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shuagirl · 2 days

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SO WHAT? YOU'RE NOT MY BOYFRIEND. | C.S

pairings. choi seungcheol x fem!reader genres. smut [s] angst [a]

summary. your roommate ruins your date night and treats you with something better.

warnings. smut, unprotected sex, swearing, angst, jealousy, emotional confrontation, masturbation (Male and Female Receiving) clit stimulation, oral sex (Female Receiving) hair pulling, aftercare, dirty talk, overstimulation

( marvy ) yeahhh been a few weeks sorry been trying to catch up w some things... felt the need to write some simple cheol, smut ;) // OMG ITS NEARLY SUMMER FINALLYYY!!! hope you guys are okay and thank you for the reblogs and support <3

It was another late night at the office, the clock nearing midnight as the soft hum of computers and the occasional shuffle of papers filled the air. You leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head and stifling a yawn. Across the room, Seungcheol was doing the same, his eyes meeting yours with a familiar glint. This had become your routine – working late into the night, side by side, before heading back to your shared apartment.

"Are you ready to call it a night?" Seungcheol asked, his voice breaking the silence.

You nodded, shutting down your computer. "Definitely. I think I’ve stared at this screen long enough to see the code in my sleep."

He chuckled, standing up and grabbing his jacket. "I know the feeling. Let's get out of here."

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, the streets deserted and the air crisp. It was a short distance, just a few blocks, and the familiarity of the path made the silence comfortable. When you reached the apartment, Seungcheol unlocked the door and held it open for you, a small gesture that always made you smile.

Once inside, the routine continued. You dropped your bags by the door, kicked off your shoes, and headed to the kitchen. "Want something to drink?" you called over your shoulder.

"Sure, just water for me," he replied, disappearing into his room to change out of his work clothes.

You poured two glasses of water and settled onto the couch, waiting for him to return. Moments later, he emerged in his usual post-work attire – gray sweatpants and a plain T-shirt, looking effortlessly handsome. He joined you on the couch, taking his glass with a grateful nod.

"Long day," he said, taking a sip.

"Tell me about it," you replied, leaning back against the cushions. "I don't know how much longer I can keep up with these late nights."

He turned to you, a playful smirk on his lips. "You say that every night, and yet here we are."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips. "Yeah, yeah. Don't remind me."

This was your life – a blend of work and personal time that blurred the lines between professional and intimate. Seungcheol was more than just a co-worker; he was your confidant, your roommate, and the one constant in your hectic life. The nights often ended like this, with the two of you sitting close, sharing quiet moments that hinted at something more.

It had started innocently enough, a mutual attraction that neither of you had acknowledged at first. But late nights at the office had a way of breaking down barriers, and before long, your relationship had shifted into something physical. There was an unspoken agreement between you – no strings attached, no complications, just a way to unwind after the stress of the day. And it worked, for the most part.

The routine was simple and comforting. After sharing a drink and some light conversation, the atmosphere would naturally shift. Seungcheol would give you that look, the one that made your heart skip a beat and sent a shiver down your spine. It was a look that promised escape from the day's stress and a dive into something much more exhilarating.

"Ready for bed?" he would ask, though the question always held a double meaning.

"Yeah," you’d reply, though the answer was never just about sleep.

You both moved with a practiced ease, the kind that comes from familiarity and mutual understanding. There were no awkward hesitations or second guesses – just a smooth transition from the living room to the bedroom. Seungcheol would wrap his arms around you from behind as you brushed your teeth, his lips brushing against your neck, sending a thrill through you. These moments of quiet intimacy were as much a part of your routine as the more passionate encounters that followed.

In the bedroom, the air would be thick with anticipation. Seungcheol had a way of looking at you that made you feel like the most important person in the world. He was attentive, always knowing exactly what you needed without you having to say a word. It was this unspoken connection that made your arrangement work so well. He understood you, and you understood him.

He would start slowly, his touch gentle yet firm, his kisses soft but growing more urgent as the moments passed. There was a rhythm to it, a dance that you both knew the steps to by heart. The way his hands roamed your body, the way he whispered your name – it was a routine that brought both of you immense comfort and satisfaction.

"You're so beautiful," he'd murmur against your skin, his voice husky with desire.

"And you're insufferable," you'd tease back, your breath hitching as his hands found their way to your most sensitive spots.

But beneath the teasing and the passion, there was a deeper connection. The routine was more than just physical release; it was a way for both of you to unwind and find solace in each other. The world outside could be chaotic and demanding, but in those moments, everything else faded away.

Afterwards, you would lie together in a tangled mess of limbs and sheets, the post-coital glow making everything feel warm and safe. Seungcheol would hold you close, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your skin. It was in these quiet moments that you felt the most at peace.

"You should try to get some sleep," he'd whisper, his breath warm against your ear.

"I will," you'd reply, though you often found yourself staying awake a little longer, savoring the feeling of his body next to yours.

One morning, as you and Seungcheol were enjoying a lazy breakfast together, you decided to share some news that had been on your mind. It was your day off, and the apartment was filled with the comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee and the soft hum of the radio playing in the background. You had been chatting casually about work and plans for the day when you took a deep breath and decided to bring it up.

"Hey, Seungcheol," you started, trying to keep your tone light and casual, "I wanted to let you know that I’m bringing a friend over tonight. His name is Haru."

Seungcheol's reaction was subtle, but you noticed it immediately. His grip on his coffee mug tightened slightly, and there was a brief flash of something in his eyes – jealousy, perhaps? – before he quickly masked it with a neutral expression.

"Oh?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "A friend, huh? What's the occasion?"

You shrugged, trying to hide your own nervousness. "Just thought it would be nice to hang out. Haru and I have been talking for a while, and I thought it would be good to introduce him to you."

There was a beat of silence as Seungcheol processed this information. He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes studying you over the rim of his mug. "I see. Well, it’s your place too. You can invite whoever you want."

You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension. You had expected some sort of reaction from Seungcheol, but his indifference felt almost worse than outright disapproval. You couldn’t quite place it, but there was an undercurrent of tension in the air now, a silent understanding that things might be changing.

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of activity as you prepared for Haru’s visit. You spent hours cleaning the apartment, making sure everything was perfect. The kitchen was spotless, the living room was tidy, and you even put fresh sheets on the guest bed just in case. All the while, Seungcheol watched you with a mixture of amusement and something else you couldn’t quite identify.

"You're really going all out for this guy, huh?" he remarked, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen as you bustled around.

"Well, I want to make a good impression," you replied, trying to sound casual. "It's important to me."

Seungcheol just nodded, his expression unreadable. "If you say so."

As the day wore on, your excitement grew, but so did your anxiety. You couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Seungcheol's reaction than he was letting on. You had always valued your relationship with him, but you also knew that things couldn't stay the same forever. Introducing someone new into your life felt like a step forward, but it also felt like a step away from the comfortable routine you had built with Seungcheol.

The afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow on the apartment. You found yourself glancing at the clock more often than usual, your heart beating a little faster with each passing minute. You had spent so much time with Seungcheol, sharing laughs, secrets, and intimate moments, that the thought of changing that dynamic was both thrilling and terrifying.

Seungcheol, meanwhile, tried to focus on his own tasks. He moved around the apartment with an air of forced nonchalance, his usual confidence replaced with a slight edge of unease. He couldn't deny the pang of jealousy that gnawed at him, but he also didn't want to overstep any boundaries. You were free to see whoever you wanted, and he had no right to interfere. Still, the thought of you being with someone else made his chest tighten.

"Need any help with dinner?" Seungcheol offered, his voice breaking the silence that had settled between you.

You looked up from the vegetables you were chopping and smiled. "Sure, you can set the table."

As he busied himself with plates and cutlery, Seungcheol couldn't help but steal glances at you. There was a lightness in your step, a brightness in your eyes that he hadn't seen before. It was clear that you were genuinely excited about Haru's visit, and that realization made his heart ache just a little bit more.

"What's he like?" Seungcheol asked, trying to sound casual.

"Haru?" You paused, thinking about how to describe him. "He's sweet, funny, and really kind. We've been talking a lot, and I think there's something special between us."

Seungcheol nodded, forcing a smile. "That's great. I'm glad you're happy."

You sensed the underlying tension in his words but chose not to push it. Instead, you focused on the task at hand, preparing a meal that you hoped would impress Haru. As the aroma of cooking filled the apartment, you allowed yourself to relax, reminding yourself that this was a positive step forward.

By the time evening rolled around, everything was ready. The table was set, the food was prepared, and you had even taken the time to freshen up and change into something nice. As you gave yourself a final once-over in the mirror, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the evening ahead.

Just as you were about to head back to the living room, there was a knock at the door. Your heart leaped in your chest, and you quickly moved to answer it. Opening the door, you were greeted by Haru's warm smile.

"Hey," he said, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. "You look amazing."

"Thanks," you replied, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. "Come in."

Haru stepped inside, and you took a moment to admire him. He was tall and lean, with dark hair that fell slightly over his eyes and a charming, easygoing demeanor. He wore a casual outfit – jeans and a fitted shirt that showed off his athletic build. There was an air of confidence about him that put you at ease and made you feel excited about the evening ahead.

As you led Haru into the apartment, you couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. You had worked hard to make everything perfect, and now it was time to see how the evening would unfold. You guided him to the living room, where the table was set, and the aroma of the dinner you had prepared filled the air.

"This looks fantastic," Haru said, glancing around appreciatively. "You really went all out."

You smiled, feeling a warm glow of satisfaction. "I just wanted to make sure you felt welcome."

Just as you were about to introduce him to Seungcheol, you heard the sound of a door opening behind you. Seungcheol stepped out of his room, wearing his usual post-work attire of gray sweatpants and no shirt. His appearance was casual, yet it held an undeniable magnetism.

His well-defined muscles, honed from hours at the gym, moved with an effortless grace. His broad shoulders and chiseled chest caught the light just right, casting shadows that emphasized his sculpted physique. But it was his face that truly captivated – a strong, chiseled jawline framed a mouth that could shift from a teasing smile to a serious line in an instant. His dark hair was tousled, giving him an endearingly roguish look, while his eyes, a piercing shade of deep brown, held an intensity that made it hard to look away.

There was a certain scent about him, a mix of clean soap and something distinctly his, that lingered in the air and made your heart race. As he moved, there was an air of confidence and quiet strength about him, yet a hint of vulnerability in the way his eyes flickered over to you, just for a moment, before settling on Haru.

Seungcheol stopped in his tracks, his gaze locking onto Haru and then drifting down to where your hands were still connected. The room seemed to freeze in that moment, an awkward silence enveloping you all.

"Hey," Seungcheol finally said, his voice low and rich, like a warm breeze. "I didn't realize we had company."

You quickly dropped Haru's hand, feeling a bit flustered. "Seungcheol, this is Haru. Haru, this is my roommate, Seungcheol."

Haru extended a hand, smiling politely. "Nice to meet you."

