheets. It doesn’t sound fake - you've heard a million of them, you've learned them in their different tones and accents and you can spot a faker a mile away. And the girl on the phone right now isn't pretending or thinking about whatever's happening somewhere else.

(You don't join in for everyone. You can't. It's an asinine consideration that you'd be rubbing your fist up and down your cock while it's sore and wanting - aching from the neglect or lack of rhythm. You have to remind yourself it's just a job, that the logistics just can't support such selflessness.

But then there's the very fucking premise.

That the girl on the other end of the line is inches from the goalposts, fingering her cunt and sighing into the throes of her first orgasm - first ever, because you did this, you brought her this far - you're the fucking culprit, and no matter how many girls, or boys-pretending-to-be-girls, how many people have gotten off with the help of your voice, your instruction, this one sets a different fucking precedent.

You're not lying when you say, "I'm rock fucking hard, Ryujin," or "there's precum all over my knuckles, baby."

Because there is, and the poor thing chokes out another desperate sound when you tell her.)

"I'm right there, ah, fuck, keep going-"

"I've got my hand around my shaft, just enough that I can fuck it, can't I? The head is getting slick - baby - and my palm is gliding nice and easy. Are you cumming, Ryujin? You better be, you better be cumming right now."

There's a heaving gasp and she calls out for you, babbling curses and "please" and "fuck" in alternating succession, with enough punctuation for you to have to let your lip slip under the hard bite of your front teeth. "Don't stop," she tells you, voice thready.

"You need this so bad."

"Yes," she gasps. "How would you-"

"How would I fuck you?" you finish her thought.

She waits a moment, sucking in shallow breaths and then replying weakly, "I really like... I like doggy."

"On your knees?"

"Yeah," she stammers, "I like when, like- ah, like, pulling my hair."

"Fuck, I love that," you say into her mewling. "Splayed out with your tits against a pillow and getting your pretty, little pussy pounded? I bet that'd feel so good, huh? Hands so rough on your hips, on your throat, squeezing your neck so you'll turn pink. Just to see you smile, I'd probably fucking let you take whatever you want."

You're met with a broken moan, a long string of syllables ending on a note that has your shoulders clenching and cock jumping in your grip.

Tense over the things you can't see: Ryujin biting down into the side of her hand, the other knocking painfully against the wooden side rail on her mattress, her thighs tightening and screaming and clamping around her wrist as she pulls weaker, wilder whimpers out of her chest each time her fingers drag across her slit and the sensitive curve of her swollen clit. She's dying, she thinks, she's going to fucking die - the in and out of her soaked pussy, through all that sticky, satiny skin, slick fingers diving in, twisting until there's nowhere for them to go.

No other recourse than to fuck in, fuck, fuck, like that, fucking god.

There's heavy silence on the line for god knows how long - well, you have to check the log. But for her, it feels like fucking forever. That was - that was it. It's so fucking mind-wracking how good it was, she can't quite wrap her brain around it. Nowhere near. She thinks she'll have a better idea after two rounds, definitely by four. She'll buy something, use the discount, go shopping - an orgasm just to make sure she's not bullshitting herself.

You clear your throat.

She moves sluggishly, away from the side and against the headboard - the heat still unbearably oppressive, her t-shirt clinging and sticking. "That," she stumbles through the afterglow.

"Do I need to apologize to you?" you ask lightly.

"What? Oh god, no - no way. No way. I just."

"Yes?"

"Like I didn't know it was this-"

"Did you just cum, Ryujin?"

She's laying there with the phone pressed to her brow. A hand palmed over her own racing pulse. The faint smell of her own cunt lingering around her face.

"I don't know," she tells you, and promptly hangs up.

The darkness in Ryujin's bedroom is punctuated only by the faint, hazy light streaming in from the hall, and her bedroom fan making its creaking little circles, as she waits in her post-nut-high for her breathing to normalize. Her mind is buzzing, and out of all this, she has a hell of a bill and a couple conclusions:

She's a coward and a pervert, but definitely, definitely bisexual.

Or, like. She's in some weird gray area between not liking whenever anyone buys her drinks, but also the girls at least let her dance a little close. That's a strange thing, isn't it? For how often her mouth does stupid shit - you think at least someone would figure it out for her.

But you, oh fuck. You-

She's fucking shaken up, for sure.

(It's a home office set-up, actually.

Your desk isn't organized; you're sure the photos on the wall are askew and the paint looks slightly worse for wear if you were to turn the lights on - which you never really do. There's an aging lamp tucked into the back corner, a bottle of scotch next to your handset that's closer to halfway empty than halfway full, and you can't stop imagining it.

Promise, This never happens.

You've got the name stuck to the roof of your mouth even though you know it's fake. Stuck with something so painfully abstract. Imagining this girl that is probably as brash and bawdy as her voice, or more exciting than either - maybe her hair is long enough to brush along her breasts. Or maybe it hangs just over her shoulders. God knows just how that would frame her features.

You can see it, really. You pump a handful of coconut oil into your palm and the details solidify so easily in your head: her pretty mouth, nose, the dimples in her cheeks - eyes glazed and sultry and gazing at you.

Smelling sweet, all the places you need, skin hot, clit swollen-

Just- fuck. Fuck.

Ryujin, huh, imagine that.

Ryujin.

And you jerk off right into the soft embrace of a tissue.)

A little more than a week later:

Ryujin's all wrapped up on the couch, with an arm cushioning her head and watching TV when there's a sudden commotion from the front door. Yuna - her friend, her very nice, very male friend who never shows up after midnight unless there's a promise of sex - comes bumbling into the room.

He has no regard for boundaries.

So,

Yuna starts to say, smug, from where the hallway becomes the living room, "Ryujin - look at us. Stuck on a Friday night. You gotta boyfriend or something?"

She's completely unfazed by this interaction. She's pretty sure he has his own key, so like, he should be used to it by now too.

"Kind of." She shuts off the TV to turn her attention towards the topic at hand. "Why?"

Yuna runs a hand through all her long, silky hair and gestures her cock-du-jour on over to the door of her room. "Waiting for a call, maybe." She waggles her eyebrows. "Are you any good, I mean, you never seem to..."

Annoying brat.

Ryujin smacks the back of her neck and interrupts, "you gonna fuck him? Go ahead and fuck him, Yuna." She checks the lock. The kitchen. Gets up and tries to ignore the heat flaring behind her ears.

"We could pretend," Yuna muses, tugging the waistband of Ryujin's shorts around her fingers before she's out of arm's reach. The elastic flips back into her waist with a dull snap.

"Dumb idea. That's a dumb, dumb idea," she reasons, because she knows Yuna has no self control. None, and it's showing; the second her shoulders sag forward and her eyes dart, craving, Ryujin steps back in. "Don't be stupid."

Yuna's lips are tilted, playful. Ryujin wants to smack that look right off her face. Like she fucking deserves any kind of victory just because she found out she can fuck anyone she wants while lacking the self-awareness to somehow be contented with anyone. She's not going to call her a slut - out of a matter of principle - but god, does she fucking want to.

"Gotta get ready, is what you should do," Ryujin mumbles under her breath.

"Fine." Yuna shrugs and pecks an annoying kiss to Ryujin's temple on her way to the shower, waving a hand over her head with a casual, "If you want something, you've only got a half-hour."

Ryujin pushes her hair out of her face and does what she does best: overanalyze and overthink the situation.

Whatever. Yuna won't give it up regardless, not in any way she'd actually be able to enjoy. Her cheeks go a little redder while she pretends to not be considering it.

God, a threesome in total functional harmony however: her working her mouth on Yeji (Ryujin doesn't know why she's thinking about Yeji, but she is), Yeji working her mouth on her boyfriend, her boyfriend working his mouth on her -

That'd be something, she thinks. Like one of those Escher diagrams, but one where everyone cums at the end.

The thought makes Ryujin wet enough to squeeze her thighs together and stand up a little straighter.

Then she hears the showerhead turn on, and she wonders just why, exactly, Yuna is such a spoiled asshole.

Turns out,

The universe just has this habit of providing Ryujin with what she wants right alongside everything she doesn't.

She’s stretched out in her sweats, sat up at the top of her bed again and touching herself beneath the sheet in a pointless attempt to contain the mess. Fucking horny - it's honestly unbelievable - and her left hand's making lecherous, slick noises until it's absolutely gross. Until Ryujin's gasping and panting and sweating from the nape of her neck and the back of her knees.

All because Yuna's the loudest little-fucking-whore of a roommate anyone has ever heard.

She's moaning like she's getting fucking plowed into the next life. And apparently, the cock she's got in her cunt is fucking huge if those little murmuring whimpers are anything to go on. She keeps begging the guy, coy, for a kiss while she's probably folded up like a lawn chair in there, getting railed, and the fact that the boy keeps obliging is as admirable as it is kind of insulting.

"Goddamn," she thinks out loud, because the walls are paper-fucking-thin. The apartments in the area are built in an earthquake-safe way, which in reality, means they can either withstand a magnitude 6.0 and come out without any severe structural damages - or that it's so cheaply constructed the building will go down like a matchbox house before it stands a chance against a tremor of any significance.

They're easier to replace that way she’s told. And Ryujin's apartment is definitely of the latter; she can hear everything.

The skin on skin, their bodies sliding together in the slippery sheets. Her mouth smacking wet around his tongue as he bucks forward and asks her to do a hundred filthy things, asking her where it feels best - that sort of thing, which gets her wound and agitated and frustrated, and fucking horny as fuck. Ryujin's bent-inward and panting when he really gets to work - the creaks and groans, their mingled pants and the constant thudding and swaying of the headboard smacking into the wall.

She doesn't even need to put her ear to the partition like she's sixteen years old all over again, hoping to catch her old brother going at it while her mom was out. Trying to figure out this whole sex thing - what all the fuss was about.

Just the way Ryujin sighs is nothing short of despondent. Slightly pitiful.

And every tight circle she's running over clit feels so fucking good, until she realizes the room goes real quiet for a bit. The stillness - no slapping, no movement, just wet, panted-breaths and muffled speech. She nearly asks aloud what's wrong - but she hears it: Yuna's hushed but totally undeniable,

"Been so long- don't, don't- hold up," she croons in these high, sing-song little huffs. "That - uhn, ah - that's my - that's my good spot, there, keep - yes, harder!"

Ryujin slams her eyes closed, dropping down onto the mattress and wishing she'd slipped her hands into her sweats sooner. Fuck. And as Yuna's back starts banging against the wall - so rhythmic and fucking thorough - Ryujin can feel the heat curling behind the backs of her knees, radiating along her calf and reaching into the smalls of her feet. Fuck. Fuck, she doesn't even get to watch.

Right there. So good, please, so fucking good, is what Ryujin can’t not hear coming right through the drywall.

She’s three knuckles deep in her pussy, all stretched out, and she's practically drooling - "spread me, baby. Hold the, fuck, spread my lips open. See me- unh. Ah - see me? Please, do it-" - the boy groaning about it as he fucks her, and then, Yuna, needling him with a quiet, breathy, "harder, can't you?"

The answer seems to make Yuna squirm and scream.

And Ryujin's nearly rolling - rocking, fucking humping her own fingers because it's starting to ache a little, a cramping in her wrist and arm and jaw that she's trying really hard to ignore, rubbing and fingering and fucking herself closer, the heels of her feet sinking hard against the sheets, throbbing and aching around the flicks of her knuckles, harder, faster - faster -

"Fucking hell-" she seethes and stops moving all at once - because god, Yuna is un-fucking-believable.

The absolute bitch, she's doing it again: squealing and cursing and calling his name into her orgasm and just basking, it sounds like, right in it. Because she always does this, every single fucking time, she acts like it's the best feeling in the fucking world and she fucking loves everything, and that shit just - Ryujin grits her teeth and grimaces and pulls her slick fingers from her body - that just ruins it.

All that build-up and for what?

Fuck, Yuna really has the nerve to go there too. She's talking about sucking her own damn cunt or some bullshit-

Yeah, it's not fucking fair, Ryujin concedes.

Or maybe she's being punished. She could live with that, but god. The unfairness of it all. She tries, for a half a minute, to let her throbbing stop being a goddamn nuisance. But the noises coming from the other room are making her crankier, more angry, more irate - and definitely hornier than she ever really intended, even though she knows Yuna is thoroughly distracted in there.

Ryujin sits up a little straighter. Squares her shoulders, steadies herself and fishes around in her pockets with her uncoordinated, cum-coated hands until she finds her wallet, a credit card, her cell -

And there's an aching, a sore pulse of neglect between her legs; that's all too much. A quick peek down confirms that, yep, she's practically dripped right out of her shorts and even gotten a dark spot in the front of them. How great is that.

Yuna is over there, all, "thank you - ah - can you please do me a favor and fuck my mouth with your big, big, huge, fucking cock-" and this guy, he sounds so patient, telling her how he wants to do exactly that, but he wants to fill her tiny pussy up first, fuck her here, fuck her there, fuck a baby right into her. Wants to get his cum all over her face, smear her mouth and her throat and her cheeks -

Ryujin inhales through her nose and holds, eyes falling closed in something between misery and anguish.

He's telling her, yeah, of course he'll fill up her throat - give her so much it's leaking out of her fucking nose - and Yuna sounds like she's moaning and garbling an objection to that last part - but it doesn't actually fucking matter.

"Geez," is Ryujin's quiet, little gasped-out response. He just fucking pounds her right back into place; her next orgasm. Fuck-

And there it is: the slew of moans that start back up and just keep on keeping on.

Shin Ryujin is going to lose her fucking mind.

Ryujin only lasts a handful more days before she calls again.

It’s another Wednesday night, if only to increase the odds that you’re working. Yeah, she could go with another guy, but another guy might not do everything you did, talking quietly and calmly - so composed while Ryujin was losing some part of her sanity to the thumb she pressed on her clit.

No, it has to be you.

That's what Ryujin makes herself say when the operator apologizes and explains you're busy.

"Will he be working much longer? Please, I, um-"

"If you give me your number," the operator tells her, "I can add him as a preferred associate. You'll get him next time instead of going to the line."

Ryujin pauses, finger held to her chin. Will he know that? There's all this implication isn't there, that maybe he won't. Maybe you're popular - are you? It's a lot like texting someone for the very first time. And if you did - know, she means - would she be acting like a stalker? It would feel weird, probably, but no worse than some people do it already.

Oh god, this is kind of fucked up.

Maybe a little. Maybe.

Ryujin pauses, finger to her chin. Will he know that? There's all this implication, isn't there, or maybe he won't. Maybe you're popular - are you? It's a lot like texting someone you like-like for the very first time. And if you did - know, she means - would she be acting like a stalker? It would feel weird, probably, but no worse than some of things other people are undoubtedly doing with this service, Ryujin decides, and rattles off the digits so fast the operator asks for clarification.

"If your schedule doesn't open," the line says, "call back and leave a message with when."

Ryujin shrugs and says, "yeah, okay."

You make Ryujin sit through forty-five-fucking minutes of on-hold music - this barely audible synthetic noise that signals a connection is still there, truly a genre for no one - all before she just cuts the fucking line and lays down on the couch.

Okay.

Okay, fine.

Whatever.

(You are… going through the motions.

Some girl on the other line is barely holding it together; you can hear her thighs making slick noises. God. She sounds desperate, she's holding the phone all tight and saying your name. She's fucking babbling; it's not attractive, not while you're tilted back as far as your office chair will go and staring up in the ceiling.

You're bored, mostly.

"Please, please, I'm-"

"Going to cum, I know, princess." She asked you to call her that. "Mouth all open? Can't help it? Just need to lick it nice and fast?"

The answer comes all choppy: "I can't, ah, a-ah-nymore, no, I, can't, need-"

"Do you have any idea? How hard I'm fucking stroking my cock right now? Sitting right in my lap. Jerking it right for you," you say, and then she makes an embarrassingly wet noise, gasping through a choked whine, "so I'm ready to give you what you really fucking need."

"Yes," she chokes. "There - um, please, I just-"

"The biggest fucking load," you tell her. She has no idea, really, that you've got one hand on the receiver, the other just pinching the bridge of your nose - neither of which are you jerking the cum out of your cock and balls like a fucking hydrant as you’d described. What she doesn't know won't hurt her, and you keep your face turned to the side as she starts screaming. As it starts running into one noise that lasts forever - so unbearable that, this time, you consider going out to the bathroom to grab a glass of water and a handful of painkillers. "Need it deep. Let me pour it in, yeah?"

"Yes," she gasps again, heard on this distant frequency because, yes, yes, you've plugged your ear with a finger.

"That'll satisfy you. C'mon, now, princess - give it right up," you tell her, but your eyes are a little dull when her moan turns out all-gagging and twitchy and spasming through it, until finally:

"Ugh."

You wait a moment for the gasping and hitching to finish.

"Good girl," is your distant reply, followed by a polite, perfunctory, "call back anytime.")

Ryujin feels like she's in grade eleven again as she stares at her phone. Boys. Drama. Girls. The drama.

The overanalyzing, the wondering, the hesitating. Fuck. She wishes she knew a way to change this, because she doesn't feel particularly mature and is somehow reduced to this girl, this idiot sitting here all embarrassed and staring and moping about a thousand different calamities at once.

She's looking right at the lock screen: the wallpaper of her and Yeji and Chaeryeong out getting coffee on a random Sunday, all bundled up. Winter. Like three, four years ago, maybe.

Ryujin looks like shit, it's funny.

But Yeji -

How she can make the winter pallor look good is beyond Ryujin's understanding. It's unfair. All the things are. Her brain is back and forth and spinning, spinning like the hands on the old clock hung up on the wall in the kitchen. So stuck on what's not quite normal. Stuck on what doesn't fucking matter - who even fucking cares who the fuck she's attracted to?

She feels it between her legs.

Has been for like a month, or longer, without an outlet. Without anything to give her the hint that maybe she can get back to it - the right it.

She doesn't need to call, she tells herself. She's not some weirdo who's sitting on this for days just in the hopes that her boyfriend is having a bad week with work or whatever. It's only Wednesday, technically. Still way early. Just another few days, she reasons, another few hours - what does it matter?

Wednesday. She can feel the word settle inside of her.

Though only once her bottom lip is chewed to hell, does she pick up her phone and decide she will.

(You're in your bedroom this time around, finishing up your own weekday workout - on the bike, fifteen-second sprints - when your phone goes off. A simple dinging. Very unassuming.

The operator comes in with a cool, level, "line two, callback."

Then there's nothing but silence for a few beats.

You towel some of the sweat off your face. It's warm - your skin, flushed. Bouncing your phone in your palm. The same feeling that's been tugging at your throat for the past two weeks starts to flare and swell.

Not quite a hope, not quite expectation: just something close.

"Are they still there?"

The operator confirms. "Shall I put them through?")

Ryujin fumbles in her own rush of bravado, hands pressing against the fronts of her thighs in an unflattering, nervous little gesture as the connection clicks and picks up.

"This is him," comes your voice, a little husky and raspy from all the day-to-day talk, but even and easygoing and maybe - just maybe - something she can hang on to. Ryujin gives an acknowledging "Mmmn," like the phone call isn't causing her major inner-turmoil.

"Right, ah." You sound kind of, dare she say, nervous yourself. You clear your throat into the line and ask, "what brings you here, stranger?"

Ryujin pauses at this; the red in her ears reaches her fucking jaw. Stranger. Jesus christ, okay, okay-

She laughs. Stops immediately at how self-conscious she sounds. Clears her throat and tucks some of her hair back - settles herself into it like her life hangs in the balance. "I'm here to get my rocks off."

"It's not usually my place to say," you begin in earnest, "but if you're anything like me, and this is gonna sound completely off-the-cusp, but those two weeks really seem to build up, don't they?"

God.

She pulls her sock off her ankle. There's eczema on her heel, and it's the kind of thing she can imagine Yeji telling her to not scratch - that she's going to fuck up her skin. It's funny the stupid fucking things she can remember and all the things she forgets. Like just now, with your voice in her ear, a little unsure in a way that says you've got other, much more important things you should be doing. But you're here with her.

With Ryujin.

God. She might hate herself a little.

"Um," is how she finds her bearings. "Actually."

"It's a joke. Not that- I mean." She hears some rustling - assumes it's coming through the ear piece. There's an abrupt slamming on her side of the line and it seems like the worst kind of deja-fucking-vu. Her neighbors. She forgets it's even this late into the evening. That other people don't have to work so hard in their free-time.

"Maybe this isn't a good night," she says, not so much as thinking the words.

"What?" you ask. Then it dawns on you. "No, no. If you're there, I'm here." You clear your throat. "Besides, there's nobody I'd rather hear from than a woman so desperate she's signed onto my frequent flier's club."

She stops chewing the insides of her cheeks long enough to give you a tired, irritated sound. "Whatever."

And you nearly choke trying not to laugh.

"I don't, um-"

"What, do I have a nice voice?" You laugh quietly.

Under normal circumstances, that wry edge, the bit of try-hard-humor would have her rolling her fucking eyes clean out of their sockets. So when instead she opens her mouth and a fatal-fucked-flirty-feminine, stop, comes out, the vowel pulled long like a plea or a request - well, Ryujin's forehead drops against her bedspread in immediate regret.

You seem startled by it too, going quiet for a second.

"I-I'm-"

"Cute," you decide.

Her ears are red-hot and her cheeks have to be pinking and god, she hates this. That she's hearing this so soon, and it's making her brain hazy and soft and stuttering through, um's and yeah, well, um's. A part of her can't believe she's paying for this, and then, at the same time, she can't believe she's not actually putting cash down for more right this second.

Because it feels -

Like maybe -

Her shoulders rise. She wants this to be quick; she hates this feeling of embarrassment creeping its way in and grabbing onto her with both hands, like this weird, pseudo-affection. She's a grown fucking woman and here she is, letting all her guard down for someone she doesn't even fucking know.

You can feel the tension, hear it. Your lips purse. You try for something easy.

"Go on and give me the details, Ryujin."

Before you'd even picked up, she'd already half-undone her shirt, the flaps of the collar hanging loose with her hands gently petting her ribcage - so easily giving and pliant that there's a good portion of her, in spite of the doubt, in spite of what seems completely illogical about all this, that has her realizing maybe she wants this more than she can possibly understand.

God, she feels like a fucking fool.

"It's pretty boring."

"Not to me. I've spent the last few weeks talking to a bunch of assholes who don't appreciate what they got in the first place," you reply. She imagines you're a little playful about it. Wonders, momentarily, how good that smirk looks - if your eyebrows are lifting like you've been teasing her since day one. Fuck.

“Your operator is a total asshole too, by the way."

"Don't say that," is Ryujin's shy reply, practically moaned out. "You sound like someone I'd absolutely fucking hate, jesus, stop that."

"Just because you don't get on with someone, doesn't mean they can't get you off."

"Smooth, or something."

"I'm taking a break, relaxing a little, enjoying an overrated TV show or whatever this is - not really minding my business," you say, but your smile is so audible it's fucking offensive. And she's - she's maybe, definitely into that. Like the fucking embarrassment in this is turning her on. Ryujin puts the tip of her finger in the waist of her shorts, experimentally, gently, this small brush and press to her sensitive lower stomach. And it's true. All she hears is her own breathing in the receiver, a bit labored over the slightest, least indecent touch. It's amazing, how much her body can want even when her head can't seem to catch up.

"What do you like?" she asks. “You’re a person, working bits and all, something’s gotta get you all worked up and flustered, no?”

