#please don't let her flop | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

goldeunoias · 4 months

Text

Temptation.

Synopsis: Heeseung fucks a fan 💕 (let the delulu begin)

Please let me know if I should keep as a oneshot or do a part two of the story!

__________________________________________

He slipped you a piece of paper into the fangoods you'd brought to be signed, whispering a quick a "don't open it" before smiling and taking a picture with you. He moved onto the next person to talk to at the send off as if nothing had happened, holding your goods against your chest for the fear the thing he'd given you would slip out.

You looked over to your friends and wondered if you should tell them or keep it to yourself, heart racing in your ears as you tapped on their shoulder.

"I-I have to go to the bathroom, meet right by the doors so we can leave together," you rushed out, maneuvering your way through the crowd until you found a corner of the venue hall that wasn't too crowded, mostly filled with staff working on cleaning up.

You shook your stuff to let the piece of paper fall out, a string of colorful expressions leaving your mouth as you saw what you surmised to be Heeseung's hotel and room number.

Quickly gathering yourself you stood up with your heart thrumming in your ears, swallowing thickly as you made your way over to your friend.

"U-um, do you wanna just stay at a hotel instead? It's. a pretty far drive back and it's probably safer that way...don't you think," you excused, giving your friend a smile that you hoped didn't look too suspicious. "I'll cover the cost," you added on hoping that would convince her.

"No can do, remember I have to be at a networking event tomorrow," they responded. You chewed on your inner cheek and tried to think of the smartest way, going up to the police officer that waited by the door.

"Um excuse me could you escort her to her car so she won't be alone?" The guard looked perplexed but nodded your friend giving you an equally confused look when leaving. You mouthed an "I'll explain later" and called yourself a car to his hotel room, wondering how the hell this was going to play out.

When you finally found yourself outside the aforementioned hotel room you took three breaths before knowing a couple of times, your heart thrumming against your chest when opened Heeseung.

He'd removed his concert makeup and was back in his clothes before the show started, giving you a half-grin as he stepped to the side to let you in.

You squeaked out a "thank you" and went to his bed, feeling your cheeks burn at how surreal this felt.

"No need to be nervous and you can of course leave or stop at anytime," he soothed.

"Should I shower or something beforehand I mean I've been standing all day and I didn't really freshen up" you rambled out, unable to make eye contact with Heeseung as you sat at the head of his bed, keeping your eyes on your hands as to not stare anyway for too long.

Heeseung closed the door and laughed, coming to kneel down in front of you.

"Would it make you feel better if we showered?"

You nodded, your heart racing from how mischievous his eyes looked.

"Only if we shower together-"

"I don't think we'll both fit in there," you interjected standing up before he could say anything because you weren't sure if you could mentally handle a wet-bodied Heeseung.

Heeseung chuckled but relented, flopping himself on the bed as he stared at the ceiling. You used the shower as a means to prep for the ordeal you were about to divulge yourself in, giving yourself a coach pep talk before you walked out in the hotel bathrobe, cheeks shiny from the steam of your shower.

Heeseung gave you a glance that made your heart leap out of your chest, backing yourself against the wall when he stood in front of you. Your breath hitched when his hand slid on your cheek to behind your ear, rubbing your earlobe gently.

"You have a shower to take r-right," you stuttered out. The eyes you gave him made Heeseung want to ravage you on the hotel floor.

"If you give me a kiss," he teased, laughing when you put your hand up to your mouth and shook your head.

"No. I don't kiss men who won't shower," you huffed, using your strength to push him into the shower. He relented once more because he just found your mannerisms too adorable to say no, and you wondered if he could hear how loud your heart was beating.

When Heeseung finally opened the bathroom door you closed your eyes by covering them, just in case he tried to come out naked.

"You don't have to do that, I have pants on," Heeseung remarked, coming down and kneeling between your legs.

You swallowed thickly as his warm hands enveloped yours, kissing along the skin of your knuckles. His hair was darker now from how wet it was and droplets were trickling onto rosy cheeks, making him seem borderline ethereal.

"That was a pretty short shower. Are you sure you're clean," you remarked to fill the silence in the air. Heeseung broke composure and laughed into your lab, kissing your knees as he rose his head again.

"I am I am. You can check for yourself if you like..." he trailed off, rising up and gently pushing you onto your back. Your heart rate picked up speed and you tried not to let your mind run while as Heeseung lifted your leg and softly kissed your ankle up to your knee, smiling against your skin every time you looked away from him.

"Princess, I was thinking about something in the shower," he began, going underneath your bathrobe to massage your warm thighs.

Your chest rose as you felt calloused hands move against your flesh, his head lowering to kiss your lower thighs.

"Have you ever gotten off to me? Slid your pretty fingers inside yourself hoping I'd get the places you couldn't?"

The lewdness of the question made your mind halt and you stuttered out a weak "no". Heeseung chuckled and nipped at the soft flesh of your thigh, raising a brow.

"Are you sure? You got so shy when I asked you," he came up to your face his lips practically speaking against yours, "You can tell the truth princess. To be honest, I'm dying to see such a pretty doll like you get yourself off to the thought of me," Heeseung panted out.

Heeseung pressed some of his body weight down against you and your eyes widened at what you felt, Heeseung smiling against the skin of your neck when you realized.

"The thing you feel against you is how crazy you've already made me princess. Let me see your hand?" You let out a "sure" and let him take your hand and press it against his hard-on, your ears burning at how hot it felt.

"You're the one who did this to me, so can I watch you princess? Please," he almost whined.

"I'm not sure if I-I can give you a show that you likebutIcantry," you awkwardly rushed out, pushing him off of you so you could sit at the head of the bed with your legs spread.

Heeseung uttered a breathy "thank you" as you lowered your underwear, a groan leaving him once he saw how soaked you already were.

You closed your eyes and did your best to imagine him not in front of you but in your head, hyping yourself up for some courage. You started teasing your chest and bit down on your lip when you tugged at a hardened nipple, never realizing that having someone watch you could make the experience that much more tantalizing.

By the time you'd slithered your hand between your legs rubbing your swollen bud elicited sopping noises from your core, your back arching after teasing yourself so long.

"What are you imagining princess, talk to me," Heeseung groaned, his eyes trained on how puffy your clit had gotten from your teasing.

"I-I've always wanted to be edged or" a whimper left you and your toes curled for a moment, "o-overstimulated but I can't do it myself, so I imagine...you doing it," you murmured, your entrance starting to ache in a way you've never felt before.

"And in my head at least...I think you'd be good at fingering," you whined out, your breath getting heavy.

"Oh yeah? Why don't you try doing it then," he teased, his heart pounding in his ears as how turned on he was becoming.

You shook your head and whined, pressing down against your clit harder. "It doesn't feel good when I-I do it, I need...your help."

God you were going you were going to be the death of him.

Heeseung hissed through his teeth, inching closer to you. "Open your eyes princess and let me take over, I'll give the Heeseung you see in your dreams," he promised, on his breaking point.

You figured it must have been a while since he'd gotten any action and relented, Heeseung grabbing your slick-soaked fingers and sucking them clean before letting them fall to your side.

You watched with blown-out pupils as he licked his lips clean of your slick, moving you so his head was comfortably between your legs

"Shit princess you have such a nice pussy," he groaned, wasting no time before wrapping his soft lips around your swollen bud. Your back instantly arched into the sensation as you felt the heat and coarse texture of his tongue circle the bud slowly.

"Y-you're teasing me," you huffed out between heavy breaths, noticing how he made his licks borderline tedious. He chuckled and arched and brow, feigning innocence as a thick digit circled your entrance.

"Princess catches on quick I see. But weren't you the one who wanted to be edged and overstimulated?" he clucked through his tongue, borderline snickering at you when your tight walls were met with his thick digit.

Your head already felt dizzy as your walls pulsed around the intrusion, the harsh but slow licks on your clit only making your hyper aware of what you were feeling.

He tsked and nipped at your thigh to get your attention, already noticing how hazy your stare at become.

"Don't let me lose you now princess," Heeseung teased as he slid in another digit, the stretch remedying the ache you were feeling in your core. "Where does princess like to be fingered I wonder...here?" he remarked innocently, curling his fingers too shallow on purpose.

You shook your head and tried to grab his wrist to guide him, Heeseung clucking his tongue as to not. "Nuh-uh princess, you gotta talk to me not just show me. How else am I to learn your special spots?"

"Deeper, go deeper," you rapsed out, closing your legs around his hand when you felt the pads of his fingers press where it felt best. Heeseung hummed at your reaction, scissoring your core to stretch out the muscle as much as possible.

"Poor thing, how am I supposed to edge you when you're giving me such soft eyes," Heeseung cooed, speeding up his fingers as his tongue wrapped around your clit and sucked harshly.

You whined and tried to push your foot against his shoulder to get him off of you, the knot in your lower tightening to the point where your legs were shaking.

"w-wait, slowdown," you breathed out, trying not to be too loud so the people next door wouldn't hear you.

"My name," Heeseung ordered against your puffy and abused clit, licking it over with the tip of his tongue before flattening his muscle against it. "Say my name."

You widened your eyes and shook your head, wondering how insane he had to be to want you to moan out his name in a crowded hotel.

He scoffed and moved himself so his face was directly above yours, his two digits now stilled in your heat.

"There are other people on t-the floor," you reasoned, tensing up Heeseung licked a wet stripe up your neck and to your ear lobe. He licked the shell of it before nipping at it.

"What are you doing focusing on other people princess?" He remarked through a pout, sliding in a third digit and sucking on your bottom lip as your jaw went slack. "Aren't you supposed to only be focusing on me?"

"I-I'romise I am," you keened out, your nails digging into the sheets as you felt the knot in your lower belly tighten.

"So say it," Heeseung cooed against your lips, emphasizing his point by speeding up his fingers.

"H-heeseung," you croaked out, your inner thighs becoming slick with arousal as you got close.

"Good girl~, and who's making you feel this good?"

"Hee-" you bit on your lower lip to quiet a loud moan, "seung, Lee Heeseung."

"Good girl~, now g'head and cum for me so I can fuck you nice and good yeah?" Heeseung sweetly asked, holding your face in place so you could only make hazy eye-contact with him as the knot got too tight before snapping.

His name now fell from your lips like a waterfall as his fingers continued pressing against your special spots, unable to stop shaking as he stood up on his knees.

Your eyes widened as he lowered his pajama pants and you were faced with something that you weren't sure was gonna fit, though your eyes were trained on the copious amounts of precum that had leaked from the tip.

"See this princess? I told you you're driving me crazy," Heeseung panted through gritted teeth, a strangled groan leaving him when he squeezed at his base, more droplets leaking from his reddened tip.

You squeezed your legs together in anticipation as he then reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a condom, pressing it against your lips softly.

"Rip it for me yeah?"

You nodded and gently ripped it with your teeth, watching intently as he slid it on and position himself back between your legs.

"Shit princess~," he groaned when he saw your core drenched in syrupy arousal, rubbing his tip against your folds to collect the drops.

"I was afraid you weren't going to be wet enough but you're fucking drenched," He hissed as he pushed his tip past your folds. You immediately tensed up at how large the stretch was, whimpers leaving you mewls of his name following in suit.

"I know princess, it's okay, in through your nose out through your mouth like this," Heeseung soothed, watching you intently as you mimicked his breathing pattens, his hips slowly inching in every time you breathed out.

When he'd bottomed out you couldn't help but squirm as you felt his tip push against your cervix, the foreign but tingly sensation it elicited making you want more.