Seungcheol glanced at the outstretched hand, his eyes narrowing slightly. He made no move to take it, instead crossing his arms over his chest, his expression remaining cool and unreadable. "Likewise," he said, his gaze never leaving Haru's face.

There was a palpable tension in the air, and you couldn't quite understand why. Seungcheol's usual easygoing demeanor seemed to have been replaced by something more guarded and intense. You brushed it off, attributing it to the sudden change in routine.

"Why don't you join us for dinner?" you suggested, trying to ease the awkwardness.

Seungcheol glanced at the table, then back at you. "I was just going to grab a snack," he said, his tone casual. "But thanks for the offer."

Ignoring the lingering tension, you led Haru to the dining table and gestured for him to sit. As you brought out the food, Seungcheol moved to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge with an air of nonchalance that seemed almost too forced. He emerged with a bottle of water and a snack, then leaned against the counter, watching you and Haru with a look that you couldn't quite decipher.

"So, how did you two meet?" Seungcheol asked, his voice cutting through the quiet conversation you were having with Haru.

"We met through a mutual friend," Haru explained, smiling at you. "It’s been really nice getting to know Y/N."

"That's great," Seungcheol replied, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Y/N is pretty amazing."

The compliment, though genuine, felt loaded with unspoken words. You glanced at Seungcheol, trying to gauge his mood, but his expression was unreadable. You turned your attention back to Haru, determined to make the evening enjoyable despite the strange undercurrent of tension.

As the evening progressed, the atmosphere in the room grew increasingly strained. You and Haru settled into a comfortable rhythm, your conversation flowing easily despite the occasional pointed look from Seungcheol. Haru seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say, and you found yourself relaxing more with each passing minute. The food was delicious, and the atmosphere should have been perfect, but you couldn't shake the feeling that Seungcheol was watching your every move with a scrutinizing gaze.

"So, Haru," Seungcheol interjected suddenly, his voice slicing through the lighthearted chatter with the precision of a well-aimed dagger. "What line of work keeps you occupied?"

Haru looked up, momentarily startled by the abrupt inquiry. "I'm a graphic designer," he replied, offering a polite smile. "I work at a small agency downtown."

"Fascinating," Seungcheol drawled, leaning back in his chair with a languid grace that belied the intensity of his gaze. "It must be quite rewarding to indulge in such creative endeavors. Y/N and I, alas, are consigned to the monotonous world of numbers and figures."

You shot Seungcheol a pointed look, silently beseeching him to temper his remarks. However, he merely quirked an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips as if he were savoring the undercurrent of tension he had created.

"It has its moments," Haru conceded, his smile faltering ever so slightly under the weight of Seungcheol's scrutiny. "I do enjoy the creative challenges."

"Good for you," Seungcheol replied, his tone laced with a veneer of civility that did little to mask the sarcasm lurking beneath. "It's always heartening to hear of someone finding fulfillment in their work."

Sensing the rising tension, you endeavored to steer the conversation back to safer waters. "Haru, you were telling me about that fascinating project with the interactive website. Do go on."

Haru's face brightened at the change of topic, and he launched into an enthusiastic description of his latest project. You listened with genuine interest, but you couldn't ignore the way Seungcheol's eyes kept flickering back to you, his expression a perplexing blend of amusement and something darker.

As the evening wore on, Seungcheol's interruptions grew more frequent and increasingly pointed. He made snarky comments about the food, pointed out trivial inconsistencies in Haru's stories, and even "accidentally" bumped into you as he moved about the apartment. Each incident seemed designed to unnerve Haru, whose initial charm was gradually giving way to visible discomfort.

"Excuse me," Seungcheol said at one point, reaching across the table with a deliberate nonchalance that belied his true intent. He managed to knock over Haru's glass of water, sending a cascade of liquid across the table. "Oops. My apologies."

You quickly grabbed a towel to mop up the spill, your frustration simmering just below the surface. "It's fine," you said through clenched teeth, attempting to maintain your composure. "No harm done."

Haru forced a smile, but the strain was evident in his eyes. "It's okay," he murmured, though his voice lacked its earlier warmth.

Seungcheol's behavior was wearing on your nerves, and you couldn't fathom why he was acting this way. He had never been so openly antagonistic before, and it was starting to fray your patience. All you wanted was to enjoy your evening with Haru, but Seungcheol seemed hell-bent on making that impossible.

The final straw came when Seungcheol "accidentally" brushed against Haru's arm as he walked past, causing Haru to drop his fork with a loud clatter. The sound reverberated through the tense silence, amplifying the growing discord.

"Seriously?" you snapped, your eyes flashing with indignation as you glared at Seungcheol. "Can you please give us a moment's peace?"

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, his expression one of feigned innocence. "I was merely getting a drink," he said, holding up his glass as if to underscore his point.

"Well, can you manage it without causing a scene?" you retorted, your frustration boiling over.

Haru placed a soothing hand on your arm, his touch gentle and calming. "It's okay, Y/N," he said softly, his eyes beseeching you to let it go. "Really, it's fine."

But it wasn't fine. You could see the hurt and confusion in Haru's eyes, and it only fueled your anger further. Seungcheol was ruining what should have been a pleasant evening, and you were at a loss to understand why.

The tension in the room had reached a palpable peak, a silent battle of wills between Seungcheol and Haru with you caught in the crossfire. The evening that you had hoped would be a pleasant introduction of new possibilities had turned into a minefield of unspoken emotions and escalating conflict.

Seungcheol's final act of sabotage came as the three of you attempted to settle down in the living room. You had just suggested watching a movie, hoping it might diffuse the tension, when Seungcheol abruptly stood up, his eyes glinting with barely concealed irritation.

"I don't think this is working out," he announced, his voice ringing with a finality that froze you in place. He turned to Haru, his expression hardening. "I think it's time for you to leave."

Haru's eyes widened in shock, his calm demeanor slipping as he struggled to process Seungcheol's blunt dismissal. "Excuse me?" he said, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"You heard me," Seungcheol replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "This isn't your place, and I think it's best if you leave now."

You felt a rush of anger and embarrassment flood your cheeks. "Seungcheol, what the hell are you doing?" you demanded, stepping between him and Haru. "You can't just kick him out like this!"

Seungcheol's eyes met yours, a storm of emotions swirling within them. "I'm doing what needs to be done," he said, his tone unyielding.

Haru stood up, his expression a mixture of hurt and frustration. "It's okay, Y/N," he said, his voice resigned. "I'll go. This isn't worth the trouble."

You turned to Haru, your heart sinking. "I'm so sorry, Haru. This is not how I wanted tonight to go."

Haru managed a small, sad smile. "It's not your fault," he said softly. "I'll call you later."

As Haru gathered his things and headed for the door, you felt a pang of guilt and regret. This was supposed to be a simple, pleasant evening, and now it was ending in disaster. Once the door closed behind Haru, the silence in the apartment was deafening.

You turned to Seungcheol, your anger boiling over. "What the hell was that for?" you shouted, your voice shaking with fury. "You just ruined my date! Why would you do that?"

Seungcheol's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a mix of defiance and something else you couldn't quite place. "He wasn't right for you," he said flatly.

"That's not for you to decide!" you shot back, your frustration reaching a breaking point. "You had no right to interfere like that. Haru is a good guy, and you just humiliated him for no reason!"

Seungcheol took a step closer, his presence towering over you. "I couldn't just stand by and watch you pretend everything was fine when it clearly wasn't," he said, his voice low and intense. "You deserve better than some guy who doesn't even know you."

"Better?" you echoed, incredulous. "And who are you to say what I deserve? You've made it very clear that our...whatever this is...doesn't mean anything beyond a few nights of fun. You don't get to dictate who I see or don't see."

Seungcheol's eyes darkened, his frustration matching your own. "Is that what you think?" he demanded, his voice rough with emotion. "That this doesn't mean anything to me?"

You crossed your arms, trying to shield yourself from the vulnerability his words evoked. "What else am I supposed to think? You keep things casual, no strings attached. That's what we agreed on."

"And maybe I was wrong," Seungcheol said, his voice softer now, but no less intense. "Maybe I want more than that. Maybe I want you."

The words hung in the air between you, a raw and unfiltered confession that left you reeling. You searched his eyes, looking for any sign that he was playing with you, but all you saw was sincerity and a depth of emotion that took your breath away.

The silence following Seungcheol's confession was thick with tension, each second stretching like an eternity. You stood there, heart pounding, grappling with the raw honesty of his words. The anger that had fueled your argument moments ago was now mingled with confusion and a flicker of something unnamed and unsettling.

"Y/N," Seungcheol began, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I mean it. I want you."

You opened your mouth to respond, to argue, but before you could utter a single word, Seungcheol closed the distance between you. His hands cupped your face with a tenderness that belied the intensity of his emotions, and then his lips were on yours, silencing your protests in an instant.

The kiss was both unexpected and overwhelming. Seungcheol's lips were warm and insistent, moving against yours with a fervor that took your breath away. For a moment, you were lost in the sensation, the world narrowing to the points where your bodies connected. His kiss was demanding yet tender, a blend of passion and desperation that made your heart race.

But just as quickly, the reality of the situation crashed back over you. You pulled away, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. "No," you said, shaking your head as if to clear it. "You don't get to do that."

Seungcheol's eyes searched yours, a mix of confusion and hurt flashing across his face. "Y/N, I—"

"No," you interrupted, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and frustration. "You can't just kiss me and expect everything to be okay. You don't get to treat me like some casual hookup and then suddenly decide you want more. It doesn't work like that."

Seungcheol took a step back, his hands dropping to his sides. "That's not what I'm doing," he said, his voice low but steady. "It's not like that."

"Then what is it?" you demanded, crossing your arms over your chest in a defensive gesture. "Because all you've ever wanted from me is something casual. And now, after ruining my date, you think you can just change the rules?"

"Y/N, please," Seungcheol pleaded, his eyes filled with a vulnerability that made your heart ache. "Just listen to me."

You hesitated, the sincerity in his voice giving you pause. "Fine," you said, your tone still guarded. "I'm listening."

Seungcheol took a deep breath, as if gathering his thoughts. "I know I've been an idiot," he began, his voice steady but tinged with regret. "I've been hiding how I really feel because I was scared. Scared of messing things up between us, scared of losing you if it didn't work out."

You frowned, your anger slowly giving way to confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about how much you mean to me," Seungcheol said, taking a step closer. "I'm talking about how I can't stand the thought of you being with someone else because it makes me realize just how much I care about you. This isn't just some fling for me, Y/N. It never was."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the raw honesty in his expression. It was a side of Seungcheol you hadn't seen before, and it left you reeling.

"But you never said anything," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "You never gave me any indication that you felt this way."

"I know," Seungcheol admitted, his voice thick with regret. "And I'm sorry for that. I thought I could keep things casual, that it would be easier that way. But seeing you with Haru... it made me realize that I can't do this anymore. I can't pretend that what we have doesn't mean everything to me."