"Will you believe me if I tell you this is my absolute favorite?"

"Do you always dodge the question?"

"It's just like a courtesy," you clarify, "it's not personal."

"Now I sound like a desperate pervert."

"On the contrary," is your warm, buttery reply, and it is fucking aggravating just how well this works on her. "I think there are much better things people can say about you."

God, that - the thought, the possibility of something about her that has nothing to do with how 'thick' or 'thin' her thighs are, or the silhouette of her ass in safety shorts, or how her voice makes guys want to ask if they can take her home and fuck the answers from her, or any of that; it's kind of liberating, just a tiny bit. That it can be a good thing for some reason. God.

Ryujin rubs herself. "Yeah, well."

She wants it all the same and says nothing, shifting a little until her hips tilt slightly upwards, letting her pull at the drawstring of her shorts, loosening the grip. She's already kind of feeling woozy in all the best ways, soft and feminine in how she slides her hand underneath her shorts. Over panties first, with no clear idea if you can tell and honestly, too distracted to wonder about that, if she should care or not, too caught up with her fingertips over the raised seam in her underwear - where the fabric's wet from her.

A shush comes into the line when Ryujin swallows.

The ache between her legs grows louder.

"You still there, Ryujin?"

"Of course," and then, she finds a little more reassured finality: "fuck, yeah, fuck. Please, I..."

"Ryujin," you say with all the calm and control in the world, "talk to me."

(So - truthfully, honestly, factually - you are a total wreck.

You're sitting there in a heap of bedsheets and a cold sweat when Ryujin finally mutters into the silence, "thanks, for that, I, uh- that felt really good, exactly what I needed," and hangs up before you can ask about her day or comment on the weather or suggest calling back tomorrow.

She is just perfect, the way she lets a small "I..." slip when she's close. Perfect, how she groans her little broken, satisfied sigh of a yes, her last, fleeting exhale just a sweet, high, barely there please, her body tensing with every little shudder and moan and pant. How the pace goes fast and then slow - like she's gotta think it out a second, her own fingers bringing her closer and closer until there's nothing but a flurry of movement and ragged breaths - an enthusiastic little mmph noise - followed by Ryujin's wet and slick little laugh that sounds like relief.

Like you did something to help, like she needed you and wanted you.

There's cum sticking all up your torso and along your wrist, the inside of your thigh - everywhere you could manage, frankly - and, shit, it's not fair, you realize:

She can find you, whenever she needs you.

And you -

You're just sitting here. Nowhere near sure she'll even call again.)

There's a sizable difference between being lonely and being alone, Ryujin thinks, running the cloth under the stream of the shower and then pressing it damp against her throat, wiping at the backs of her knees.

Lonely means that something's missing - it's something she feels when she catches a glance at the handsome arm reached around Chaeryeong's waist, the way she dances so close to someone she just met, or whenever she tells her that she's thinking about, maybe, probably, definitely, absolutely going home with him if her friends don't stop her from leaving. God, her smile is always so cute when he's near. When someone's calling her over for drinks - hips sashaying like she doesn't know the whole bar is staring at the creases where her thighs flare into her ass - because he gave her a look from across the room, and she's swaying from drink to drink.

Like, of course, they're fucking; it's a known, unsaid thing.

She knows it, he knows it. Chaeryeong fucking owns it.

Alone however, is just what it says on the tin.

That's something else Ryujin has yet to learn - that everyone loves differently, cares for different things. Yuna is still single after all, and she can never shake the feeling that it's simply to spite her for some perceived slight or another; Yuna can't live without company, no matter how brief or short or meaningless, so perhaps it's better she never catches on or finds anyone worth keeping around.

And Yeji?

Ryujin sighs, rakes the comb through her wet hair.

The showerhead is running hot between Ryujin's fingers, and the water coming off of her skin turns to steam instantly, filling the bathroom with a permanent cloud, stuck in flux - rising towards the ceiling. She passes her fingers under it, watches the flow, a quiet hm escaping the back of her throat - and she considers the way it feels beating against her throat and chest.

Down the concave curve of her stomach. How it burns red right over her thighs. The pressure slips and sinks low, lower - and when she puts a palm out for a little stability, her left leg can't help but buckle just so, lifting itself out and off to the side. So she stands, toes pointing against the shower floor, face first into her arm against the cool tile.

Ryujin sees where the rivulets of water have gathered above her clavicle - feels them trail down over the tightness in her breasts and between. A couple images pass through her mind at once - thoughts of fingers trailing a line back up the center of her body and a gentle tap against her chin, turning her face to some perfect all-consuming kiss - a hand squeezing at her calf, rubbing her muscles gently - Yeji smiling into the crook of her neck, the grasp on her hip, wrist flexing. Her back bowed and fingers, broad and experienced -

"Don't need you," Ryujin quietly says to nobody, which -

You're doing so well, Ryujin hears back in her imagination, you're so beautiful, you can keep this up, I know you can. I bet it feels good, doesn't it? Just let go and I'll...

Ryujin whimpers out. She can feel that line deep inside her going taut, buckling in her core, the reverberations down to her wrists and fingertips and toes. If she didn't have the wall in front of her, she knows she'd be on her knees - kneeling to the hot water pulsing around the knots of nerves right behind her clit. The pressure hitting her like the crack of a whip.

"Fuck me," she says to no one, gasping in that way you only can when no one is listening.

Yeji's smile is what's gotten her this close so many times, the smell of the ends of her hair tickling Ryujin's nose. Hell, she can't stop thinking about the way her nose crinkles or her dimples flare just when she finds Ryujin's name in her mouth.

It's not fair.

She's so close to cumming and letting whatever happens happen. The slick of her release pouring right out into the drain of the shower, washed away with the excess. So when her whole hand shifts and catches in just the right, delicious, frustrating way, Ryujin inhales so deep through the end of the sentence that, as a result, her knees wobble.

She feels like fucking crying.

It's that sweet little lilt in Yeji's voice, saying things like: "It's alright. I promise you can keep this up a little longer." And "Oh, god, baby." And, at worst, the way her voice shakes with a "come here, honey. Let me-"

Ryujin has to catch herself when her footing slips a little from under her. Then, your voice, coming in distant at first, grows louder, clearer. Into something catastrophic, right against her throat, like it knows the very inside-and-out of her, "go on. Fuck, please, cum all over me, baby - show me a face no one else gets to see."

And for the first time,

Ryujin gets herself off. Alone.

She moans and sighs out. Gasps, "there you go-" and whispers an, "ah, jesus." She manages the most silent, the least decipherable, fuck, as it leaves her mouth like a prayer. Her left knee twitches, body curling into itself, and her hand moves - fingers closing and her eyes clenched shut, a wave, cresting - she just-

Collapses.

Wanting: Yeji, sure - and she came - but the only thing she can really wrap her head around is the truth that she's so, utterly fucked.

"Are you sure there's no one you can bring?" Yeji asks in the middle of slapping the ever-loving shit out of a coffee maker that has, for as far as anyone can remember, never worked.

"Uh," is Ryujin's inconvenienced reaction, the tips of her fingers idly sorting through her credit card statements, which a more-sober, less-horny version of herself is a little out of sorts over. "I'm not sure there's anyone I'd want to bring."

"Uh huh," Yeji replies.

She pauses and rests the bottom edge of the coffee maker on the edge of the kitchen counter, stopping herself mid-smack - leaning away to try and give the stupid thing a once-over.

"Who the hell says it's got to be someone you wanna make babies with? Maybe it's just someone you'd think would look good beside you, smiling at the cameras with. Or."

"Or."

Yeji's lips tilt. "Or someone you wouldn't mind screwing in the bathroom."

Ryujin spins the pen in her fingers and gives Yeji a look that says back off and can you chill out already, in the sort of way it takes years to ferment - the silent understandings, the good-natured naggings, the good-fucking-luck-with-that-buddy's. Yeji knows she's getting on Ryujin's nerves. Knows that has never stopped her before.

"In my defense," Yeji clarifies, "I can count at least a hundred people that would crawl over broken glass to sleep with you and, uh-" She knocks the coffee maker off of its stand and holds it gingerly to her chest like some child, motherly. "-I don't wanna take a bullet for your unintentional chastity, Shin Ryujin."

"First of all, don’t pretend you’re doing me a favor here," she replies. "Second-"

"Can't hurt just asking, right? I could set you up, you know, someone you've never even met - no pre-burnt bridges to maneuver."

There’s a world, and Ryujin imagines it for all of a second, where she stands up and grabs hold of Yeji by her cute little ponytail - if nothing else, just to stop the way it bounces every time she steps - and maybe, she also kisses her on the mouth so hard she stumbles. Or perhaps she could pull that ribbon free of its holdings and unravel it down against Yeji's jaw. Pull a whimper, a tiny little ah that says this was inevitable. Maybe they crash onto her bed. Maybe she gets her fingers sticky with how soaked through the cotton of Yeji's shorts have gotten in those short, heated moments - what a world that would be.

"One of what's-his-name's friends? I’m assuming."

Yeji looks annoyed and proud and beautiful; all at once.

"Yes, and what's-his-name's pillow talk is exceedingly whiny about how my best friend is so incredibly standoffish and abrasive and-"

"Okay. I'll go." Anything to stop the image of Yeji with the comforter pulled up to her tits and hair splayed all over the place; red and flushed. Her lips curling with the curve of the sheets and god -

"Just for an hour?" Ryujin asks.

Yeji finally places the coffee maker back onto its stand.

"I mean, nothing much happens an hour into a birthday party," Yeji reassures. "It'll be fun."

"Uh-huh."

"Trust me."

Ryujin wonders just how far Yeji could go - if she knows that she can snap her fingers together, and Ryujin will be there: ready to do anything.

Ryujin is trying to go to sleep, is how she'll explain it if anyone asks. Though she prays to god no one ever will.

She tries books. And she tries scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. And there's this one guy she kinda-sorta-dated's updates: photos of a vacation to Boracay, which seems nice; his chest is a little more defined, more chiseled than when she was seventeen and kind of fumbling her way around a college boy and his stupid fucking preoccupation with who should be paying for drinks at whatever run down establishment was his pick of the night. Ryujin makes a face at the screen, pursing her lips; there's a girl in the photo - she looks too young for how her ass is falling out the one-piece. To the extent that she makes sure to send an unsolicited meme she's tagged herself in - like "here is my past and here are his balls", and gets a block and a report as a thank you.

It makes her feel good. That's what's most important.

And then, with little other distraction and a decent lack of luck, she picks up the phone.

It rings for a while before the operator comes in and says, "You're at number nine."

"What?"

"The queue. This call has you at number nine."

Ryujin slowly leans up from the pillows and squints into her bedroom.

"Huh."

"Would you still like to be connected, miss?

Ryujin thinks it over for a moment. Of course you're popular, a part of her mind comments, because you've got a voice like gravel-slung honey-gold. She's imagining eight other girls just like her, laying in their bed, panties on their ankles and thumbs covered with spit. All desperate for you. All curled up - one right after the other - with no fucking idea.

"Miss," the operator comes back with.

The line goes quiet - a few beats, but not too uncomfortable a silence. Then she gets a soft little exhale out, saying, "can I leave a callback number?"

"If you like." The operator considers the idea. "I can’t promise whether he’ll call you.”

“No, yeah.” Ryujin curls an arm under her chest and plays a finger against the swell of her breast through her night shirt. Gets lost in her own consideration. “Don't think he would anyway."

A new day is defined by new possibilities, or something or another you read once stitched into a frame; Something you muse over the rim of your coffee, nose-deep in the laptop at the kitchen counter top.

Last night ended a bit unexpectedly - this not considering the couple's awkward fight which took up two-thirds of the evening. Or the girlfriend-slash-fiancée of that guy, which somehow led you to wonder just how old was too old. But as you were logging your final client session of the night a ping came through the employee portal and let you know that someone had left their number with the operator in the hopes you'd call.

You swig back the rest of your coffee, roll your shoulders and shrug. Oh, there are at least a million reasons not to call a number that randomly, offhandedly arrives in the middle of the night and gets patched through a phonesex hot line under the cover of darkness.

The same number could be out there, defacing the wall of a truck stop bathroom, or inked into the skin of a squat prison convict who's got a brow like the horizon. Maybe, it belongs to that married business man that took your personal phone number as his private line and spent all the time bragging how he was going to quit his wife and make a run for it with you - just you - even though you'd rather stab him with a fork than be involved with that kind of psychopathy and are honestly just looking for that extra bump in commissions every time his wife calls to ask the exact same thing.

Your clients call. You talk.

You take the cash.

The point is: there's more fucking deviants out there than there are stars in the sky. You would know; you talk to a new handful every goddamn day.

Yet it doesn't really matter. You're gonna do it. Because you're feeling restless. Because - and it sounds insane - there's at least some probability, no matter how remote, that you will pick up that receiver and punch in a number and the line will connect with the girl who's been on your mind almost constantly for the better half of two months. That you might listen to the dial tone turn into her answering with a genuinely indifferent, "this is Ryujin," or whatever her name actually is -

You're living in a pipe dream. You're probably reaching, actually. And all you know about this woman, is, what? What does it really, factually, truly amount to, the amount you feel you've come to know about her.

You know more about how she prefers to methodically, meticulously begin, then draw out, and finally end a blowjob to someone that ain't you than you do about any detail in her life story, frankly. You're reaching, and you know it.

You pick up the phone and dial.

(It goes straight to voicemail, and get this: that’s her real fucking name.)

Yuna has the audacity to ask, as she slides into the booth, "who do you keep texting?"

Ryujin's eyebrow arches.

The younger girl nods towards where Ryujin's thumbs are practically flying over the keyboard.

"No one." Ryujin puts the phone on her lap and crosses her arms over her chest. Then the words seem to echo through the inside of her skull, so she shakes her head a little, in emphasis. "It's nothing, don't worry about it."

She's right though - and maybe that's the problem. Maybe that's why it's hard to answer.

Chaeryeong washes the shot of whisky down with a swallow of lemon-lime. Her eyes slide open to Ryujin as she wipes at her bottom lip. Then she spikes a finger into Ryujin's ribs.

"Spill."

It's a dangerous order, and she doesn't realize it at first. Chaeryeong's bad ideas have an annoying habit of flinging themselves on Ryujin, like a bomb dropped at low altitude - sudden, quick, and more than enough to shake everything up. Chaeryeong will make Ryujin go out dancing - and then she'll lose her clutch purse. Chaeryeong will remember she started the evening with a scarf - so they need to walk out a whole block or two to find it.

More importantly: Chaeryeong is not a great drunk.

So, of course she spills. She relays her findings, carefully and as deliberately as she can muster.

"Does he have a nice voice?" Chaeryeong asks.

"It's kind of deep?”

Chaeryeong snorts. Apologizes immediately.

"Not... deep. Sultry. I guess. Smooth, easy to hear." Ryujin tells the two across the table.

Yuna whistles low. "Romantic as shit."

“Fuck, I don’t know. In, like a sexy sort of way." Ryujin raises both palms in a vague gesture. She clears her throat at the two pairs of eyes staring back at her as though the words coming out of her mouth belonged to a foreign language. "Uh. Sort of raspy, or something, sometimes, like he's... on the phone a lot, and you know," Ryujin flushes, suddenly caught and wondering where all the confidence went, "yeah."

Yuna's leaning forward, chin in her palm. "I'm having a hard time believing texting is a sort of standard operating procedure."

"Well try a little harder," Ryujin snaps, eyes finding Yuna's and making herself fucking clear.

Chaeryeong has this look about her, she's trying to keep it all in, but then there's her eyes, cinched at the corners and dead-fucking-giveaways. She puts an arm against the table and points at Ryujin with an up-reaching thumb. "This is the cutest shit, like ever, and you two are texting like actual lovers instead of two, apparently rando-stranger fuck buddies, or whatever."

Yuna - for whatever reason - feels at liberty to throw gasoline on the fire. "Does that mean you think he's going to get jealous if you bring some dude along to Lia's birthday?"

Ryujin sucks in a breath; the fact that he'd never - well.

"Ryujin's in love," Yuna adds for dramatic effect, for the sake of being the worst fucking person. She can be so fucking petty. It's a side of her no one ever sees, because she's just so sweet all the time. Like right now, she's doing that smile-smirk thing that gets Chaeryeong giggling against her hand and then coughing into it a second later.

"Jesus christ," Ryujin starts gathering her jacket and purse. "He's- not- this is- God, I'm done." She slips her shoulder under the strap. "Thanks for listening to me sound like a teenager."

"Isn't that just normal for you," Yuna quips back, pulling at her straw until there's only air rushing through the bend of it. "Where are you going?"

"I can't stay here," Ryujin says as if it's obvious, as well as her point, the argument she's trying to make. "Besides, Yeji is gonna want me to get my dress and shit all sorted out."

"Don't fall in love with one of the robot voices at the cross-walk on your way home, or anything!" Yuna laughs out, giving a flippant wave goodbye.

Ryujin lets her eyes roll because sometimes, she hates her friends.

It still throws you for a loop whenever Ryujin pings your phone with a text that says something like:

have you jerked yourself off to exhaustion or is there one more in you for someone like me?

Or,

my roommate is getting pounded through the springs of her mattress, wanna see if you can hear it?

Or,

are you free? I really fucking need to cum. bad.

Each text is something you tuck into yourself. Save and mark and spend all your time in those long-form responses imagining how her face looked when her brain typed out the words for you. You wonder if she's sighing through her fingers or hiding her lips behind a pillow while the heat coils in the pits of her hips.

As time goes by, Ryujin slips a little more. From one text about whatever book or series she was rereading last and another about the sadism of politicians and how people are more likely to agree with what they've heard someone else say than the facts of a given subject, to texts with a few scattered thoughts to strings of sexting that has you cumming into the palm of your hand and through your sheets and in the middle of a dream in which there's no clothes and a pretty fucking filthy proposition.

"How have you been lately," you decide, and consider, briefly, the very strong likelihood this call is gonna send her right through the goddamn roof.

When Ryujin eventually finds herself able to get out: "fine," there's a tell-tale pause, then an even longer pause, that implies she'd definitely rather say anything else. Then she kind of stutters a, "pretty good. Not too bad. All that stuff, I suppose."

And not to say any part of this has felt like routine. Both of you breathing into the end of a telephone and letting your eyes clench tight while you cum all over yourself - imagining everything she told you she wanted you to do to her, how it'd all go: "fucking with my arms grappled behind my back," she'd hum, "head pushed into the bedsheets, you're smothering me, ah- I'd let you cum wherever the fuck you like, but please-" or maybe a bit simpler: "so my thighs are straddling your face?" is about the gist.

A second goes by, another, a third.

"Hang on," you end up having to tell her sometimes, "I need a fucking towel-"

"You really are, huh, jerking off with me- I get you that hot, is what you're telling me? Or is just too much imagining how you'd fuck your way right into my guts through my pretty little pussy? Ah, jesus," the cadence of her voice climbs high before ending up back where it belongs, "Jesus, fuck."

"Can you imagine," is how it'd start, "how good it'd feel? My pussy, or- anywhere, everywhere. I think you'd ruin me for anyone else - you- with how, god-"

You can hear Ryujin shift on the sheets, licking at her bottom lip. Silently cumming. Cumming for you.

"Okay."

"Okay what," Ryujin quietly says back.

The gears turning.

You press your hand into the side of your neck. "Fuck me. Now, in a second. Tell me the last fucking thing in the world you want me to be or do and-"

"Wait."

There's this half-breath. This hmm that almost trips off Ryujin's tongue. Her eyes squinting open to a new thought. You think she's about to be sly. About to surprise you with an offhand fuck yes I'd ride that face like a bus seat; that she might come back with, yes I'll put you right in the middle of the best part of me, god you'll love it, and I promise not to make you cum if you're nice enough not to let your hands wander. But.

It's funny how things are -

"I have a confession," she says, matter-of-factly.

That's not entirely unusual. You've had more of those come through your line in a year than a confessional grate might get in a lifetime. So it doesn't sound like something special to you; Ryujin and you are in this candid don't-ask-don't-tell in regards to payments and the exchange of goods and services, but here you are, still using lines and bits. Practiced.

"In the name of the father, and of the son, and-"

"Funny." Ryujin gets the hint to backtrack. "Uhm, I mean. Remember the roommate I was telling you about?"

You hum a, "maybe."

"Uh," and now the hushed voice from her throat sounds distant, suddenly out of the scope of the receiver, "can I be totally, honestly- just really, extremely honest here, are you- or?"

You stop thinking about the ebbs and flows of her voice, how it dips down then arches up a little. Because now her voice has become something that is nervous, bordering on uneasy. So you stop, take stock and hold on. You weren't expecting a voice of worry or tension, or not at least while she wasn't thrown back into her bed and rubbing furiously at the ache between her legs.

"Yeah, of course," you offer her up.

"This is so embarrassing," she's saying, and some part of you feels ready to sink - you haven't the faintest idea for what, but there is something. Your chest clenches.

You can't help the worry and reply: "Okay, um. I mean- yeah. Me too, I can admit I feel a bit- and you can, y'know, be a little-"

"I'm not straight," she says finally, with a little quiver of her voice right at the tail end.

A blink comes, another - there's nothing coming out of you and you have no idea why that should be at all difficult, so the silence grows long. A new sort of awkward; the kind that you find out isn't just the rush of cum cooling in a pair of sweat-damp underwear. No - this is embarrassment, the kind that taints you.

"What?" You exhale a strained laugh, almost too-bright. "Are you- is this some sort of-?"

"Nope, no, this is crazy, sorry." She laughs. "Sorry."

"You certainly had me fooled." You sit up straighter in your bed, resting elbows on your knees. The moon is filtering through the windowsill and bathing the room in blue - casting light all the wrong ways. Making your own heart beat just a little too fast. "Fuck, um. Can I ask a personal question?"

"Sure." Her voice sounds uncharacteristically soft.

"What are you into?" and you as soon as you ask, you're laughing - because you've heard Ryujin wax lyrical for weeks, pontificate about every manner and way she'd take a cock between her hands, lips, fingers. Every. Single. Place, she wants one in - and now you can't believe this is what you went with: "I mean, like girls?"

"It's probably safe to assume I have some, y'know- degree of- yeah."

You chuckle a bit. The stiffness in your shoulders settling out.

"I've been in love, I realize - boy, with my roommate - for a while."

It's said with a sad laugh - as if this were a little shameful. Some deep, dark secret no one could ever be privy to; some stain on her soul that might wash out only after one final scrubbing with dish detergent and the cruelest bristles. A thing that keeps her up at night -

“Not the roommate, by the way, who we listen to get fucking railed like she’s on-demand pornography every weekend. Just to be clear."

"Good, jesus, that'd be fucking something."

Ryujin sounds more cheerful when her voice comes back through the line, "right?"

You wipe the perspiration of your top lip. You laugh nervously at this girl admitting to being in love over the phone - a stranger, truly, in all ways - to some fucked up audio-fetish sex line personality. And now - the fuck's wrong with you?

"Are you mad?" she asks, and some part of you is wrung. A small string of tension twisting so hard inside your gut, you're losing touch.

"No," you let her know. "No, not at all."

And that is honest. This is honest. There's this itching little scratch all over the insides of your skin that seems intent on driving a fucking wedge. Right at the center of your chest, tearing you apart. It feels as you've lost - not an object, not a material. Not an idea, nor a concept - but a feeling, that for once, was distinctly, overwhelmingly yours, without your wanting, or permission, or comprehension.