"You can move now, please," you added on, wiggling your hips to satiate the tingle you felt in your lower belly.

"How can I say no to someone who's asking so sweetly," Heeseung remarked sweetly, moving his hips so every time his tip was pressing against your stomach.

You keened out his name before covering your mouth to silence yourself, ragged breathing leaving through your nose as a consequence.

"Nuh-uh princess, let them hear everything," Heeseung whispered against your ear, grabbing your wrists and pinning them against your head. His gentle ministrations had now been swapped for languid but intense thrusts, though you could tell he was only giving you half of his length.

"H-heseung it's not'nuff," you panted out, moving your hips against his desperately to satisfy yourself. Heeseung chuckled at how whiny you were becoming, such a stark contrast to the timid girl that walked through the door.

"It isn't?" he pouted at you, rolling his hips in to you to tease you, "does princess want a kiss then?" he offered up, already leaning in.

You shook your head and covered your mouth and his, Heeseung furrowing his brows.

"K-kissing is what people...in relationships do," you stuttered out.

Heeseung let it off with a smile to hide the tinge of jealousy he felt in chest, his lips instead going to your neck to mark it as his.

"Come to my next show princess," Heeseung offered up, nipping at the skin over your jugular as he squeezed your hands. "I'll give you every inch if I get to see your pretty face at my concert next week," he teased, his hips starting to move out until you were left with just the tip.

"You're crazy," you panted out, whining when Heeseung continued to kiss across your chest and neck, humming in agreement.

"I'll cover airfare and hotel," he continued, unfazed. He'd never been so possessive nor obsessive before but the thought of letting another man touch your skin made his crawl and he refused to let that be a reality.

"At t-that point you're just being my sugar daddy," you reasoned, your hands gripping at his hair when his warm mouth attached to a pert nipple, leaving your core completely neglected.

"We can go out to dinner that night and split the check then," he countered, giving you teasing eyes. "Pretty please?" he added on, giving you soft kisses across your sternum.

Your back arched at the soft sensations and you blamed the endorphins from sex as the reason you panted out an "okay", Heeseung wasting no time pushing all of his inches into you.

"H-hee wait-" your sentence was cut short by his tip making contact with your cervix, your toes curling as Heeseung lifted one of your legs and draped it on your shoulder.

The sounds coming from your core made your face burn but Heseung was reveling in it, desperate to mold your walls into a shape that only he could fill.

You instinctively went to bite down on your lip to silence your sounds, Heeseung tsking and pushing himself impossibly deeper.

"C'mon princess, tell the people on the floor who's making you feel this good," he grinned, his teeth tugging at your ear.

"H-heeseung," you choked out, feeling another knot tighten in your lower belly.

"Mhmm, and who's about to make you cum?"

"y-you." At this point your mind was truly a mess, whining out a "I'm close" as Heeseung pressed you into a mating press, desperate to make you both cum.

I'm not letting you go...

He thought to himself as he watched you leave scratch marks down his chest and breathy moans fall from your lips.

Why should I have to let you go?

He continued as he felt something tight form in his own stomach, begging himself to hold out a little longer so he could cum with you.

I won't.

He concluded, coming into the condom with a strangled groan to match your breathy moan.

You both lay there shaking for a moment as you came down from your highs, Heeseung resisting the urge to plant a kiss on your parted lips.

"If I'm in the front row will I distract you?" you wondered after awhile, giggling when Heeseung scoffed and rolled his eyes. Heeseung sat up before gently easing himself out of you, throwing the condom away and leading you to the bathroom for a round two.

"If you wear the skirt that you did tonight you will."

**********************************************

THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR READING!

please please please let me know if you guys want this as a part two as well or keep it as a oneshot! comments, reblogs, and anons are the reason why I write so much for Heeseung so please keep them coming if you want more Heeseung content from me >_<

#enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen fanfic #enhypen hard thoughts #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #heeseung hard hours #heeseung hard thoughts #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios

2K notes · View notes

nanaslutt · 5 months

Note

hello, i hope youre good !

may you please write one day about y/n sending hot pics for satoru ?

sorry if I spoke something wrong, english isnt my first language :] take ur time and have a good day ! 💞

Your english is perfect ml, please enjoy! <3

Contains: fem reader, established relationship, sending nudes, phone sex, mutual masturbation, he talks you through it, praise, DIRTY TALK

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

"I don't know Shoko.. I've never sent him anything like this before." You groaned into your pillow, your voice through the phone coming out muffled on her end. "But you want to right?" She pushed, making you raise your head up from the sheets and sigh, "I doooo." You huffed out begrudgingly. "Great! Problem solved, the pictures you sent me were hot, but not too revealing, so you can send him something like that for starters." She replied, making you blush at her compliment.

You had recently bought a new set when you went out with Shoko for a girl's day. You had practically ripped the bag in half when you got home so you could get it on your body faster. Once you had on the garment you were posing left and right, making sure to take some sensual pictures for yourself later. Your boyfriend; Satoru; had texted you in the midst of your shenanigans, telling you how he was on his lunch break, making an idea pop into your head.

You wanted to show your man how good you looked, but thinking about sending Satoru; or anyone for that matter; nudes? That made you a little nervous. You quickly dialed up Shoko, she always knew just what to say, she was your hypewoman after all. After a quick convo she had successsfully pushed you in the direction you truly wanted; that being sending your boyfriend risque pictures while he was at work.

"Let me know how it goes, see ya." Shoko's voice echoed through the phone speaker before the tone indicating the call had ended rang through the room. You took a deep breath and rotated yourself on your bed, flopping your back against the pillows, still dressed in the pretty set, while you scrolled through the pictures you had taken-- trying to pick your favorites.

You settled on three for starters, it was an easy pick, only taking you a couple minutes to assess the best ones for Satoru. The first one you were on your side, body laid across the floor sensually as your arm rested on your hip, giving the viewer's eyes full access to your body. In the second picture, you were on your knees, you had placed your phone on the ground and set it to a timer so you could lean forward, making your thighs crease at the top, as you used to squeeze your breasts together.

The last photo was your favorite. You were sat on the floor, your legs folded and spread, the sheerness of the panties leaving little to the imagination in the lighting, while your hand once again rested against your tit, pushing and groping it in your hand while the other took a picture in the mirror, your phone covering most of you face save for a sliver of a smile that peeked out the side of the phone.

Your heart was racing, you knew Satoru would like the pictures, and you're pretty sure he would find you attractive in a trash bag, but you digressed, opening the chat to your lover.

Satoru <3: finally on lunch, yaga brought donuts today!

The picture attached was of the white-haired man laying back in his chair as he held his shirt up over his stomach to reveal his somehow still toned, but bloated tummy, an empty donut box in the background. Something told you that the donuts might've been for the kids, but Yaga should've known that bringing sweets around Satoru without anything for him was a recipe for disaster.

You laughed to yourself as you shook your head before responding. The two of you bantered back and forth about the subject for a while before he asked you what you were up to right now, which gave you the perfect excuse to send him the pictures. After sending an ominous 'you wanna see?' text, you clicked on the three gold medal winning pictures and sent them his way. You bit your lip between your teeth as you watched the blue bar at the top of the screen slowly slide across it, indicating it was sending.

Seconds before the pictures had been successfully sent, Satoru had started typing back his own response, which made you nervous because it meant he was in the chat and would see the photos sooner. Which is what you wanted, yes, but it didn't make it any less nerve-wracking.

When the little ‘delivered’ popped up underneath your pictures, quickly followed by a ‘read’ you held your breath. The three dots that indicated his typing stopped, then started, then stopped again. Uncertainty filled your body, did he not like the pictures? Was he mad you sent them while he was working?

You were snapped out of your stupor when your phone started vibrating in your hand, Satoru’s contact picture and name lighting up the phone as it rang. You quickly answered his call, readying yourself to apologize for being out of line, but before you could do so you heard a loud drawn out groan resonate from the speaker.

“You’re such a tease.” He pouted on the other side of the line, “I only have 5 minutes left on my lunch break and you just made me so fucking hard.” He groaned, making you sigh in relief as you registered his words. “I’m sorry Satoru, I felt pretty and wanted you to see,” you faux apologized, biting your lip as you looked around your room.

“And you do look so fucking pretty baby, that’s the problem.” He sighed, spinning himself around in his chair while he stared down at his erect cock that was tenting up his pants. He looked over at the large clock on his wall, which he mainly used for decoration, before sighing into the receiver. "Thank you, Satoru," You blushed. "I was going to send them when you texted me that you were on your lunch but our conversation wasn't really.. in that mood" You explained.

You heard his signature laugh from the other end, "Baby, I don't care if I just told you the school got attacked by a hoard of curses, if you have sexy pictures to show me you better not keep them from me." You rolled your eyes, you both knew he was exaggerating and you would never do such a thing, but his words made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside still. "Sorry Satoru, is it too late to tell you that I took more than the ones I sent you?" You giggled, biting your lip when you heard him groan in response.

"Fuckk, please send me those pictures baby~" He wined, reaching over to his wireless headphones as he popped onto into his ear so he could still hear you while he oggled your pictures, he wouldn't want anyone to hear this conversation after all. You were one step ahead of them, the delivered notification once again popped up on your screen as you sent him three more pictures, all more risque than the last.

In one your back was arched in the mirror, showing off the pretty decoration on the back of the panties. Another, you completely abandoned the bra of the set, leaving the panties on as you covered your nipples with your fingers, and one of the same vein of you holding the phone over your body while you lay on the bed, your arm squishing your tits in the bra together while it cupped over your panty-less cunt.

"Oh you're trying to kill me, look at that fucking arch." He groaned, covering his mouth with his hand as he took in the photos. "Baby you look so cute in that last one." He complimented, making you blush and giggle as you whispered out your thanks to him. He looked over to the clock once more, it was a couple minutes over the time he was supposed to be back and teaching the kids, but he figured if he was already late, what was a couple more minutes?

"Answer that," Satoru instructed, referring to the FaceTime request that popped up on your phone from him. You accepted it quickly, pulling your phone from your ear as you slid the green button over, smiling fondly when his flushed face popped into view. "You're so handsome, Satoru." You complimented, feeling your stomach start to tie itself in knots with how debauched he looked from just looking at the pictures you sent him, he was so clearly aroused.

"Oh shit, you still have it on?" He said, biting his lip as he set his phone down on the desk in front of him, giving you a full veiw of his body as he leaned back once more and startaed rubbing himself over his slacks. "Satoru what are you doing?" You asked with a laugh, surely it had been longer than five minutes now, he needed to get back to teaching. "Shh baby, they wont miss me for a couple more minutes ill make it quick." You imediately picked up on what he was insinuating.

"Look at how hard I am baby, I can't go out there looking like this." He wined, tipping his head to the side against his chair as he looked at you with a pout. "You're gonna take care of me too right?" You asked, giggling before you set up your own phone on your bed, using some pillows to stabilize it. The white-haired man scoffed before he started unzipping his pants and pulling his cock out, "Can't believe you just asked me that." He said, semi-faux offense plastering itself on his face, "Was there ever a time I've left you unsatisfied?" He asked, slapping his cock against his free hand when it was finally unobstructed from his too-tight pants.

You sat back on your heels and started massaging your tits in your hands, making the warmth in your stomach grow as you pretended to think, looking around the room as you hummed. "Oh, so you already forgot how I made you cum in under a minute before work yesterday morning?" He said confidently, beginning to stroke himself as he watched you push your covered tits together. "I barely have to touch you and you're a squirming mess, dont play with me." He huffed out a laugh, bringing his other hand down to massage his balls in his hand, really giving you a show.