You stared at him, your mind racing as you tried to process everything he was saying. The anger that had fueled your argument was slowly giving way to a deeper, more complex mix of emotions. Part of you wanted to believe him, to take the leap and see where it could lead. But another part of you was still hurt, still wary of getting your heart broken.

The silence hung heavy between you, laden with the weight of unspoken words and the raw, intense emotions that Seungcheol’s confession had unearthed. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the raw vulnerability that he rarely showed. And in that moment, your resolve began to waver.

“Seungcheol,” you began, your voice trembling, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything,” he replied, stepping closer, his gaze unwavering. “Just let me show you how I feel.”

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both fervent and tender. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you against him, and you felt your body respond to his touch, the anger and confusion melting away, replaced by a burning desire.

His kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against yours with a sensuality that made your knees weak. You clung to him, your hands tangling in his hair as you surrendered to the intensity of the moment. Seungcheol’s hands roamed over your body, his touch igniting a fire in your veins.

He broke the kiss, his breath ragged as he looked down at you, his eyes dark with desire. “I need you, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice rough with longing. “I need you to know how much you mean to me.”

You nodded, unable to find your voice. He took your hand, leading you to the bedroom, each step filled with anticipation and unspoken promises. Once inside, he turned to you, his gaze smoldering.

“Undress for me,” he commanded softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

With trembling hands, you complied, shedding your clothes until you stood bare before him. Seungcheol’s eyes roamed over your body, his expression one of awe and desire. He stepped closer, his hands moving to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “I want to make you feel good. Will you let me?”

You nodded again, your breath hitching as his hands trailed down your body, leaving a path of fire in their wake. He knelt before you, his eyes locking onto yours as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his tongue darting out to taste your skin.

The sensation was electric, and you felt a surge of arousal as his mouth moved closer to your core. He parted your folds with his fingers, his tongue flicking over your clit with a skill that made you gasp. Seungcheol’s hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he devoured you, his tongue and lips working in tandem to bring you to the brink of ecstasy.

“Oh, God, Seungcheol,” you moaned, your hands fisting in his hair as your hips bucked against his mouth. “Don’t stop.”

He hummed in response, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you. His tongue circled your clit, teasing and tormenting you until you were trembling with need. He slid two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that sweet spot, and you cried out, your body arching towards him.

Seungcheol didn’t relent, his mouth and fingers working together to drive you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the tension building, a coil tightening in your belly, and then it snapped, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing over you as you came, your cries echoing in the room.

He didn’t stop, his movements gentle as he coaxed you through the aftershocks, his eyes never leaving your face. When you finally came down, he stood, his fingers trailing your slick arousal up to your lips.

“Open,” he instructed, and you obeyed, taking his fingers into your mouth, tasting yourself on his skin. The look of pure desire in his eyes made your pulse quicken, and you sucked his fingers clean, reveling in the way he watched you.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice a low rumble. He kissed you again, his tongue exploring your mouth with a possessiveness that made your knees weak. You could taste yourself on his lips, the mingling of flavors heightening your arousal once more.

Seungcheol broke the kiss, his hands moving to undo his pants. “Lie down,” he instructed, and you did, stretching out on the bed, your body still humming with the remnants of your orgasm.

He shed his clothes quickly, his erection standing proud as he joined you on the bed. He knelt between your legs, his eyes drinking in the sight of you spread out before him. “I’m going to make you feel so good,” he promised, his voice thick with need.

He took his cock in hand, stroking it slowly as he watched you. “Touch yourself,” he ordered, and you complied, your fingers finding your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles as you watched him.

Seungcheol groaned, his hand moving faster on his cock as he watched you pleasure yourself. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours. “Make yourself come for me.”

You bit your lip, your fingers moving faster, the combination of his gaze and the sensation pushing you closer to the edge. “Seungcheol,” you moaned, your body tensing as you felt your orgasm building once more.

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire. “Come for me, Y/N.”

His words pushed you over the edge, and you came with a cry, your body trembling with the force of your release. Seungcheol watched you, his hand moving faster on his cock as he brought himself to the brink.

He leaned over you, his eyes burning with need. “I need to be inside you,” he said, his voice a raw whisper. “I need to feel you.”

You nodded, spreading your legs wider in invitation. Seungcheol positioned himself at your entrance, his cock slick with your arousal. He pushed in slowly, the sensation of him filling you making you gasp.

He set a slow, steady pace, each thrust deep and deliberate. The pleasure built with each movement, the intensity of the connection between you making your head spin. Seungcheol’s hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice a soft command. “I want to see you.”

You locked eyes with him, the depth of emotion in his gaze taking your breath away. The rhythm of his thrusts increased, the pleasure building to a fever pitch. He reached down, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts.

The combination was too much, and you felt yourself hurtling towards another orgasm, the intensity overwhelming. “Seungcheol,” you gasped, your body arching towards him.

“Come for me,” he urged, his voice rough with need. “I want to feel you come around me.”

His words sent you spiraling over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you breathless. Seungcheol followed you, his release spilling into you as he groaned your name, the sensation of him filling you only heightening your pleasure.

He collapsed beside you, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. You turned to him, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your release. He pulled you close, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your forehead.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his hand smoothing over your hair.

You nodded, your heart full. “I’m more than okay,” you replied, your voice a whisper. “I’m perfect.”

Seungcheol smiled, his eyes warm with affection. “Good,” he said, pulling you even closer. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

The promise in his words wrapped around you, a comforting reassurance of the depth of his feelings. In that moment, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. And that was all you needed.

The first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. You stirred, nestled in the warmth of Seungcheol’s embrace, his arm draped protectively around your waist. For a moment, you lay still, savoring the tranquility of the morning, the quiet intimacy that enveloped you both.

Seungcheol shifted beside you, his eyes fluttering open. A slow smile spread across his face as he took in the sight of you in his arms. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.

"Good morning," you replied, your own smile matching his.

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "How did you sleep?" he asked, his lips trailing soft kisses down your temple and along your cheek.

"Better than I have in a long time," you admitted, feeling a warmth spread through you at his affectionate gestures.

Seungcheol’s kisses continued, each one a tender promise of his feelings. He moved to your other cheek, then your nose, then your chin, covering your face with a constellation of soft, loving kisses. You couldn’t help but giggle at the sensation, your heart swelling with affection for the man beside you.

"Seungcheol," you murmured, your fingers threading through his hair as he nuzzled against your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

"Hmm?" he hummed, his lips moving to your jawline.

"This is nice," you said, your voice soft. "I could get used to waking up like this."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a tenderness that made your breath catch. "So could I," he replied, his hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you softly on the lips.

Just as you were losing yourself in the sweetness of the moment, a familiar sound interrupted the tranquility. The door creaked open, and you felt a rush of fur and energy as Kkuma, Seungcheol’s dog, bounded into the room.

"Kkuma!" Seungcheol exclaimed with a laugh, sitting up as the dog jumped onto the bed, tail wagging furiously.

Kkuma wasted no time, planting herself between the two of you and showering Seungcheol with enthusiastic licks. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, the dog’s antics bringing a lightness to the room.

"Kkuma, stop," Seungcheol said, though his laughter belied any real annoyance. He scratched behind the dog’s ears, giving her the attention she so eagerly sought. "You’re interrupting a very important moment, you know."

You smiled, reaching out to pet Kkuma as well. "I think she’s just making sure we’re both awake," you said, your heart full as you watched the playful interaction between Seungcheol and his beloved pet.

Kkuma’s presence had an undeniable way of lightening the mood, her joyful energy infectious. She turned her attention to you, her eyes bright with curiosity. You scratched her behind the ears, earning a contented sigh as she settled down between you and Seungcheol.

The three of you lay there for a while, enjoying the peaceful morning.

"Y/N," Seungcheol said softly, his hand finding yours under the covers. "About last night..."

You turned to him, your heart skipping a beat at the seriousness in his tone. "Yes?"

"I meant everything I said," he continued, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "I want to be with you. For real. No more pretending, no more keeping things casual."

You felt a lump form in your throat, the sincerity in his eyes nearly overwhelming. "I want that too, Seungcheol," you whispered, squeezing his hand. "I want to be with you."

He smiled, a look of pure relief and happiness washing over his face. "Then let’s do it," he said, leaning in to kiss you again, this time with a gentle, lingering sweetness that left no doubt about his feelings.

Kkuma, not to be left out, nudged her way between you once more, her tail thumping against the bed as she demanded attention. You both laughed, the moment made all the more perfect by her playful interruption.

As the morning sun continued to rise, you and Seungcheol talked about your future, about the possibilities that lay ahead. There was a sense of hope and excitement, a feeling that together, you could face whatever came your way.

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nurse-sainz · 16 hours

Text

Unexpected Arrival

Pairing: Max Verstappen x f!reader

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, giving birth, one? bad word.

Max and y/n get an unexpected surprise one race weekend.

The paddock was full of people as they all ran around making last-minute adjustments and began getting the cars out onto the grid ready for race day. You had mainly stayed out of the way, hanging around to see Max in between interviews and meetings with his team. You had loved race day, even before you met Max you had loved watching it on TV with your dad or with your friends, and you loved it even more so since you began dating Max.

Something felt different today though; you had not been well the past few days but had brushed it off as something you had eaten or the jet lag from following Max around. You decided to hang out in his driver's room, being away from the loud noise and cameras, preferring the quiet to curl up on the couch and cheer him on from there.

As you sat watching him, the cramps in your stomach grew worse. You knew you were not due yet, so you brushed the cramps aside, hoping to find some distraction in the race. Max was leading, as usual, but Lando was hot on his tail. You were excitedly texting your friends and knew Max would be enjoying finally having some competition. The pain became more intense and more consistent, but you did not want anything to ruin the day. You could make an emergency appointment somewhere later if the pain was still there.

With your attention turned back on the race, you were not prepared as a pain shot through you, causing you to let out a gasp. It was so intense you were almost doubled over in pain. You felt wetness between your legs, and holy shit, this was not cramps. Too much for a period…Reality kicked you worse than the cramps in the stomach. You were in labor.

It was funny really; you had watched that program once with Max and ended up turning it off after he turned to you, “How do you go nine months without realizing you have a baby inside you?”

You tried to remember the birthing advice you had seen on the crappy medical dramas you had watched, although you knew they were far from accurate, as well as advice from your friends who had babies before you. However, fear clouded your judgment and everything went out of the window.

‘Okay…this is happening. You can do this y/n. Women all over the world give birth alone and have done so for thousands of years,’ you told yourself.

You managed to reach your phone and sent a text to one of the friends you had been texting. It was incoherent and barely made sense, but hopefully, they could get word to someone in the paddock to get you help. There was no point in screaming or shouting for help; for one, you knew your body would not allow you, but also, with the noise from the paddock and the race, no one would hear you anyway.