Ryujin sighs, this elongated relief coming in. She sinks back against the headboard.

She tells you everything. How Yeji smiles, and it's like the whole fucking room has gone up in lights, just from her and her alone. How there is nothing that she'd rather spend all her days around. She talks and you sit there, silent and listening. She talks about her. Her name and everything Yeji does and everything she wants.

The more you listen, you realize it's all real; she's not confused, or mistaken, or out to play a game or convince herself of something she believes is inherently untrue. She's not frustrated, or longing. She doesn't have this stomach-rolling pit of anxiety digging a cavern at her center because she just can't go through the rest of her life, living a life like everyone else. Not ever.

Because, all you really notice is-

She loves Yeji. The quiet kind. And she's sitting there, legs curled under her ass, crying. Not sad, or frightened, or wounded, just this beautiful sort of awed: it's the kind that only someone who is too inexperienced at crying should have. Where you just-

Look away.

"I'm not taking my phone into the bath with me," is the last thing she says to you, tears flooding out in her last couple words, before you can only offer her a meek: "anytime, Ryujin, I'm here."

(Four, five weeks go by in the blink of an eye. A month where you figure it's best to let her text or call or make it clear she wants your voice.

She never does.)

Lia is taking her sweet time to apply concealer over the cut Ryujin earned herself trying to get a stupid thing off a shelf - that's how low and unreasonable her tolerance for anything mildly inconvenient is.

"That fucking hurts," Ryujin tells her, wincing.

Lia ignores her.

She keeps on dabbing at the spot on her temple with the makeup brush until there isn't any trace of bruising, or where the jagged scar of a cut ends and skin begins, not anymore. At this point, she has gotten better, has developed a kind of surgeon's eye: zeroing in and unblinking, until every inch of damage is looking like Ryujin did when she was brought into this world -

(which is not perfect, but what it ought to look like, all things considered.)

Lia holds her hands in place on either side of Ryujin's head. "Stay."

It takes less than five minutes, and during those, Yuna just offers from around the bathroom door, "Ryujin, sweetheart, you’re looking hot tonight."

There's nothing more Ryujin wants to do than set the girl straight - the girl can't not keep a chirp to herself, for once in her fucking life. Because this flimsy slip of a dress around her middle feels too tight, the air choked out of her lungs if she shifts her weight onto the wrong foot. The hem rides way too fucking high up her thighs. So, if anyone didn't want a good long look at her ass tonight, they better come up with a plan B if she has to so much as approach a staircase.

"Have I ever not," she bites.

Yuna snorts.

And luckily for Ryujin, Lia feels the same way:

"Yuna, would it kill you to find something productive to do with your time?"

Yuna opens her mouth like she has something to say (she usually does) before retreating further away, the edge of her hair disappearing around the doorway. Then Ryujin's grinning - eyes taking in how Lia glowers a bit back, silently judging the stupidity in Ryujin's expression and also, admiring how good the girl looks. "Not bad, though, really."

Lia tells her with an underhanded wave of the brush and a wink: "historically, you do always get laid on my birthday, remember?"

Ryujin jerks a little, and the scar above her eye throbs into Lia's thumb. "Thanks?"

The party is miserable, but it's not Lia's fault. It's not really Yeji's fault either. They tried, that's really all she can say for them - her and her permanent-plus-one whose face Ryujin wants to both claw at and kiss until it’s swollen-

What she really can't wrap her mind around, though, is the guy sitting right fucking beside her. The idiot.

"Really, I'm telling you," her date - who is about 3.5 out of five stars at best and not so much handsome or hot as he is 'okay in a pinch' - grins up at her with the smarmiest of smiles, "if you'd just have taken me up on dinner, I would've spent all our time talking about you. We’d figure out how to enjoy ourselves."

"Likely story."

This fuckwad has the absolute goddamn gall to look wounded when his arm starts circling its way around the space where her dress is suffocating her at the waist, and Ryujin starts to shimmy her way out of hot water - again. God, she thinks, god save me-

"I think," she manages with a stilted grin, "I'm going to make myself useful- drinks, no?"

When he leans forward to grab her hand, it's only so she doesn't leave.

"You're not going to ask for my order?" he presses. The only reason Ryujin hasn't knocked out a couple of his front teeth is because Lia would be the one hearing Yeji whine about cleaning up the fucking mess.

"Just scotch. Neat."

Ryujin's a natural when it comes to smiling fake; it's part of her goddamned job. "Of course," she says, like she's not absolutely loathing him.

"Try the oakier, single-barrel variety, alright," he explains, because what's hotter than a man who's an expert in alcohol and being an insufferable tool? Nothing of course. She hopes he knocks back a few too many and his liver explodes - the painless way out. If god would ever fucking allow it.

She barely manages a half-strangled laugh over the blare of the music before he finally releases her wrist.

The absolute fucking prick.

Here's something Ryujin never thought she'd come to appreciate:

Being alone.

It's just her and the breeze through the open doors of the rooftop garden, which is something every bit as refreshing as it is teeth-chatteringly cold. The wind picks up in gusts and billows, until it starts nipping up the fabric around her knees, like it's any one of the drunk, stumbling guests milling about and looking for a noncommittal lay.

Her left foot slips a step outwards, the uncomfortably tall heel bouncing on the edge of her toe and tapping a tune against the brick. Ryujin slouches on the railing that encapsulates the entire terrace, arms pressed over it, hands folded one-over the other - letting the night sky caress her bare shoulders with its wind-brushed kisses. This, is okay. It's better.

Maybe not ideal, but better.

And all it really took was a few fucking moments where she isn't smiling with pursed, stressed lips; where the pressure in her jaw finally settles out enough for the knot in the back of her teeth to fall loose and for her mouth to actually feel, y'know - good.

Not forced, is what. Not fake, or not real, or whatever-

Ryujin almost fishes her phone from her clutch. Almost. Almost texts to tell you that: this fucking night, like all the others in the past month or two or year, has left her feeling particularly done for, and yeah, no, it isn't helping that she'd take whatever would be the alternative if it meant a face like yours came in handy to lean against, or your shoulder or thigh to use. Like some pillow - that's all.

And you are, like. An option. But not, she sighs out, exactly the right one.

An errant chill shudders through her and down her spine.

"Shin Ryujin."

She'd recognize the tilt of that voice anywhere; even if her ears were pounding and her head filled with static and noise, she'd be able to place Yeji at the end of the world. The truth is easy to see, if only Yeji knew where to look: the corners of Ryujin's eyes screw up tight for a second, an immeasurably long time, in order to not do what they wanted. What it would mean.

She does anyway. "I'd hug you," Ryujin throws behind her with an airy sigh, "but I know where you've been."

Yeji's jaw has set at this point; a twist is still in her lip and she lets out this dry, half-laugh, half-not sound - which is the thing that drives Ryujin a little crazy. Yeji turns her attention from the concrete ground, to Ryujin's profile, her body leaning forward, toes tipping in: "sometimes I wonder if my partner in crime can breathe without saying something incendiary."

"Nope." Ryujin offers no further response or follow-up. Instead, the quiet gush of air makes itself the center of attention and a victim of silence.

"Sorry about-"

"Don't be. Don't give it a second thought." Ryujin stretches, leaning a little over the railing. Her fingers arch before her. Her words sounding the slightest bit cold, "can't win 'em all, right?"

Yeji's eyebrows pull together. "That's not how this was supposed-"

"God, Yeji." Ryujin smiles. Yeji hates that she never knows what that means. "I'm trying, really, I am, but you know - I really, I have tried my best, so can we just lay it to rest?"

Yeji leans over the railing - the fucking moon reflecting in these lustrous pools where her eyes go darker than night - and doesn't say anything for the longest moment. Ryujin chews her tongue, and tries to look as interested in the void of stars and night clouds as possible.

"Fuck's going on with you, lately?"

Ryujin just laughs back.

"Really," and the last word dips in a groan. It's almost childishly tragic how petulantly she insists, "talk to me."

But Ryujin has nothing else to say - no witty, scathing remarks. No deadpan observations or funny asides, not even a morose comment to throw back. There are times and moments and fucking periods of her day where she'd happily chew glass if it meant that Yeji would sit there a second longer, be beside her for a while and smile, just smile at only her, once - for once.

Her only response is the worst kind of lie, this soft: "really nothing."

The moment where it slips and hangs between them, when it lingers the longest -

She could reach out, a hand on her thigh, the small of her back, if she could only reach. And Yeji, she'd listen to her, for once. She'd really, genuinely hear what Ryujin says; like she can see it, plain as day, everything there's in Ryujin's eyes, the thoughts inside her head, written on her goddamn face and across the open night air in neon:

I love you. I'm in love with you, you're too close to me.

The seconds pass. They tick, they stretch and grow thin. Yeji looks at Ryujin expectantly, and Ryujin knows. It is something like being put on the spot and called in. Something like a long, pained whimper caught somewhere in her throat.

She is very much still, unmoving, and feeling nothing at all.

Maybe she can blame the alcohol, the dark, the series of events that saw her hiding away behind a bunch of decorative trees and fighting for breath where the wind blows a little cooler. She can pretend like the stars aren't absent above her, and it doesn't hurt a goddamn bit.

“Yeji, I-” She licks at her lip, ready, willing-

Ryujin grabs at her waist with a hand. Her knuckles white around the black of the railing. And with no further fanfare, she spits it out like venom, with no small measure of shame or guilt or worry for how Yeji will take it - or worse: how she herself would react in the wake of admitting it aloud -

“I love you,” Ryujin says, and it pops out of her mouth as neatly as it had the first thousand times practicing alone in her car.

A blink, and another. The look on Yeji's face is hard and blank, as if she'd understood every syllable, but didn't hear it at all - maybe. Her gaze drops, it trails a path along the long line of Ryujin's pale neck. Of the two ways it could ever go in her head, stuck on loop for as long as she can remember, Ryujin had never considered that Yeji might turn this still and vacant. A sudden feeling, a pull or a grip, starts in the lowest part of Ryujin's guts.

"And not-," she hears her own voice falter, "like-"

Then - it's on the back of Ryujin's head and in her hair, a hand curled at the base of her skull and pulling her head a little downward and her, until their foreheads meet. And before she has a chance to walk it back - to stuff it down where it came from and seal the bottle tight - before she can clench her eyes, shake her head, and spit out anything else like the fact that there was not much that had to change, between them -

Yeji just says plainly: "Yeah, hun. Love you too."

And it's shockingly, the most painful thing - that she just squeezes her hand and pats her back like it's all they could ever be. Without even the wherewithal to reject her properly; to tell her something like "don't ever say that again, god," or "oh shit- Ryujin. Sorry. So, no," or at least to spit back with a scathing laugh: "welcome to the fucking party," like what she always does.

"Yeah." Yeji clears her throat quietly and starts retreating back from the brink - with no apparent aim but to pull away as she draws herself away from the warmth of Ryujin's space, "uh, don't forget to say hello to some of the staffers before they go home, okay?"

Ryujin is left with nothing but the air that follows Yeji's outline; left with her heart sinking into the depths of the night; left trying to make sense of the bitter sting ripping her chest in two.

Left with her own hopelessness - the pining - when Yeji walks away.

To be lonely, to be alone; neither are the same.

And she hates knowing she is so incredibly both.

The worst part is she knows how it looks.

Her pace just on the verge of unsteady, the way her feet come up from the ground: Left foot, the right. The other. Back and back and forth again, faster and then slower and- fuck.

A damsel, severely distressed.

She sits down on the curb. She wants to cry, but even just the way she looks, carrying her heels and struggling with this fucking dress she wishes she'd never bothered with at all - oh, the tabloids would be sure every detail gets pinned under all the wrong lights. A breakdown would only serve to confirm all the right things; it would paint a story for anyone who cares enough to glean from her crestfallen posture and red cheeks that she is yes, a little broken, and that everyone wants to be loved and she's no different - and -

She sucks a breath. This time, when her tears fall, it's a quick, perfunctory action, no show in it.

Her palms rub her face - and she wipes, and wipes, and wipes - smearing at the foundation under her eyes before she takes a long drag of night air. Deep from her core, filling up her lungs until she can't hold anymore. Until it hurts and stings the backs of her ribs - it's enough for a single, fleeting moment. The street is mostly empty; an occasional car will speed by every now and then and it's those few and far between intervals that hurt most, that nearly shatter her: if she can barely do this, alone, how can she possibly be enough for anyone?

Ryujin’s smiling only to hold back her tears, and it fucking stings. She flicks hurriedly past the lock screen of her phone and swipes through the message stream with blurry eyes - there’s a whole host of people that want to know where the fuck she went, if she's safe, why she up and vanished the moment Yeji couldn't keep an eye on her. And well. The girl sighs.

Finds your name in her contacts and puts her thumb right beside it.

It rings exactly three times, and she hates the number. She hates how many things can be associated with that number in those seconds alone.

Four, the pause where you must have had the opportunity, but didn't decide to pick up - just leave it be. Then five - Ryujin is definitely no longer looking forward to any of this.

Six: it stops.

There's this crackle, and through the night -

"Just what brings you here, stranger?"

For an indistinct amount of time, Ryujin drifts in the whirlpool current of that question; it sinks her deeper, into the currents of your voice and the tone and what it's suggesting and demanding from her. All the things your voice is giving her permission to ask of and with and-

Until finally she answers back: "do you ever just, like, wish," a shallow pause for the hitch in her breath, "something, someone was a little more for you- or to- with you-"

The swell of a smile through the receiver; and you can't help your laugh, soft.

"Sometimes," is what you say, "that's just human, don't you think?"

She doesn't understand how something like love or life or desire should be a universal trait.

"Uh, maybe," she shrugs out, and thinks.

"It's pretty normal," you tell her.

Quiet, as if you were right in front of her.

"Look," you start, and you can hear how she sniffs her nose and swipes the pad of her hand right along the side of it, to catch anything stupid and stupid sounding leaking down to her upper lip. "You don't have to. Let's just hang out. Tell me anything."

And for once, she does.

She talks.

(The whole story.

From the first time Ryujin realizes the world is never going to be fair - that she shouldn't have to look at herself like she's unlovable because she's seen her friends be held as though they are - or at Yeji like she's completely unattainable or somehow, unlovable, and that someone as amazing as Yeji should have been loved from the moment she was born.

The rest comes through as fragments: the truth of her career. Yeji.

The balcony, the breeze, the bitter-fucking-disappointment.

And what came of that -

When Ryujin isn't a million and one words per minute, it feels, almost, it feels - she'd swear there was less noise in her own head: this thrumming in her brain has settled out; the walls around her and the echo coming off of them - the booming and pulsing - it's, gone.

Because even though there was an indistinct shape for where she had landed, in the aftermath, and nothing much had changed - all that did. You listen, and that alone makes it so you're both exactly where you’re supposed to be, even if this, tonight - you are unsure, if it will actually fix anything - if anything needs fixing at all.)

#ryujin smut #itzy smut #itzy ryujin smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember

1K notes · View notes

bunnysbrainrot · 7 months

Text

Size Matters

Kinktober Prompt: Size kink

Relationship: Sam Winchester x Reader

Content: Explicit sexual scenes, oral (f receiving), creampie (wrap it up, kids), dirty talk, rough sex, dom Sam, fluffy/funny aftercare (it’s crucial)

Summary: Your plan for making the boys dinner goes awry, leaving you alone with Sam in his bedroom, and coming to terms with a kink that only Sam Winchester can fulfill.

A/N: 🤭

"C'mon,' you strain, reaching for a high shelf in the cabinet. Apparently Sam and Dean didn't find a need for a stepladder in the bunker. Your calves screech in protest as you reach for a jar of pasta sauce, your fingers brush the bottle, but not enough purchase to grab it.

A long arm reaches above your head, grabbing the sauce in a large, familiar hand. Sam hands you the jar with a smile.

You took it from his hands and chide, "Not everyone's as vertically gifted as you and your brother, you know. Y'could be more inclusive and invest in a stepstool."

He leans against the counter you'd been setting ingredients on. Sam's eyes scan over your form as you open the pasta sauce.

"You know you can ask us for help, right?"

"I was gonna make dinner for us, I didn't want to make you guys help me," you reply Sam stands fully now and looks over your shoulder. You crane your neck to look up at him, "How's the weather up there?"

Sam chuckles lightly, "You know, I could tease you about your height. It'd be pretty easy."

You turn back to the counter and place freshly-washed vegetables on a cutting board. Unsheathing a knife from the knife block, you keep conversation with Sam.

"I don't have a problem with being short," you bump your hip sideways into Sam's leg. He does the same to you, except the direct strike in the ribs knocks you off balance, stumbling over.

He's able to snatch you up to safety before you bust your ass on the floor. Now cradled in Sam's arms, a rush of comfort comes over you in his stable grip. His hands catch your waist, with his long fingers spreading broad across your torso. Fuck, together they could probably go around most of your waist, and those fingers...

You snap out of your stupor to find Sam smiling down at you. His eyes linger on yours long enough for your mind to wander, wondering who would lean in first. Stolen glances at each other's lips, hitched breath, low-lidded eyes, it was a perfect concoction for Sam to kiss you.

Beneath him, you're so delicate in his arms, as if you'll break if he isn't careful. It was in his own reflexes to catch you, but the feelings that rushed through him afterwards were something deeper. Almost instinctive that in any moment with you like this, hushed and ogling, would lead to something more. Forget dinner, he thought, he could just order something for delivery.

At least, after he's done with you.

"Sam," you whisper. Maybe you hadn't been paying attention, but his face is now just inches from your own.

He finds himself leaned over further, close enough to share the same air, breaths mixing.

You smile nervously, and to your relief Sam gives one of his own. But he doesn't break away - doesn't help you to your feet to cut vegetables for the dinner you were kindly making for him. It couldn't matter much now that he's holding you like this.

"Sorry," he replies, barely audible. You wave your hands in dismissal and place them around his neck. The air shifts as the movement brings you ever closer, your lips no more than three inches away from Sam's.

"It's okay," you whisper. Soft, hazel eyes wander over your face and flicker to your lips, seemingly stuck there until Sam takes a risk he'd been waiting for.

Relief washes over you when his lips meet yours. After all this time, it turns out that he had the guts to break this tension, and everything that had been bottled up could now overflow. You let a deep hunger overtake your body, purely going on instinct as Sam embraces you. Sam sighs into your kiss and swallows a moan it drew from your throat, whiny and eager.

Sam nips at your bottom lip, tugging at it tentatively with his teeth. You do the same in response, only harder. Testing the waters. Usually a dangerous game, especially with a Winchester.

Your hands had made their way to his broad shoulders - his lean muscles flexing and stretching as he moves his hands over you, meandering from your waist, spanning from your shoulder blades to the top of your ass. His fingers toy with the fabric of your clothes, like he was trying to unwrap a present too early and didn't want to rip the packaging.

“Not here,” Sam says, his words slurring like a love-drunk fool, “Can’t do this here.”

He breaks the kiss and leaves you panting for more; there's a new darkness in his stare, one that makes you shudder. You give him a smile, wiggling in his grip to the pasta sauce jar, and shut it closed.

“What about dinner?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “You seem like you have other plans.”

He was caught red handed, but you weren’t declining the advances. If anything you spurred them on as much as he did.

Sam slowly releases you from his grip, setting you stably on your feet. Not once have his eyes left you, even if you weren’t paying attention - Sam was set on this goal, you’d given him the ‘yes’ he needed, and he intended to make good on his commitment.

Patience was wearing thin for Sam. He ogles at the sight of you bent at the waist, putting the pasta sauce and veggies back in the fridge. The curve of your ass sucks him in whole, as if there were nothing else in the room.

A hand settles on your ass from behind, cupping and kneading gently. You let out a shuddering exhale before standing and turning to Sam.

The softness of your voice surprises you, “Where do you want me?”

The ball was in his court. Sam looks you over coolly, his hands kept to themselves in his pants pockets. Your eyes drift lower and pause on the large bulge in Sam’s pants, straining slightly against his thick jeans.

“My bedroom,” he said plainly.

—

There was little time to brace yourself for Sam’s next move. You're pressed against the wall before you can protest, although you wouldn’t dare object to this.

Sam grips the backs of your thighs and lifts you up, wedging your hips with his own, keeping you steady. A new hardness presses against your core as Sam juts his hips into you, pure instinct taking over his movements. His cock twitches in his jeans - he needs to watch his cock sink into you, to watch your face contort in bliss when he bottoms out in your pussy.

There was nothing small about Sam Winchester - he's a Goliath of a man, towering over you at any given time, with thick broad muscles that send a rushing heat to your sex. If your intrusive thoughts ever won, you were sure he could toss you around like it was nothing.

But now, you didn’t have much choice but to stay pinned to the wall, where you and Sam both grind your hips desperately, letting out lilted moans and grunts against each other’s skin.

The friction on your swelling clit was rough and warm, with Sam's cock perfectly nestled atop your drenched slit. Each rough push shot pleasure through your core, but it wasn’t enough for your aching cunt.

“If you need me to stop, you tell me, okay?” he emphasized. You shook your head at him. You wouldn’t break so easily, but if anyone were to shatter you apart, it could happily be Sam.

Your lips found his ear, after staining yourself up his long torso, “I’m not gonna break that easily, don’t worry.”

“Oh, yeah?” his voice deepened as his lips found your neck, eagerly nipping at your skin and making you whine. "Let's test that theory."

You gripped the hem of your shirt and shimmied it over your head, casting it to the floor carelessly.

Sam’s eyes trail over your chest, still beautifully bound by your bra. Their softness served as an undeniable invitation for his mouth to lower. He dips his head to greedily nip and suckle at the supple skin, leaving red and purple splotches in his wake.

You grip at his hair, urgently tugging him closer, as if the direct contact could never be enough to satisfy. Each of your soft moans is echoed with a low groan from Sam’s chest. He had doubled over, completely encapsulating you in his clean scent, now thick with a lustful musk.

Two fingers found the band of your bra, unclipping it with the utmost ease, and cast it to the floor with your shirt. Through panting breaths, Sam works off his shirt, though his lips have no hesitation to return to your exposed chest, and found a pebbled nipple between his teeth, rolling and biting to bring out a symphony of moans from the both of you.

Your hands lunged for the waistband of your pants. Sam took notice and sighs happily against your skin, his warm breath like a gentle wave across everything you'd exposed to him. Above you, Sam grew more unhinged with each passing second, grabbing and biting and kneading your flesh like a man starved.

Sam's lips capture yours once more in a tangle of tongues and teeth, exploring one another as if it was your only chance to do so. His tongue grazed the roof of your mouth, swallowing a deep moan that erupts from deep within your chest. He assesses your position and grows frustrated. It would be difficult to remove your, or his, pants without risking dropping you to the floor.

As quickly as you'd been slammed into the wall, Sam tosses you onto his bed, but stays standing at its foot, his hands reaching for his belt buckle. All else in the room vanished as you watch him remove the thick denim, shoving it down his legs to the floor. His cock strained against his boxers, throbbing and twitching to be free.

"Those," Sam nodded his head to your pants, "off."

The sudden dominance springs you into action. Your hands fly to your waistband and wiggle them off of your hips, down your thighs, and kick them away. Your soaked panties act as your final barrier, barring you from what you so badly needed.