"But you're not here right now, Satoru." You retorted, sliding one of your hands down your body slowly, making your way down to your cunt. "Maybe not, but just my words are making you all wet, huh?" He asked knowingly, pulling his lip between his teeth as he watched you tease yourself. You nodded, making him coo at you as you finally made it to your cunt as you started to rub small circles over your clit.

"Get comfortable for me baby, keep the set on." He instructed. You lay back against the pillows and spread your legs. The crotch of the panties had a little patch over your entrance that he couldn't see through, but every other part of the fabric was almost completely sheer, except for the fact that your wetness was seeping through them little by little and making them see through the more you teased yourself.

"Play with your nipples while you rub yourself baby." He groaned, trying to keep his voice relatively quiet as he was in his office. "This is so dirty." You giggled, following his instructions. You rubbed small circles against your panty-clad clit while you pinched your nipple through the fabric of the unpadded bra.

The two of you have tried many things sexually throughout the entirety of your relationship together, but somehow, have never thought of getting off together over the phone. When Satoru was gone on missions the two of you would send dirty messages back and forth, saying how bad you missed each other, but nothing to this extent. This was opening a whole new world for the both of you, and it would be something you would definitely do again.

"Good fucking girl. Goddd, what I wouldn't give to bend you over right now and fuck you into the bed." He groaned, his strokes picking up pace while he watched your body jerk and twitch under your ministrations. "Yeah?" You encouraged, rubbing yourself faster and harder as your cunt clenched around nothing, aching for him to fill you up.

"Yes baby, want you to fuck yourself back on my cock too, wanna watch your little pussy swallow up my dick." He continued, rambling as the wet strokes on his dick emanated louder through the room. "Pull your panties aside and touch yourself, gotta see your pretty pussy." He grit through his teeth, as he tried to keep his eyes from rolling back in his had. You did as told, pulling the fabric aside you exposed your twitching clit and pulsing hole, a string of your arousal that connected to the panties failed to excape his eyes, making Satoru's cock twitch.

"Touch yourself, baby, pretend it's me touching you." He groaned, letting his jaw drop as he watched your fingers come in contact with the little bud, beginning to rub quick circles against it, just like he always does. "L-like this Toru?" You asked, needing him to praise you right now. "Just like that baby, doing so good for me, so fucking perfect." He groaned, shaking his head back and forth as he watched your smaller fingers work yourself through your orgasm.

"Shit, wanna feel your cunt squeezing me so bad, can see her twitching." He whined, making you blush in embarrassment at how exposed you were. Satoru's leg started bouncing against the floor at how fast he was working himself up. "P-please, fuck me Toru', fuck me-" You whimpered, getting lost in the sensation as you tipped your head back against the pillows and dropped your other hand down to the opening of your pussy, slowly sliding them inside your walls and starting up a blissful pace as you curled them up towards your sweet spot.

"Yes fuck your pussy for me, baby, yesyesyes." The man rambled, his back beginning to arch off the chair with how close he was. The squelching emitting from your cunt was going to send him over the edge, he so desperately wanted to pull your inadequate fingers out and lick them clean before he replaced them with his own. "Faster baby, cmon, get yourself there." He begged, slowing his strokes against his cock to let you get closer to your orgasm so the two of you could cum together. "I-I'm fuck S-satoru- Right there- right there-" You moaned, losing yourself in your fantasy as you fucked your fingers harder and deeper into yourself.

"Yeah? Right there? You like when I fuck you right there?" He slurred, clenching his teeth together as he picked up his pace once more, beginning to fuck his hips up into his hand. "Yes Toru- G-gonna- gonna cum-" You wined, your voice raising in pitch as you dropped your chin down to the screen in front of you, watching the show he was so kindly putting on for you as the sight pushed you over the edge.

"M-me too- Gonna fill you up cutie- fucking- take it-" Satoru groaned, hot ropes of cum spurting from his dick as his torso curled in slightly, his abs clenching and body jerking with the force of his orgasm. He watched intently as you snapped your legs shut around your hand, he saw the muscles in your forearm moving, praising you for working yourself through it as wave after wave of your high crashed over you. "Good girl, good fucking girl." He praised, slowing his strokes on his cock as he worked himself through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

"S-shit" Your body relaxed against the sheets once more, your legs staying shut as you relished in the friction your closed thighs brought to your cunt as you came down from your orgasm. You heard your boyfriend giggle, dropping your knees down to the side you looked down at the screen and noticed that he was wiping his cock clean and tucking himself back into his pants. "Whew, 3 minutes, and I didn't even touch you." He praised himself, making you laugh and roll your eyes at him as you sat up to grab your phone in your hand and lay it against the side of the bed with you as you laid down.

"You could say the same for me too you know." you retorted, making him smirk. "Yeah, you could, made me make a huge fucking mess." He giggled, staring at you lovingly through the phone. "You look beautiful." He said, making hearts practically form in your eyes as you thanked him. "Clean yourself up before you fall asleep, I'll be home soon, okay?" He said, raising his eyebrows at you as he waited for your answer before he ended the call.

"Okay Satoru, hurry please." You added the two of you said your goodbyes, he blew you an animated-looking kiss before he hung up the call. You sighed, dropping your hand against the sheets as you smiled to yourself, you couldn't wait for him to get home.

After giving yourself a couple more seconds to lie there, you sat up, heading his words as you started to get yourself cleaned up. You paused in your ministrations when your phone buzzed, the screen lighting up as Satoru's name popped up on the screen. You decided to check his message before you left for the bathroom, your jaw dropped and your body tensed when you opened his message.

There was a picture of Satoru's impressive-sized softening cock that rested on his hand, his length and hand alike covered in his cum with a message attached. When did he even have time to take that picture?

Satoru <3: Keep the set on till I get home please~

2K notes · View notes

buckyalpine · 5 months

Text

Edit to add: thought it saved with tw, non con, dark winter soldier

I wanna fuck the beefy winter soldier who uses me like a sex doll, just a hole to fuck. I want him to shove it in whenever he wants, fully focused on pleasuring his dick and nothing else. He’s chasing that pleasure at the tip of his pink cock that feels so good, grunting and groaning, wide touch hands holding you down in place.

Imagine he comes to finish a mission, breaking into a large mansion in the middle of the night only to find no ones home except the sweet little maid, still dressed in her tiny uniform, finishing up in the master bedroom.

You freeze on the spot, ready to beg him to spare your life as he shut the door behind him, swiftly locking it. He's programed to kill but you're evoking something new inside him. He feels pressure between his legs, his cock aching with need, a new desperate desire he needs to quench.

You know that scene with the red henley, his thick, muscular body throwing others around with 0 effort. I want that but with no clothes on. Clothes make his body feel too hot. He takes it all off when he stalks over to you, rock hard cock bobbing between his legs when he grabs and throws you over his shoulder. He might as well be an animal, precum dripping from the head down to the floor from your smell alone.

He’s absolutely unhinged.

Hasn’t had an orgasm in years.

Nearly nonverbal as he gets ready to take what he wants.

Your heart races, too scared to cry while he shoves your legs apart, groaning at your sweet scent. He tears your clothes off with his bare hands before experimentally pumping his cock, moaning at the bit of relief it gives him.

He needs more.

"P-Please-please no-Oh God!" You cry out as he shoves his cock in with one swift motion, pounding you with no remorse, grunting and panting, inhaling the scent of your perfect and something distinctly you as he snarls against your neck.

It feels so good, the serum in his veins making his cock swell with each thrust, thick drops of precum already marking you from the inside. His sole focus is to get rid of the achy feeling in his dick by using you, wanting to stop the heavy feeling in his balls. They're too heavy, too swollen, too full, it fucking hurts and your cunt feels so good, wrapped around his cock.

He moans louder with each thrust, pleasure licking up his spine, your needy little squeals just adding to how good it all feels. He loves the sting of your nails scratching down his arms, your tight pussy quivering and fluttering around him.

He sits back on his heels to watch the sight of his cock going in and out, your sensitive button throbbing between your legs. He gives it a flick, fucking you harder when he realizes touching you there makes you scream. He flicks and rubs at it wildly, loving how much tighter you get when he does that.

He gives you no warning when he pulls out and manhandles you till your face is pushed into the mattress with your ass high in the air, his cock reaching a much deeper angle in this position. He grabs onto your hips with both hands and slams you to meet the sharp snap of his hips, muttering something in a language you don't understand.

You can tell he's close, feeling him harden further inside you, his pace starting to falter. He's panting harder, head thrown back feeling that release get closer and closer. He gives you a final harsh thrust before burring himself in as deep as he could go, letting out a deep guttural moan as he starts to spill into you, his hot cum pouring out endlessly.

He wants to stop but he can't, waves of pleasure continuing to wash over him each time he thinks he's almost done, letting your body go limp while he flops on top and practically ruts and humps himself until he's finally soft and spent. He pulls out, searing the sight of his seed dripping out to memory before throwing his clothes back on. The empty feeling makes you whimper.

"moya khoroshaya devochka" [my good girl] he murmurs before leaving, already deciding he's ready to go rogue just to add this location to his list of places to revisit.

This wasn't meant to be part of the story but imagine he does come back to take what he wants and you let him. A few weeks later you feel insanely nauseous, throwing up every time you eat, exhausted and constantly wanting to nap.

When he sneaks in again, your scent in different and he knows. You're confused when he doesn't ravish you. Instead he wordlessly puts his hand on your belly. You look at him with confusion, especially when he picks you up softly and puts you to bed instead, keeping his hand back on your tummy.

"nash malysh" [our baby] he says softly and slowly, hoping you'd understand. Of course you quickly piece it together, only snapping out of your shock feeling his cold metal hand cup your cheek.

He makes love to you that night.

He's not sure why. He knows he has to be gentle with you. He should end you, end this mess before it goes any further but its too late. He's soft and slow. He holds you close and moves with such care, giving you deep thrusts with the roll of his hips. He lets his hands lace with yours, pinning you against the bed, squeezing them comfortingly as if to let you know he's not going anywhere.

He knows he doesn't have a lot of time. You'll be showing soon.

He'll figure something out.

Idk why tf I can't just write fics with the winter soldier where he fucks and leaves. It always ends with some stupid fluff which I didn't intend to add.

1K notes · View notes

lvrxly · 5 months

Text

ִ ࣪𖤐- An Odd Feeling

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

summary: your neighbor, Simon, is a single dad. and you frequently babysit his son, Oliver. You've grown to love Oliver, buying toys for him, planning play dates, and even offering to babysit him while his dad goes on a date..wait what? You really thought after all of this Simon would choose you, but maybe he will..?

cw: simon is somewhat oblivious at the beginning >:((, mdni - smut, slight age difference (Simon is in his mid-30s while the reader is in her mid-20s), unprotected sex, breeding kink on Simon's part, oral sex (f receiving), Simon can't help but want another kid after seeing how you treat his :((

a/n: sorry this took so long to get posted! and i apologize for any grammar mistakes, i don't have the energy to edit this right now ;( (it's almost 4am).

hope you enjoy lovies ;)

⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆

"Thanks again for this love, I should be back around 9pm, please try and get him to bed before then," Ghost says frantically as he passes his son over to you along with his diaper bag and favorite blanket.