You tried to stand but could only do so for a short while before you were doubled over in pain again. Still, you managed to shuffle to the bathroom, grab a few towels, and get yourself on the floor. The contractions were coming closer together, and if those crappy medical dramas taught you anything, you knew this baby was coming, and coming soon. With one last push, you gritted your teeth and felt a release followed by a soft baby's cry.

Trembling, you wrapped the baby in one of Max’s clean Red Bull hoodies, fitting for a Verstappen, and stared at the tiny life you had just produced in disbelief. You were shocked, overwhelmed but filled with so much love for this tiny being. As if by instinct, you picked the baby up and held the tiny bundle to your chest.

It felt like hours you sat there with your baby clutched to your chest as you tried to calm yourself down from the ordeal, but in reality, it was only minutes before there was a knock on your door followed by the arrival of the medical team. They quickly checked you and the baby over, but your mind was thinking of Max.

How were you going to explain this? Sure you had both spoken about having children before, but nothing was concrete. What if he did not want this?

Meanwhile, back on the circuit, Max had crossed the finish line closely followed by Lando and Carlos. He completed his victory lap and pulled up to the first place sign, climbing from his car and doing his signature celebration. Max was completely unaware of the miracle that had just occurred in his driver's room.

He was led to be weighed and had a quick interview before he was led to the corner by his head engineer. The atmosphere in the Red Bull garage was weird. That was the only way Max could describe it, and there was no sign of you, not that it was unusual. He knew you liked to hang in his room sometimes when you got overwhelmed. There were whispers as people looked at him, but he had just won so that was not unusual either.

It was his engineer with an unreadable expression on his face that had him wondering what the fuck was going on.

“Max…it’s y/n. Now don’t freak out but…”

That was all he heard though. That was all he needed to know before he was running to his driver's room to find you. He froze in the doorway, eyes wide as he took in the scene. You were on the floor, surrounded by medics, clutching a small wriggling bundle against your chest wrapped in one of his Red Bull Shirts. You looked exhausted. He just looked like a deer in the headlights.

“Max…” you whispered. “Meet your daughter.”

He rushed to your side, falling on his knees beside you as he carefully wrapped his arms around you both and placed a kiss on your temple.

“What? How did we? You did this?”

You chuckled at him lightly, you had the same questions, but in that moment with him by your side and your daughter in your arms, you fell in love with him all over again.

“You’re incredible.”

You were utterly exhausted as you leaned into his side. After a moment, the medics intervened and informed you they needed to get you to the medical center. A few people from Max’s team stood by the door as they watched the scene unfold, snapping a picture of the soft moment.

The moment was broken when Lando made his way through the crowd, “Max, the podium is about to…fucking hell, is that a baby?”

#f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfiction #formula one x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstapped x you #max verstappen x y/n #my writing #beth writes

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moon-river-me · 2 days

Note

hey i saw you're open to requests!

What about a hotch x reader fic where he's reunited with an old friend on a case and he gets all flirty and flustered? No angst, happy ending if poss 👀

Aaron Hotchner x lawyer!reader

sfw, reuniting, fem reader <3 no haley or jack mentioned and no specific season

Eyes meet across the room. Warmth fills his gut. He knows those eyes, he memorized those eyes, he loved those eyes.

“Aaron?” your voice still sounded the same, like honey and warmth, like the soft and lulling pitter patter of rain on a spring’s night. Just how he remembered.

You made a B-line for him, at a determined speed. That’s another thing he remembered about you, so determined. Throughout all of law school you both would compete, for anything and everything, you almost always won.

“It’s really you, huh?” looking at him with so much admiration he needed to break the contact. “So, what’s a hotshot FBI agent doing here? Come back to beat the score.” You jest, hitting his elbow with your own. The score was something sacred back in your university days. It was a tally between you two, one that would update every time one of you got a higher grade, an award, a commendation, or stayed sober the longest, the last one was always biased. He fondly remembered nights of drunken giggles and takeout while watching badly written court tv shows on your thrifted couch.

“Oh no, those days are long gone. Any more tequila and my liver will go into failure.” A ghost of a smile paints his lips.

“I still get flashbacks after a mere whiff of the thing.” Your laughing sounding more of an amused snort, not caring who saw you. That was something Aaron always loved liked about you, not once in the entire time he knew you did you ever care about how others viewed you. You were so uniquely you that he truly believes if another you appeared one day, the earth would stop spinning.

Emily and Morgan walked up behind him; he could see their smirks through the back of his head. “Hotch, I didn’t take you for a tequila connoisseur,” Derek was in view now, offering his hand to you, “Derek Morgan.”

“y/n l/n,” you state as you shake, “and you should have seen him in our second year of law, god I thought I was going to have to drag him to emergent care some nights.” Your words were embarrassing, but your eyes were filled to the brim with joyfulness, you make eye contact once again and it is as if the world stops. “But of course I was no better so I would be a hypocrite to say anymore.” You grin, your lip getting a slight tug from your teeth. Aaron felt himself blush as his brain began to create images of that lip, and those teeth, and that smile, and oh those beautiful eyes.

You noticed the change in his demeanor, you always had. Except this time, your eyes twinkled in victory. “So, what do you guys need?” you turn you head towards Emily, although your gaze is stuck like honey to Aarons eyes.

“We were told that you were the prosecutor for the case we are working on. We came to discuss some things about the trial.”

“Oh of course, let me just grab the file. One second.” You turned to walk to your office; it was just principle that Aaron followed you, no other reason. “Come on agent Hotchner, the file isn’t going to find itself, I need your expert profiling skills to uncover it.” You laugh as you reach your office. Aaron looked at his very amused coworkers and felt the flush of his cheeks get 2 shades darker.

“I don’t know who she is or if they have a history, but he followed her like a dog.” Morgan states, a belly laugh following as he finishes his senses.

Emily observed you through the glass, your head thrown back in laughter, and Hotch’s eyes staring at you with something that could only describe as a child on Christmas morning.

“He is whipped.”

A/N

short and sweet but trust me I will start doing longer ones.

requests are still open, please give feedback.

ik it's not the best but I hope you like it.

#criminal minds #bau team #criminal minds fandom #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner is my husband #girlblogging #i love making grumpy men babygirl #emily prentiss #derek morgan #short story #my fic #fluff #aaron hotchner fluff

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fluentmoviequoter · 2 days

Text

Dodgers Date

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x shy!fem!wife!reader

Summary: For your weekly date night, Tim takes you to a Dodgers game.

Warnings: incorrect descriptions of baseball (I can watch it but I can't speak it), pure fluff!!

Word Count: 1.5k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

You’re on the couch with Kojo when Tim returns from work. He smiles at you, and his smile widens when you duck your chin at his unhindered attention. So far, you haven’t found a way to avoid getting shy around your husband. Which he takes full advantage of.

“Comfortable?” Tim asks after he changes.

“Me or Kojo?” you ask.

Tim shakes his head at your question and sits beside you. Kojo shifts so he’s lying between your side and Tim’s, and you lay your hand on his back. Tim leans over Kojo to kiss you quickly, then sits back and sets his hand on yours.

“What do you want to do this week?”

You furrow your brows and point out, “I thought you were picking this week.”

“You’re still okay with that?”

“As long as it’s not karaoke again.”

Tim’s head tips back as he laughs. It had started as a joke, an attempt to make you shy while you were still dating, but then you told him you’d never go out with him again unless he participated in the karaoke. He took a page from Lucy’s book and performed “Da Noise” by Flex and Flow. By the end of the song, you knew you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him, even if he did embarrass you.

“I promise, no more public performances,” Tim answers. “I have tickets behind home plate for the Dodgers’ game this week.”

You smile at his promise and lean toward him as he brushes his hand over your cheek.

“Would you like to go on a date with me to see the Dodgers win?” he proposes.

“I’d love to,” you answer softly. “But no foam fingers.”

“We need something to tell the grandkids,” he jokes.

You fall forward and rest your forehead against Tim’s shoulder. He rubs your back as he whispers an apology. Sometimes you don’t know which apologies are genuine, but it doesn’t matter because you love Tim. And weekly date nights are the highlight of your marriage.

When Tim texts you that he’s leaving work, you walk into your shared bedroom to get ready. Despite the ring on your finger, going on dates with Tim still makes you giddy, overwhelmingly happy, and occasionally shy. Life with Tim Bradford is never dull, and his insistence to keep your relationship alive and to never fall into monotony makes life fun, too. With the few minutes you have before Tim gets home, you change clothes – and maybe steal a Dodgers shirt from Tim’s side of the closet – then fix your hair the way you like. As you check your outfit in the bathroom mirror, Kojo walks in and approves by licking your hand.

“Thanks, buddy,” you murmur as you pet his head.

The front door opens as you put your shoes on, and you sit up quickly as Tim walks down the hall. He pauses in the bedroom doorway to look at you.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

You smile and thank him, then kiss him as he passes. He tells you about his day and asks about yours while he changes, but when he emerges in jeans and a Dodgers jersey, you fall silent.

“What?” Tim inquires. He looks down to check his clothes before he shrugs.

“Do you always have to look better than me?”

Tim takes your hands and pulls you to stand. He looks into your eyes as he asks, “When’s the last time we took you to the eye doctor?”

You try to pull your hands away after his bad joke, but he uses your linked hands to pull you closer. With an arm wrapped around your shoulders, Tim leads you to the door. He picks up your bag and opens the door for you, the picture of a perfect gentleman. As he helps you into the passenger seat of his truck, there’s a bouquet of white roses and blue carnations with a keepsake Dodgers ticket in place of a card.

“Thank you,” you tell Tim as you pull the cellophane-wrapped flowers into your lap. “They’re beautiful.”

Tim takes a picture of you holding the flowers without drawing your attention, then runs the flowers back inside so they don’t stay in his truck all night. When he returns and holds your hand over the console as he drives, you somehow fall more in love with him.

Your hand remains comfortable in Tim’s as he leads you through Dodger Stadium and to your seats behind home plate. Tim leaves you to go buy food and drinks, but you suspect he played the I’m an Army vet turned cop, could I jump the line? card because he’s back in under fifteen minutes. He passes you a foam finger with the Dodgers logo on it, and you groan before you set it aside.

“Have a little team spirit,” Tim chides playfully. “A pretty girl like you brings good luck, but your heart has to be in it.”

“Stop,” you request quietly.

Tim sits beside you and only smiles in reply. He passes you your drink and balances the food so you can reach it easily.

“How many innings?” you ask as you take a piece of popcorn from the overflowing bag.

“Nine,” Tim answers. “You know that.”

“Not in the game. I mean, how many innings until you forget I’m over here and just watch the game?”

You smile and Tim rolls his eyes. You’ve been on enough dates to know that it’s rare, but not impossible, for him to get so caught up in a game he forgets about you and the date you’re on. Tim doesn’t reply before the crowd cheers as the announcer welcomes everyone to Dodger Stadium.