Sam returns to his hunched position over you, letting his hands rove over your exposed thighs and ass, pawing at you greedily. You reach down to the band of his boxers, and slip your fingers under the elastic, inching them down until you felt a resistance against it - Sam's cock fights against the removal, straining your short arms until Sam reaches down to aid you.

The head of his cock springs up to smack against your covered core. You gasp softly at its warmth, your neglected cunt tightens around nothing of substance, an empty hole aching to be filled with something substantial.

"Feel." This was Sam's only order as he tugs your hand down to his length, coaxing you to wrap your small fingers around the middle of his shaft.

He's thick and warm against your palm, with a thick vein creeping up its underside to the tip. Your mouth waters at the way his cock twitches eagerly in your hand, and you slowly begin to pump along his length, making Sam hiss through his teeth.

Sam's voice is lower than you'd ever heard; it sends a heat directly to your teased pussy, now bracing against the base of Sam's cock. Its length covers most of your abdomen, casting your body in its silhouette in the dim lamplight of the room.

"Jesus..." he remarks wistfully, trailing a free hand up to his tip, pressing into the soft flesh of your belly.

Beneath him like this, Sam can finally see the scale of his cock to your insides, mapping out precisely where he'll settle inside of you. You whine softly as his cock drags another stroke over your soaked folds - the abrasion from your underwear was no longer tantalizing, but rather a nuisance.

His breathing becomes ragged, "I need to taste you."

The words shudder through you as Sam's lips work through the valley of your breasts, showering kisses along your middle, and finally he settles between your thighs. Sam places a kiss atop your clit, still kept out of sight by your soaked panties. Two fingers hook into the waistband and tug downward, sliding the soiled garment off of your shaky legs and to the floor behind him.

Cold air strikes your slit as Sam pries it open with two thick fingers, teasing at your aching hole, spreading the wetness around your cunt.

"Are you always this wet when you think about me?" his voice tremors through you. You nod quietly and hold your breath as Sam's head dips lower. All you can see is his rich brown hair cascading over your belly before warmth spread through your core, leaving you moaning at his first touch.

With the way his tongue teased at your clit, Sam may as well have set you ablaze. Your skin radiated a warmth unlike no other, rolling in waves as the cold of the air shocked your most sensitive areas.

"Sam," you whine, carding your fingers through his soft locks. You tug on him gently to push him further.

He pays no mind to your plea, and instead wraps his toned arms under your thighs, pulling your pussy flush against his thick tongue. It flicks your clit perfectly, and pairs with his lips as he suckles on the sweet bundle of nerves.

The taste of you makes Sam groan, his cock straining against the mattress beneath him. Above him, your moans and cries are a siren song, calling him to the bottomless sea of his desire. He pictures what lies ahead - you, sprawled on the bed, blissed out from his tongue and cock, sated and sleepy from a relentless pounding.

That image is pasted in his mind as he laps at your cunt, occasionally dipping his tongue into your tight entrance, and tasting your innermost parts. You arch your back at his touch, sighing his name like a prayer. His restless tongue toys with your hardening clit as pressure builds in your belly.

Sam creates a rhythm on your clit that sends you unfurling under his touch, mewling and whining and moaning slurred versions of Sam and please and need you. But he refuses to give more. Not until he can taste your release directly on his tongue.

The tightness in your belly snaps, breaking you apart until you're crying Sam's name against your hand, clasped firmly against your mouth. His tongue lolls over your clit even still, skyrocketing the shockwaves of the orgasm and making you whimper. Your slick coats his tongue and fills Sam's senses. All there is is you, your sounds, and your delicious cunt.

"Fuck," mumbles Sam, his voice reverberating through your convulsing sex, clamping down onto nothing.

You whine in response. All thought and sense had escaped your mind, now shattered and cast off to a void in the back of your mind. Sam laps up your juices and swallows, savoring every last drop your body had to offer.

The cold air of the room kisses your exposed cunt as Sam rises to his knees, his heavy cock bobbing above your abdomen.

"So small," he remarks, lining his cock over your stomach and admiring just how much of your body he'd overtake.

You'd surely be sore for days afterward, which sent a flush of pride through his chest. His cock ached to carve you hollow - to leave you gaping after a thorough fucking, to shape your pussy perfectly for him.

His hips rear back as he positions himself with your wet hole, shining with your slick, beckoning him inside. Sam's eyes meet yours when he notches the head of his cock past your entrance, surveying your expressions as he slowly filled you out. The girth of his cock could practically split you down your middle, stretching your little pussy to wrap perfectly around his shaft.

"God, you're so fuckin' tight," Sam groans, ogling at his own cock as it spread your pussy open. His hands press against the backs of your thighs and push them toward your chest, angling himself so the both of you could share the view.

He sighs, "Look at that - such a big cock, stretching out your tiny pussy, just for me."

Astonishment, teasing, and lust filled his tone, and something else. Something more primal that has your walls fluttering around Sam's cock.

You gape at the sight of his cock entering you, and you finally come to terms with exactly just how big he is. Your pussy is stretched blissfully wide, swallowing his length with earnest. Sam slams his hips and strikes deep, the head of his cock brushing against your cervix.

Each thrust is harsher than the last and all you can do is stare at the brutality your pussy is being subjected to. You cry out as Sam's cock crashes into you, every time, without fail.

At this point, there's no hiding the reality of what's behind Sam's bedroom door. If Dean, or anyone else, heard you, let them. Bliss overcomes your senses and dulls all rationality in your muddled mind.

There is nothing else that matters - just the overwhelming size of Sam Winchester and his remarkable cock.

He whispers your name like a summons, meeting his eyes with yours as he presses your body into the mattress. A hand presses into your tummy. Sam gasps softly and takes your hand to replace his own.

"Feel that?" his purrs, pressing onto your hand to deliver some pressure. As he thrusts in you can feel a shift in your insides, until you feel a firm strike of the head of his cock against you palm.

You look to him with wide eyes and find a wicked smile plastered on his face.

Sam crouches over you, enveloping you with his large size, encasing your body with his. He leans toward your ear, "Can you feel it up here, baby? Because I can. I can feel how tiny your cunt is before I go in and stretch it out."

He pushes deeper, to let you really feel it, "I can feel how you try to fit me, and how just tight you're getting, 'cause you're gonna cum, aren't you?"

A dumb nod follows his question, making his grin widen across his lips. No words form on your lips, only shaky wanton moans reply to his commentary.

"I know, sweetheart, feels good," Sam coos, slowing down his movements to draw out a raw cry from your throat. His cock drags through your walls until its head is all that remains, and slams in harshly.

Your cry is on the verge of a scream, but Sam does not relent. There is no plea to stop or slow down, because this is all you'd been dreaming of - to feel a comforting helplessness under someone far larger, to be at their disposal and usage.

A growl leaves his throat, "So fucking small... I bet you feel like you could break, huh? With my cock this deep inside you, your little pussy can barely take any more, can it?"

Your walls clench around him in reply, pulling Sam in deeper until his balls slap against your ass, now pairing with the obscene squelching of your abused pussy.

Between the lilting moans and quieted pleas from your perfect mouth, Sam issn't sure how much longer he can last. He vows to himself that he will not give in to it yet, not until he feels it. He needs to feel the way you wrap around his cock when you cum.

He needs to be the reason you finish, this time and each orgasm after.

"You've been waiting for this. You've wanted this the whole time - someone big and strong to pound your little pussy 'til you can't stand. Because you want a thick cock splitting you open." Sam stammers through the last few words - his own comments are bringing him closer to the brink, but you've already reached yours.

You shudder around him harshly as your orgasm hits you full-force, leaving you no room to ride it out as Sam's pace quickens. His breath hitches at the sensations flowing through his throbbing length - he hisses when you clench around his sensitive tip, leaving his gasping as he fucks you faster. Harder. Deeper.

His cock plunges into your cunt, hitting that same spot in your tummy as he mentioned before. Sam's hand presses against your abdomen, adding a glorious pressure that has you climaxing again in a matter or seconds.

"Thaaaat's it, attagirl," he encourages. "Such a tight little cunt, but she takes me so well."

The words flow through you like fire, sending you over the brink once again and leaving you whimpering beneath him. Sam smirks, knowing he's doing his job right, he has you exactly where he wants you, pinned, helpless, and impossibly full.

"Please... S-Sam," you whisper.

He laughs, pounding you so roughly you can barely brace for the slam against your cervix, "Can't handle it, can you, baby? I thought you said you don't break easily."

Your soft cries reach his ears as you slip into that thoughtless void of your mind, moaning with each strike.

Sam's lips brush over the shell of your ear, "You think you're so strong, but I'll break you. I'll have your cunt so bruised you can't think about anything else - only me, because this pussy is mine, do you understand?"

A reply doesn't come, only the sounds of your moans fill his ears. Sam delivers a harsh slap to your ass, thrusting his cock as deep as he could manage. You let out a long moan but still don't reply.

"Who's pussy is this?"

The words form on your lips and fall out feebly, "Y-yours."

He kisses your forehead, but does not let his hips falter, "That's right, angel. All mine."

Pressure builds in his abdomen, his balls growing tight as his own release crept up from behind. Sam nips at your earlobe, his words clang through you with a primal desire.

"And since this pussy's mine, I'm going to fill it."

The swift relentless pace resumes, crashing into your hips to verge on soreness, your tight cunt still wrapping perfectly around him, and Sam's name falling past your slacked mouth. Sam's eyes screw shut as his own orgasm finally approaches, and his cock begins to twitch.

He unsheathes his cock from your warm walls, aiming directly at your now gaping pussy. Sam pumps himself fervently as his cum spurts from his cock, right into your stretched hole. You stare in awe as his cum seeps into your cunt, the angle of your hips inviting it all in.

Sam hisses, "Keep it all in there."

You pant as you try to recover yourself, but Sam plunges his cock into you again, making you let out a low, drawn-out moan. He strikes as deeply as before, his movements are urgent, borderline predatory, insistent to have you bred nicely.

"Keep it in there, and don't you dare fucking waste it."

His movements start to slow - the thrusts are languid and gentle until Sam finally pulls himself out of your abused pussy. He grips your thighs and lowers them until you can finally breathe freely again, gasping in the cool, refreshing air.

"There you go. Deep breaths, honey," Sam coaxes, running his hands along your sore hips, massaging gently into the aching flesh. You do as you're advised and calm your breathing, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. Sam did the same until he slumped into the mattress next to you, groaning into the sheets.

You smile lazily at him, "You okay over there?"

Sam nods into the bed, still letting out a low groan, "Y'fuckin' drained me."

Pride wells in your chest. You giggle at him, earning you a playful slap on your thigh. Your giggle turns into a hearty laugh before you nestle next to Sam, eyes fluttering shut with fatigue. He takes notice and nudges you.

"Bathroom, no UTI's for us today."

You retort, "Sam, I don't think I can even walk properly right now."

He shifts and rises from the bed, scooping you into his arms and lifting you to his chest. Your laughs echo around the room as Sam Winchester takes you to the bathroom, ever the gentleman.

Hi! Thank you all for your patience as i get out of my lil' brain funk. I hope you enjoyed!

If you liked this fic, reblog to show others! Who cares if we're depraved little animals?? don't you just wanna go apeshit???

anyways ily, and i hope this fic gets the love it needs cause i had a wonderful time writing it >:3

#supernatural #spnfandom #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural smut #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #kinktober #bunny writes

3K notes · View notes

beesarekindaswag · 3 months

Text

Prompt : The Mean Girls of Wayne Enterprises

Hear me out…. Mean Girls but make it DCxDP.

The public personas that the bats present, modeled after “Brucie” Wayne are the perfect templates for Mean Girls shenanigans.

Imagine : Our favourite ghost boy has decided to venture out into the world after making sure that Amity would be safe and secure (perks of being the recently crowned King). Danny knows he’d never pass the physical tests to be an astronaut but that doesn’t mean he can’t at least achieve part of his space dream. He’d done his research, very thoroughly at that, and overall it was Wayne Enterprises that came out on top. Their aerospace department was miles ahead of the competition - presumably something to do with Bruce Wayne literally being the one funding the Justice League (and if rumour is to be believed, the OG sugar daddy for a certain Bat).

Disregarding Danny’s personal feelings about the JL, the chance to create technology that will be used in SPACE, for space exploration and understanding was too good to pass up.

Just the thought alone filled him with a sense of contentment. Thankyou space obsession.

Which is what had lead to the current situation - an internship at Wayne Enterprises itself. How he landed it, he has no clue - sure, he’s got some smarts (much more than he’ll give himself credit for) but his grades had suffered from his years of literally saving the city (and by extension, the world). Perhaps it was fate? Or more likely, a meddling time god…

Danny wasn’t complaining though.

Only three hours in to the position and he was barely containing his excitement - literally, the fulfillment of his secondary obsession, regardless of how second hand it might be, created such a buzz in his core. He was having to consciously stop his more ghostly attributes from shining through - not even metaphorically shining, damn you LED freckles (yes we’re using the concept of Danny’s ghost from reflecting his love of space - constellation freckles and all)

Now though, he had been released to break in the cafeteria. There was a panicked moment of ‘oh shit, where do I sit?’ But thankfully, his (half) life was saved by one of his new coworkers calling him over with a friendly wave.

“Hey, Daniel, right?”

“I go by Danny but yeah, thanks for the save there” a awkward laugh at his own words, “didn’t expect it to feel like high school all over again”

There’s polite laughter amongst the table and the conversation flows over to casual small talk. At least, it does until out of nowhere, all eyes jump to the doors.

Enter : The Plastics.

Richard Grayson - the dumbest guy you’ll ever meet.

“Once, he asked me why aster isn’t the opposite of disaster”

Timothy Drake - knows everything about everyone.

“That’s why his eyebags are so big - they’re full of secrets”

And the queen bee, Damian Wayne.

“Once he called me an uncultured swine… it was awesome”

(I don’t know what’s better - Damian aged up to match Danny or tiny Damian being Regina)

What follows is a comedic story: Danny meeting the three, them assuming he’s going to be out of touch being from the Midwest (he is but only in the sense that his version of normal is Fenton dumbfuckery) , him eventually getting past their public personas by just not giving a shit for their drama - he grew up with the QUEEN of mean girls, the Wayne boys have nothing on Paulina Sanchez.

Just, Mean girls Waynes… that’s it - that’s the post.

#dpxdc #funny #dc x dp #dcxdp #dp x dc #danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc crossover #space core danny #batpham #dick grayson #damian wayne #tim drake #mean girls #danny is just happy to work with space tech #he doesn’t care for the drama #let the boy do his space stuff

980 notes · View notes

melzula · 2 months

Text

Smoke and Shadow

part one

pairings: Zuko x Princess!reader

notes: it’s finally here! hope you guys enjoy this and sorry it took so long! and ofc reminder that reading the comics is suggested for this piece

summary: The Princess decides to pay Zuko a visit only to find the Fire Nation in disarray.

~ part of the fire lilies series ~

Returning home from the Fire Nation always feels bittersweet; you miss your people, but you know that once you’re back in the South the ache of homesickness will be replaced by your longing to be at Zuko’s side. You once thought the end of the war would mean easier days for your relationship, but being the leaders of two different nations seemed to keep you apart more often than it kept you together. Leaving him never got any easier, but you knew in your heart that this was for the best. You had duties to fulfill and people to take care of, so you’d just have to be patient. Things will settle eventually and the distance will become easier, you just have to see it through.

“Do you really have to go? You just got here!” Kiyi complains with a frown as she watches you pack your things and prepare for your return home.

“I’m sorry, Kiyi, but my people need me.“

“Can’t someone else do it?” She retorts, prompting you to let out a small laugh of amusement. She certainly had her older brother’s attitude at times.

“I’m afraid not. I have a tribe to rebuild and students to teach,” you explain to her. “Things don’t run very smoothly when the Chief is away for too long.”

“Will you at least come back and visit me?” The little girl begs, and you can’t really find a way to say no to her when she looks at you with her best pleading eyes. “I want to see more water bending tricks!”

“I promise to come back as soon as I have the time,” you assure her before giving her a tight hug. You’ve grown rather attached to Zuko’s little sister since meeting her, so it’s not easy having to say goodbye.

A gentle knock at your door alerts both you and Kiyi of someone’s presence, but once you see Zuko’s face peeking through the doorway you smile and part from the girl so that she can run out to play in the palace halls. “My love, the ship is ready to leave when you are.”

“I suppose I’m ready,” you sigh with a melancholic smile, melting into Zuko’s touch when he pulls you into his embrace. “It’s going to be hard being away from you.”

“I know,” he comforts while resting his warm hand upon your cool cheek, “but it’s nothing we can’t handle. We’ll be together again soon.”

“I’m already counting down the days,” you profess earnestly, eliciting a soft chuckle from him in return. Rubbing his nose affectionately against your own, Zuko angles his face to reach your lips and press a tender kiss against your own. It’s the last one you’ll be sharing for some time, and he makes sure to savor it for as long as possible. Your kiss is impossibly sweet, your smell of fire lilies intoxicating, and it pains him to have to pull away from you.

“I love you, y/n. I hope you know that.”

You smile before pulling him in for another kiss, enjoying your perfect goodbye.

~~~

A month has passed since you left the Fire Nation, and the South has developed swimmingly. With the help of your sister tribe, the outer villages have slowly begun to transform into cities equipped with new buildings, homes, and even town halls. Progress is steady and your tribe is growing, and it will only be a matter of time before the Southern Water Tribe is restored to its rightful glory.

As your advisor, Hakoda has agreed to oversee the Southern Reconstruction Project so that you may focus on teaching the next generation of water benders with Master Pakku. Your time as Chief is spent either at your school or in your office to approve new construction plans and debrief with Hakoda about the progress of the rebuilding project. You’re as busy as ever, but you couldn’t be any happier.

“Sifu y/n, why do we have to learn about healing?” One of your students complains as you set out the practice mannequins for the children. “I don’t want to heal, I want to fight!”

“Healing is just as important as bending,” you explain thoughtfully. “As a wise woman once told me, ‘You cannot bend something that is broken, but you can heal something that is hurt.’ Some situations require a gentle hand, and it’s important your bending has balance. Healing can save lives, and your gift can be used to help your people.”

“Sifu y/n,” another student says with her hand raised eagerly in the air, “is it true you healed Fire Lord Zuko from a lightning strike?”

“It is,” you reply with a fond smile, laughing at the amazed gasps your students share at the story. “I wouldn’t have been able to save his life if I hadn’t known how to heal, and that’s why it’s important for you all to learn. Now any last questions before we begin?”

A little hand raises into the air and you nod, signaling them to continue. “Do you miss Zuko?”

“Always,” you sigh wistfully, the familiar ache of longing pulling at your heart strings. You wondered what he was doing now and if he was thinking of you in this moment.

After teaching your healing class, you retire to your office for the evening to look over the new construction plans Hakoda has prepared for you. However, your mind seems to be elsewhere for the night as you find yourself repeatedly looking upon the frame on your desk. The night of your coronation you’d had a local artist paint a portrait of Zuko and yourself. You shared the biggest smiles, the two of you adorned in formal water tribe attire for the festivities ahead. It had been a perfect night, and the painting served as a reminder of the wonderful time you’d had together.

Sighing, you look over your schedule for the upcoming week. Nothing too major seems to be taking place, so maybe it wouldn’t hurt if you took a short trip to the Fire Nation to see how Zuko and Kiyi were doing. Hakoda could handle the reconstruction project on his own for a few days, and Pakku could look after your students in your absence.

Grabbing a scroll and a brush, you quickly begin scribbling out a lengthy list of items for Hakoda and Pakku to oversee while you’re gone. It seems your mind is made up, and as soon as your affairs are in order you’ll be using the secret tunnel to travel to the Fire Nation to finally see Zuko again.

~~~

Zuko was exhausted.

Carrying the guilt he felt for his sister’s kidnapping as well as the awkward tension that came with working alongside his ex-girlfriend wasn’t exactly helping him keep his peace. More children were going missing with every night that passed, and it seemed he wasn’t any closer to catching his sister and her group of Kemurikage. A part of him wished it really was spirits tormenting his people instead of his sister, but he figured she’d have to turn up eventually.

“We’ll find them, Zuko,” Mai comforts, carefully resting her hand upon his tense shoulder as he stares down at the array of scrolls scattered across his desk. Various passages about the Kemurikage and information about the men part of the New Ozai Society line the endless papers, and yet none of it has gotten them any closer to figuring out where the missing children or Azula are.

“I hope you’re right,” he murmurs before shifting his gaze to the bush of fire lilies out in the courtyard. It dawns on him then that he hasn’t had the time to write to you lately, and he feels you deserve to know about Kiyi‘s disappearance and Azula’s return. He’s sure you’d know just what to do, just what to say to make him feel better, and he needs the comfort now more than anything. “I should write y/n. She cares for Kiyi just as much as I do, she should know.”

Mai’s mood immediately sours at the mention of the Southern Princess, but she’s able to mask it well enough for Zuko’s sake. Despite being willing to work with her ex-boyfriend to find her missing brother, their past relationship was still a sore subject for her. It’s not exactly easy getting over the fact that the boy you thought was in love with you was really just using you to get over someone else.

Their talk at the Boiling Rock hadn’t given her any real closure, and her encounter with the Princess at the flower shop didn’t leave the greatest impression on the girl. Mai still couldn’t see what was so special about her, and she didn’t understand what kind of future Zuko saw with her. She supposed it didn’t matter what she thought anymore, and it didn’t matter what Zuko did with his life. She was with Kei Lo now, and the Fire Lord was no longer her concern.

“Is writing a letter to your girlfriend really your top priority right now?” She can’t help but to retort sarcastically, prompting Zuko to scowl.

“Y/n could be a great help to us,” he argues defensively. “She views things more clearly than I do at times and keeps me from making rash decisions.“

“So is she your girlfriend or your babysitter?”

“Mai-!”

“I know, I know,” she sighs with a passive wave of her hand. “I’m sorry.”

Frowning, Zuko lets out a quiet breath before turning to meet her gaze. He’s unsure of how to approach such a sensitive subject, but he knows he must if any progress is to be made. “I know you’re still mad at me, and I know no apology will fix the hurt I caused you, but you have to put it behind you if we’re going to work together. Y/n is my girlfriend, and Kei Lo is your boyfriend, so why are things still so awkward between us?”

“It’s not that simple, Zuko,” Mai snaps, a bitter scowl masking her features. “It’s not just that you broke my heart, it’s that I was stupid enough to let you! I should have known I’d never be enough for you, and you talking about her is like throwing salt in the wound. It’s like a constant reminder that I was never good enough for you, that what we had was all just a lie. I never want to feel that way again, but I feel it every time I’m around you. I’m like the pathetic ex-girlfriend you can’t get away from.”

“Mai…”

“I can’t believe I still care about you,” she grumbles sullenly.

“I care for you too,” he insists before gently taking one of her hands in his own. “Maybe not in the way you want me to, but I do. I always have, even when we were children and I pushed you into the fountain to put out that apple on your head. You’re a good friend, and I owe you more than I can ever repay you for what you did at Boiling Rock. Can’t we still be friends?”

Mai is silent, her gaze set firmly upon her hand in his own. The sensation is warm and familiar, comforting, but she knows the hurt that is to come if she agrees to his request. Maybe one day she can learn to love Kei Lo and fill the emptiness, be the one doing the using instead of the one being used, but she can’t accomplish this feat with Zuko in the picture.

The room is quiet and tense, but still she does not remove her hand.