There was that damned nickname again. 'Love'. Simon always seemed to call you love, it was almost infuriating how that little pet name could make your heart race and your cheeks heat.

Simon had a date with someone a friend of his set up for him, Soap, you think was the guys name. From a photo Simon showed you, she was pretty, gorgeous even. Slim and tall, long blonde hair, and seemingly put together.

"Yeah no problem. Have fun, try and get laid. You definitely need it," You say with a dry laugh, bouncing his son, Oliver, over to your other hip. Why the fuck would you say that? 'Get laid?' Why would you even suggest such a fucking thing knowing you can barely stomach watching him go out on this date in the first place.

He cleans up nice, a fitted pair of dark grey khaki pants with a white button up shirt, the sleeves rolled, revealing his tattooed forearms, and his sandy blonde hair slicked back out of his face, making him less shaggy looking than you were used to.

Simon laughs and waves goodbye as he turns on the heels of his dress shoes and hops down the steps of your front porch. You wave at his back, shutting the door with a heavy sigh. You turn around and set Oliver down, watching as he bolts toward the little corner of your living room which you had designated as his play area for when he comes over.

Your heart feels heavy as you walk over towards your couch, tossing Oliver's diaper bag and blanket onto one of the cushions. You flop down onto the other cushion, kicking your feet up on the coffee table that is placed in front of your couch.

Oliver looks just like his father, from what you could see anyways. Dirty blonde hair, gunmetal blue eyes, and a small dimple on his left cheek. He was an adorable kid, an easy one to babysit too.

Oliver runs up to you, a toy tractor in his hand as he holds it up to you, his other hand rested on your knee as if to help him balance better. "Tac-tar!" He exclaims.

You smile at him, taking the toy he was offering you, and touching your fingertip on his nose, causing the little boy to giggle. Enough about Simon. Oliver was your date tonight. Your own play date buddy.

⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆

It was a little after 9pm, maybe just about 9:47, when Simon got back. He had knocked on your door for a good 5 minutes before he gave up and decided to let himself in.

He used the key that you would poorly hide under your doormat. The two of you would get into arguments about the placement of the key.

"It's the most obvious spot, love, you're gonna end up getting robbed on of these days." Simon had said the day you told him where it was, he was always worrying about your safety. You knew he was an ex-military Lieutenant, but then again that might just be the dad in him talking.

After unlocking your front door and pushing it open he begins to speak, "Sorry I was a little later than I thou-" But he cuts himself off after his eyes land on your couch.

There you laid on your back, an arm falling off the couch and a leg propped up on the back cushion, snoring lightly. That position couldn't have been that comfortable. But that's not what made him freeze. It was how his son was laying on your chest, fast asleep with his favorite blanket draped over his back. You looked as if his son was your own.

His breathe is caught in his throat as he stares at the two of you, slowly shutting the door behind him as he makes his way over to the couch.

A small smile paints his face as he stands behind the small and slightly sad turquoise couch, bending down so his forearms rested in the back cushion. He watches you sleep, his eyes dragging up and down your frame. After a moment he uses a single finger to brush a stray piece of hair off of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

His smile never falters as he pets the back of his sons head, his long blonde hair slightly sweaty from how hot it probably was being all nuzzled up to you.

You stir in your sleep, your eyes fluttering, only for them to end up shooting wide open in shock. You gasp and clutch the back of Oliver, sighing after realizing who was really watching you sleep.

You sit up, cradling Oliver in your arms, careful not to wake him. "Do you normally watch people sleep?" You say with an annoyed look on your face as you rub your eyes, sleep still attempting to pull you back in.

After regaining most of your consciousness, you stand from the couch, your clothes wrinkled and Oliver's little head on your shoulder as you hold him in your arms.

"Eh, define normally," Simon says, a joking tone noticeable in his voice. Was he trying to make a joke? Since when did Simon Riley ever makes jokes? What the hell happened at the date?

"Your in a good mood. You didn't really end up getting laid right? You know what..? I don't think I wanna know." Your words are frantic and slightly irritated. Why did you feel so...odd right now? Simon is a single man. He has the right to go on dates with beautiful women. Unfortunately.

You bounce around your kitchen, rocking your hips side to side to keep Oliver asleep for as long as possible. You can't help but notice how Simons eyes follow your hips as they move. And..what was that? Did he just groan? No no, that would be crazy.

"No I didn't get laid," He finally replies. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in. Almost like a breath of relief.

"If I was getting laid I would have gotten back a lot later..It takes more than 30 minutes with me, love.." Simon was suddenly behind you, his breath hot on your neck as his hands hover above your hips, heat radiating off of his tatted skin, almost scorching the flesh of your thighs through your pants.

You stop bouncing his son, glancing over your shoulder at Simon and..holy shit he was close, almost too close. Those damned eyes were pulling you under and you didn't know if you wanted to be saved.

Oliver shifts in your arms, waking up slowly. His tiny hands rub his eyes, rubbing the sleep out of them. Once he's awake and spots his dad he immediately makes grabby hands towards him.

You gladly hand him over to Simon, anything to get away from the man that was way way wayyyy to close for comfort. You give Oliver to his father and take a large step away from Simon. You see his smile falter but he quickly regains his composure when his son calls his name, his tiny hands on Simons cheeks.

"You have fun while I was away buddy?" He asks his son, to which Oliver responds with a vigorous nod. He then begins to blabble on about his trucks and snacks he ate, but you space out, your eyes still locked on the two of them.

Simon looked so good with a kid, he was a good dad. You can't help but imagine how good he must have been to his wife while she was pregnant. Her lose for leaving him. He's a great guy. Unfortunately, that means women probably throw themselves at him. Hot, ex-military, AND good with kids??? Yeah, they definitely do. And you would to, if you were so full of self doubt.

"Love?" You hear Simon say, his eyes now focused on you as Oliver was seemingly put down to go play for a little longer.

"I asked if you're free this weekend? Oliver is going over to his grandparents for a few days and I was wondering if you'd like to do something?" His voice was shy...that was weird. It's almost like-

"Are you asking me on a date?" You say, a teasing smirk playing across your lips.

"No no, well- no it's not like that. Just as friends, you know- without the ruckus of that one running around." When he says "that one" he points towards Oliver, who was currently crashing two tractors together and making a crash sound with his mouth.

"You know what? Sure Simon. I'll see you then."

He smiles, nodding softly as he runs his hands through his hair, the gelled effect must have worn off because it was back to its shaggy state, almost getting to the point it reached his eyes. He needed a haircut, but it's not like you didn't like the shaggy look. It was unexpectedly sexy.

Maybe it was just your hormones talking but everything about this man was unexpectedly sexy. His tired eyes from sleepless nights and early mornings, his tatted arms, a few of the tattoos colored in with what seemed like marker from Oliver, and his tall frame, almost towering over you to the point you had to look up to see his face.

You did suggest that he should get laid, but maybe you're the one who really needed the action. It's been who knows how long, and your getting so desperate that you literally can't look at him without butterflies fluttering in your stomach as well as..further south.

⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆

After sending Simon and his son home, you immediately ran to your bedroom, quickly stripping out of your clothes and hopping into the warm water of your shower. With your back to the water and your hands in your hair, you can't help but let your mind wander back to your neighbor.

What was he doing right now? Was he helping Oliver brush his teeth? Was he just getting into the shower too? Was his shower water warm or cool? Did he have tattoos elsewhere? What did the soap look like running down his chest and down his legs..?

Okay, you need to go to bed. Sleep would do the trick. Right?

⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆

Wrong. Sleep 100% didn't do the trick. Two full days of almost nothing but sleep and this man has been filling your head with thought of him, some more naughty than other. He had crawled into your dreams, your thoughts, and your daily life in general. You cant even pour creamer into your coffee without seeing his smug ass face in your mug.

It was now the weekend, around 7pm on a Saturday. The sun had already gone down and you were sitting in your living room, a random cheesy rom com on the television as you scrolled on your phone. You scrolled through your feed, seeing videos of your college friends out partying, drinking, and having fun. Then there was you, sitting at home with day old mascara on your lashes and sleep evident on your face.

There was a heavy knock on your door, with a raised brow you hop up from your couch and make your way over to the door, peaking through the peep hole to see who it was. And to your surprise, it was exactly who you were thinking of.

There Simon stood, a bottle of champagne and a single red rose in his hands as he bounces on his heels, he was back to his regular shaggy look, unkempt hair, white t-shirt, blue jeans, and his silver dog tag hanging from his neck.

Quickly, you open the door with a smile and invite the man in. As he walks in towards your kitchen counter you quickly become aware of your appearance. Old makeup on your face, and crinkled clothes that you couldn't be bothered to iron.

However, at this point the two of you have seen each other at your worst, hell you've seen Simon running off of two hours of sleep with a sick little Oliver who wouldn't stop crying and coughing.

"Champagne and a rose? This feels like a date to me.." You tease running a hand across his shoulder as you pass him, earning a shiver from the man. you stand on the opposite side of the kitchen island as he takes a seat on one of the barstool chairs you have, sliding the bottle towards you.

"Take it however you want love." He laughs, running his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face, his bicep flexing in the process, and holy fuck.

You shake your head and pop open the bottle of champagne. "I'm glad I know you and Oliver, he's a good kid."

"You're such a big help with the little guy, I honestly don't know what I'd do without you. He loves you a lot." Simon is more soft spoken than usual as he twirls the rose between his fingertips.

You're frantically searching your cabinets for those champagne glasses you got all those years ago but have never used. You swear you still had them.

"It's no biggy. He's a joy to have around and probably one of my only friends!" You laugh, sighing after you cant find those dumbass champagne glasses and grabbing two mugs out of the cabinet instead. Not quite what you'd normally drink something like champagne out of, but it would have to work.

"So I'm not considered a friend? I see how it is," Simon fakes a hurt expression as he takes a mug from you with a raised brow. His shoulders shake in silent laughter after he looks at the mug to which it read "Male Tears" in big black lettering.

You laugh along with him, "Eh, I kinda like your son more than you, he's less broody," You tease, pouring the champagne into each of your mugs. Your mug saying "Reading is Sexy" with blue lettering.

There the two of you sat, at your kitchen island drinking cheap champagne out of coffee mugs with a single red rose placed between the two of you.

After a few hours and an entire bottle of champagne, the two of you sat on your couch together, a movie on your tv.

You sat with your legs draped across Simons lap, his hand resting on your knee as his fingers gently rubbed circles into your skin. It tickled, but in a good way.

You fought sleep, your eyelids slowly shutting and reopening. Your breath was calm and slow, a comfortable silence had fallen between the two of you.

"Gettin' sleepy love?" Simon asks with a chuckle, his deep blue eyes lingering on you as he rubs up and down the length of your leg.

You don't bother answering verbally, you don't have the energy. You shake your head in a quiet and small 'no', your hand coming up to rub your eyes. What time was it? It couldn't be that late.

With a groan, you sit up and grab your phone off of the coffee table, tapping your screen a few times for it to turn on. Your screen nearly blinds you, a curse falling from you lips as Simon merely chuckles next to you. 11:57. Almost midnight already? You thought, there's no way.

Simon peaks over your shoulder and shakes his head, running his hands over his face with a yawn. "Surely I haven't been here all that long, it's definitely past our bedtimes," he teases as he moves your legs off of his, standing from the couch with a stretch, his shirt lifting, showing off a fucking happy trail. This man was too hot for his own good. It had to be a crime at this point.

You stand next to him, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you yawn, making your way lazily towards the direction of your bedroom.