By the time the game starts, Tim has his arm around your shoulders and the foam finger is waiting on your lap. The Dodgers are batting first, and you shift slightly so that Tim can stand and cheer whenever he wants. He tuts quietly and pulls you close again.

“I’m not forgetting about my date,” he says over the noise of the crowd.

“When are you going to tell your wife?” you reply boldly.

The woman sitting behind you gasps, and you immediately regret joking about that. Tim tries to hide his smile as he looks back to the field, but your eyes are on him. When Shoehei Ohtani steps up to bat, Tim joins the rest of the crowd in cheering. You look away from Tim long enough to see him bat, then watch Tim’s face light up as Shoehei runs to first base.

“Do you want this?” you ask Tim, raising the foam finger.

He looks at you quickly, and you sigh as you slide your hand into the opening. When you raise it, Tim cheers louder than before. This is one of your favorite date nights, you decide.

After the first half of the ninth inning, your voice is nearly gone from yelling alongside Tim, your foam finger is discarded beside you, and Tim’s arm is still wrapped around you. He took a picture with you between the last two innings (though he did have to explain to the woman behind you that you are his wife and were kidding earlier before she agreed to take the picture for you). As the game nears its conclusion, and you’re sure the Dodgers will win, you lean against Tim. His arm tightens around you, and he kisses your temple.

“I love you,” you tell him.

“I love you,” he replies. “Are you having a good time?”

“With you, always.”

“The Dodgers win!” the announcer yells.

The crowd stands to cheer, and you jump up with Tim. He doesn’t celebrate the win for long, however, before he opts to kiss you instead. You’re aware of all the people who can see you, but at the moment, you don’t care. When he pulls back and the guy beside Tim congratulates him, that changes, and you duck your head behind Tim’s shoulder to hide your smile and warm cheeks.

“You ready to go?” Tim asks as the celebration continues.

“Whenever you are.”

Tim takes your hand and leads you through the stadium once more. In the privacy of his truck, under the fireworks and the dimmed parking lot lights, he kisses you again. Dating Tim will never get boring.

“Thank you,” Tim says as he pulls back but keeps his hand on your cheek.

“For what?” you inquire.

“Loving me. Helping the Dodgers win… maybe not in that order.”

You shake your head as Tim turns in his seat. His hand rests on your thigh while he drives, and you discuss your favorite moments from the game.

“Any ideas for next week?” Tim asks.

“Kojo and I were thinking a family trip to the pet store would be nice.”

“That’s not a date.”

“Everything’s a date with you, Bradford.”

Tim nods as he turns into the driveway. “Just because I love you.” He watches as your eyes drop and smiles to himself. “Pet store it is, Bradford.”

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford fic #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #the rookie x reader #the rookie abc #the rookie #fem!reader #requests #tim bradford fluff #hanna writes✯

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quietblueriver · 2 days

Text

Could not stop thinking about Marisha discussing self-worth as Laudna’s fatal flaw and this emerged in a flurry last night and during lunch. It’s all Laudna, immediately after the conversation with the Hells after sword-gate, and it builds a bit from this. Don’t usually write from Laudna’s perspective but giving it a go. She deserves so much, y’all, ugh.

Okay, anyway, angst ahead.

There wasn’t going to be any easy drifting off, not after the events of the last hour, but it’s even more difficult without Imogen. Laudna has grown spoiled, there’s no denying it, and she misses the heat of Imogen’s body and the pleasant burn of her touch.

It’s her own fault, of course, there’s no denying that either, and the cold and lonesomeness are a fit punishment. And in any case, even if she didn’t deserve it, her eyes are still intermittently leaking ichor. There’d be no point in dirtying Imogen’s bedding as well.

The rest of the Hells also seem to be having trouble sleeping, aside from Chet, anyway, whose familiar, constant racket is broken by a chorus of shifting bodies and too-loud sighs. She can hardly blame them; after all, she’s the monster and she can’t even sleep with herself in the room.

Delilah has gone quiet, something Laudna appreciates usually, still appreciates now, but it’s a much closer call than usual. Because Laudna, left with herself and the thoughts that are really, truly her own, feels somehow both restless enough that her skin itches and so heavy that it’s almost as if the ground has remembered she shouldn’t be walking and is trying to suck her back into itself, into the stillness where she belongs.

It’s not the ground, not really, because there’s her bedroll and the floor and the floor below that, and likely a cellar, at least, and Imogen would roll her eyes at the joke and Laudna wants to peel back her skin and help her tendons escape. Instead, she forms strings of ichor between her fingers, twisting them absently as she thinks.

It’s not productive, she’s well aware, to keep running through the night’s events, the fight for the sword, the conversation with Imogen on the rooftop, the conversation with everyone else afterward. Still, she can’t stop, and maybe that’s fit punishment, too. If she’s going to try to use Delilah’s power, she’s going to have to make decisions like she did earlier and to deal with their fallout.

The niggling, snide voice in her head clears its proverbial throat. A remnant of Matilda, it has become bloated and ever more confident from three decades with Delilah, even if it now appears less frequently, smart enough to wait until Laudna is alone so that it can’t be challenged by Imogen, who may always come knocking even with her circlet.

The cadence and tone are of Matilda’s life as well, a bit of Master Elron, who used to make her stand in the front of the class when she got distracted, back rigid against the snickers of her classmates, and a bit of her grandmother, who used to pinch her until she bruised for any perceived infraction or imperfection. Sure of itself, always, and smug in its confidence.

Laudna forms fists, ichor squeezing between the gaps in her fingers and nails digging lightly into her palm as it speaks.

And what, exactly, makes you think that you’re strong enough to use Delilah? If you recall, you forced poor Imogen and all the others to come rescue you from the tree where she’d trapped you in your own mind. Have you changed so much in a few months? Grown so much more powerful?

It’s a fair point. She’d told Imogen, told the others, that she wants to use Delilah, that Delilah owes her. It’s rather easy to stand by the latter, murder and all that, but the former, while not a lie, feels, when she’s outside the passion of the moment, to be…a stretch.

Not a stretch. An impossibility. What you should have said is that you’re going to let Delilah use you. Isn’t that right?

The voice has never been kind or shy, but it has, undeniably, often been right. It was right when it reminded Matilda that she likely wouldn’t have had dirt thrown all over her face and dress if she’d just pretended, acted a bit more like the other children instead of saying all the things that popped into her mind.

It was right when it reminded her that she wouldn’t have been murdered if she’d just been a little smarter, a little less gullible. After all, what possibly could have prompted a lady to invite Matilda as company for dinner? Not that she should have anticipated murder, of course–the voice wasn’t paranoid; it merely knew enough about Matilda, about who she was and what she could offer, to be pragmatically suspicious–but there was no world in which that invitation came without strings.

Now, it’s right that Laudna using Delilah is, at best, a tenuous proposition.

She turns her foot and ankle, twists and presses against the sturdy floor until each joint aches in protest, threatens to dislodge. Unwilling to risk waking the others with the noise of her bones, which are as likely to escape their bounds with a shocking loud crack as with a muted pop, she rides the edge and uses the hurt to silence the voice for a moment, assesses herself.

She is not a liar. It’s understandable, that they’re suspicious, that Imogen is suspicious, even if it hurts her, but Laudna cannot help that the truth right now seems much less like a looking glass and much more like a mud puddle.

She believed fiercely what she said about Delilah in their conversations tonight. She believed that she had a real chance, that she could do something good with all of her bad. It was truth to her.

She does not dismiss the Laudna of that moment now in the tempering darkness. That optimism and fervency have allowed her to survive this long. The beliefs and confidence they inspire are genuine. When the flame burns lower, though, she can acknowledge that her most ardent optimism is a force against the ruthlessness of reality and that it cannot see the full truth and maintain itself.

Even without the fire of the zealot, though, she still hopes. She is uninterested in doom as an outlook, finds it unproductive and just as divorced from reality as its opposite. So a part of her, small as it may be in the face of cruel facts, hopes very much to use Delilah, hopes that she can harness whatever power is available to her in service to Imogen and their friends. She hopes and she’s going to try to give that hope its best chance.

A toe frees itself from its joint, the click quiet enough that Laudna is confident only she could hear it, but she reaches down to force it back and then stops her motion anyway. The voice returns.

Trying is all well and good, but outmatching her would require someone much more capable, dear. You know that. You’ve always been a little easily led, and we’ve been down that road before, hmm? Ask Orym.

She brings her thumb to her mouth and bites at the nail, tugging until a large portion comes loose. The pain is more than she anticipated, deeper into her quick than she meant, and she sucks the raw skin dripping black into her mouth to stifle the noise that threatens to escape.

As it throbs satisfyingly, she thinks about Orym and the sword. It killed them. It killed her. It was evil and it didn’t belong, and she wanted it gone. It was her choice. Her choice.

Except that Laudna hadn’t been lying to Imogen on the roof, either, when she said she wasn’t sure whether it was worth distinguishing herself from Delilah. She confused even herself as she wavered between her hope and her fears, a messy, sticky thing and probably the most complete view of the truth.

It doesn’t surprise her that her love for Imogen, her desire to protect her, left her grasping for coherence, her own mind unwilling to withhold what might help her but unable to reconcile the parts of itself, muddling confident reassurances and righteousness with doubts and fears and warnings. All true but so obviously incompatible when presented together.

Still, it’s easier to prioritize when it’s Imogen’s future that’s at stake. Some things are constant. Laudna is a dead end and always has been. And as for the rest, well, with Imogen on the line, hope loses to the present moment, and she must admit that she isn’t sure how to distinguish herself from Delilah.

The natural consequence of that particular admission is that she can no longer honestly be sure whether her hope, her plan to use Delilah, isn’t itself the product of Delilah’s meddling, a ploy to get Laudna to give what’s left of herself willingly.

There it is, the voice whispers as the painful pulsing of her thumb eases. If there’s no point in distinguishing, what, exactly, is choice? If there’s no point in distinguishing, how much more of you is there really left to give?

She digs an incisor into the exposed quick and rolls to her side so that she can torture herself with a view of Imogen, the familiar bow of her spine as she sleeps. Laudna wants to count her vertebrae with her fingers, sates herself by counting the toes of the foot that has been flung out from her blanket and then counting them again and again. There are five each time. The voice is quiet.

Laudna loves her, stops the implication of Delilah’s infiltration at the door of that love. This, still, is hers. She lets herself believe the silence inside her is motivated by agreement rather than pity.

She removes her thumb from her mouth so that she might gnaw at her lip, dig her incisor into the fragile skin with more pressure than is required. She draws the wound into her mouth and holds it against the back of her front teeth, ichor sticky on her tongue.

Laudna doesn’t want pity, even from herself. Pity is what you give to someone who has lost all control of their circumstances. Pity is what you give to a lost cause.

The Hells don’t pity her. The opposite, really. They seem to believe Laudna is someone. That Laudna is special.

There’s a reason she chose you. You know that, right? Imogen’s plaintive voice echoes, edged with frustration, and Laudna hears herself, hears the truth. I don’t think I do.