And neither of them notice the figure in the doorway watching the scene unfold.

~~~

You’re surprised to find Zuko’s end of the tunnel blocked off by Fire Nation guards. He hadn’t been expecting you of course, but you didn’t think you’d find the passage closed off like this. What had happened while you were away to promote such a drastic measure?

“Excuse me,” you call gently so as to not startle the guards that face away from you, “I’m here to see Fire Lord Zuko. May I cross?”

“I’m sorry, but no one is allowed in or out of the Capital City,” one guard states gruffly, but his companion waves him off dismissively.

“She’s the Southern Chief and the Fire Lord’s girlfriend,” he explains before gesturing you to continue forward. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be happy to hear we’d blocked his beloved from seeing him.”

“O-Oh, my apologies,” the first guard stutters sheepishly before clearing himself out of your path.

“What’s going on? Why is the Capital City in lockdown?”

“Children of the Fire Nation have been going missing and the people are becoming restless,” he explains. "The Fire Lord wants everyone to stay put until a culprit has been caught and the children are returned safe.”

“How awful,” you murmur quietly before an uneasy feeling begins to hit you. “Have you heard anything of Kiyi, Ursa’s daughter? Is she safe?”

The two guards exchange solemn glances, and that’s all you need to know before immediately rushing towards the palace. If Kiyi is in danger, you want to do everything you can to help Zuko find her and the other missing children before it’s too late. Who knows what danger they could be in?

Your trek to the palace isn’t easy, what with the protests and unrest occurring on the streets as a result of Zuko’s harsh restrictions, but you manage to weave your way through the chaos and make it to your destination. You’re a bit overwhelmed by the commotion, blind to the conflict that’s been occurring in your absence and unaware of what exactly is going on, but you do your best to focus on finding Zuko first.

Surprisingly, the palace hallways are relatively empty, and you slow your sprint to a walk once you reach the throne room corridors. The pristine gold doors are left open, and the sound of Zuko’s voice carries through the air. Already you can feel the worry melting away just by hearing him speak, and though you want nothing more than to run in and throw yourself into his arms you stop to listen. You want to make sure you’re not interrupting anything important before you announce yourself.

“I care for you…” you hear him say, prompting your brows to furrow slightly in uncertainty. You can’t exactly make out everything he’s saying or what the context of his conversation is, but you’re able to note the soft gentleness in his tone, and a part of you is starting to feel strange listening in. Who is he speaking to in such a manner?

Peeking your head around the corner, you can’t help but feel your heart begin to sink to your stomach at the sight before you.

Zuko stands in the center of the throne room, gently clasping one of Mai’s hands in his own as he speaks to her in a comforting manner. You’re not sure what exactly they’re saying to each other or why she’s there, but watching the scene unfold before you fills you with dread and insecurity. Surely Zuko wouldn’t be unfaithful to you… would he?

You’ve worked hard to build your trust in him again after all you’d both been through, but you can’t help but question what he’s been up to in your absence. Why was he with his ex-girlfriend, and why he was holding her hand in what looked to be like an intimate moment? Was he thinking of leaving you again? Had he changed his mind about your relationship? What had you just walked in on?

“Zuko?” You call meekly, as if you shouldn’t be there interrupting their moment and as if you’re not his actual girlfriend. The two startle at the intrusion, but when Zuko realizes that you’re actually there before him he immediately releases his hold on her and runs towards you.

“Y/n!” He exclaims, engulfing you in the tightest hug imaginable. You’re unsure how to react at first, still reeling from what you’d just seen, but eventually you return his hug. Your weary gaze sets upon Mai who keeps her eyes down to the ground and refuses to look you in the face.

“Am I interrupting something?” You warily ask when he finally pulls away. He falters for a moment, almost offended by your insinuation.

“No! No, of course not,” he rushes to explain. “We were just… talking.”

“It kind of looked like it was more than just talking to me,” you say defensively. You don’t want to be jealous or accusatory, but you can’t help it. How could you not question them being alone together and holding hands?

“Princess, I swear there is nothing going on,” Zuko pleads earnestly, taking both of your hands in his own. “Mai is only here because the children of the Fire Nation are going missing and she’s helping me find them.”

“They took my little brother,” she adds quietly, solemn gaze still focused on the ground.

“They took Kiyi,” Zuko utters sorrowfully. His eyes are full of shame and worry, and you find it difficult to be upset with him when he looks so hurt and vulnerable.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur softly before pulling him in for a tight hug.

“I have the city on lockdown until I’m able to find the people responsible, and I’m doing everything I can to get them back. I’m sorry you had to find out like this, I didn’t mean to exclude you. I swear I was just going to write you and ask for your help.”

“You never have to ask,” you say with a comforting smile. “I came to surprise you because I missed you, and I’m glad I did.“

“So am I,” Zuko professes earnestly before cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss.

Neither of you notice Mai leaving the room.

~~~

Zuko catches you up on everything- the Kemurikage, the “Safe Nation Society,” the kidnapping of Tom-Tom and Kiyi, Azula’s return, and Ukano’s possible connection to Zuko’s sister. It was a lot to process, but you were quick to get up to speed so that you’d be able to do all you could to help.

“I don’t think you should have kicked Aang out of the throne room,” you chide Zuko after hearing him recount his disagreement with the Avatar. Fire Nation guards escort you to the Capital City prison as you converse, and Zuko hopes that by the time you reach your destination Mai’s father will be caught and ready for questioning.

“I tried to do things his way, but if he isn’t going to see things my way then I can’t have him around,” he tries to explain.

“Zuko, I saw firsthand how restless your people have become as a result of your harsh lockdown rules. Aang might be right,” you try to reason with him. “I don’t think causing fear and uncertainty is going to help us find the missing children.”

“I had to do something,” he argues weakly, “I have to get my sister back and stop Azula before it’s too late.”

“You will,” you assure him firmly, giving his arm a comforting squeeze.

As the two of you talk, Mai trails along quietly behind you both. A whirlwind of emotions are festering in her mind; she wants her brother returned to her, but she feels guilty exposing her father to Zuko and his guards and costing him his freedom. It feels like she’s working with the enemy, and perhaps in a way that’s true.

She can’t help the scowl that plays upon her features as she watches you and Zuko walk arm in arm to the prison. While she’s fretting over her family, it almost seems as if you two don’t have a care in the world about anything but each other. That isn’t true, of course, but her resentment clouds her better judgement, and all she can feel is disdain for the couple in front of her.

You were Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, a master bender, kind, beautiful. She could understand why any guy would want you, but why did Zuko? And why did you have to want him back? You had practically everything, you grew up a Princess, so why couldn’t you have just let her have this one thing? Why did you have to take him back and take him away from her after she’d finally gotten the one thing she’d always wanted?

“I’m sorry about your brother,” a voice says, pulling Mai away from her thoughts. So wrapped up in her cynicism, she hadn’t even realized they’d made it to the prison. A couple feet away, Zuko speaks to one of his men about the riot that had broken out on behalf of the Safe Nation Society. And in front of her you stand, your features kind and your words remorseful despite the tension you share.

“Thanks,” she says flatly, unsure of what else to say. The last time she’d spoken to you had been in the flower shop, and it hadn’t exactly been a pleasant conversation. She knows that you’re trying, and she knows this is all just as uncomfortable for you as it is for her, but she still isn’t so easily swayed. She doesn’t think you deserve her sympathy or understanding, and she doesn’t plan to go out of her way to be nice to you.

“I don’t have any siblings so I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I want to help however I can if you’ll let me.”

“You can help by staying out of the way,” she replies bluntly, her gaze hardening much to your surprise. “Zuko promised he’d help me find Tom-Tom, and I don’t need you distracting him while you’re here.”

“I want to help him find Kiyi,” you argue defensively, “I’m not going to get in the way of something as important as finding the missing children. Why can’t you believe that?”

“Because you have a really good track record of getting in the way of things that are important to me.”

Stunned by her admission, you can’t help but find yourself falling short of words. You knew Mai didn’t exactly think highly of you or approve of your relationship, but did she really still believe that you’d stolen Zuko away from her? You’re not to blame for what Zuko did to her or what she went through. You’ve endured just as much hurt as she has if not worse, and it isn’t fair for her to paint you as the problem.

“I didn’t even know about you and Zuko until we were already broken up! I’ve never personally tried to hurt you, and I don’t expect you to like me, but you need to get over yourself. Zuko isn’t what’s important here, you and I are not what’s important, it’s the kids. It’s Tom-Tom and Kiyi and all the children that are probably so frightened and alone. Can we at least agree on that?!”

It’s silent for a moment, you and Mai simply starting each other down for what feels like ages until she finally relents. Her tense shoulders slowly fall in defeat and she sighs, somewhat embarrassed at her little outburst. She’d been letting her emotions get the better of her lately, failing to conceal them like she was usually so good at doing, and it was painfully embarrassing for her to come to this realization.

“You’re right,” she murmurs, “let’s just focus on finding the children. The sooner this is all over the sooner we never have to see each other again anyway.”

“Fine by me,” you huff indignantly. Though Mai has more to say, she isn’t given the time to once she spots her boyfriend being escorted towards the prison in handcuffs.

“Kei Lo!” She exclaims before turning to the Fire Lord. “Zuko, this is obviously a mistake! Get him out of those cuffs!”

“I’m not so sure,” Zuko says hesitantly, looking to you for guidance to see if he’s making the right choice. You merely give him a hesitant shrug, not really wanting to get involved in their quarrel. You don’t know the full story, so it’s better to just stay out of it.

“Are you serious? You need her permission to let my boyfriend go?” She exclaims exasperatedly. “Release him!”

“What were you doing with the Safe Nation Society, Kei Lo?” Zuko prods firmly, ignoring Mai’s complaints.

“They ran into me! Literally!” The boy argues to try and prove his innocence.

“You’ve betrayed your allies bedore, who’s to say you aren’t acting as a double agent now!”

“Zuko! Stop being ridiculous!” Mai scolds angrily before looking to you. “Tell him he’s being ridiculous.”

“I’d rather not get involved…” you trail off awkwardly, only irritating her further.

Eventually Zuko allows for Kei Lo’s release, but you can tell by the look on his face that he isn’t too happy about it. His firm gaze seems to be burning holes into the back of Kei Lo’s head as he watches Mai embrace the boy, and a part of you wonders if he’s feeling some sort of jealousy towards him. Surely he wouldn’t be, he has no reason or right to be jealous, at least you think so anyway.

“Zuko?” You utter softly, placing a careful hand on his back to get his attention. “If I ask you something… will you be honest with me? Even if it’s something I don’t want to hear?”

“Of course, my love,” he says earnestly before giving you his full undivided attention. “What is it?”

“Do you… do you still-“

“Zuko!”

You startle away from Zuko at the sudden intrusion, eyes widening as you see Aang sprinting towards your boyfriend with Suki and Ty Lee in tow. You’re honestly surprised to see him considering he should have been heading back to the South with Katara and Sokka by now, and based upon his reaction it seems he’s just as surprised to see you.

“Aang!”

“Y/n! What are you doing here?” He exclaims in bewilderment.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Zuko interrupts. “I thought you left.”

“Well you thought wrong, buddy!” Aang corrects him impatiently. “We’ve been looking all over for you! Suki, Ty Lee, and I found something you need to see! Come on!”

“Fire Lord,” one of Zuko’s men interrupts, “the sun will set before we know it. We need to make a plan our people will rise up again.”

Zuko shares a quiet glance with the men before looking to Aang. You know what his answer is going to be, and you know that the Avatar isn’t going to like it.

“I’m sorry, Aang, but General Mak is right. I need to handle this my own way.”

“Even if your way is stupid?!” He rebuffs indignantly.

“What Aang means to say,” you correct, trying to put a nicer spin on his words, “is that maybe the approach you’ve been taking isn’t working. Maybe keeping your people on lockdown like they’re criminals in their own homes will only make things worse. You need to change your approach.”

“I’m sorry, Princess, but I know what’s best for my people.”

“I’ve seen your people, and they’re not happy. They’re scared, and I know you want to find Kiyi and stop Azula but you need to start thinking rationally first.”

“Can you please just trust that I know what I’m doing? Help me come up with a new plan to keep the Fire Nation citizens in order and find Azula and Ukano so that we can find Kiyi.”

His pleading eyes beg for your understanding and support, but you’re hesitant. You know that Zuko means well, but you don’t agree with his methods at all. Being a leader yourself, you know that fear and unrest is not the way to solve problems. You must treat your people with trust and respect like they deserve, otherwise they won’t be able to do the same for you.

Luckily, Aang buts in before you’re able to shoot Zuko’s request down. An air scooter is abruptly thrown beneath your boyfriend, lifting him up and carrying him away to spirits know where- if the situation weren’t so serious you’d laugh at how discombobulated Zuko looks being swept up off his feet and whisked away by a ball of air.

“Aang, slow down!” You call out before sprinting after the pair. Suki and Ty Lee are right beside you chasing them down. “Why are our reunions always so chaotic?”

“I don’t think this group knows how to live without chaos,” Suki quips with a breathless laugh. “It’s good to see you, y/n. Ty Lee and I will catch you up on everything on the way there.”

“I’d love nothing more,” you applaud gratefully.

You can only hope that whatever it is they’ve found will make things much easier from here on out.

Because you’re not sure how much more of this you can take.

| atla tags: @sirkekselord @niktwazny303

| zuko tags: @thebluelcdy @royahllty @the-firebender-girl @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @knaite-solo @taeeemin

| fire lilies tags: @emberislandplayers @kikaninchen-2 @music-geek19 @thia-aep @thyunnamed @haylaansmi @nataliahaslosthershit @idkdude776 @aangsupremacy @thirstyforsometea @ihaveaproblem98 @brown-eyed-thang @xapham @misnmatchedsox @chewymoustachio @that-bucket-hat-gal @chilifrylizard2 @kyomihann @kaylove12 @kiwihoee @freggietale @moon-spirit-yue @bubblegum-bee-otch

#fire lilies #atla #smoke and shadow #zuko #zuko x reader #zuko imagine #zuko x princess!reader #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko imagine #atla x reader #zuko x mai #mai

797 notes · View notes

ebullientheart · 9 months

Text

the nice guy. spencer reid x reader

content — fluff. humour. fem!bau!reader. casual mention of sex. loosely based on season four episode nine. case talk. nondescript injury to reader.

you explain to spence the difference between a nice guy and a ‘nice guy’.

“i don’t understand this.”

morgan spun on his chair, “what’s that, wonder boy?”

the files he was flicking through were baffling him. each of the interview transcripts read the same sort of thing. ‘oh, he was a textbook ‘nice guy’ you know’, or something to that effect.

you were the one conducting that set of witness interviews, and the text before him showed no confusion on your part as you continued your original line of questioning. concluding this meant you understood, spencer ignored derek’s response and instead got up to find you. predictably, in garcia’s office, watching unreleased films, seeing as your paperwork was long completed.

“can i ask you something?” he interjected, causing penelope to throw popcorn at him as a consequence of her surprise.

“can you knock?” she quipped back, but he wasn’t really listening to her. spencer could become pretty single minded when he set his focus on something, especially if it was something he didn’t understand.

you excused yourself and followed him into the hall. the simple window on your right showed nothing but the clouded night sky, meaning only a few people lingered in the office now. spencer turned the light on by reaching past your head to the switch, while you tried to ignore the way your stomach felt upon having him lean over you.

clearing your throat, you addressed him, “what did ya need, spence?”

he showed you what he’d been preoccupied with, “what does this mean? we profiled our unsub as desperate, creepy, and we were right. why did they all describe him as a nice guy?”

you pondered for a moment on how best to explain it to him before you answered.

“they’re kind of being sarcastic. a textbook ‘nice guy’ is a guy who really pities himself, quotes ‘nice guys finish last’, that sort of thing. he thinks he’s so kind, and for that women owe him sex, so when they don’t meet that standard, he just believes women only like jerks. he sees himself as good, but he doesn’t comprehend why women would take offence to his sexual reward system for human decency.”

spencer frowned, “there are enough of them that women have a collective name for this?”

you nodded, “trademarked and everything.”

“really?”

“no, kidding.”

he smiled at you and you returned it, his curiosity fulfilled and his faith in humanity slightly lessened, as it was case by case.

a few days later, you were all jetting off to another police department, examining files and bouncing theories. spencer sat on your left, the only one close enough to hear the low rumble of your stomach. chuckling to himself, he produced a breakfast bar from his satchel and slid it over to you. the overjoyed expression on your face at food, and food in your favourite flavour, prompted him to remember your ‘nice guy’ conversation.

you offered him your thanks and he answered, “you’re welcome. no sex required.”

even though he was half kidding, half sincere, you gave him a whole laugh, easy and unabashed. the smile he donned was satisfied at initiating such glee from you.

as the investigation progressed, the danger became more and more apparent. the team knew someone was going to end up hurt, but it didn’t stop them from flinching as they saw you swinging your legs in the back of an ambulance, taking emergency blood supply. you rolled your eyes at their concern, “really, i’m fine guys. just a scratch.”

they weren’t so quick to dismiss your injury, but they didn’t hover. they had protocol to follow, local cops to brief, and press to alert. the only one who lingered was spencer, awkwardly sitting next to you at your invitation. he thought about wrapping an arm around your bare shoulder as a chill set in the air, but was too afraid to dislodge the tube. you bit the bullet of his worrying and leaned until he was prompted to support you.

“are you alright?” he knew it wasn’t the right thing to ask you, but he wasn’t sure what else to say in that moment, not when you were pressed against him so the warmth from your body bled through his vest to his own skin.

you gave a light shrug, but didn’t comment further, instead saying, “you’re nice, spencer. the real way.”

he hummed, “how’d you know?”

“nice guy trademark would’ve tried to kiss me by now. you’re just holding me.”

he knew what he was about to admit was a risk, but the question burned in his throat, “what if i wanted to? kiss you?”

you looked up at him and his heart skipped a beat. if he tried, he could count every one of your eyelashes, even though a few were clumped together by smudges of mascara that had congealed in your initial reaction to the wound. there was a brightness in your irises that sparked something in his chest. the hand you could move freely came up to his face, which had become flushed. you could feel the heat beneath your palm, but couldn’t make it out visually with his back to the ambulance light.

“i’d think you’re even nicer.”

he didn’t seem all that surprised, “can i?”

“please.”

2K notes · View notes

queers-gambit · 3 months

Text

I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good

prompt: ( requested ) basking in the sunshine, breathing fresh air, bare skin tickled by tall grass, and Felix, who can't focus on the Half Blood Prince when his girl's got his full blooded attention.

pairing: Felix Catton x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Saltburn

word count: 2.3k+

note: i wrote this in an hour 'cause, you know, brainrot.

warnings: slight request variation (you'll see), there's probably cursing. anyways, suggestive language, no real spoilers, slight Ollie slander, college kids doing drugs, and no HP spoilers for those who haven't read.

All you could smell was his expensive cologne, barely breaking a sweat under the summer sun as he remained wrapped around you like a child did their mother on the first day of school. You were never one for suffocating affection nor clingy behavior, something leftover from childhood, but with your boyfriend, you craved it; and he knew it. He took advantage of it.

"Are you even listening or are you too busy trying to identify the smell of my shampoo?"

"Hmm? Yeah, yeah, 'M listenin', love, uh, you know, something about... Harry doing something stupid, yeah?"

You snorted lightly, head tilting back to look up at your boyfriend's amused expression. "A lucky guess - 'cause Harry's always doing some dumb shit."

"Yeah, you know, there's a reason he wasn't considered for Ravenclaw."

"Don't be mean, we all have our strengths and weaknesses," you gently reprimanded. "So he's not the smartest guy ever, but he's brave as hell, isn't he?"

"Has to be, being a Gryffindor and all."

"I doubt we would've done half this shit at 16."

"Totally right, we had other worries - like our first pregnancy scare."

"Felix!"

"What, doll face? Huh? C'mon, what's the quote? I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"

"Oh, you absolute cheesy fuck!"

His laugh could've echoed across the field, the two of you laid out on an oversized blanket; crushing the long grass surrounding his home, Saltburn. 'Home' always felt so mundane when describing the freaking castle his family inhabited; after all, his father, Sir James, was literally knighted - making the Cattons feel larger than life. You'd known the family for over a decade now, meeting Venetia on your first day of school when a rude boy smacked your lunch tray right out of your hands, being inducted to their family almost straight away.

As it turned out, your mother and father were friendly with Sir James and his wife, Elspeth Catton, and after only a month in your new town, you were invited to Saltburn for a family meal.

It became a monthly occurrence.

And when you started dating Felix when you were both 15, it was like life was simply alining with the stars. Destiny being fulfilled. Fate smiling on you both.

Your parents tried to play off the relationship, but after you turned 16, they realized how serious you two seemed about each other. And when you both decided to attend Oxford together (rejecting your father's alma mater, the University of Edinburgh), your mother made constant jibes about your wedding. At first, it was just a few, little, sometimes funny, but mostly harmless comments here and there, and then it escalated to full-on conversations between your mothers.

Like they had flowers and color scheme picked out, deciding on hosting at Saltburn, even debating wedding dress ideas! Your mother wanted something lacy, Elspeth wanted something form fitting and "sexy" - being where their opinions clashed and the conversation elevated to near arguments.

Anyways, laying on the blanket in the field, alone, became a regular occurrence for you and Felix once you realized the absolute HOLD the Harry Potter series had on you both. Where the brother and sister had matching HP star tattoos on their hands, that had convinced you to get a set of three stars - your only tattoo, nestled behind your left ear. Venetia technically got you into the series, letting you borrow the first book, and then gifting you each book once published; but it was more like a "tradition" to read them with Felix.

See, when you were younger, you had a stutter that made you wildly insecure, but reading out loud helped you work through it. Was it a perfect system? Of course not, but your boyfriend was adamant that it'd help - and eventually, it did. So much so, you received top marks in each of your public speaking or debate classes, something the Catton's still praised you over.

Felix liked listening, and the times you got a little tongue-tied and frustrated, he would take over to let you a small reprieve. Today was no different, laid in the field, the grass tickling your bare feet and calves as the sun soaked into your bare skin. Either of you only wore a pair of sunglasses, Felix sat up on his elbow to support your body laid against his; his fingers dancing light patterns over whatever body part he could reach. Currently, it was your hip.

He laid quick kisses where he could, whispered sweet nothings in your ear, used his teeth to nibble your flesh. Anything to make you trip over your words, like the little shit he was.

You felt your breathing shift when Felix's lips and tongue ghosted up your neck, sweeping stray strands of hair from your shoulder before his fingertips were ghosting over your collarbone and down your chest to tweak your nipple. The cold of his bracelets and watch on your sticky skin felt like a drastic contrast to the warmth of the day.

"You're infuriating, I'm trying to read," you scolded, swatting his hand away; but smirking in amusement that assured him you weren't truly annoyed.

"Roll over, sweetheart, I needa rest my arm," he muttered in your ear, licking the shell - making you squirm with a small giggle.

"Can you behave? For once?"

"How can I? When you look like this? I mean, Goddamn, I really got the prettiest girl, don't I?" He smirked, watching you lift off his chest to roll onto your stomach; perched on your elbows. "Now, that's a sight, might be my favorite," he grinned, bringing his hand down to smack one of your arse cheeks - palming the flesh tightly, giving a jiggle for his amusement.

"Felix!" You squealed, fully anticipating this treatment; trying to hide your full-teeth grin.