"I better get ta' goin'-" Simon begins, before you cut him off.

"Oh please, theres no way in hell you came over here just to hang out as friends, Simon." Your voice is low as you stand before him, your bodies mere inches apart as you stare up at him. Messy hair, sleepy eyes, and those god damn dimples shining through as he smirks down at you. You fuckin' knew it.

His arms wrap around your waist, his face nearing yours as he walks you backwards into your kitchen, your hips hitting the kitchen island. "I've been caught."

His breath smelling of cheap champagne and cigarettes as his lips grazed yours. His lips are soft as he finally kisses you, fitting perfectly against yours.

Simons hands remove themselves from your waist, landing on the kitchen island, trapping you between him and the counter. You deepen the kiss, standing on your tippy toes to match his force, earning an audible groan from the blonde man in front of you.

When the kiss ends, nothing but heavy panting and quiet curses fill the air. "Fuckin' hell love.." he whispers against your neck, his lips leaving a trail of kisses up and down your warm skin.

Quiet whimpers leave your lips as his lips work their way up to your ear, where he whispers a phrase that makes your knees want to buckle. "Get on the fuckin' counter doll, I've waited far to long for this and my tongue is tingling for your taste.."

Obviously, you do as he says, hopping up onto the cool granite. "Atta girl," he says, his voice raspy as he tugs the waistband of your pants down, pulling them off your legs as if he's been craving you for years. Maybe he has been..

In a swift motion he pushed you onto your back, earning a quiet yelp from you as your back touched the cold surface. With his eyes glued on your panties and his hands on your plush thighs you can't help but whimper, letting your head fall back onto the counter top.

"Fuckin hell lovie, you're already so wet..." Simon says through gritted teeth, the pad of this thumb rubbing slow circles against your clit, the feeling of the pressure over the fabric of your panties was enough for you to clench around nothing.

"Simon please-" you whimper, your hips rolling against his touch, eager for more. This draws a chuckle from the man in front of you, he pulls his hand away with a smug smirk on his lips.

Not another word is shared between the two of you before Simon is kneeled on the tile flooring and he has your legs over his shoulders, his face at perfect height with your core. He pulls your panties to the side, groaning at the sight before him. He was so fucking hard right now, straining against the zipper of his pants.

He blows a cool puff of air against your cunt, watching as it flutters before it, his smirk never falters as he runs his thumb over your cunt, coving his finger in your juices.

"Riley I swear to the gods, if you don't stop playing with your food-" you begin, getting cut off with his tongue against your slit and his thumb rubbing circles against your sensitive bundle of nerves. His tongue works in and out of you, flicking and sucking, the noises that fill the kitchen are positively hypnotic. Your whimpers and moans mixed with the wet noises of Simons tongue between your legs. And to top it off, every time you buck your hips against his face he moans, a low growl like noise that makes you absolutely drip.

Simon is only using one hand to hold open your legs, his right hand has traveled down to his pants, unzipping his jeans and finally giving himself that oh so needed friction that he's been deprived of. His tongue goes flat against your cunt, his head shaking side to side, flicking his tongue every so often, just enough to catch the tip of your clit.

He palms himself through his boxers, rutting into the palm of his hand. "You like that baby? You're gettin' louder.." he teases as he sucks on your clit, causing your back to arch off of the counter top and your hands to fly to his hair, tugging on the blonde strands, pressing his face into your greedy little cunt even more.

"Simon! Right fucking there, please please please..." You moan, your thighs threatening to close around his head as your legs shake with pleasure. Your breath is quick and your moans are loud as Simon god damn Riley holds your legs open, sucking and licking your clit, you were about to fall apart right then and there, but after he shoves two fingers into your cunt you absolutely crumble.

The orgasm rushes throughout your body, your grip on his hair tight. He doesn't stop though, his tongue stays glued to your clit, his fingers moving at a pace that makes your writhe, drawing out this heavenly orgasm as long as he can.

You're already fucked out as he pulls his fingers out of you, kissing your fluttering cunt, kissing up your torso and tugging your shirt over your head to kiss all the way up your lips. This kiss was everything passionate, the taste of you still lingering on his lips.

Your eyelids are heavy and your chest rises with a quick pace, still trying to come down from your high. Sweat glitters your skin, your panties hanging from your ankle and your mascara running down your cheeks. "So beautiful, so fucking gorgeous baby.." Simon whispers as he kissed you on the forehead, running his hands over your cheeks. "But we're not done yet, no no no, this night isn't over until I fill you up so full that Oliver will have a fucking sibling by tomorrow.." His voice is deep and sultry, pulling you up off the counter by your wrists and tossing you over his shoulder like a damn sack of potatoes.

With a yelp from you, Simon gives a little smacks to your ass. His quick strides make it to your bedroom in no time at all. He tossed you on the bed, you landing on your back, your toes bouncing along with the mattress, earning a low curse from the man in front of you. He stands at the end of your bed, quickly pulling his pants and boxers off of himself. He can't go another fucking second without being inside of you.

The image of this man crawling on top of you, his ink covered arms on either side of your head and your legs on either side of your hips as he pressed against you. It was all so much, your cunt was dripping, and from what you could see so was the tip of his cock.

Holy shit his cock, it was huge, veins running up and down the length of it. You figured he was from the start, but now that it's in front of you, how the hell will it all fit?

His hands reach for your thighs, pushing them up so your knees neared your ears, the tip of his cock teases the entrance of your cunt, the bead of pre-cum smearing all over your clit. You wiggle your hips, eager for something, anything but this fucking torturous teasing that this man seems so obsessed with.

"Simon.." You moan, earning a groan from the man. His eyes have not left you this entire time, his gaze wandering up and down your figure with a look of biting desire.

"Moaning my name like that..fuck," He groans through gritted teeth, pressing the tip of his cock inside, fucking finally.

You suck in a breath through your teeth, biting down on your bottom lip as you grip the sheets.

Simons eyes shut with pleasure as he pushes into you. Only to open once again to watch your face, watching for any looks of displeasure, he makes it about half way when your eyebrows furrow and your hand flies to his torso, pressing against his abdomen as a way to tell him to stop for a second.

"It's okay lovie, breath, you're taking me so well.." He whispers, leaning down to kiss your cheek, kissing away a single stray tear that had seemingly rolled down your cheek. Slowly, he continues to push into you, the two of you share a mutual moan as he finally bottoms out, his stomach pressed flush against your clit.

"Good girl, my good girl baby, yes.." He moans, his hands under your knees as he holds one leg over his shoulder and the other off the the side.

Your whimpers, his groans, and the smell of sex fills the bedroom. You rock your hips, indicating the need for friction. With pleasure, Simon gives you what you needs, rolling his hips and pulling out about half way before slamming back inside you. Your loud moans and pleases for more, more, more fill the room, causing Simon to let out a guttural groan, hai cock twitching inside of you.

Simon shifted his hips, dragging his cock out of you. It glistened with your arousal, and it made his face grow hot. He bit back a whimper when he pushed inside you once more. You gasped, and he did it again. Again and again until he had a set a rhythm that had your entire body on fire, writhing against the mattress.

"Yes yes, fuck Simon, makin' m' feel so good, I-" You whimper, your legs shaking and your eyes squeezed shut out of pure pleasure.

Simon had reached a hand down and was now rubbing circles on your clit. Your words had his brain swimming, his thrusts deepening and pace quickening. The tight ball of pleasure was drawing tighter and tighter in the base of your tummy, your cunt fluttering around his cock.

"Fuck baby, you feel so good..wanna put a fuckin baby in you lovie..." His voice is low, his groans turning into whimpers as his thrusts become sloppy, he's nearing his own climax. Your own peak is nearing, your cunt fluttering around his cock, clenching and squeezing as he moves at a pace that is absolutely intoxicating.

"Come for me, baby," he whispered. "Come on my cock. That's it, baby, yeah– good fuckin' girl."

His finger moves quickly against your clit, rubbing as his cock bullies in and out of your greedy little cunt. The force of his thrusts make your tits bounce, earning deep and needy groans from the back of Simons throat.

You came around his cock with a sob of his name, your cunt squeezing him tight as the ball of pressure snapped in your tummy. Your orgasm was hard, slamming over you and rendering you breathless, your head floating. Your clit pulsed beneath the movements of his fingers.

The tightness of your cunt earned a fucked out moan from Simon as he slams in and out of you, reaching even deeper than before. You wanted to scream. He was so deep. You were so full.

"Such a good girl, suck a greedy little cunt— so tight I don't think I'll be able to pull out-, yes baby.." He blabbered helplessly as he becomes utterly pussydrunk, his head lolling back and his eyes closing with pleasure.

"M'gonna come in this tight cunt," Si whispered, almost too quiet for you to hear. He spoke louder when he continued his sentence. "You want my cum, baby? You want me to come inside you? Want me to fill you up, fill this pretty tummy?"

"Yes! Please—!" You practically scream.

"I will— I'll fill you up with all of my fuckin' cum.." He moans, his thrusts sloppy and his grip on your thighs bruising. "Take it all like a good girl," he moaned. "Get you–fuck —get you pregnant. Fill you up with my kids. I'd look after you, baby."

You were basically screaming.

And with that Simon cums, your name falling from his lips as the white hot liquid spills from his cock into you. He doesn't pull out, tugging you up so that you straddled his hips, his hands on your as as he holds you up, him leaning back against the heels of his feet. The two of you share a tender kiss, his lips softly kissing your lips, cheeks, and neck.

"Fuckin' hell love.." He laughs, his voice raspy. He finally pulls out, a deep groan slipping from his lips as he watches his cum drip out of that sweet little cunt. Carefully, he lays you back down on the mattress, staring down at you with low eyes and a small smile on his lips.

"You were so good just now, you know that? So beautiful, so fuckin' hot-" He moves so he's laid beside you, his chest pressed against your back as he rubs small circles on your hip with his finger. "-I loved your moans, and the feeling of your pussy..just stay like this with me for a second, yeah?" His hand runs up and down your side, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence as his breath tickles the back of your neck.

What an odd feeling. It all felt as if everything had always been like this. As if the two of you were meant to be, and this was all just natural.

⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆

Simon and You sit in your living room together, his hand on your thigh and Oliver running back and forth with a superman action figure in hand making a 'swooshhh' sound with his mouth.

The promise ring on your finger sparkles as you look down at it, you can't take your eyes off the damn thing. It's been a week since he's given it to you, but every time you eye catches the little piece of jewelry you can't help but stare.

Three years of crushing and helping him raise his kid. One night of his name being moaned and orgasm after orgasm. Two weeks form that night he asked you out. It's been four months since he asked you to be his girlfriend. Everything seemed to be moving so quickly. But not, at the same time. It feels like you've know each other forever so it was natural. Nothing odd about falling in love so quickly.

Or maybe the love has always been there, it was the commitment and the confessions and the confusing mixed signals that were messing with the process.

But in the end everything had fallen in place. Simon still lives next door, but that is gonna change soon. He spends more and more time over at your place than his own. Both his and Oliver's clothes litter your laundry, and instead of one lonely toothbrush in the bathroom, there's now three.

Pink, Blue, and a tiny red one for Oliver.

This was how it was meant to be. Simon, Oliver, and you. And possibly another one. Simon is pretty eager for that addition. Now that was a little fast even for you.

⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆

a/n: not to singledad!simon anymore. <33

p.s.- i tagged everyone who i saw asked to be, sorry if i missed ya! and thank you all so so much for all the love. i love all of ya so so much! <33

2K notes · View notes

eupheme · 7 months

Text

— meet me in the woods

halsin x druid!reader/tav

rated e - 7.2k

tags: double druids, smut with feelings, aphrodisiac (in the form of a fertility solstice), mates/mating rituals, hinted at breeding kink, poly!halsin (but has a connection with you), pleasure dom!Halsin, canon-typical violence, masturbation, miscommunication, oral, PiV, size kink, multiple orgasms, cum play

Living in the city had muted your druidic powers, cut you off. That all had changed, in your journey across Faerûn. Something inside of you had cracked open - letting nature and instinct sink in.

And in spite of the feelings now burning inside you - you don’t know what it means to celebrate the Solstice. Luckily for you… Halsin is there to help you through your first.

The sky has started to slip from soft shades of blue to deep orange and purples. Your wrist aches from where you scrub at your hide armor, removing the layers of grime from the long days of travel.

Your eyes flick up, like they have three times already in the last ten minutes. Across the twist of smoke from the fire that Gale tends, a cauldron of stew that has begun to fill the camp with it's rich aroma.

To where he lounges. To where your eyes meet soft green.

You look away.

"Do you think he's looking at us?"

You don't mean to ask this question out loud. It's a thought that swirls in your mind - slipping between teeth and a tongue loosened from a warm afternoon under the sun and a flagon of crisp wine.

There's the cutting strike of shale against steel. Sharp eyes flicking across to where yours have slipped, once again.

A lip curling, with the click of a tongue.

"Chk. I've seen that look on a male before." Lae'zel's tone is knowing, the slightest hint of a smirk sent your way, as she sharpens the edge of her longsword, "A bear that wishes to devour."

You blink, glancing her way at the humor in her voice. Trying to ignore the fluttering flip in your stomach at the thought.

"Oh, I am not so sure he sees me that way." Your knuckles curl as they press into a stain, your eyes dropping in mock concentration.

A red eye cracks open near your hip, Astarion's head propped up on the wrap of your bedroll. Curled like a cat under the sun and with the wafting warmth of the fire - a hand coming up to shield the bright glare above.

If it had been anyone else lazing next to you, you might have asked them to lend you a hand with the basket of vegetables for the stew - the next in your long list of things to-do. But secretly, you were just pleased he chose to spend the afternoon near you.

"Gods - I took you for boring, darling. But I never took you for stupid." He sighs, with a stretch.

Well, you had been pleased.

He ignores your look of offense as he pushes himself up on an elegant elbow, chin propped in the cup of his hand, "I don't think he's stopped looking at you since he's joined us."

A wistful sigh, "It's enough to make me wish I had saved that child."

Before his nose wrinkles, as he reappraises that thought with displeasure.

"Appreciate that, friend." Your response to his earlier remark is flat, as he flops down again.

"Oh, don't be like that," He drawls, "You were the one who asked."

The misdirection is noted with a small huff of a laugh, as you turn back to work again. Flipping around their thoughts in your own mind.

How you wish that were true.

Your own feelings were no secret to yourself. There had been no pretending in your heart, after your first meeting. Even if you had not always known the strength of your powers, you had always known yourself.

There had been a near-instant attraction with your first meeting. A suspicion that there was something special about the bear trapped in the worg pens. That feeling blossoming with the fluttering in your stomach when he had changed - the depth of his thanks at your aid in protecting the Grove.

A seed had been planted then. A hope that perhaps, with time - with some tending - that there could be more. That feeling only grows since, flourishing, weaving its way between your ribs.

And lately, you think there has been something more. His laugh comes easier. An eagerness to join you when you left the camp. Never far from you, when you return.

You were the first one he turned to after the rage of battle.

“Are you well, teuivae?”

As if you could not mend your own wounds. The word that slipped from his tongue lost as his eyes searched - until he was satisfied that the blood splattered across your leather armor was not your own. Broad hands that cupped your face. Close enough to brush his own against yours, but instead he had hovered.

Waiting - but for what, you did not know.

It had you wondering. You suppose enough now that those thoughts have made their way out into the world. Not knowing what to do, with your friend’s confirmation.

That feeling only increases, the turn of the moon turning it into a surging weight in your chest. Something physical, that gnaws at you. Tipping past want and hurtling towards something that felt like need.

Your thoughts of desire running wild, until you can’t help but slip your fingers beneath the layers of your bedroll. Your teeth biting into the heavy fabric that muffles the quick circle of your fingers, the soft sigh of your relief.

It was hard not to. To see him that way, to want him.

He is kind. Almong the best Elves you have met. He could take care of you. Your mind tells you, now. Protect you.

A very instinctual thought, one that you’ve brushed aside. You don’t need protecting. How could one protect against the tadpole, better than you already are?

But the thought comes back.

He would keep you safe. You know that, as certain as the changing of the seasons.

How quick he already is to race to your side - all teeth and claws. Imagining the honor of sharing his bedroll, how he’d wrap around you…

Only now do you realize you’ve been staring - your damp rag hovering in your still hands. A small shake of your head as you concentrate on your work. Making a point not to look again, to push the thoughts from your mind.

You really needed to get a hold of yourself.

You’re still thinking about it later, as dusk settled. The sky now streaked with hues of purple and grey, the camp littered with small fires and torches. Bellies full of stew, content to wind down after the long day.

Under the stars, it's impossbile to ignore just how much things have changed.

In the city, everything had felt muted.

Even in the outskirts, the small towns you had flitted to. The desire to fit in cutting off your attunement with nature.

But, after the Nautiloid. After you had crashed down to the Wilderness. Met the others - truly embraced who and what you were - things had changed.

You felt more like yourself than ever.

Even when you thought your time left was marked by days. Hours.

The warmth of the sun against your face. Acres of trees, the bark rough beneath your fingers as you climbed.

It seeped into your skin. Invigorating you. That liminal space between beast and body melding as you changed freely, unrestrained by space or propriety.

It was freeing.

You didn't have a coven, in the city. A lone wolf - left to wander along.

Forgetting how it felt to channel the forces of nature, with the night air wrapping around you. A bond formed when you had met Halsin, your first prolonged contact with another Druid in years. Something had been planted, watered with admiration, carefully tended in the absence that had soon come.

An urge to stay at the Druid's Grove, once the fight was over. Something unlocking in you, a need for kinship.

It had been ignored - there had been no other option. But it was like part of you stayed cracked open. Inviting nature, the whims of Silvanus, to eddy inside you. Growing potent, under the wax and wane of the moon above.

Intimate feelings mixing their way in along the way. Undeterred by the quiet, shared murmurs. Of rumors and whispers of Halsin's many lovers - good natured ribbing about his scar.

You had often thought your heart was too large to belong to only one other. It had been a relief, when you heard Halsin speak the same, around the fire.

Not fearing a connection, but not limiting it. Like nature itself, he had said. His eyes had found yours - you had taken it as some sort of lesson, from the Archdruid.

Perhaps it had been an invitation, instead.

The thought is pleasing to you. Enough so that you think… you think it’s worth being brave for.

You can’t help but seek him out, once more. Thick arms cross over a broad chest as he talks, though you’re too far away to hear. But it doesn’t stop his gaze from finding yours over the top of Wyll’s head. The way his friendly smile softens, a look you suddenly feel certain is just for you.

One you return, as that thing inside your chest swells. Blooms.

You’ve trusted your gut so far.

You’re ready to trust it again.

There is a stirring. A rooting, something sprouting in his chest. A feeling that has flickered before, but never this strong.

It had been easy, for gratitude and respect to bleed into something more, after their first meeting. After seeing such a fierce little thing take down two goblins with the flash of sharp teeth, sharper claws. A worg following, almost bigger than themselves.

Few would have stood before him, after. A frown as ferocious as their bear-form as she had offered her own opinion on how to handle the Druid Kagha, though his sentence had already been bestowed.

It had been hard not to smile.

There had been more pressing matters that had kept him away, after. Denying the offer to join her - them - the Emerald Grove had needed him more.

But still, something had lingered.

A connection. Something invisible that ties them together, that has nothing to do with the being that squirms in her mind. It begins lower - beneath the cage of ribs and where, perhaps, something soft lies.

It has him feeling like a yearling again, in spite of his three hundred and fifty years amongst Faerûn.

As the moons have passed, he'd become too accustomed to the gleam of her fur, in the sunlight. Nearly blinding him. Eyes as sharp and a tongue as quick as his.

Her true form as pretty as a field of wildflowers, of the rainbow spray of colors against the mist of a waterfall.

Evenly matched, he has thought. More than once.

The sentiment settles in his bones, trapping him - a rabbit in a snare. Though he's not so desperate to be freed, as he might have thought. The idea of being tied down had never been appealing.

But there is no urge to leave. To walk amongst the forest again, to find his way back to the Druid's Grove, for Spring. To dance and join beneath the moon, like he had for so long.

A more singular focus taking over his thoughts, as the rite approaches. A deep-seated hope, his affections shown in the ways known by his people.

Many have begun their attachments in the span of evenings to follow. Perhaps they would take the same path, if is she was willing.

The thought is more than pleasing.

It has him seeking out the eyes that fall on him so often. Finding where they linger now, in the flickering of the fire. The look she gives him - one of consideration, one of seeing in a new light - is one he knows well.

The beast inside him can read the subtle looks like tracks in the mudbank. The glitter of lights in her eyes like runes - etching a message just for him.

Enough that when she turns from the fire, when she pushes herself so carefully up - slipping like a shadow, into the forest...

It's impossible not to follow.

You can feel him behind you, as you weave through the trees.

Anticipation, excitement, pricking up the hairs on the back of your neck. Guided by the stars that sift through the canopy of leaves above.

Your feet know the way, though your mind does not. Guided by something primal inside you, taking you to a small clearing.

Grass blankets the space, tucked away in the forest. Dotted with wildflowers, a break in the branches above to let down a shaft of moonlight.

The armor you once clung to left back at the camp. An innate knowledge that there was something special about this place - that you were safe here. Protected by your own abilities. Even more so, with him following.

There is much said, in the look that he gives you as you turn. The shift of his shoulders as he approaches, a slow nod of approval as his eyes sweep across the clearing.

“You’ve chosen this spot well. The Solstice, could you feel it?”

His words make you frown, suddenly unsure. The curve of his smile wanes at your silence, as he takes another step closer, “Is that not why you’ve come here?”

The hope you’ve carried sinks, settling low in your belly. So unlike the weight that was there before - one of hunger and desire.

“I must confess, I had been hoping.” He continues, with a cock to his head, “But it seems like we are on different paths.”

You have to answer him, you know this. It takes a second to gather your courage, this meeting quickly taking a much different turn that you have expected.

“I do not know anything of your Solstices. I came here because I hoped…” Your gaze drops, unable to look at him, “I had hoped that you would follow. That this night might be ours.”

A hand cups your jaw, tilting your head up. To your surprise he is smiling, his thumb stroking across your cheek, “Your answer relieves me. We are not so far apart. I thought I had been clear, but it seems you are still unsure of my intentions.”

Something flips in your stomach, melting the spray of ice that has coated your insides. A small flutter of hope, as your eyes search his green ones, “What do you mean?”

“I have become so accustomed to your presence, that I’ve forgotten that our ways are still unknown to you.” His voice softens, and you can’t help but lean into his touch - hanging on to each of his words, “I’ve been courting you for some time, now.”

Time freezes, for a moment. Your mind whirling past all the small moments you’ve collected - held so close to your chest. Reaching out to touch others that now made more sense.