Because she’s almost certain that if there is a truth of her lives, of the most remarkable pieces of her lives, it is this: If she has ever been special, it has been because others have made her so. Vex’ahlia made Matilda worth killing. Delilah makes Laudna powerful. Imogen makes Laudna palatable.

Without them, she’s simply Laudna, who was simply Matilda, who was strange but entirely forgettable once one left her presence. No one, when it came down to it. Unfortunately for her, she was no one who, if the observer were quite drunk or had terrible vision, vaguely resembled someone quite her opposite. Someone who was beautiful and powerful and far too smart to allow herself to be tortured and hung from a tree in living effigy. And being that kind of no one in a town with Delilah Briarwood turned out to be a death sentence.

It’s an incredible kindness for the others to try to build her up, to tell her that Delilah chose her, that it wasn’t merely chance or awful luck. They’re her friends, and quite good ones at that, as far as Laudna can tell. They believe what they’re saying, and she hardly knows what to do with so much good intention.

But Laudna knows better. After all, they never knew Matilda, and they only came to know Laudna through Imogen’s brave and inexplicable affection, which is so steadfast that it shames strangers who once would have thrown rocks at her into feeling their repulsion without acting on it. What’s a grimace to a stone? Although Imogen’s indignation at that relatively small unkindness is still a force. Between Imogen and Delilah, Laudna was allowed to become something more than herself to their little group.

As for Imogen herself, her perception of Laudna is a mystery Laudna is quite certain she’ll never understand. For some reason, Imogen sees her in the gracious light of love, where Laudna’s shadows become possibilities, her sharpest and most feral features softened and blurred. Transformative.

Barely conscious, eyes clamped closed against the searing pain at her ear, a woman’s voice close enough that she can feel the contrast of her breath against the cold damp of the air. It’s confusing, the conversational tone against the background of repeated, erratic clangs of something heavy against metal and what she’s beginning to suspect are her own screams. “Not quite the resemblance I’d hoped, in the end, but don’t worry, dear. From the right angle with the right light, you’ll look just like her. Now be a good girl and hold still for the other side, hmm?”

Transformative.

It’s such a beautiful way to see someone, so very like Imogen, but in the end, it’s an impairment like any other, really. Although what a gift it has been, that Imogen cannot see her for what she is.

She licks at the last of the ichor on her lip and curls her own body in a mirror to Imogen’s. It is Delilah’s voice that whispers, That’s quite enough, I think. Sleep, child.

And she does.

#laudna #imodna #imodna fic #critical role

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aettuddae · 6 hours

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business matter — chapter 58.

↳ synopsis: two of the most important kpop companies covet a partnership with a huge global brand, only to be surprised when the deal is extended to both labels. fearing potential sabotage and cynical strategies to secure exclusivity for just one of them, both CEOs resort to desperate measures. in a bid to maintain trust and prevent betrayal before the signing, they come up with a pact: forcing a fake relationship between the leaders of their star girlgroups. if one side attempted to fail the other, they threaten to expose it all to the conservative south korea.

masterlist | prev | next

[written chapter]

all the lights in seoul went out. although the girl had not yet fallen asleep completely, the shock after the blackout had awakened her. once she understood what was happening she might have gone back to sleep if something hadn't abruptly crashed into the door and then slammed it open, without her even getting out of bed. from the dark house, serim emerged holding her phone that had the flashlight on and once inside the room she aggressively kicked the door to close it.

"what are you doing…?" karina whispered.

before she could hear her, serim made an olympic leap towards the bed where the blackhaired woman was resting and, ignoring the complaints and pushes that she gave her to get out of her bed, she managed to hide under the sheets. they both fell silent and then only serim's heavy breathing could be heard.

"what's going on?" the youngest asked stoically.

“what's going on, karina? there was a blackout." she said obviously.

“yes, serim, i can notice that, but why are you in my bed?” she spoke into the air since jang was completely covered.

“promise me you won’t laugh.” she asked.

“i won't laugh." she assured, already trying to hold back her laughter.

from beneath her, in the part of her body that was underneath the blanket, she felt serim poke her abdomen with her little finger. karina tried to stop her, but she continued until she understood what she wanted and put her hand under the coverlet, with her pinky extended, and she intertwined it with serim's, sealing her promise.

“i am very afraid of the dark.” she admitted. “since i was little, i could never get over it.” she sounded upset, like she was having trouble breathing. “i hate to thank you, but luckily you're here because i don't know what i would have done if i was alone during the blackout.”

“are you still afraid of the dark?”

"do not judge me!"

"i'm not!"

serim began to poke the contrary's abdomen repeatedly and quickly to annoy her, to which karina tried to get away from her and catch her hands to make her cease the action. out of nowhere, a loud crash was heard causing serim to let out a sharp scream of terror accompanied by a jump on the mattress, and then move disastrously and frantic trying to cover every small hole that led to the outside, messing up the bed, and approaching karina to cling to her body so that she would save her from whatever the threat was. due to the position in which she had ended up after so much rolling around on the bed, the closest extremity of yu within her reach was her legs, so she hugged one of these tightly.

“serim, serim.” she tried to detach her from her leg without results, so she rested her hands on her back. “it was the neighbor upstairs colliding with a chair, nothing's wrong, don't worry.” she patted her skin, frustrated at having to take care of a 26-year-old. “come, get out of there.”

the youngest took the girl by one of her arms and carefully pulled it upwards, trying to get her out from under the covers, but she resisted, clinging to her body tightly so she could stay there below.

“no, karina, i can’t.” she refused, her voice fragile. “what do i do if the boogeyman is out there in the dark?”

“the only thing out here in the dark is me and the oxygen that is not reaching you right now.” she continued to exert force. “namu, don't worry, i'm here.”

“i don't know if i'm more scared of the boogeyman or you.”

"come here." she finally got the older girl to uncover herself and take her head outside, although now holding on tightly to her shirt. “it's okay, you're scared, i'm not going to do anything bad, don't worry.” she tried to calm her down.

barely seeing her image with the little light that filtered from behind the curtains of the room's large window, yu noticed that her hair was a mess due to all the movement she made before, so, leaving a hand on serim's shoulder, she took the other to fix the locks that were in her face.

“you don't mind me sleeping here, do you?” jang asked weakly, fear and vulnerability impossible to hide.

“five minutes ago i would have told you to leave, but now that i see that you are seriously terrified of the dark, i can't be that mean.” she laughed softly. “what does it say about myself if you choose the boogeyman instead of me?”

“i could make great jokes about you and the boogeyman, but i'm scared so maybe another time.” she said with a sad voice and her lips forming a pout.

the blackhaired found that comment cute, so she couldn't resist a light smile, and giving a caress to the girl's cheek, as if it were a reassuring, friendly pat. she turned her body that was on her side facing serim and lay down on her back, but the oldest didn't move, instead she took advantage of her change of position to wrap herself around her arm and hide her head on her neck.

“namu, you can't sleep so close to me.” she carefully tried to push her body.

“i need to be touching you to know that there is someone and not be afraid.”

she babbled with her face still between karina's shoulder and jaw, moving to circle her torso and hold onto it, lacing her fingers with the fabric of her pajamas that draped over her ribs. by hugging her more securely, the young one could no longer separate her from her, and on the other side, she only felt her getting closer and closer to her. due to the little space between their bodies, the vocalist's nose constantly rubbed against the other's skin, and this one couldn't help but be distracted by this detail.

“why is your nose cold?” she asked in a low volume.

the girl returned to the previous position she was in, standing on her side, face to face and impossibly nearer to serim, who, due to the motion, remained holding the youngest in her arms, and upon noticing this, she rested her hands on her waist and lower back to press and attract her towards her.

"i have no idea." unlike her voice moments ago when she was scared, now her words came out in a serious deep tone typical of when you just woke up, still in a whisper.

yu held her face gently between her fingertips and moved closer to her, brushing their noses lightly once, taking a second to appreciate the sensation of the recent touch on her skin before lifting her chin again to rub her nose against jang's again and then maintain that contact for a moment, going back and forth slowly and tenderly, until she brought her lips to the opposite tip and left a kiss there.

before separating from her, serim moved towards her to capture her mouth with her own, but karina turned around, lying face up, quickly, avoiding the connection.

"i can't, i have a boyfriend." she remembered, that sentence coming out between labored breaths, as if she had just run.

serim rolled on the mattress, ending up on the opposite end of it, the back of her hand falling on the dancer's chest, keeping contact, she gave a frustrated sigh.

“so, you don't do it because you have a boyfriend,” she reiterated. “not because you don't want to." observed.

"think whatever you want." yu dismissed her, returning to the same sour tone with which she always spoke to her, adjusting her pillow to go to sleep.

“karina." the woman called after a moment of complete silence.

"now what?" tha named one asked tired, she was sleepy.

“can you hold my hand?” she asked shyly.

“namu…”

“it's not romantic at all, it's just that i need to be in contact with you to be reassured that there is someone else and i'm not alone in the darkness.” she explained honestly.

the youngest didn't react, so serim thought that she would not pay attention to her and so began to breathe with difficulty again as she became aware of the lack of light again and felt helpless in it, but before she lost her composure again she felt the touch of karina on her skin, sliding along it in search of her hand. the oldest made her task easier, tapping on her to make it easier to find it. yu then wrapped her palm around jang's thumb, holding it steady, bringing calm to serim, and finally helping her fall asleep.

(!)

— taglist [CLOSED]: @yoontoonwhs @cwpiqwon @aliceiwk @xen248 @gtfoiydlyj @rinapomu @aeriuchinarga @multiliker @somedaydream @impossiblesharkcashrebel @yjiminswallet @haerinsloverr @yerimbrit @73vyn @dni-unavailable @yizhuobberi @sewiouslyz @yeetaberry127 @masuowo @yallatalla @aerithykly @chaenniefirst @minfolio @starrynini05 @hotluvlet @wmnrhot @mineige @lisaswifey @brocoliisscared @fae-the-wanderer

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the-glacian · 8 hours

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Something, Everything

Written for @bucktommyweek DAY 1: Date Night.