"C'mon, love, let's get a bit naughty," he teased. "Oliver doesn't get here for another two days, we're not gonna be alone much longer."

You scoffed lightly, "You're the one who had to befriend The Clinger."

"Oi, c'mon now, tellin' me t'be nice about Harry? Don't call him that, love, he's just a lonely chap. Needs a friend."

You hummed, readjusting the book under you. "He's a bit creepy, Fi," you admit. "I mean, he stares - like a lot. And remember I told you, I saw him looking through your dorm window that one night?"

He sighed, "He was just drunk, love, we've been over this."

"You're so quick to excuse him," you noted, offering him a bewildered look as he readjusted to lean over your back. His head nuzzled between your shoulder blades, letting a hand pet down the slope of your spine; forcing a small tremor through your muscles.

"He's got no one else."

"Doesn't mean he needs you, my sweet boy. Honestly, you stretch yourself too thin. Maybe if you focused less on these so-called friends and more on your studies...?"

"I appreciate the worry, babygirl," he mused, laying three kisses to your shoulders, "but it's all right, got you quizzing me nightly. Swear, you know my coursework better than I do. And besides, you're the one who says there's no such thing as too many friends."

"Hm," you let your eyes roll slightly, "I was obviously high when I said that and probably didn't mean bloody Oliver."

"Speaking of," he grinned, reaching for the rucksack he brought with you; now hosting your clothes, but also carrying the Altoid tin he used to store pre-rolled joints.

"Are you even listening to the story anymore, baby?"

"Of course I am, toots, I can multi-task." You hummed in response, waiting for him to finish lighting up before continuing onto a new paragraph; feeling him shift on your back. But you faltered when smoke blew against your cheek, Felix's lips descending a moment later to noisily smooch your skin. "You're so fucking pretty," he mumbled.

"I think you have ADHD."

"We knew that."

"Maybe you need something for that."

"Because I'm not listening to Harry Potter?"

"I knew it!" You laughed, shivering again when his free hand drew up your spine to nestle in your hair; handing you the joint with the other. "Fi, you're still distracting me," you moaned slightly, leaning your head back into his touch - contradicting your own words.

"You're doin' great, love," he grinned, licking the skin behind your ear, at your tattoo. "Keep goin', c'mon, I wanna hear what happens next."

"You're gonna reread this chapter when I go to bed, aren't you?"

Felix paused, "Maybe."

You grunted, dropping your head to the book before lifting it again and taking an inhale from the joint. Felix grinned at you in mischief, rolling over onto his back; hand behind his head as he stared up at you. You shook your head at him, handing the joint over before shuffling so you were laid on his chest with the book spread open in one hand.

"Love?" He mumbled.

"Hmm?" You glanced at him.

"Maybe... Uh, yeah, maybe start the chapter over? I'm a bit lost," he snickered, coughing when you tisked at him and offered a slightly annoyed look. "C'mon, baby, you can't tell me you were totally focused, either! You love me touching you, I can see it on your face."

To prove his point, the arm he had wrapped around you drifted to, once more, take a handful of your ample bottom - causing you to gasp slightly.

But you pouted, "I kinda want to finish this chapter, baby."

"And I'm distracting you?"

"Obviously."

Felix laughed, "Spot on Professor Snape, baby."

"If I read like Snape the rest of the chapter, will you pay attention to me?"

"You know what? I don't know, that voice is kinda a turn on... Everything you do is a turn on, doll."

"You'd think the consistent fucking we do would rein in your hormones."

"Nah," he tutted, squeezing his hand, "not when I got a girl like you, gettin' me all riled up. I mean, Half-Blood Prince, who? Got me full blooded, right here." You chuckled when he glanced at his cock, folding the book closed and deflating onto his chest and accepting the joint again. "Oh, c'mon, don't stop, 's just gettin' good!"

"You were calling Harry stupid literally 5 minutes ago."

"Come off it, when isn't he?"

"When he's fighting Voldemort?"

"Hm," he considered, tucking his hand into your hair to massage your scalp; gently pulling through your hair. "You might have a point."

"And now Dumbledore's - "

"Hey, hey, no spoilers!"

"It's not a spoiler if you were listening to me!"

"I'm always listening," he whined, you blowing smoke across his abdomen; watching his abs contract from the slight tickle; his cock bobbing from the movement and making you flush with heat not from the sun. "You're just so much more interesting, hmm?" He mumbled.

"Hey, hey. Flattery gets you everywhere with me," you teased, loving the easiness of his smile. "C'mon, pretty boy, your turn."

He took the joint from you, watching you try to pull back - but tightening his arm. "Stay here, love havin' you close," he mumbled, placing the joint to his mouth and reaching for the book again. Not wanting his arm to retract from your form, you reached up to take the joint from him; listening as he went back to the beginning of the chapter while your leg hiked up his hips.

Every other puff, you fed Felix the joint until there was nothing left; wee small roach being stubbed out in the dirt, leaving you two relaxed, high, and laid over one another as he continued to lazily read. But his hand still traced invisible patterns over your skin, the warmth of the sun making you sweat, but the way your boyfriend touched you made you shiver.

He knew you loved it, yet didn't so much as stutter on a single word when his smirk would grow feeling your reactions to his touches.

At the end of the chapter, he glanced down at you and let his lips follow; tightening his arm to bring you in closer, leaving repeated kisses on your forehead. You squirmed closer, giggling and bringing your hand up to hook around the back of his neck, directing him to your lips as he rolled over so you were on your back and he was hovering over you. "You're distracting me, now, li'l minx," he teased.

"Oh, how unfair, what ever shall you do?"

He chuckled, pecking your lips twice more, then asking, "Another chapter or...?"

"Yes, one more chapter," you laughed, "but then we're gonna have to head back up, your mum wanted my help with something."

"Oh, she's got you some new dresses she wants you to try," he relaid.

"I thought she stopped doin' that?"

"She loves spoiling you," Felix eased. "And Venetia stopped letting Mum dress her, so, you know... Here, you read this one."

You agreed, letting him readjust so he was sat up again, keeping you between his spread legs so he could peer down at the book from over your shoulder. Was it distracting, feeling his fully blooded cock at your back? Absolutely. Was it mildly erotic for you to ignore it and continue reading - as if his warmth wasn't making you wet? Also, yes.

"Fi," you whispered when his lips danced across your shoulder. "Distracting me, again," you half-scolded.

"You're doin' great, love," he chuckled.

But he didn't stop, it was like he was turning himself on (more) by his soft, gentle touches; and being spurred onward when he noted the way your chest heaved when your breath changed.

"Keep goin'," he whispered in your ear, dragging his hands up to cup either bare breast and swipe his thumbs around your nipples to stiffen them into peaks.

"Felix - "

"Don't stop," he encouraged, "'s real endearing the way you're tryna fight this."

"You try to get between me and Potter one more time, we're going on a sex strike."

There was a pause as you looked up at him, both sharing growing grins before bursting into echoing laughter that Venetia heard from one of the loungers close to the house. She grinned to herself, turning the page of her own Half-Blood Prince book.

requesting rules and masterlist

Saltburn masterlist

#felix catton #felix catton imagine #felix catton fluff #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x reader #felix catton x fem! reader #felix catton x you #fix it felix #saltburn #saltburn 2023 #saltburn movie #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn felix #saltburn felix catton #saltburn imagine #jacob elordi

674 notes · View notes

flamingpudding · 7 months

Text

Fictober23 Prompt: 1 - "It's not too late, let's go."

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: G

Warnings: -

Danny frowned, his head resting on his arms as he sat in a café, staring at nothing in particular. Tucker was sitting next to him, typing away on his PDA and Sam was across from him glaring at his current state of dramatic pouting, frowning and sulking while ignoring his favorite coffee order she had especially ordered for him somehow even though the store did not even have it on their menu.

"Danny, how much longer are you going to sulk?"

"I don't know. How much longer until my next chance of ever meeting someone from outer space?"

"Danny."

"We missed the Hero Gala, Sam! That was our one and only chance!"

He looked away from her like a stubborn toddler. He knew he was being especially dramatic but his friends and him had planned this whole trip solely for meeting members of the Justice League in person. For one, to maybe meet the people that have been ignoring their cities' call for help for years now and request it personally if per call won't work and two, fulfill some of their own personal selfish desires to meet the hero's each one of them admired.

Though their trip clearly had been eventful considering how a lot of his ghost rogues tried to stop him from even leaving Amity Park, they also learned about the whole media black out surrounding Amity. Turns out, the reason the Justice League was ignoring them was entirely because they didn't even know they existed in the first place. It was a miracle that they even learned about a Hero Gala in Metropolis if it weren't for an invitation somehow making it to the Mansons Estate.

Fun fact. Even if the invitation made it to them. Once they did make it to the Gala location they learned that it had happened years ago. Well wasn't that just great, and here Danny had hoped to get some help and maybe meet Superman or better Martian Manhunter.

Slamming his head onto the table and gaining the attention of some other cafe visitors briefly. Danny only turned ever so slightly so that his cheek was squished against the cold table surface. Still refusing to look at Sam but instead watched Tucker who was by now frowning at his PDA.

"Guys, I think there is more to it than us being simple late a couple of years to a Gala." Blinking made a noise to ask him to elaborate while Sam verbally asked why.

"Things didn't add up when we first left Amity, aside from all your ghost rouges were even trying to make us stop leaving until the very last second. Look at this, this is a photocopy of our last news paper from home and this-" Tucker slit a paper across the table and pointed at a specific spot at the top of the paper so both Danny and Sam could see it clearly. "-is a news paper printed today from Metropolis."

"I don't get it." Danny honestly stated staring at the spot Tucker had pointed it. Sam proceeded to hit the back of his head lightly, apparently having seen what Tucker was pointing out to them.

"The dates are way too far apart." She stated and Danny blinked, looking back at the printed date and the date displayed in the image of Tuckers PDA. "Are you sure you didn't save up an older newspaper?"

Tucker gave him an unimpressed stare. "Look at the headline. That's the incident that happened right before we went on this trip."

"Okay but what does that mean?"

"From what it looks like. Amity Park lives in a time bubble. Our technology as well as date seems far behind from everything we saw ever since we left. Even my beloved PDA appears to be old technology here."

The tree sat in silence for a moment, mulling over what they had found out so far after leaving Amity for the first time. But now that they thought about that, Amity was a closed community. There were hardly any people coming in and out of their town. In addition the only one who had ever entered their city from the outside was Vlad and even he didn't talk much about any other cities or people he could possibly know outside of Amity.

"That's a pretty interesting topic you guys are talking about."

Startled, the three looked up to see a new face that had appeared out of nowhere and was spitting next to Sam. The boy with auburn hair and yellow eyes who looked only a bit older than them and was smiling brightly at them with a back of chips in his hands.

"So you guys lived in a time bubble? That sounds interesting, can you tell me more?"

A second later two black haired teens appeared next to the boy, one sheepish and in a punk style and the other frustrated and appearing to wear more formal clothing. The frustrated one eyed them for a moment and Danny caught his eyes, noticing the calculating look and couldn't help narrowing his own eyes on him.

"Sorry about my friend, he sometimes acts before he thinks."

"I have a friend like that too, don't worry." Tucker answered and Danny shot him a quick glare before turning his attention back to the three newcomers.

"We couldn't help but overhear what you guys were talking about. You missed your chance to go to a hero gala right?" The sheepish one said after exchanging a look with the other black haired teen and Danny couldn't help but feel like there was some silent communication going on. The same he had at times with Tucker.

"So what?" Sam huffed, not willing to talk about their woes and sharing information with strangers.

"We happened to be on our way to one that's not open to the public but we could help you get in. Granted, I would like to hear a little more about your situation and how you missed the one you originally wanted to go to." In other words, give us information and we will get you to somewhere where you can meet hero's. Danny narrowed his eyes further, there had to be more to this catch.

His distrust must have been visible as the formal clothing black haired teen let out a sigh. "Look we have experience with time shenanigans, so we might be able to get you into contact with people that can help, from Young Justice or maybe even the Justice League."

"No one just offers help like that, without getting something out of it." Sam huffed arms crossed and glaring at them. Tucker also eyed them with suspicion and Danny had yet to let up on his distrustful glare.

"Well we do. So common, the private gala is still going. We only escaped from it for a little bit to get this guy some coffee. It's not too late, let's go! We can figure out the whole time bubble thing on the way there!" The brightly smiling auburn haired answered instead bouncing in his seat next to Sam. Eager to have Danny and his friends come along.

Only way later did Danny learn that the three teens that snuck them into a privat Hero Gala were actual members of Young Justice but that was only after they figured out the whole Amity lives in a Time Bubble situation.

850 notes · View notes

luna-lovegreat · 6 months

Text

Wait...

It's November. It's November first. Yesterday was October 31st, so October is over. ...it's over. Is it over?

Inktober, artober, whumptober, flufftober, linktober, every tag ending with -tober that's been circulating for the past month... is it over? I don't know why it's just hit me but...

This matters. So I will try to get the message across, even though I'm not the best at it sometimes

Fanartists, fan writers, artists, fic writers, people making comics, every single one of you that has created art for the past month...

Thank you

This is my first October on tumblr. When I started seeing the "tober" tags, seeing the posts from artists with wips, saying they were going to make something every day to a prompt, making masterposts to update with each day, I thought "cool"

But every day this month, I have gotten on here and smiled.

And I don't mean smiled. I mean I smiled at least 20 times every time I got on the app because I saw all the art and fics. I got to see artists/writers connect stories through different day prompts. I saw people having the most brilliant ideas and creativity, flowing from their hands into their posts. I saw artists responding to continuous asks, telling them how amazing they are. I saw artists getting behind, and keeping going.

I saw Free. Beautiful. Emotional. Amazing. Original. Creative. Art.

Every day

I haven't committed to anything of this before, so I can't directly relate to what you guys were thinking and feeling. But I'm willing to guess; I think you probably enjoyed it, because most won't do such a huge project unless they enjoy it. I think you probably saw it as a challenge you were willing to fulfill, and an opportunity to grow and develop your skills.

... but I'm also willing to bet you did it for us. For people like me, who love art, but don't do this specific type, who are in fandoms, who love tracking and watching you art and sending you compliments, who take joy in your work. For the other artists (and writers!) who admire each others styles and love to learn from each other.

If anyone ever tries to tell me that humans are inherently evil again, I will strap them to a chair, pull up these posts and say look. Look at what these people did. Look me in the eyes and tell me these sorts of actions don't come from the most loving hearts. Tell me these people don't want to make others happy, that they aren't inherently good. And I will tell you you're wrong.

I have so much going on, yet somehow it slipped into my life that I was constantly looking at your art for the joy of it without me even noticing.

And how is it possible. That we have such a beautiful community of people here that we will share. And communicate. And exchange compliments. And literally do things and send asks solely for the purpose of making someone smile.

I'm almost crying by now. God I can't express it well enough! But I am so. So. Grateful

You guys brought me a month of joy! You gave headcanons, and art, and stories!

Even yesterday, Halloween, I was blown away. Because I had expected... I didn't expect anything. And then I log on and see people sending happy halloween asks, exchanging doodles of candy, and headcanons and gifs.

And some are still catching up to the schedule or whatever, and that's ok! But at the beginning of this post, when I was simply realizing it was November, I asked myself "is it over?"

Is it over?

... I don't think so. I've seen artists say they're going to continue and expand on a piece they made and especially liked this month. Some people are still continuing, catching up to a voluntary deadline. All those masterposts with your whump/fluff/link/ink tober art? I know many as well as myself will be going through, looking over your posts with smiles, catching up on some things they missed this month... it will continue in the people and artists I didn't know existed before, but now follow. In the skills and growth in creativity! In the community we've grown, and art you've made, and the art to come, at a normal rate like every other month, even if it's not October anymore!

But my artists, writers... thank you so much. I don't know if you guys know how valuable and amazing you are. How incredible it is that you exist! People say it's amazing we exist under a sky of such stars, but how incredible is it that you made a stranger on the internet smile every day! Your life is so. So. Valuable. I can't even express how grateful I am that you exist, that you somehow are selfless enough to share the most beautiful parts of yourself simply to create, and to create joy. Thank you so so much.

(And this applies to all artists, in any fandoms, not just mine. And I'm just as grateful to people who couldn't do something every day, or only one day! You still share your art, you're just as... incredible. You are incredible.)

Okay.

So I'm gonna do this, and if others want to do it in the reblogs that's great! I do not care at all about reblogging or likes, but I want to make the people that have brought me such joy some appreciation- I hope I can bring you even a smidgen of the light you have brought into my life. So I'm gonna tag all the artists/writers I know of/can think of that have done any sort of October challenge, all of you creators that have made me smile. If people wanna want to tag others in the reblogs or replies to spread love that's cool.

(Basically I don't know social customs or anything at all, so if you don't want me to tag or if I was supposed to do something different or something let me know I have no idea what I'm supposed to do)(if I like accidentally tagged someone who isn't an artist/writer or forgot someone I follow... sorry)

@skyward-floored @kikker-oma @adrift-in-thyme @blueskittlesart @zeldaseyebrows @smilesrobotlover @bahbahhh @soso-dedeck @lennsart @arecaceae175 @illcamp @breannasfluff @solarfire-art @26kabeuchi @cathianemelian @truffeart @scribbly-z-raid @uniquevoidflowers

To all the artists and writers out there: thank you so much!!! You are amazing and I'm glad you exist. Your life is precious, and you matter. Thank you so much for sharing your beauty with us, we love you too!!!!!

... yeah. Just want yall to feel loved... because you are. Again, thank you. Thank you so so much to my beautiful creators who create joy as well as art, who keep storytelling alive. Just... thank you.

799 notes · View notes

awfcspencer · 4 months

Text

Cravings || alexia putellas x reader

alexia putellas x pregnant!reader

prompt: Late night pregnancy cravings turns into a very needed conversation

warnings: mentions of throwing up, pregnancy hormones, a bit of angst

A flurry of small, slightly painful, kicks abruptly woke you up. You glanced over at the small alarm clock on your nightstand that read 1:37 in red numbers, letting out a small sigh. You try to ignore the sudden increase cravings you are starting to have, becoming more intense by the minute. Reaching down to your growing baby, you gently rub small circles trying to soothe your suddenly awake little boy.

Alexia is snuggled into your body the best she can, your round belly has made it difficult for Alexia to give you a proper cuddle.

The last thing you want to do is wake Alexia. Recently she has been fulfilling your every need, helping you tie your shoes when your large belly overtook your line of sight down to your feet, massaging your aching muscles when you have particularly sore days, and constantly reassuring you that you are beautiful.

Growing a baby is anything but easy, your body was changing, rapidly. New stretch marks started to lightly appear on your stomach and your chest becoming 2 sizes bigger, not much for Alexia to complain about though. But Alexia was always there to catch your growing insecurities. Always reminding you that you were carrying a baby, your guys baby. A baby you had been trying for for months. A miracle baby.

Alexia is a light sleeper, even more so now that you were pregnant. Waking up in the middle of the night the first few months when you were struck with morning sickness. Immediately coming to your aid to pull your hair back and rub soft circles into your back, whispering encouraging words into your ear. So when Alexia heard you tossing and turning in bed, she was bound to wake up.

“Is baby boy keeping you up love?” she asked as she moves to wrap her large arms around your body.

“He is apparently very active tonight, a future striker in here with all this kicking” you reply to her, turning on your side carefully towards her.

“Just like his mama” she whispers, placing a warm kiss on your belly, and then a kiss on your temple. Pulling the comforter back up for you both, she closes her tired eyes as you do the same.

You try to ignore the cravings, hoping cuddling back up against Alexia will force yourself into a deep sleep, sleep you have been deprived of. But unfortunately for you, sleep was no longer a possibility, needing to fill the sudden desire.

Alexis was back out like a light, balancing both a professional footballer career and a pregnant wife. You try to carefully get out of her arms, trying to exit the bed without waking her up, but you fail, terribly.

“Baby, where are you going? Are you going to be sick?” Alexia asks as she is now completely awake, ready to tend to your any need, pushing herself up onto her elbows and she looks at you.

“Little man is making me crave both ice cream and pickles, honestly probably together.” a soft chuckle leaves your mouth, “I am going to run downstairs and grab a bite to eat and then I will come back. Please don’t get up, you have been running yourself dry baby, tending to me so well.” you try to convince her as you place a warm kiss on her lips.

Convincing her was out the window as Alexia immediately got up to go to the directly to the kitchen without saying a single word. You follow behind her quick steps, making you way down the stairs carefully. Alexia looks back as you take each step, holding her hand out to assist you down.

“Love you didn’t have to get up. I could have gotten it myself.” feeling bad she was awake knowing she had to be up for training in roughly six hours. You feel like Alexia has been doing everything, even making time to do all housework when your feet swell and little man makes you so incredibly tired. You felt useless, unable to help Alexia with much of anything as your due date was nearing.

“I will always be here to tend to your every need, especially when our baby boy arrives.” Alexia says to you as she grabbing both the ice cream and the pickles to fill your odd craving.

“I just feel bad, i’ve been doing nothing and you have been doing everything.” you try to explain to her as you sit down on a barstool at the kitchen island.

Handing you a bowl of mint ice cream with several spear pickles on a plate, Alexia is immediately concerned, “Amor you are growing a baby, our baby, a beautiful baby boy who will grace us with his presence very soon. You are doing everything you need to be doing, taking care of yourself for him. I don’t mind, seriously love.” she tries to convince you.

“And besides, it’s not like I could carry him.” Alexia mumbles out. And that is when it clicked. Alexia was overcompensating to your needs because she feels as if she isn’t doing enough. When you and Alexia had initially decided to expand your little family, you knew that you would be carrying. Alexia was a professional footballer, football was her passion, having her step off the pitch was simply just not an option. You knew this and you were perfectly fine with carrying, desperately wanting to have children with Alexia.

“Baby please tell me you don’t feel as if just because you aren’t carrying baby boy that it means you aren’t doing enough for our future family.” you say as tears begin to brim in your eyes, the idea that this was affecting Alexia worried you, mixing with pregnancy hormones, very quickly you were in full tears.

“Love please don’t cry.” Alexia spills out, moving from her kitchen barstool to stand behind you, trying to soothe you, rubbing her fingernails along your back. “I can’t deny that the thought hasn’t crossed my mind. I just needed to make sure your and little man’s needs were taken care of.” she explains softly to not make you sob anymore than you already were.

You had started to collect yourself, the tears had stopped but your cheeks were still stained red. The thought behind Alexia’s actions did warm your heart, but was in reverse, making you feel useless. “Alexia, I had been feeling useless because I haven’t been doing anything.” you tell her.

“Oh love” is what Alexia says first, understanding now what her overcompensation meant for you. “Baby you are carrying a baby. I am here to help you. My own personal internal anxieties caused me to feel useless so I thought it would make myself feel better by over-tending to you and baby boy.” she tried to empathize. “I didn’t even think about how that would affect you, I am sorry for making you feel that way love.” she sympathized.

Turning around to face Alexia, Alexia had also red rimmed eyes, staring at the floor, feeling both ashamed and saddened. “Thank you for telling me baby, but please, when you feel this way, I need you to explain it to me. I need you to communicate to me baby.” you tell her as you reach your hand out to pull up her chin to look directly into her eyes. “You are the most amazing wife and you will be the most amazing mother Alexia.” you reassured her. Standing up to give her a proper hug but your belly getting in the way forcing both of you to fall into small laughter.