Bringing you your share of dinner at the camp. A solving of the mystery of a fire that had been stoked during the night, an extra pelt placed over you for warmth. Caring for you.

You had mistaken them all for chivalry.

“-and I had thought you were accepting, tonight. With the beginning of the Solstice.”

“I must be dense.” You can’t help but smile, with a sensation of being able to breath again, “I had my own wishes, but I never knew-”

“I should have been more clear. Forgive me,” His hands touch his scars, his smile turning wry, “I thought it wise to let you set the pace of our journey.”

Hence his waiting for you to kiss him, after that battle. His following you, tonight.

Courage rises in you, once again.

“I want you to show me what it means to celebrate.”

He softens, for you. Hands dropping to entwine with yours, bending until your foreheads touch, “Then I am yours.”

The slightest tilt of his head, bringing your joined hands to point at the heavens.

“With the spring comes new beginnings. We lead the way, with the Solstice. Baring our flesh and joining beneath the moon, in an offering to the Oak Father.” His words are a low rumble, it’s impossible not to focus on his mouth, the way it quirks at his next words, “It is… rigorous.”

The heat that has simmered for weeks now flares to life, as his eyes darken.

Bu there's something small tickles at you, making you lean back. Your brow furrowing, needing the clarity.

"Is it just the Solstice that draws you to me?" Is it just duty that has ensnared his affections? Is this no more than fulfilling the desires of Silvanas?

He laughs, with a shake of his head, "If our first meeting had been in the Grove, your beauty would have been more than enough to enthrall me."

The knowledge is flattering. That he still would have wanted you, in another life, in another time. His next words are enough to cast the rest of your doubts aside.

"But make no mistake. For quite some time now, I have desired more. Deeper than the skin, down to the marrow." He brings your entwined fingers to his mouth, his lips pressing against your knuckles, "I fear you stole more than gold that day, in the Sanctum."

There is much that he reveals, with his words.

A sense that your feelings are more than reciprocated. A reminder that he does not mince words, like others you have known.

For as keen as your eyes are, you should have realized this sooner. The last curl of unease lifts, wafting up to stars above.

“How do we begin?”

“Eager. I like that.” Halsin grins - his eyes dragging over you, as his voice pitched low, “For starters… you are overdressed.”

With as large as his fingers are, they are dexterous as they tug at the tie of your tunic. A palm curling around your waist, tugging you close as your face tips up to his.

“And there is usually music.” He murmurs, dipping just enough to brush his mouth against yours, “But I am sure we can make our own.”

His name is a soft sound on your lips, before they press against his. Warm and solid and plush, a sigh in his throat as your hands reach up to grasp at broad shoulders. Slipping to tangle in his chestnut-colored strands, keeping him pulled close.

And you are reminded that he is strong. Abandoning your shirt when your tongue brushes his lip. Hands catching the underside of your thighs to haul you against him.

Your legs stretch wide around his waist. One of those hands moving to splay across the small of your back, a low growl rumbling as you nip at his lower lip.

Hunger gnaws at you, as he deepens the kiss. An ache to be closer, unable to get enough of the taste of him as he licks into your mouth.

Holding you against him as he sinks to his knees. Bringing you down against the blanket of grass, nestling you against it. A low chuckle at the way you still cling to him, entangling yourself around him like vines, as Halsin begins to tug at your clothes again.

Carefully, as if it's a gift to unwrap you.

"Come now, my love." He coos - another gentle tug, as you finally let go.

The air ghosts against your skin, warm with the changing of seasons. A low sound of approval with each layer that is stripped from you. The curl of a palm against your ankle, tugging off your boots. Heat pooling low, as fingertips brush up your thigh, settling at your belt.

"I long to see you bare beneath me."

He touches you as if he can't get enough. The sweep of his thumb over your thigh. Fingers joining yours as your hips lift, allowing him to peel your trousers down, and then off.

You think that perhaps it should feel strange, to be naked in the moonlight. But Halsin eclipses the brief fluttering of unease. The hunger in his expression captures yours, as he leans back to sit on his haunches.

So broad, so big. You think the desire must match in your own eyes, his sentiment so shared.

"Join me," You coax, a hand reaching for his thigh - feeling the muscles jump underneath.

His grin gleams in the moonlight, as he lets you start to do the same to him. Distracting you terribly as his hands skim from your waist to cup your breasts, teasing and pinching.

Only tearing the sleevless tunic from his shoulders before he's curling over you - his mouth pressing against your neck. Inhaling your scent with another low growl, his nose skimming over heated skin.

Those lips pressing against your throat, the threat of teeth as they part. You squirm beneath him, something inside you aching for him to bite down. To mark you.

You can feel his smile against your skin, his hands still teasing the tight peaks of your nipples. One drifting lower across sternum and belly, drifting across the curve of your mound.

It’s easy to arch into his touch, to urge his fingers lower. The sweep of his fingertips is so light, a summers breeze against your skin - a low hum of a laugh as your hips jerk again.

“I know it’s affected you.” There’s the slightest pressure - thick fingers split, tracing the crease where your thigh meets groin. Purposely avoiding where you need him, where you know you’re wet and wanting.

Another sharp intake of breath, before he’s pushing himself up to hover over you, “At camp. Your smell. It was difficult to hold myself back.”

He touches you, then. Twin moans as his fingers slip against slick flesh. Dripping, for him. Almost making you forget your words as the pad of his fingers circles your clit, as your hand brace against his biceps, nails biting skin.

“W-wasn’t the coming of Spring.” You protest - the rhythmic swipe of his fingers stealing your breath, “It was just you.”

The look he gives you then - it’s all soft edges, wrapped in a focus that’s so intense your eyes flutter shut. It’s too much, his gaze, his touch.

A low groan from his chest then, in recollection, “There were many nights lately where I wished to offer myself for your pleasure. Perhaps I should have.”

For your pleasure. Few would word it that way - conjuring images of him beneath you. His tongue tracing the same path of his fingers, your thighs pressing against the long points of his ears.

It makes you clench - the simmering fire in your belly sending up sparks, stoked by the way his head moves lower. Your fingers slipping to twist sharply in his hair, as his tongue peeks out to brush your breast.

“More, Halsin. I need you-” You pant, your free hand fitting under the bulk of his shoulder. Reaching to nudge his hand down lower, until his fingers are brushing your entrance.

He traces you, before he sinks into you, down to the first knuckle. His hands are so much bigger than yours, there’s already the slight stretching burn as he eases deeper.

The tilt of his head, chin pressing against your ribs. The fire burns in his own eyes, a heavy press of his hips against your thigh, letting you feel him.

“If we had been at the Grove, I would have hoped you would have chosen me as your mate for the duration of the three nights.” It’s a confession, the word mate ringing out - enthralling you, “Now, I do not know what tomorrow brings. I will give you all that I can, tonight.”

In a fluid motion, he moves. The ripple of muscles as he shifts between your thighs - their breadth stretching them too wide. Enough that you have to hook one over the curve his shoulder, before his head dips.

The heated swipe of his tongue hits you just as his finger presses deep and curls. You’re instantly thankful for his three hundred and fifty years, with the pointed exploration of his mouth.

A groan as he tastes you, those green eyes fixing on yours again. Fitting another finger into you as your heel digs into his shoulder, as your head tips back with a cry.

It’s too much. Pleasure skitters through your stomach, your hips moving on their own, matching the steady thrust of his fingers. How he drags them against a spot that makes you keen and squirm, before sliding them free to fit them between his lips.

Tasting the honey of your arousal, his lips already shining with you, before filling you again. Muscles clenching like the pull of a bow, waiting for the arrow to fire.

Halsin moans into your cunt like he’s feasting, like he truly means to devour you. His own hips pressing into the ground, easing his own need for friction.

Too practiced with the tight flicks of his tongue, the way his lips kiss and suck against the sensitive bud. The press of his fingers loud with how wet you are, matching your sharp, panting breath.

His name is a whimper before your muscles string even tighter. Going stiff as your breath catches, a pathetic whimper of a sound before you’re crying out.

The pleasure ignites, ripping through you as you come. As your thighs press around his ears, though he does not slow. Fucking you through it with his fingers, soft growls that buzz against your clit with each press of his tongue.

Leaving you breathless, boneless.

His mouth soft as kisses are pressed to your thighs, as you come back to yourself. It feels like you’re glowing, a soft haze settling over your limbs, down to the curl of your toes.

A broad hand smears your slick across his jaw, as he pushes himself up to kneel between your thighs. Where his cock strains against the leather of his leggings, tenting the soft fabric.

You ache to make him feel as good you feel. Something primal roars in your belly, as you follow him. Hands pressing against his chest, the flicker of shock turning warm as he lets himself be eased back.

Until it’s your thighs straddling his, moving up until your slick cunt is pressing against that heavy curve. His lips parting with a soft pant as you lean over him, your head dipping to kiss him.

He tastes like you, the sweet tang of your orgasm. Another shudder of pleasure coursing through you at the thought - as his hands find your hips, coaxing you to rock yourself against him.

Back home, you don’t know if you would have had the courage to climb this mountain of a man. But the images that flicker through your mind - the ones of him beneath you - are too strong, tugging at you. Beckoning your limbs to follow.

“I want to-,” You’re mumbling, between kisses, “Will you let me?”

“Follow your urges, my heart. Wherever they lead you, I am here.” His words sound strained, his hips flexing up, against you. More than content to be your guide, or to let you explore at your pace.

Your fingers drop to tug at his belt, with his consent. His hands coming to cover yours, lifting you with the rise of his hips. Freeing himself, his clothes joining yours on the forest floor.

It’s only here that you pause, as your thighs stretch across his waist. Where it becomes evident just how proportional he is - his cock full and flushed and heavy, curving up towards his stomach.

Unable to help touching him, his eyes fixed on the slight frown and then panic that flits across your features. A low rumble as your hand fits around him, your fingertips unable to touch.

“You-” You stammer, suddenly unsure, “Halsin, I don't know if I can-”

His eyes darken at your insinuation, his teeth flashing with his smile. Fingers curl around his base, tilting himself up. Pressing himself against your belly, the tip smearing a wet spot on your skin.

Measuring. Your grip tightens and he groans, his hips flexing into your touch.

His voice ragged, rough in the night air, “You can take me. Know you can, my love.”

You can’t pretend you’re not eager to try. Hands pressing against his chest, eyes flicking between his face and his cock, as you lift yourself up.

One leaving to hold him steady, taking a second to feel him slide against you. Muffling a sigh when he bumps against your clit, slicking him up with your release. Before you line him up, and start to sink down.

He splits you open. The pinch of his fingers against your hips hurts, as he tries to resist thrusting up into you. Even with your orgasm, your cunt slick with pleasure, he still stretches you wide.

Taking an inch, and then another. A tremble in your thighs as your knees press into the earth, a strangled whine as you make room for him.

His murmured encouragement catches in his chest, the moon and spring calling to him - only his experience keeping him from taking matters into his own hands.

A strong jaw ticking as you sink onto him, achingly slow - until your hips finally lie flush. Your hand flying to your belly, as if you could feel where he fits inside you.

His gaze is heavy, reverent. The press of fingertips against your skin as his grip eases, lips parting as you carefully begin to lift up - to rock back down.

The sensation flickers through you like faerie fire, the slow and sweet drag of him. Making you feel impossibly full, your head dipping down to hang between your shoulders. Hands curling into the hair covering his chest, as you figure out how to move.