“God I hope so,” Tommy says with that smirk he doesn’t bother hiding behind his next sip of wine. And Buck can’t help matching it with his own. It quickly transforms into a full-blown smile he can barely keep in check. Or the whirlwind of emotions that threaten to erupt from within – relief that Bobby’s life doesn’t hang in the balance, contentment that for once there’s no emergency to rush to, rapture from carving out a moment for himself in the midst of it all. There’s something else too. Some awareness he isn’t yet prepared to articulate, laced with an animalistic response in the pit of his belly that has little to do with the fact that he hasn’t touched his food yet. “You do, don’t you?” He counters, piling more salad onto his plate to control his nerves. Doesn’t draw attention to the fact that his voice comes with a rasp. Unfazed and impressed at the same time, Tommy arches an eyebrow over the rim of his glass. “It’s a shame to let the food you prepared go to waste,” he says with an affectation of candidness. Then, as a matter of fact, “Otherwise I’d show you.” Gripping the wooden spoon like a lifeline, Buck almost chokes on empty air. The words evolve into images in his mind, acquiring a life of their own and shooting straight down below the waistband of his pants. All the blood in his body seems adamant to keep up, and it’s a challenge not to expose his blatant excitement. “There’s always room for dessert,” he retaliates. In another scenario, he’d be proud of himself for a comeback, but his mouth is parched and Tommy’s lips are damp with traces of wine, shaping something that gets smothered by the white noise in Buck’s ears. And all he wants right then and there is to kiss Tommy senseless. To drag him upstairs and claim his front row in that auspicious show of naked bodies and not-fully-realised kinks. Or, fuck the bedroom. The table’s likely resilient enough to witness blasphemy or bear the brunt of two men’s carnal escapades. The spoons slip from his hands as his erection twitches with interest, and he can’t pretend to care for the food anymore. Buck swallows and blinks the image away. “How hungry are you?” He forces out. Or gasps , rather. Tommy’s eyes flash with understanding. “Very,” he says, and he’s already disposed of his glass, having started folding his napkin with a look that suggests Buck’s in for a ride of his life. Pouncing from one emergency to another is his second nature, but he’s never scrambled out of a chair any faster. It’s not until after midnight that they finally share a plate of cold lasagna while sitting cross-legged side by side on the kitchen floor. There’s the same bottle of wine between them that they take turns drinking from between mouthfuls. The conversation veers from dredging up the past to the tentative plans for the future, and Buck can only imagine the solemn look on Tommy’s face softening in the half-light filtering through the window from the street lamp outside. He doesn’t need to see it to feel every shift resonating inside with the now-familiar pulse of awareness. In the end, it’s less romantic than Buck has initially planned for their date night. But with their bellies finally full, the bottle drained and the long day slowly making itself felt, he lets his head fall on Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy props his cheek on the top, the hum of his voice a soothing melody. And as Buck fights the sealing embrace of sleep, he can’t help thinking it’s better .

🔗 also on AO3 🔗

#BuckTommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #911 abc #Fanfiction #bucktommyweek2024

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 2 days

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Just curious what you opinion/analysis over why everything changed with Harry and his friends once the Queen passed away. Was it their behavior? Was it the loss of status, moving down while the Waleses moved up? Or did people just collectively realize how terribly they treated the Queen before her passing?

I actually wasn't aware that Harry's relationships with his friends changed after The Queen passed until I saw that anon's observations.

I knew that Harry lost friends because of Meghan's attitude and behavior. There were leaks on other royal forums long before the tea came to Tumblr that Meghan was off-putting, rude, and difficult for Harry's friends to be around that a lot of friendships ended after the wedding. (And I suspect the Sussexes have the kind of relationship where they mostly/almost-exclusively hang out with Meghan's friends because she doesn't like Harry's friends, which probably frayed some of Harry's friendships anyway.)

I did see that a couple friends tried to reconcile with Harry over the years but I didn't pay close enough attention to notice any patterns emerging, or changing, when The Queen died.

So just kind of off-hand not having looked into it any, if everything changed after The Queen passed for Harry and his friends, my sense is that was because of how much things had changed. Just personally. Harry had spent the last two and a half years in California so the two or three weeks they ended up being in London was the first time he, and Meghan, were really around long enough to hang out, do something, reconnect. (Yes, they weren't going to go out partying because of state mourning but they're also not just hiding in their house sobbing in a heap on the floor with distress from Her Majesty's passing.) And either it's like no time had passed between friends or you don't even recognize who that person is. I suspect it was the latter - Harry showed up after 2.5 years of Meghan's California chaos and no one liked what they saw.

If the original anon who first pointed out that Harry's friendships changed after The Queen died wanted to share more about their observations or what they think happened -- we'd love to hear it!

#sussexes #friends

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shinynewboots · 3 hours

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Hazbin Hotel Characters as Medical Specialties

Charlie: Pediatrics

You're telling me can't imagine Charlie with Bluey stickers in her pocket and saying "oh I see a dog in your ear. Woof!" When using an otoscope on a child with an ear infection? Be so for real rn

Vaggie: Emergency Medicine

This woman thrives in chaos, she grew up on a battefield. The ED is the Wild West of medicine and Vaggie thrives under the constant stress and variety

Vaggie: "what do you mean you were woodworking while drinking, are you fucking stupid"

Vox: Nephrology

Okay, okay this one is less based in personality and more based in the fact that I need to see a pissing competition between Vox and Alastor (as a cardiologist) about fluid status and renal function

Vox: *decreases lasix dosage in a patient with poor renal function*

Alastor: *punches Vox bc that patient is also fluid overloaded and has heart failure with a reduced ejection fraction*

Velvette: Dermatology

Listen you can't tell me that she didn't have amazing skin when she was alive. I can see her moving more towards the cosmetic side of dermatology with occasional biopsy or Mohs bc who doesn't love a procedure every once in a while

Cherri: ICU/Crit Care

Like Vaggie, Cherrie also thrives in chaos and things in the ICU can go from 0 to 100 in less than a minute. I also feel like she would have pretty good empathy and separation of work and home to be able to not let the job get to her too much

Angel: Psych

This just feels perfect to me, more based on my own experience but everyone I've met in Psych is kind while also being the coolest person you've ever met. I also think Angel would really be able to empathize with his patients based on his own history with addiction. He really likes to listen and offer support and advice.

Alastor: Cardiothoracic surgeon or Cardiologist (to get into a pissing contest with Vox about fluid and sodium)

Look, I know Al is like the perfect surgeon. He's intimidating, meticulous, and calculating. And I don't disagree, I think he would thrive as a CT surgeon...however, there's just something about him arguing with the nephrologist that just gives me the giggles

Lucifer: Internal Medicine

Listen, he's done it all and seen it all. He will spend hours rounding because he just wants to make sure he gets everything right (he's also avoiding going home alone but that's a different story). He also loves working with medical students and will give rousing lectures on first-line antihypertensive and diabetes medications (while also getting all of the students and residents names wrong).

Lute: OBGYN

Listen, I love Lute but if I knew her in real life she would intimidate me so badly. Much like the OBGYN attendings I worked with. She's amazing at her job and beloved by her patients for her blunt yet realistic recommendations, but in her L&D room or operating room, that is her domain and there is no deviation from that. Medical students and residents should exercise caution, but she will teach them the most out of any rotation

Adam: Orthopedics

This man is an ortho bro if I've ever see one. He is the attending who will pimp medical students on the playlist he has playing in the OR instead of the surgery in front of them. (What do you mean you don't know what artist this is? It's the fucking Eagles. Go home and study up, we're playing Led Zepplin tomorrow.)

Niffty: Pathology

Listen I have no explanations for this one. It just felt perfect, tbh

Husk: Anesthesia

This man is like every anesthesiologist I've ever met. He is there stereotype and sits behind the current with his sudoku in hand. Don't let that fool you, this man has knowledge and skill and is not afraid to use. The second your patient starts de-sating or coding, he's the one you wanna listen to

Rosie: Family Medicine

Rosie is the picture-perfect family medicine attending. Kind, empathetic and offers great advice. From cradle to grave, she's got you covered with primary prevention and screening and will be there for you for whatever comes next

Lol this is meant in good fun, so there are a few stereotypes about the different specialties and a lot of it is based on my own experiences on rotations. Let me know what you guys think. I know I missed some characters so let me know if y'all want me to come up with more.

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concorp · 4 months

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ive been seeing several posts go around about about sign languages on the qsmp and which different eggs and people would use.

and im thinking… its pretty likely a sort of pidgin sign language has started evolving on the island by now, right? everyone adapting and borrowing and learning different signs from each other.

#qsmp #talking #like. the reason there isn’t a spoken pidgin on the qsmp is they all know enough english that it’s not needed #but i don’t think enough of them would all know the same sign languages for that to be the case as well #so it’s more likely for something in between to emerge

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pochapal · 2 years

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interesting here that alongside maria battler is also immediately able to identify the first of the golden witch's omens.

#umineko liveblog #ep1 reread #given that maria is right about everything and this is a pretty blatant Sign of beatrice's emergence/presence #i think there's something here about battler who is furthest removed from the ushiromiya family immediately noticing it #to circle back to all that stuff about embracing/noticing/rejecting magic #battler who later denies the existence of magic still is among the first to recognise its effects #even if he goes against his base instincts and tries to explain it with facts and logic #but given that some subconsious part of him is this sharp i wonder what would happen in a direct interaction between himself and beatrice #or like. as direct as you can get when beatrice only exists in obfuscation and metaphor and narrative speculation #so less a 'battler and beatrice in the same room' scenario #and more a 'beatrice uses her magic to directly target battler' scenario #and idk how magic is being defined in a greater context #but it seems that ushiromiya = not perceiving the magic #and battler who is trying to reintegrate can perceive it on a base level but his higher order thinking rejects it #which means that for maximal omen freakout i think you should stick kanon (magic believer who rejects the ushiromiyas) on the boat

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nexus-nebulae · 4 months

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damn i actually had a pretty good streak there of not having bad insomnia days. that's pretty impressive for me like i haven't really had one since early January

#usually i get them like. maybe once a week #i think it's partially my new meds?#got some meds for anxiety and oh my GOD i finally have something that WORKS instead of fucking lexapro AGAIN #literally all my doctors would go LEXAPRO!! even though it's never fuckin worked for me #BUT I'm on remeron now and it's WORKING #and i made sure to make my Scheduled Pill Time as something i could almost never miss (my mom getting home from work)#bc it's around the same time every day within a half hour range and since i have an outside reminder it helps me actually form a habit #i cannot form habits without outside help it's just. nearly impossible for me #and the meds do make me kind of tired but not enough that I'm fucking constantly sleeping like when i was on seroquel #i can actually fucking THINK through this tired it doesn't just completely take me out 100% of the time #I'm just Slightly Sleepy instead of a zombie #and it helps remind me that I'm tired bc usually i don't notice any physical feelings #(is there a word for that??????? i tried googling but it constantly gave me alexythemia which is not feeling EMOTION)#(when this is like. i can't feel tired or hungry or pain sometimes. or at least i lose the ability to be aware that I'm feeling it)#but anyway the new meds make me just tired enough to remember i need sleep #and i mean. i am sleeping slightly early but 8:30 isn't that bad i don't think #at least i have time to. you know. do stuff between the hours of 5-8 (the only hours my mom is home + stores is open)#and tbh staying up alone all night isn't. the best. for my mental health #i don't handle being alone well. and Pulse is being a dick about system barriers :P (/lh we know why it's needed rn)#we have. a deep deep fear of isolation. like not just being alone but Not Being Able To Call For Help At All #at least with phone/computer we have One outlet for help with emergency services so that helps slightly #we worry a lot about. what would happen. if we had a medical emergency. and nobody knew bc i couldn't contact anyone #mostly. the fear of Something Bad happening and not being found until hours or days later #i like being awake during the day tho bc theres Way More Options for help #and like the fear of Not Being Found doesn't go away like. ever #but at least when people are awake and around its lessened a lot #the fear increases exponentially with each possible second added to the wait time #so knowing that it's just One hour until mom is home and can check on me is a lot better than Nobody's Awake For 5 More Hours #(and my mom is deaf too so i can't just like. scream for help to wake her up)#(not that i can physically scream at all anyway my voice just cannot handle that anymore)

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gaysindistress · 3 months

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Things that I feel like would happen when you’re in a relationship with Simon Riley.