“Let’s get back in bed baby.” you tell her.

Looking down at your untouched ice cream and pickles, Alexia asks, “Are you sure? You didn’t even touch your weird food combination” she giggled out.

“Suddenly my craving is gone and honestly if I look back at the combo, I might be sick.” you chuckle out.

“Okay, let’s get you and little man back in bed” she instructed out, grabbing your hand and leading you towards your shared bedroom. Once back in bed and you had fallen asleep, Alexia whispers down to your belly, “I am so excited for your arrival baby boy, your mama is a champ, but maybe save the kicking for when you have a footballer at you feet.” she commented as she places a kiss on your belly and then to your cheek as she turns to have you as close to her as possible, your back to her front.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso soccer #woso blurbs #woso community #woso #alexia putellas x reader #alexia x reader #alexia putellas #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #wlw post #woso couples #womens soccer

733 notes · View notes

remcycl333 · 6 months

Text

some thoughts on imagination and fulfilling ALL your desires, no matter how small ♡

hiii! just wanted to share with you guys some things ive been thinking about lately and a new discovery!

so first of all! i went through a little phase this previous weekend where i could not imagine for the life of me. i just could not concentrate, and i kept hyperfixating on every little sound in my room and it was very frustrating. i also could not fall asleep because i usually use daydreams to lull myself to sleep and i couldn't daydream! it was very frustrating.

(side note--at one point i wished that my room would just be silent and then i lost power for a few hours and my room WAS dead silent for a while, lol)

but then i was scrolling thru loatwt, like i do, and i found this acct @/scriptercas and they made a couple of posts about the way they imagine (i like this one too) and i tried it that night and i was DEEP in my imagination for like an hour straight. like me??? adhd aphantasia me???

i know that a lot of you guys are like me and have aphantasia and therefore can't see mental images and you can get discouraged by imagining, but this is definitely my new holy grail and i think this will work so well for you guys too!

(p.s. if you guys are into shifting, that account has some great advice! i'd really recommend!!)

i also recently re-read edward art's series, which i have mentioned in recent posts. once again, i know ive also said this recently, but i highly highly highly recommend reading it (or listening, there's also an audio form) if you haven't already! even if you just read the first five parts. i swear if you are still struggling to fully grasp the law, after you read it you will get it. it's so good.

i bring this up because in a lot of the parts, edward talks about building the habit of fulfilling every single desire--no matter how small--that you have, as it comes to you. and i've just been ruminating on this so much lately.

i remember at the beginning of my loa journey, there would be things that i wanted and i'd kinda mourn the fact that i didnt have them... when i didn't have to. i could've just fulfilled myself. but instead i had the idea in my head that "i'll manifest my sp first, and THEN i can get my desire of receiving flowers." or, "i'll manifest money first, and THEN i can buy the expensive things i want" or "i'll manifest my new apartment, and THEN i can host dinner parties for my friends" etc.

but what i've been thinking about lately--prompted by edward--is that you dont have to want for anything anymore. i can give myself any and everything i want in my imagination. i don't have to wait to manifest something else first.

this has really bolstered my imagination game as well. everything you want to do with or experience once you have your desire, you can have/experience in your imagination right now. and it really adds to your imaginings. it really helps immerse you more and helps you capture the feeling of it being real.

for example, when i was manifesting my apartment, i had sooo many things i wanted to experience once i'd manifested it. i wanted to have my friends over for game night and cook them dinner and make them cocktails. i wanted to bake in my spacious kitchen and have fancy utensils and expensive ingredients. i wanted to shower in my fancy shower and use expensive bath products. i wanted my own vanity stocked with expensive makeup and perfumes. i wanted a large walk in closet with rows and rows of gorgeous clothing. i wanted to come back from a night out and leave my clothes strewn about the bathroom bc i was too drunk to put them away, and no one was gonna see them or yell at me for leaving them there. like some of the things i desired for were so mundane, yet i felt the absence of them in my life every day. for example: living close to a target, being able to make adventurous meals without worrying if my family members would like them, playing video games with my friends in my own living room.

everything i just listed were things i wanted so badly once i had my apartment, but whenever id run into the opposite in my every day life, i wouldn't fulfill myself at first. like i'd go to cook the same old dinner i cooked for my family every other night and i'd be like "ugh i wish i could be in my own apartment where i did the grocery shopping and i could buy fresh ingredients and make an elaborate meal instead of just having pasta and jarred sauce again." but then i realized that if i were in my dream apartment i would be able to do that. i spent so much time imagining waking up in my new apartment and what it would look like, but in the end, imagining stuff like this is what really helped me to fulfill myself and catch the feeling of the wish fulfilled.

i was really reminded of that whenever i re-read edward's series, and now im applying it to my new desires as well. it's so funny that no matter how much i manifest or how much i learn i always find myself forgetting little tidbits like that that really help me and are very valuable.

anyway i just wanted to make this post to help you guys a little maybe! i was just in the shower and i was remembering edward saying to fulfill every little desire you have--not matter how small-- and i was remembering the days i used to imagine myself in my current shower, and id close my eyes and imagine the scent of the shampoo i wanted to get and i'd feel where every individual bath product would be placed once i had my own shower. and all that inspired me to write this!

i hope that this helps you guys out and/or gives you imagination motivation! i feel like it's important to imagine all the small things that pertain to your desire that maybe you overlook while imagining, but that you know you deeply yearn for even if u think they're mundane or that you'll just get them once you get your big, overarching desire <3

#law of assumption

712 notes · View notes

gremlingottoosilly · 5 months

Note

THAT HOSTAGE ASK WAS SO HOT

I can just imagine how scared she would be when they get "home"

König just trying his best to convince her it won't hurt as much as before and she just absolutely terrified of having to do that all again

Part 1 here

Konig is horrible!

Poor girl just prompted sex because she was terrified and thought Konig, with his hood and giant figure, was one of the bad guys - she was on the edge of losing her sanity at this point, and when this soldier guy so excitedly started to take off his pants...yeah, our girl got trauma.

Konig is big, and the sex was undoubtedly painful, as much as he tried to relax her and make her like it too - but she at least could keep herself together as a means of "Okay, I will endure this and go home". When Konig didn't let go of her even as she was finally freed from being a hostage...no one would even believe that he did something wrong, poor girl is definitely traumatized by her time with terrorists and now thinks of everyone as an enemy( of course Konig, an upstanding citizen, would help her get her mind together!

He is so smiley and happy when he drives her home - to his home. For our dearest colonel, it's an amazing story about love at first sight. He just got himself his own wifey! And she literally agreed to anal unprompted, how perfect is she???

He will fulfill his promise of making everything nicer for her! He is eating her out, spending at least 20 minutes with his tongue in her sore ass, even though she whines and begs him to just stop and let her go(( he ignores her silly little pleas, his girl is tired and a bit dumb from everything that happened to her! He is using lube this time, making sure that you're nice and open for him. Hell, he will fuck your pussy first, to make you adjust to his length even more!

Poor darling will go to sleep with a plug in her ass because he wants her to be relaxed and open for him( he will soothe her whole night, hugging and kissing her gently just so she would calm down and stop crying, it's breaking his heart(((

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig

498 notes · View notes

gigidragonbbxxx · 2 months

Text

regarding mental diet

discipline. consistency. THIS IS HOW YOU MANIFEST.

it is the discipline and consistency in acknowledging the things in your 3D that you want and ignoring the stuff that you do not identify with.

Yes Gigi, we know that why are you saying something EVERYONE says?

bc dear reader and loass community, i'm gonna say something that might be known but I don't see stated enough:

To be a master manifester, you break your old realities and create new ones - AND A LOT OF PEOPLE HAVE A HARD TIME GETTING ON THIS LEVEL BECAUSE THEY ARE UNWILLING TO LET GO OF HABITS THAT DO NOT SERVE THEM.

AKA = YOU MUST BE BRAVE ENOUGH TO BE DIFFERENT.

You hear me???

YOU MUST BE BRAVE ENOUGH TO BE DIFFERENT.

AND THIS IS WHAT MENTAL DIET IS: NOT GIVING IN TO EVERY TREND, EVERY LIL SONG, EVERY TV SHOW, ETC. IF IT DOES NOT HELP YOUR MIND BE SATURATED WITH BEING IN YOUR FAVOR.

I'll cite an example many of us go through: a friend who doesn't know the law and only wants to talk about how horrible men are. This friend is also addicted to complaining. What have so many loass practicing people have said? They've either 1) told that friend they don't want to talk about that stuff or 2) spent less time with that friend.

it's an experience so many in the community go through and many benefit from limiting their exposure to that type of person. because what is the point of spending time affirming lies like "life has to be hard" "life is unfair" "I always get treated like shit by men" "I'm never first choice" like EW!? guys, learn to get the ICK from this type of talk!!! there is no benefit from this energy.

YOU GET TO DECIDE WHAT YOU WANT TO EXPOSE YOURSELF TO. SO STOP MINGLING WITH ENERGY THAT DOES NOT SERVE YOU. IF YOU HAVE TIME TO THINK BADLY, YOU HAVE TIME TO THINK POSITIVELY!!!

Be willing to WALK AWAY. Be willing to be the one to say "This is not for me" if a convo is full of limited beliefs. Be willing to not participate in trends like making tiktoks about self deprecating jokes or tweet about toxic things. Be willing to say "Oh i never say those things about myself."

Let me explain what prompted me to write this:

I saw THE CUTEST lil key chains or cases made by a small business. I love to reblog cute things on my main account on twt (not my loass burner) and tbh I've manifested getting some of those cute things by making a lil placebo that whatever I retweet is mine/fact.

The first case/keychain thing was "Tummy Ache Survivor" which I thought was hilarious as I have a lot of Virgo energy in my life but the second image showcased another that said something along the lines of "Daily Dose of Dumb Baby Juice".

Guys.

Please.

Does a master manifester drink dumb baby juice? Or is she the operant power full of knowledge and wisdom leading a fulfilling life?

Now, I'm not a limiting typa gal okay? You can totally be "baby". You can totally live a soft live. Be a baby. Hell, I love being baby in a relationship. What I'm saying is even seemingly "harmless" things like that phrase...you have to have discernment in what could be unfavorable influences in your life.

Again, Gigi isn't telling you how to live your life. If you wanna declare "fuck off Gigi! I'm a dumb baby AND I manifest!" go ahead. If you wanna declare "fuck off Gigi! I can consume ANY CONTENT I want and manifest!" GO AHEAD.

BUT LETS DISCUSS SOME OBSERVATIONS IVE MADE ABOUT THE BIGGEST LOA COACHES/ACCOUNTS WITH THE MOST SUCCESS:

all of them. 100% of them. are careful about what they expose themselves to/say about themselves.

BECAUSE DOMINANT BELIEFS ARE WHAT MANIFESTS. SO WHY WASTE TIME CONSUMING CONTENT THAT GOES AGAINST WHAT YOU WANT YOUR DOMINANT THOUGHT PATTERN TO BE? MAKE IT MAKE SENSE!!!

and I get the resistance to cut off things you mightve enjoyed. But i said it before and I'll repeat it again.

YOU MUST BE BRAVE ENOUGH TO BE DIFFERENT.

things gigi had to cut off:

sad songs on daily playlists

reality tv glorifying toxicity in relationships

accounts on twt that leaned heavily on "men are trash" mindset

conversations that were self-deprecating

and more but those are a few examples.

and you know what I have more time to do now, reader?

I have more time to affirm, to listen to subs, to write on this blog.

Because Manifestion is a Lifestyle. It's not a quick fix bc the outcome depends on the SOLIDITY of your BELIEF to enact CHANGE on the 3D.

so pls don't drink dumb baby juice. drink pretty girl juice. drink intelligent master manifester juice. drink "in my favor" juice.

with laughs and love, xx, gigi

p.s. I do not believe that this is an excuse to remain ignorant about world events and news. I encourage you to remain informed, intelligent people who do not lack awareness and instead are fully immersed in the nuance of balancing high self-esteem and understanding the political climate.

276 notes · View notes

khristie16 · 1 month

Text

All flavours

Summary: Each man possesses unique qualities that draw you in, making your journey both exhilarating and challenging

Warnings: smut, 18+, foursome, p in v, p in a, oral m receiving, dom!guys, submissive!reader, slight degradation, consensual

author’s note: one of my work redone

You appeared in a dire situation. You are between three men. Between three men you really liked. And every one of them was completely different.

Everyone brought something different to the table. It was exciting what a blossom of flavours you have experienced.

It all started at the paddock. You were lucky enough to be able to auction off the entry fee to the paddock for 5,000 euros. You have loved the formula since you were a child and wanted to fulfill your dream of standing so close to everything that you have only observed through the screen until now.

You were a Ferrari fan, but over time, Max won your heart too. You got used to him and started to like him as much.

The whole experience of that day was really normal, but then you appeared in the room. Locked. With these three.

You stood there, trapped in a trance, your senses dulled, your surroundings fading into insignificance compared to the overwhelming emotions coursing through your veins.

You remained, paralyzed by the intensity of your own emotions, unable to move or speak.

The trio stood shoulder to shoulder. Max, with his inscrutable expression, his stoic demeanor hinted at a storm brewing beneath the surface, leaving you with a sinking feeling that you had indeed messed up, and the consequences were about to hit you like a tidal wave.

Charles was smiling at you sweetly which calmed you down.

But Carlos, — you could feel the warmth that radiated from his body and you were incredibly attracted to him.

You swallowed.

"So, how do we do this?" Max's voice cut through the tension, prompting an exchange of glances between the boys.

As they deliberated, uncertainty gnawed at your insides, causing your hands to fidget nervously. You felt the urge to break the silence. But before you could speak, hesitation held your words captive until you moved.

"You know, I—"

“Pst pst pst cariño” Carlos pointed at you.

You stood in place, your mouth agape in stunned silence. Time seemed to stretch endlessly. Every muscle tensed, yet you remained immobilized, a silent observer trapped in the grip of disbelief.

"Hm, but a nice mouth that talks." Carlos winked at you.

The boys began to pace around you, their movements calculated and deliberate. What were they planning? The air grew thick with apprehension, suffocating you as the realization dawned that you. But with each passing moment, the circle tightened, trapping you in.

"Guys, please—" you began, your voice trembling, but Carlos cut you off with a commanding tone.

"Cariño!" his voice boomed, drowning out your plea.

Charles shot Carlos a cautionary glance, silently urging him to ease up. Then, with a gentler demeanor, Charles turned his attention to you.

"What's wrong, cherie?" his tone softer and more understanding.

You shifted your gaze from Max to Carlos and back again, uncertainty flickering in your eyes before settling on Charles.

"What's going on?" you asked, your voice tinged with confusion.

Max, already brimming with impatience took matters into his own hands.

"Come on, little one. We noticed you peeking at us," Max remarked, "Making eyes on us. And we like you too, so why not do something about it?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their scrutiny.

"Only if you want to, of course," Charles said kindly, his words offering a glimmer of reassurance amidst the tension.

You simply stared at him, your gaze locked onto his. Suddenly, Carlos leaned into your back. The heat emanated from him even more and he absolutely burned your skin with his touch. He lowered his head to whisper into your ear.

"Don't you want it, cariño?" he stroked your bare arm with his right hand.

A chill ran down your spine, but slowly, almost instinctively, you leaned your head against his chest. The warmth of his embrace enveloped you, offering a brief moment for you to breathe. Not for long, you gasped as Carlos grabbed your cunt.

"Darling, do you want it?" Charles asked, the words tumbling out in a rush as if he couldn't contain them any longer.

Confusion swirled in your mind, your senses feeling like they were submerged in hot water, overwhelmed by the intensity of the situation. You found yourself at a loss for words.

"Y/N, look me in the eyes. You are safe with me," Charles urged gently, his voice a comforting anchor.

Taking a deep breath, you finally met Charles's gaze, finding a genuine tenderness reflected in his eyes. With a silent nod, you conveyed your consent.

"Words, cariño," Carlos interjected, his touch soothing as he stroked your arms.

"Yes, I want it," you whispered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

But before you could dwell on the feeling for too long, Max pounced on you, shattering the fragile moment of vulnerability with his sudden action.

His soft lips pressed against you, and with each kiss, he peeled away some layers. He took every breath of air from your lungs like the wind from sails. As he held you with his left hand, his strong grip around your neck left you helpless.

You placed your hands on his chest to create space, hoping to at least retain before he draines the breathing life out of you.

With each glance, the red of your skin deepened. Carlos chuckled, amused. Max let you go and you were able to turn to Carlos. Panting, you stared into his eyes.

"Strip." Max said.

The words cut through the tender atmosphere and you frantically started undressing, feeling ashamed and nervous for what came next.

Approval nods from Max gave you confidence in your beauty and Charles's gentle caressing of one cheek gave you a moment of comfort, romantic gestures that made you close your eyes.

As you opened them again, your eyes almost burst out of you head as you stared. Both of them were absolutely gorgeous, and just the thought of them being able for you to take advantage of their bodies made you salivate.

"Don't drool,'' when Charles laughed, you became even more overwhelmed to see them in full naked glory.

At that moment you lowered your eyes and looked at your palms. You noticed that Charles is still dressed. And you decided to act. You looked into his eyes and started undressing him. Charles grinned at you like he was proud of your reaction.

You were just on your knees when you had his erect cock in front of you.

Taking it carefully in your hands, your gaze was focused on him. Whether you could touch him or not, it was unclear; you wanted to, but at the same time, you felt like you shouldn’t. The tension between the two of you was heavy; there was a desire to touch, but also a fear of doing something you weren't supposed to.

He stroked your hair in return as a green light for you. Your fears and doubts dissolved away under the heat of the moment. The only thing that mattered now was the desire to touch, to suck him as best you could. The excitement of the moment made you lose yourself in the sensation. Only after a while did you realize that the boys were also around you, their presence an additional stimulation to the already palpable tension.

You left your mouth wrapped around Charles and reached out for both of them with each hand. You started riding up and down, taking your pace slow and taking it very sensually. The sounds of muffled and suppressed noises as they moan filled the air like a lullaby.

"I can't take it anymore," Max hissed "I'm taking her ass."

Hearing those words made you excited.

"I'm going to lie down and you're going to sit on me, okay cherie?" Charles told you.

Following Charles's commands, you strap his lap while he looked at you from below. Listening to his words without hesitating, you were already fully immersed in the moment and willing to do whatever pleases him without further ado.

By this time you were getting lost in those green eyes, Max stuck his fingers in you.

You gasped as he whispered in your ear and peck your cheek, "I'll borrow some," his warm breath brushing your skin made you feel dizzy and your heart beating faster.

You felt overwhelmed with emotions. The intensity of the moment made you choke back tears, and as Max started kissing and biting your neck, the sensation overwhelmed you more that you reached your hands into his hair, tugging lightly. Meanwhile, Charles's grip on your hips kept you steady, not letting you move too much.

"If she’s acting like this now, I don't know how she will make it to the end" Carlos said.

Hearing Carlos's words disturbed you, and the look of fear on your face reflected that. Suddenly, it was as if the whole world came to pause. Max and Charles waited patiently, both having a neutral facial expression.

Carlos walked over to you as he stroked your hair, the smile on his face made him seem more friendly and comforting.

With that, he asked, "Will you be a good girl right?" a question that made you hesitate and wonder what that really meant.

You nodded to Carlos's question, but with him kissing your forehead, you felt some sense of reassurance and comfort. You didn't quite know what he meant by 'till the end', but you trusted him and his gestures.

Charles focused on you, slowly directing you to sit on top of him. You took him in, taking it slow as you looked into his beautiful eyes, feeling yourself consumed by his gaze. The urge to obey took over as you felt yourself becoming lost inside the intimacy of the moment between the two of you.

You started to sob as time went on, feeling like the experience was too much for you. Charles waited a moment for you to get used to it, but before you actually could, he was pulling you down again.

The sensations were intense and overwhelming. You felt both panic and excitement as you felt Max trying to insert himself in you.

But you pulled away from him from the overwhelming sensation.

"Cariño, you said you would be a good girl."

His words filled you with both a sense of panic and excitement, as if he was reminding you of his power over you. He had brought you to this moment and he was the one setting the rules of it.

"I'm sorry."

Is all you could say at the moment, as the words of him were still ringing in your ears.

"Spread your cheeks honey." Max said sweetly.

Following his instruction to be a good girl, you went with the flow in that moment, feeling Charles's presence inside of you and Max slowly creeping into you. The sensation was new and intense, and it took some time before you could adjust to it. But once you did, all those feelings of excitement and lust escalated into you coming undone with a loud cry.

"So fucking tight." Max hissed.

Lost in pleasure and the high of the moment, you fell on Charles's chest, his presence inside of you creating an intense experience.

"Kiss Me." Charles told you.

Hearing his words, you looked up to him and saw him gazing at you intently. His gaze filled you with a jolt of energy and desire.

Raising your head to meet his lips, you let yourself be carried away by the kiss while Carlos’s wandering hand toyed with your clit.

The loud moans escaping you were a reflection of the overwhelming sensation of satisfaction you were experiencing. It all became too much, too intense, and too perfect. Max's grip on your hips kept you steady and you felt so good in his arms.

"Such a good girl." He rasped in your ear.

Charles grabbed you by your breasts and started thrusting into you from below.

You were coming for the second time with Carlos as he was handling himself while looking at the intense scene.

"Such a good girl." Max told you and Charles pinched your nipples.

Seeing the state that Charles had been brought to made you feel powerful. The color of his cheeks, his parted lips, and the pure passion in his eyes, unlike anything you had seen before, made you understand the immense pleasure he was experiencing, and the intense desire he had for you.

You felt him slowly buck under you, his cock starting to stretch and grow inside of you.

"Charles, cum in me."

The command you gave made Charles let out a loud moan, and to that Carlos laughed.

Carlos walked next to you and placed his hand on your face, turning it towards him, and locking your gaze onto his. His grip was firm, letting you know who was in charge.

He tapped your lips and you opened them up for him. He drove his cock into you.

You felt Max grow inside you and even with Carlos' cock in your mouth you screamed as Max bit your neck hard enough to silence his moans.

Charles was lost in the sensations, moaning and stuttering which made him unable to form any coherent words. His eyes were open and wide, filled with pure desire and pleasure watching you taking Carlos.

In the afterglow of the intense high that everyone was experiencing, you were all panting, the effects still lingering, making the whole moment seem even more real.

"We are very proud of you."

Hearing Charles's words and the gentle pinch on your cheek, you felt a warm, fuzzy feeling come over you.

“Shall we switch positions?”

Carlos's question brought you back to reality, and you nodded eagerly, eager to experience more.

#charles leclerc smut #carlos sainz smut #max verstappen smut #charles leclerc x you #carlos sainz x you

243 notes · View notes

thebestofoneshots · 20 days

Text

Waiting For a Girl Like You | wolfstar x reader

Pairing: R.L.. x S.B. x Gn!Reader (originally written as a woman but then I discovered I hadn't used any pronouns, and the reader was not particularly feminine, so it became my first official GN) Word Count: 5 k Warnings: None Prompt: Unbeknownst to many, your birthday has always been a quiet affair, you don't often celebrate it and you certainly weren't expecting for things to change the moment you met those two, enimagtic boys on your Creative Writing course. You could have not been more mistaken.