It’s impossible to describe. A desire like you’ve never known bites at you, curling in your belly. You think perhaps you understand now - this need to bring forth the Spring and celebrate its arrival. It’s been something inside of you this whole time, waiting for guidance.

You have it, now.

“I-I did not think there was anything that could rival your touch,” Your words some out shaky - your thighs already twinging with the effort of moving. The steady rise and fall of your hips, the hitch in your breath when he sits flush within you, “I am happy to be wrong.”

The corner of his lip lifts in a snarl, but it’s one of pleasure. Just as gone as you are, with the drag of his eyes from your face, down to where you bounce on his cock. The thick peek of him each time your rise, shining with your slick.

It’s enough that his hands slip lower. Fingers slipping to rub at you again, each time you sink down.

“Use me, then.” He rasps, “Come on, sweet one. Take your pleasure.”

Your heart races, breath caught in your throat at his words, his touch. The slow pace increasing, as you try to do what he says.

Instincts flooding wisdom, drowning it out - tilting your hips until your thighs tremble, as he knocks against a sweet spot inside you.

Again, and then again. His eyes are fixed on you now, and the look he gives makes you clench - coveting his attention. Wanting him to only look at you, tonight.

To sear the feeling of you into his memory, as he has done to you. You think there is nothing that could make you forget tonight.

To forget this swirl of magic, as if you’re tethered to the ground, the sky, him - all at once. Utterly free at the same time, your body moving on its own without inhibition, encouraged by the sound of his moans.

The clench of teeth - the heavy press of hips that have begun to snap upward, no longer able to hold back.

“Oh gods-” You keen. Once, and then again - a grinding circle of your hips against his fingers, as that feeling inside you threatens to burst again.

Halsin chases the rock of your hips now with his own, with his fingers. His laugh rough, caught between his teeth.

“The gods may be listening, little one. But only I will answer.”

It makes you shudder, makes you beg.

“I’m so close. Please don’t stop.”

His fingers stay true. Pressing just a little harder, a jostle of his thighs as his feet plant against the ground. Fucking up into you now, as your pace falters. Too focused on the rushing white noise in your ears, the feeling that’s so big that it feels like you’ll choke on it.

“Let me feel you.” The words are muted, miles away. Digging into your skin to weave around your ribs, “Sweet one, come on-”

Your cry rips from your lungs, as you tip over the edge. He’s there to catch you, the steady pound of his hips as your own legs fail you. Fingers sweeping as the pulse of your cunt matches the heartbeat in your ears, clenching around him as you find your release.

Pushing himself up to meet you, as your arms wrap around him. Letting you chase the last waves of pleasure with the grind of your hips, your mouth panting into his neck.

A sweet sweat beading at the nape of your neck, across your skin. Your head turns just enough to meet his, his hand coming up to curl around the back of your neck.

To hold you to him, hovering over him, as he buries himself in you again. Again and again, until he is panting as you steal kisses. Tasting where you still linger in his tongue, another melding of your spirits.

“How do you want me?” His eyes are bright, hands slipping down to cup your ass, to help you ride him, “My heart, I fear I won’t last-”

You had made a pretty coin, brewing herbs and potions. Enough that you could do it in your sleep, your talents extending to camp. Teas of protection brewed openly and without shame.

The need for him to spill in you floods your senses, your own breath ragged at the thought.

“In me, my bear.” You beg, leaning back - the snap of your own hips sharp and loud, “I need you in me.”

The groan he makes is laced with relief. The feeling coursing through him as well - an innate need to spill himself into your cunt. To rut himself into you, until you’ve taken every drop.

Your name is ragged on his lips, as his thrusts turn shallow. As you take over, riding him until his hands grasp at your waist, as he goes stiff beneath you.

He throbs, a warmth flooding deep inside you. A pretty sight, his strong back arching into you - lips parted, hair streaming loose amongst the wildflowers. A snap of teeth as he grinds against you until you drip with him, too full of his cock to keep everything inside.

Fully joined, beneath the moonlight.

Afterwards, you melt against him. A hand smooths down your back as your fingers wander. Across the fur of his bare chest, the curve of his lip. The swirls of scarred and tattooed skin - your lips following.

He’s beautiful beneath you. Eyes content and half-lidded as an arm tucks beneath his head. A little inhale of breath - his broad chest rising as your lips move to his neck.

If you were Volo you think that, perhaps, you’d write a song about this. But that would mean that you would not be with him now, and the thought all but fills you with agony.

That hand on your waist tightening as you push the thought away - stretching up to reach the curve of his ear, a groan as your tongue traces the point.

It moves you against him. His cock slipping part-way out, only to sink deep again with your exploration.

He’s still hard, achingly so. You’re more sure whether it is a blessing of Silvanus or just him - this being so perfectly crafted in nature’s image.

Your teasing winds him up, even as his release leaks from you, shining against your thighs. A groan buzzes against your lips, where they still press against his throat.

A shifting beneath you, a pointed lift of his hips that nudges him against that sensitive place inside you.

“Let me take you, once more,” He husks, his face tipping up to yours. Knuckles brushing your cheek, tender in spite of the fire burning in his eyes, “Like the Oak Father intended.”

Desire still burns in you. An ache at the thought of having him another time, enough that you’re pushing yourself up to straddle him.

Nodding, your begging “please” making him smile, as he pushes himself up on an elbow. His eyes raking over your body, bathed in the glow of moonlight. Where he’s still buried deep, kept warm by you.

Before he’s moving. Hands gripping at your waist - a soft whine when he lifts you off him. His cock flushed and shining where it rests against his belly, as he rolls you beneath him.

“Hands and knees, my love.”

You’re eager to do so. The grass soft against your palms as your knees press into the ground. Arching your back - feeling the weight of his gaze as his thighs brush against yours.

The curve of his cock pressing against you, as he squeezes the flesh of your ass. His touch reverent and hungry, grinding himself against your core as he groans.

“If I could keep but one image in my mind, it would be this one.”

You moan at his praise, rocking back to meet his press of his hips. His hand dropping to wrap around his slick cock, notching it at your entrance.

Holding himself there as his chest presses against your back - warm, as his other arm wraps around your middle. It does something to you. The position, the feel of him overwhelming you.

“Halsin-” You pant, each second ticking by feeding into your desperation, “Why do you wait?”

“My impatient little she-bear,” He laughs, but the sound is strained with you beneath him, “Do not fear, I will give you what you want.”

And he does, the thick tip of him parting you. Sinking deep with a rough thrust of his hip, making you cry out as he fills you.

You had thought he was big before, when you rode him. But you had been in control - taking him at your own pace. Bouncing at your leisure, aided by the span of your hands against his muscular chest for balance.

Now, it feels like he’s in your throat, as he seats himself completely. As you make room for him, gripping him so tightly he chokes on a breath, fingers biting into your skin.

Yours wrap around his wrist, braced against the grass for balance. Nails biting into skin as he noses at your neck, his breath warm where it ghosts against your skin.

A kiss pressed there, so tender that you feel yourself relaxing. Rocking your hips back, whimpering at the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls.

“Take me,” You beg, wanting more, “Feels so good, I want you-”

He groans, and you can feel him throb inside you. There’s the sharp snap of his hips, starting shallow. Sliding out further each time, until pleasure is crackling against your skin.

The little clearing filled with the sounds of your joining. Panting breaths and the slick sound of you taking him. Fucking his own cum deeper into you, lewd with the way you cry out when his cock grinds against that spot. When the heft of his balls kiss your clit again and again, heavy with his arousal.

It feels right. Halsin’s body pressed against your back, bending you until your chest is flattened against the grass. Fingers finding purchase in the strands and flowers, giving you something to hold onto as his thighs crash against yours.

Each deep thrust pushed your breath from you with a soft whine, leaving you panting.

Trapped beneath him, until all you can do is take it.

Squirming against the cage of his chest and arms.

Fuck me. Take me. Fill me-

It comes from deep inside you. The want to be filled. An ache at knowing he’s already spent himself, that each thrust brings him closer to a second.

You must say the words out loud because he makes a noise that sounds wounded. A stutter of his hips, his words a jagged rasp, “Let go, my love. I've got you.”

So, you do. Releasing your hold on that last ounce of control. Leaving yourself in his hands, letting your sounds and cries flow freely. Embracing the mounting pleasure as it swirls through you.

You babble - half-formed words as he holds you against him. Shifting when he hears you sob, rutting himself against the spot that sends you up to the stars above. The broken “oh, oh, oh’s-” bleeding into “Gods, Halsin-”

His teeth press against your neck, pinching against your skin, “Give yourself to me.”

The arm curve around your waist moves. Fingers carefully wrap around your hair until it’s fisted in his grip. Pinning you further as he pants in your ear, soft grunts and growls that sound like music in the night air.

Not stopping until you’re shuddering beneath him. Until he feels the tight pulse of your cunt, his own release not far behind. As sweet as the taste of you, as your muscles jump under his touch, as you arch and claw at the grass below you.

It’s bliss. It feels like you’re channeling the forest itself. Feeding off the pleasure that radiates from him. The new beginning of the season, the pull of the moon above.

The Gods are pleased, you think dizzily, they must be, for I have never felt like this.

The slap of his hips is louder, as you soak him. An overwhelming instinct to claim you, as his teeth sink into the curve between neck and shoulder.

Holding you still against him as he growls. Eyes flashing gold as you cry out again - pleasure and pain melding as your orgasm flares out, beginning to ebb in sweet bursts. As the sensation drags him along to find his own end.

Spilling into you a second time with a shout. His hips moving on their own, shallow thrusts with each pulse of his cock. Your head twisting to meet his mouth, a press of teeth and tongue as you swallow his groans.

Until his strength is all but sapped from him.

Until he is more man that beast again, those eyes soft and green again - a field of clover on a bright spring day.

It’s an easy thing, to take you with him to the forest floor. To curl around you - blocking your smaller form from the midnight chill that’s begun to creep in.

Warm and strong - an arm wrapping around your hip, a large hand splaying across your belly. As if those thoughts still lingered.

Still pressed inside you, keeping you filled with him. You think you’d be content to stay like this all night. Longer, if there was not more work to be done, tomorrow. More paths to be taken.

It’s not long though, before you find yourself shifting. Dozing in his grip, a sleepy rock of your hips in an effort to feel him move in you again.

“Oak Father, preserve me.” Halsin stirs behind you, as he huffs into your hair, “Insatiable little thing. And to think I worried about you lasting through the solstice.”

Your teeth bite into your lip as you grin, as his arms wrap more tightly around you.

“I should have been concerned about myself. This old bear needs rest, little one.”

But even with his low rumbling, his hand drifts. The pad of a finger brushing against your clit, sending another shot of pleasure coursing through you.

Your thighs part, a knee bending to give him access. Another soft whine as his circles against skin that is slick with his release, as his hips slowly match the lazy rhythm.

“Do not worry, my love. I will not leave you wanting.” He rasps.

“And there are many left hours until dawn.”

omg I started playing recently and I am so in love with this game. this was so much fun, I hope you enjoyed! I love Druids so much (and am playing one) and thought they for sure would have a 👀festival👀 of some kind and wanted to explore that in the context of like, act ii/iii (I am still playing so please let me know if I got any lore wrong!!)

Teuivae – ‘Moonlight’

(tags: @samspenandsword, @amywritesthings)

#halsin x reader #halsin x you #halsin x tav #bg3 halsin #halsin bg3 #bg3 x reader

1K notes · View notes

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