I got two requests a couple of weeks ago and I could not fulfil them on time for the life of me. Dear @msblacklupin and @propertyofrjl sent me similar requests about a certain birthday fic and first of all, Guys your birthdays are on the same day, How cool is that!?! Second, I'm so sorry I took so long, but it's finally here!

I decided to combine the prompts since I thought it would be really cute for the story, and this is what I've come up with.

Hope you enjoy, darlings! I'm wishing you all the best! xx Lils

Written for @msblacklupin and @propertyofrjl

You hadn’t had the best experience with birthdays so far. Back in your hometown, it was the same day as a special celebration of the discovery of the mines and they held a huge, town-wide party for it. The party was great, a fair, balloons, cotton candy, everything great, everything kids loved. Unfortunately, it was so good that people tended to forget about your birthday since they were excited about Mining Day.

Of course, people close to you remembered (your parents), but even though you had told your friends plenty of times that your birthday was on the same day, it had slipped their minds a good deal of times. You tried to make parties and people would prefer going to see the guest singer invited to the festival. You'd make them the next day and they were too tired to come.

Eventually, you just gave up on celebrating your own birthday and decided to join the rest on Mining Day, enjoying the candies and everything in between. It might have not been your special day but it was a special day and that was as good as you’d get. Or so you thought.

When you moved to London for university, you didn’t even think about telling your friends about your birthday, and they hadn’t asked either. That was until you took that Creative Writing side course and met them. You had been on time but the room had been filled to the brim with students, and there was nowhere to sit. You’d huffed and were about to leave to ask for a chair from a different classroom but when you turned around you bumped into the prettiest person your eyes had ever laid eyes upon, piercing grey eyes, long wavy hair, and features so elegant he looked royal.

He smiled, such a pretty smile. “Hey, you were going for one of these? I brought extra,” he said as he pulled one of the chairs up to signal what he was talking about.

“Yeah,” you said shily.

“Cool, come along then,” he said and you moved out of the way as he moved with the chairs. He moved his chairs all the way to a table where there was another stunning person sitting down. “What’s your name, Luv?” You replied with your name, soft and polite. “Pretty,” he said, flashing that same smile your way, meaning both you and your name, not that you knew. He accommodated the chairs, one next to each other, wiped his hands on his black jeans and then extended his hand to you. “Sirius Black.”

You shook his hand and then the other boy’s warm smile caught your eye. “Remus Lupin,” he said with his hand extended as well. He had scars all over his body, but it didn’t make him any less handsome. Were you curious about them? Of course, you were. Were you gonna ask? No way in hell.

The boys had met each other at a boarding school in Scotland and had moved to London recently. Remus wanted to take a lit class and tried to convince his friends to join him but Sirius didn’t love the idea of a class where he’d have to read and analyse books, so he suggested taking something more on the creative side.

Remus found the Writing Course and Sirius had been more than happy to join him. You and Remus actually had a lot in common, you discovered as the class went on. You had both read a lot, and you veered towards the same authors and storylines. You had an insane passion for Oscar Wilde and he loved Mary Shelly. You sometimes wondered if he liked her so much because of the way she described the Fiend, you truly hoped that wasn’t it, because while you could see how Rem would relate to the monster, you hated the idea of it, since you considered him absolutely stunning.

Days had gone by, and while you always sat with the boys and hung out with them every time you saw them at school, you hadn’t really seen them outside of it, that was until you got a group assignment and Sirius was quick to place his arms around both you and Rem and claim you as his team.

Remus scribbled your names on a piece of paper and handed them over to the teacher before she assigned each of you a different subject for your story. You got fantasy. The boys seemed to be diverted when you started talking about mythical creatures and wizards, and you assumed it had something to do with an inside joke they developed through the years of knowing each other.

They invited you over to their apartment that was just next to a corner cafe cleverly named “The Corner” and you had stopped by to get something for you and the boys, since you weren’t sure how long it would take and were now waiting just outside the door to their apartment complex.

“We’re coming, Sweets,” Sirius’ voice said through the speakers as the door buzzed open to let you in.

You used your shoulder to push inside and carefully moved the carton with the three coffee cups inside as you entered, your backpack strap got caught in the door and you were forced to turn around to and you opened the door again, placing the paper bag with fresh bread on your mouth to free one of your hands and pulled the strap free.

When you turned around, you were shocked to find a smiling Sirius right in front of your face. “You shouldn’t have bothered, Luv!” he said and extended his hand towards your mouth, taking the paper bag and then the carton with the coffee from your hand.

“I wanted to,” you said simply.

Sirius and you went up the stairs, Remus was waiting by the door and the two of them welcomed you in. For an apartment belonging to two boys, it was surprisingly neat. Remus had arranged his coffee table with a few cushions over the rug so you all could sit together, he had a couple of pens and pencils, his notebook and a stunning Remington Typewriter.

You almost walked straight to look at it when you spotted it on the table, “This is her, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Remus said as he sat beside you. “Wanna try it?”

“Can I please?” you asked, you had a Brother one at your apartment, and you adored her, but Remingtons were classics. His was from the 50s and it looked brand new. Rather than responding, Remus placed a paper through the platen and pushed it towards you.

Since you didn’t actually have a plan to write something, you just typed the boys’ Name and then yours, right at the top of the paper.

“What are we going to write then? Any ideas?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to talk about wizards?” Sirius asked with a smile.

“But do you want to?”

He chuckled, “Of course, Sweets, we’d love to go for that.” He reclined his head on the sofa. “We’ve actually discussed it, and we have some ideas, don’t we Moony?”

Remus shot a look at Sirius, who winked in return.

“Yeah?” You asked as you turned your gaze to Sirius. “For the plot?”

“Mhm… hear me out. It’s a hidden school for wizards, you get there by taking a secret train hidden at King’s Cross. The school is full of magic and mysteries and ghosts and other magical creatures.”

You frowned, “I don’t know… it sounds a little too surrealistic, doesn’t it?”

Sirius laughed at your statement and Remus threw pillow towards his face, you squirmed in your seat a little uncomfortably and then Rem placed his hand on your shoulder, “It’s okay, Dove. We don’t have to go for Sirius’ idea.”

“But he said you wanted to write about it too…”

“I’ll be happy with whatever we make. I know with our writing skills and Sirius’ creativity we’ll make something brilliant.”

You pulled out your notebook and checked the list of ideas for the story you had to write. It had to be at least 50k words and you had three weeks to finish it. So the three of you would have to get writing as soon as possible, which meant you had to define the story and you had to define it fast. Most of your ideas were either unfinished, not doable in such a short time or had the opportunity to be integrated into Sirius’ magic school.

“Okay, tell me more about your Wizard’s school.”

Sirius smiled, threw a look at Remus –a satisfied sort of look– before turning back to you, “Okay, so the name is Wartshow: School for Wizardry and Witchcraft, and–“

“Doesn’t Witchcraft and Wizardry sound better, though?”

Sirius licked his lips and smiled. “All right then, Wartshow: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” You wrote it down in your notebook.

“It’s the story about a boy, a boy that thought they wouldn’t be able to assist even though he was a wizard.”

“Sirius,” Remus said in a warning tone.

“Shut up Moony, you’ll kill my inspiration.”

“Why did he think that?” You asked.

“Because he was bitten by a werewolf when he was 4.”

Remus scoffed and stood up, “I’ll bring the snacks.”

“Is he okay?” you asked.

“He’s not a fan of my story,” Sirius said. “He says the main character is not a hero, but I differ.”

You hummed in response. “What’s the boy’s name?”

“Re- Andrew,” he said, “Andrew Renault.”

“Renault? Is he french?”

“No, I don’t– he is not.”

“Okay, then we should go for a more English name, like… Remington?”

“Andrew Remington? Sounds posh.”

“As if Sirius Black sounded less posh,” you joked and he scoffed playfully at you. He continued listing his ideas, telling you Remus’ story although he had changed the names of almost everyone. “Will there be dragons?” you asked after he had laid out the basic idea.

“Dragons? Those are dangerous!”

“Of course they are, but it’s more exciting than the…ugh” –you checked your notes– “boggart monster you mentioned.”

“Dragons are definitely more exciting than Boggarts,” Remus said as he sat on the floor next to you. You couldn’t help but notice his scars, perhaps Sirius had used those as inspiration for Andrew.

“Okay, so we’ll add dragons. What if there’s a dragon in the dungeons?”

“No, in the dungeons there are snakes,” Sirius said as if it were a fact. He had clearly thought this out.

“Okay… what about a secret room in the castle that has dragons? It’s magical, right? It could be bigger on the inside, like the TARDIS.”

“The what?” Sirius asked, confused.

“The TARDIS! From Doctor Who?” you said as if it were a fact, he still looked confused. “You do know what I’m talking about, right Rem?”

“Is it a book?” he asked.

“A book? How do you even call yourself Brits if you don’t know about Doctor Who? That’s it, Sunday, my house, we’re watching a marathon.”

“Whatever you want, dove,” Remus said and handed you a piece of chocolate.

“So, going back to the story. A room that’s bigger on the inside. Like a… Chamber of Secrets?”

“Sirius,” Remus warned again.

“It’s what she said!” Sirius said defensively.

After that, you finished plotting the small story in between the three, even with the slight reluctance you detected from Remus, you got around to defining all of your main characters, the challenges they’d go through and the resolution of the story.

“By the way, tomorrow is our flatmate James’ birthday,” Sirius said as he closed the notepad he’d been writing on. “Wanna come to the party?”

“I don’t think I’ve met James, though.”

“It’s fine, he’ll love to meet you I’m sure,” Remus said. “When is your birthday?”

“I–“ you hesitated, “I don’t really celebrate it.”

“Why not? We should definitely celebrate the day you were brought into this world,” Sirius said.

You smiled, Sirius could be the sweetest sometimes. “I don’t do parties…”

“Because you don’t want to?”

“No! It’s just… long story, don’t bother yourselves with it.”

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Sirius offered. “In exchange, you give me your birthday, how about that?”

You laughed, Sirius wasn’t the type to care too much about things, so you walked towards him and whispered the date in his ear.

“Now yours?” you said as he leaned closer to you.

“It’s all real, we are magicians from the school in our story,” he whispered.

You laughed. “I thought you’d tell me a real secret, should have known,” you added as you shoved him, he just laughed and shrugged in response, as if he was saying it’s your loss, for not believing his lie.

After that day, you hung out with them almost all the time, be it to watch movies, to continue that Doctor Who marathon, or to hang out with the boys on their birthdays. In fact, it was almost odd if you didn’t see each other in more than a couple of days, since they would find almost any reason to meet, Sirius would call and say ‘Hey, there’s a new movie I want to see, you coming with us?’

Or Remus would leave a note on your mailbox telling you to come with him to a library later that day since he had just finished the book he was reading and you were always the best at finding the right books.

So. of course, you thought it was odd when, on the morning of your birthday, you called their apartment and got no response. Now you weren’t expecting a grandiose party, you weren’t even going to get a cake or anything, but you wanted to see them, maybe go out for dinner, or have a cinema night. You rang them again and still no answer.

You sighed and walked towards school. You didn’t have that creative writing course today so you weren’t expecting to see them there, but perhaps on the lunch break, you’d find them in your usual spot.

Your classes were rather tedious, an old professor that spoke very quietly and you had to sit at the very front to even hear him, and then another professor who almost always went over the same thing you’d seen in the first class. Always, round and round the same thing, with nothing new. At least you’d have a class with Professor Almain before lunch. It was your favourite class of the semester –aside from the writing course– and so far, you thought it’d be the highlight of your day.

But when you got to his classroom, the room was empty and there was a short note on the board: Professor Almain is indisposed today. Study Chapters three and four of your book, you’ll be discussing them next class. The note was signed by Tobby Klein, his assistant.

You sighed and sat down on one of the chairs, sulking as you took out the book mentioned and started to read. Someone else tried to enter the room a few minutes later, and when they realised there would be no class, they left the classroom instantly. Perhaps they had something better to do, you didn’t.

You had taken that class as an extracurricular, so you barely knew the students in it, and your classmates were in a class you had taken online, so you couldn’t exactly go search for any of them. You could have gone to the library, but it also seemed unnecessary when you had a perfectly quiet classroom all to yourself.

You were about halfway through the chapter when you heard someone knocking on the glass window. When you turned you spotted Sirius waving his hand at you with a bright, pearly smile. He looked as dashing as ever. It was ridiculous how pretty you still thought he was even when you saw him all the time.

He entered the room shortly after. “What are you here all alone?” he asked as he pulled a chair next to yours and pressed a short kiss on your cheek as a greeting. Sirius did that all the time, you’d assumed it was because he was half French.

“Class was cancelled,” you said as you pointed to the board. “Had nowhere to go. Aren’t you supposed to be in class too?”

He hummed in response. “It’s that stupid advanced maths class Moony convinced me to take, I was falling asleep and asked to go to the bathroom to throw some water at my face when I spotted you.”

“You should go back.”

“To maths? Rather than staying with you? Yeah, right!”

A small smile appeared on your lips as you stared at him while shaking your head in disbelief. “What if you fail, though?”

“I’m not going to fail,” he said with a shrug. “Moony can tell me what it was about later. Wanna grab something to eat? My treat.”

You nodded and pulled your bag from the ground. “I was actually going to invite you guys over tonight,” you said as you opened the zipper and placed the book inside the bag, “I mean I’m sure you don’t remember, and I don’t really want to make anything big but–“

“That today is your birthday?” Sirius asked.

You turned to him in shock, “You– you…”

“How on earth would I forget?” he said with a smile. “It’s the day my best girl was born. They should make a fucking parade for you.”

You felt your cheeks warm at Sirius’ grandiose attitude. “Come on,” he said as he stood up and offered his hand. “It feels like a day for ice cream, want some?”

You nodded and he dragged you towards the parking lot, his hand not leaving yours at all, you tried to ignore the fluttering in your chest since you suspected he had a thing with Remus, but it was almost impossible when he looked at you with his stunning grey eyes.

He took out the helmet they’d gotten you when they started offering to take you on rides from Moony’s bike and handed it over. It was a full-face black helmet that matched the one the two of them wore almost perfectly, but while Moony’s had a half moon and Sirius’ had a star, yours had both.

It had been Remus who added the matching moon, and Sirius –who instantly got jealous over it– painted a star right in the middle, he was exceptionally good at painting, sometimes you wondered why he didn’t study art. Then again, you weren’t sure what exactly they were studying, since they had taken classes from more than four different degrees as if they had only picked the few classes that they were interested in.

You took the helmet in between your hands and hopped on Sirius’ bike. He drove you to the small park that was just a couple of minutes from the school and got you your favourite ice cream from the small ice cream shop James had discovered a while back.

“So, about tonight?”

“Moony has a thing,” Sirius said with an apologetic smile. “He has a big presentation tomorrow and he’s working on it with his team tonight, they’ll be using the rooftop of our apartment for it, I believe.”

“Oh,” you said, trying to hide your disappointment.

Sirius bit his lip, “Why don’t you come over?”

“I wouldn’t want to be a distraction, I mean–“

“I don’t have to work on any projects,” Sirius said. “We could play chess, watch a movie while he finishes and then we order something to eat.”

“You– do you really think that’s a good idea?” you asked, uncertain, as you brought your ice cream to your mouth.

“For sure,” he said. “We could get a cake and–“

“No cakes.”

“But you like cakes!”

“Not on my birthday.”

“That’s ridiculous! You have something on your face.”

“Where?” you asked.

“There,” he said as leaned his finger close to you and smeared some of his ice cream over your cheek. You gasped in shock.

“Sirius!” you admonished.

“Yes, Luv?” he responded, as if you had just called him.

You used the napkin wrapped around your cone to clean your cheek, “That was uncalled for.”

“I don’t know about that, your cheeks looked like they needed some ice cream,” he said while trying, and failing to hold back a smile, he pulled a napkin from his pocket, much like a magician would do, and handed it over to you. You were about to take it from his hand, but he shook his head and wrapped his fingers around your chin and turned your head to the side softly. “Allow me.”

He took longer than needed while whipping your cheek, but he didn’t exactly want to pull apart, and you didn’t want him to pull apart either.

“There you go.”

“It’s sticky now,” you teased.

“Nothing can keep you happy, can it, Sweetheart?” he said dramatically and wrapped his arm over your shoulders and leaned his head on yours.

You just laughed. Sirius convinced you to skip the next class and stay with him at the park and then took you home.

“Want me to pick you up?” He asked as you got down from the bike. He had propped the small side stand down and was leaning on the handlebar. You could hardly believe he had driven you all around looking that handsome, with his leather jacket, and high boots. Sirius was pretty all the time, but sometimes he felt more like a fictional character than like an actual human.

You saw a girl eyeing him as she passed by, and you couldn’t help but smile at him and nod. “Yeah, that would be lovely. At 7?”

He smiled, gave you a short wink, and put his helmet back on. “See you soon, Sweetheart.” He said, voice slightly muffled by the helmet before he drove off. You entered your apartment shortly after, and it took you a whole minute to recover. It’s not that you hadn’t gone out with Sirius plenty of times, but this one seemed a lot more like a date than all of the previous ones.

You took a snack bar from your pantry, went for a shower, and asked your classmates about the class you’d missed. A friend of yours told the teacher that you were feeling sick to cover for you and he said he wouldn’t count the absence (it was the first time you missed that class anyway), and you had always been rather participative.

After that, you grabbed the book you’d been reading and read until it was 7. The light outside had already gone out, and you took some chocolates you’d bought for Remus last week and placed them in your backpack, it was then that you heard the familiar honk of Sirius’ Triumph.

You walked downstairs and met him outside. He switched his band tee for a snug turtleneck sweater that fit him obscenely well and was still wearing his leather jacket. You had kept your helmet and put it on as you approached his bike.

“You smell nice,” you said as you sat behind him.

“You think?” he asked, playing dumb. “Maybe it’s the aftershave,” he added as he pulled the side stand up and drove into the street. You eyed him suspiciously, not that you could see much while he had his helmet on but you still did.

By the time you arrived at their apartment, you had forgotten all about your suspicion and were just leaning onto Sirius as much as you could, since the night had grown a lot colder than you expected it would. Sirius parked his bike just outside and the two of you walked the three floors of stairs to their apartment.

You expected to see James lounging around like he often did, but he was not there, and Sirius told you Remus was on the terrace at the top, doing his thing, so you walked towards the sofa while Sirius offered to make you a cup of tea.

“Remus bought the one you like,” he said, pulling out a box with the tea you had tried a while back. You had fallen in love with the flavour, but you never found it in the supermarket –it was from a small tea shop at Diagon Alley, so really, there would be no way for you to find it.

“Okay,” you said, “got milk?”

Sirius nodded towards the fridge and you helped him by pulling out the milk and some biscuits. When your cup was ready, he handed it over to you and took a sip of his own. He glanced at the clock quickly, so quick you barely even noticed and then smiled. It was that mysterious smile of his that told you he was up to something. “We should go see Remus.”

“What? I thought he was working on his project.”

“He probably is, but you haven’t seen him all day, I’m sure he wants to at least give you a birthday hug.”

“A birthday hug?” you asked in disbelief.

“Yes! A birthday hug! We’ll bother him for a bit and then we come back and you tell me about that book you’ve been reading. The one with the character you said reminds you of me.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” you said with a laugh as you nodded and followed along with him.

As you reached the top of the stairs you heard some shuffling on the other side of the door. Sirius was the one to open it first, but none of the lights they normally had were up.

“Maybe they went to do their homework at the Corner Cafe,” you told Sirius as you turned to him. Suddenly all the lights turn on, including candles and the hanging fairy lights at the top.

“Surprise!” A chorus of voices sang.

You were startled, Remus and James were right in front of their small table, and there was a cake right in front of them. They had invited their friend Lily, who was dating James and with whom you were fairly close to. She was the first one to approach you.

“I can’t believe Sirius was the one to tell me when your birthday was, Luv! He used to forget mine all the time!” She turned to Sirius with an accusing gaze and then back at you. “Happy Birthday,” she added as she hugged you.

James gave you a short squeeze after and Remus wrapped you in his arms and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. Sirius joined the hug right after.

“You’re squeezing me, boys!” you complained in a laugh.

“It’s a birthday squeeze, deal with it,” Sirius responded, and pressed even closer.

“Remus?” you tried, he was the most reasonable one between the two.

“You heard Sirius, Dove. It’s the birthday squeeze.”

You must have stayed like that for at least a minute before either of the two let go of you, you were certain Lily had whispered something to James, but you were too busy basking on the wrath of the squeeze to bother. After that, you would have sworn the lights of the cake turned on by themselves as Lily walked over to you with it. They sang Happy Birthday while Sirius pulled you to sit on his lap, using the terrible excuse that there was no other seat available.

You had cake and then they handed over your gifts. A book from Lily and a chocolate frog from James, although he warned you not to open it until later. You didn’t know what that was about but decided to do what was told. Eventually, Lily said she had to go and James offered to walk her.

Although he said ‘I’ll fly you’ getting a look from Remus that you missed entirely. The boys had extended a pair of matts over the deck and you were all laying on them while gazing at the stars.

“It was lovely, thank you for the surprise,” you said as you looked at the waning moon.

“It was nothing, Luv,” Rem said.

“Remus was really eager to celebrate your birthday. We actually have a little present for you,” Sirius added.

“Really?” you asked, turning to Sirius.

“Mhm,” he nodded.

“Open the frog,” Remus prompted.

You leaned forwards and sat on the mat, pulling the frog from the table and doing what told. Suddenly the Frog that looked like it had been made out of chocolate jumped and fell near Remus’ leg. You gasped and stared at the moving frog. It looked like chocolate, but it moved as if it were alive.

“What– did James give me an actual frog?”

“No, it’s chocolate,” Remus reassured and picked it up. The frog stilled in his hand.

You stared at it in disbelief, “Is this some sort of trick?”

“It’s magic,” Sirius said.

You frowned at him.

“Remember the story for our class? The one that we worked on together?”

“Wartshow, Andrew, yeah of course.”

“Well, It’s sort of real.”

“What?”

Remus pulled out his wand and handed it over to you. You stared at it, it looked like a wand, it felt like a wand, but there was no way it was magic because magic– “Is this some kind of trick?”

Sirius laughed and pulled out a different wand from his pocket, he whispered something and red sparks blew out from the tip. You swallowed and took it from his hands. Checking on it to see if there was some kind of trick, or cannon dust or something inside of it, but it was just a stick, fancy, but a stick.

Remus took his wand and with another set of words, levitated the small frog right in front of your face. You looked at it with eyes wide open and moved your hand all over it to make sure it really was floating, and it wasn’t some kind of invisible string trick. It was right in front of your eyes, and it was still too fascinating to believe.

“But… in our story, wizards couldn’t tell the non-wizards about their existence. It was meant to be a secret… I mean… Why are you telling me?”

Remus smiled, his hand searched yours and he leaned his head on top of yours and sighed. “Because we trust you,” he said while looking ahead, at nothing in particular.

Sirius searched for your other hand, making sure to turn it around and interwinning his fingers with yours. He placed his head on your shoulder. “Because we like you.”

You hadn’t had the best experience with birthdays, but this had been one of the nicest birthdays of them all, more so when your two crushes admitted what Sirius had meant by his words. That they liked you –romantically– not just as friends.

A/N: I am so, SO sorry for taking this long to finish your gift, but I made it a bit longer than initially planned to make up for it.

Hope you both had the most amazing birthday and that you're having a wonderous day today. Sending you lots of love, hope you enjoy this little thing <3

312 notes · View notes