Simon Riley masterlist

1. First off he hates the word ‘boyfriend’.

Maybe it’s because he’s in his mid thirties or something but he can’t stand being called your boyfriend. He’s more than that but also not at the same time. You live together, have access to each other’s bank accounts (which is only because he hates it when you try to fight him about him giving you money), and you’re each others emergency contact. He thinks of himself as your husband. The man wears a silicone ring when he’s home and a necklace with the ring that’s totally not a wedding band when he’s working. Price has seen the chain once or twice and smirks, shooting him a knowing look but never says a word.

Simon cannot stand it when people get nosy and want to know what your relationship status is. You’re together and that’s all that matters. No one needs to know that you’re the beneficiary of his will and life insurance policy or that he’s put you on all of his accounts. No one needs to know that he buys you anything you want but has only ever bought you two rings; a thin gold band with a flower engraved on it and its twin a matching emerald ring. No one needs to know that when he gifted them to you, there were tears and promises of safety, love, and happiness whispered against feverish skin. No one needs to know that he has your name woven into his chest tattoo.

No one needs to know any of that because your relationship is between him and you only.

2. You are not some submissive little house wife. You are a strong independent woman and he prefers it that way.

I know this one goes against what most people say but hear me out on this. Simon has been independent since birth practically. He’s only had himself to count on for years. Even in the military, he’s only been able to rely himself. Sure the others watch out for him but if it came down to it, he’s the only one who’s going to get himself out alive.

The thought of someone else relying on him in that way is terrifying. He can’t even fathom what it would be like to look at another person and fully trust them in that way. Half the time he feels like he can’t even be trusted to take care of himself let alone another human. In theory a sweet docile housewife is great with the meals and clean house but not for him. He needs to know that you can hold your own. He needs to know that you can be independent and carry on without him if something happened while he was working. He needs to know that you will be okay if he doesn’t come back.

You have to be okay without him no matter how much it pains him to think about it.

Like I said before, he’s made you the beneficiary of everything so he knows you’ll be set financially but that’s not enough. He’s made Price promise to keep an eye out for you. He’s made you promise to let Price do that and you agreed because it’s Simon who’s asking but you’d tell anyone else to fuck off.

In addition to all of that, he’s installed the best security system the government has to offer in your house. You have a very expensive and large safe in your shared closet that he’s instructed you to only open if you feel unsafe. While you might not like it, you agree to go shooting with him so he can sleep at night knowing that you could protect yourself if he’s not home. He’s gone as far as to make sure you have all of the licenses and certificates that are needed to legally own firearms in the UK.

He’s not leaving any opportunity for you to be vulnerable or have your ‘safety checks’, as he calls them, taken away.

3. Simon Riley is a godless man…until he meets you.

Now this is entirely my own headcannon with no evidence to support it so bear with me.

Simon had a shitty childhood where his mom would pray to a god who never listened and his dad would shout verses at him when he was drunk. God was a mythical figure that he was told stories off with nothing to show for it. He did believe at one point but then his dad never got better, his mom wore bruises of every shade, and his brother found comfort in drugs.

He found himself praying when he was being tortured by the Mexican cartel. Between the flashbacks of his abusive past, he prayed to a god who had failed him so many times before to help him. He prayed again as he dug himself out of that Texas grave with the major’s jaw bone. He wailed his prayers when he found his family executed after Sparks tried to kill him.

After that he deemed himself a Godless man. Years of praying had passed with nothing. This god had decided that Simon was not worthy of a miracle so why would he continue to worship him?

That was until he met you. He finds himself praying before every mission, every time he has to leave you, every time he’s on his way home, and just about any other time he thinks of you. He doesn’t know what exactly he’s praying for other than for you to be there when he gets back.

He whispers his prayers to an absent god against your skin as he worships your body, soul, and heart. He promises to be devoted to you until his last breath and vows to find you again in whatever afterlife awaits you. He pledges to find solace in you and only you when his haunting nightmares return. He makes an oath to your heart that it will never weather another storm alone again for his will take whatever beating that comes your way. He shows you that he will love you in the same manner as a Hozier song; putting you above all else because you have become his religion, his faith, his beliefs, his life.

You have become all that he is and he thanks the god he once believed in for you. He prays again but to you, his heart, his love, and his beacon through the enteral storm of life.

#simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost imagine #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost #ghost x female reader

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neil-gaiman · 1 year

Text

I found myself having, not exactly an argument recently, but a highly opinionated conversation with someone who did not believe my assertion that once upon a time there were official Hello Kitty vibrators. With the aid of the Wayback Machine, I found this article, and thought the world at large might enjoy it too...

Here's the text of the article:

The history of the Hello Kitty vibrator

By Peter Payne October 4, 2004

Sanrio is one of the top character licensors in the world, having more or less created the business model of doing business by creating something that doesn't really exist and licensing its use to other companies. Sanrio produces nothing -- all their characters, like the Little Twin Star, Minna no Ta-bo, Bad Batz-Maru, exist as legal entities and nothing more. Their most successful character, Hello Kitty, or Kitty-chan as she's known in Japan, is now now thirty years old.

One of the many companies that license Sanrio's characters for their products was a Japanese company called Genyo Co. Ltd. Genyo made a wide variety of products, from bento boxes to children's toys to chopsticks, many with the Hello Kitty character on them. They scored big in the late 1990's with an off-the-wall hit, a series of Hello Kitty toys which featured a different Kitty figure from each of Japan's 47 prefectures, each representing something the prefecture was famous for. (The figure from Gunma Prefecture, where we live, represented a wooden kokeshi doll.)

In 1997, Genyo designed a product that would live in infamy: the Hello Kitty vibrating shoulder massager, which really is a shoulder massager (trust us -- it says so on the package). Sanrio approved this design without batting an eye, and the product enjoyed modest sales in toy shops and in family restaurants like Denny's and Coco's. It wasn't until 1999 or so that people began to catch on to the fact that the Hello Kitty massager had other potential uses, and with amazing speed, they started popping up in adult videos in Japan. The next thing anyone knew, they had changed into a cult adult item, sold in vending machines in love hotels -- after all, what self-respecting man wouldn't buy his girl a Hello Kitty vibrator when she asked him for one?

The emergence of the Hello Kitty vibrator as a cult adult item caused friction between Sanrio and Genyo, and Sanrio ordered the company to stop making the units. Genyo refused, since it had paid a lot of money to license Kitty for their products. There seemed nothing Sanrio could do, since they had approved the item for sale (see the official Sanrio sticker on the boxes). The answer came when the Japanese tax authorities raided Genyo on suspicion of tax evasion. It seems that some creative accounting was going on between the president of the company, a Mr. Nakamura, his vice president, and the owner of the factory in China where the units were made. All three were arrested, and Sanrio had the excuse needed to yank Genyo's license. They seized the molds used to make the vibrators and destroyed them.

And so, the sad, weird chapter of the Hello Kitty vibrator is at an end. The last of the Kitty vibes are gone, so now what will the world do for wacky comic -- and sexual -- relief?

#Hello Kitty #The Hello Kitty Shoulder Massager

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muntitled · 9 months

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COULD U DO MATTHEO X F READER DURING HER OVULATION WEEK AND SHES SUPER NEEDY AND HORNY? (Pls I’m ovulating and craving ur fics so bad babe😭🙏🧎🏼‍♀️)

I love how feral this is lmfao -

𝐍𝐨 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐬 | 𝐌.𝐑.

Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, Dark Fic, Violence, Language, Mention of drugs and alcohol, Slight fluff, Public Affections, Possessiveness, Smut (+18), Dirty Talk, Touch starvation, Fingering, Humping, Grinding, Whining, Sub/Dom Undertones, Blood Kink, Fighting Kink?, Squirting, Major Degradation, Praise Kink, Breeding Kink, Slight Humiliation Kink

The night is deep, and the dungeon is dim as a few sunken eyes peer curiously at you while you make your way through the crowd. Seeing you emerge from within the walls of your private dorm room was a rare and curious sight for everyone involved. It was especially rare for you to embed yourself amongst your fellow pupils shenanigans, seeing yourself as above such baseless devilment.

You were not here for them.

You were scanning the crowd for him because an unfamiliar warmth had been festering inside your stomach and it had propelled your feet forward, until you reached the very centre of the Slytherin soiree commencing in the common room.

Your core is still aching with the after affects of your fingers as you manoeuvre your way through the party. You were touching yourself under satin sheets only moments ago-spurred on by the imaginings of his bloodied fingers slipping inside you, stabbing your cunt until you mewled like a useless whore and he affirmed you as such. His recklessness and delinquency cracked something vital in your brain and you felt yourself get wetter as you pushed through the crowd. You needed him to touch you, your body practically burned for him to absolutely ruin you, and you set out to do just that.

Although you had turned down a concoction of Firewhiskey from an already inebriated Ravenclaw student, your stomach burns with the anticipation of seeing him.

Feeling him.

Smelling his near constant fragrance of Firewhiskey along his lips. You were never clingy but you wished for nothing more than to be in the presence of your insufferable and clingy boyfriend.

A month into your courtship, and you had failed to bring up how much of his habits bypass all sensibilities in your brain. If only he knew how much his recklessness brought about an unmistakable moisture in between your thighs. That,coupled with his bruised and bloody knuckles, spurred on your need, especially during this time of the month.

It had been easy to maintain your composure throughout the rest of the month, effortless, even. Detachment and independence was a by-product of your personality, showing up in the way you shied away from Mattheo's public affections and always appearing uninterested in any of his verbal charms.

One such occasion; you had found him taking up purchase on your bed after an incredibly tiresome day as a Slytherin prefect.

"Make yourself scarce, Riddle. I'm not in the mood," He, of course, was delighted in your indifference- truthfully, he basked in it. Mattheo was somewhat of a masochist, craving the attention of someone so emotionally detached. The very second he noticed how unaffected you appeared with his shenanigans. He might as well have transfigured into a mermaid, because he was hooked.

"How easy you are to repel my affections," He said, letting a bandaged hand fall on his chest as he lay supine like a starfish on your Satin sheets, "How swiftly you deny my companionship-"

"Dont you have any orphans to torture?"

You mourn the past you... how indifferent she had been.

How utterly in control!

The bed dipped as he slithered closer, letting a hand rest on your shoulders as he began to knead the tense muscle there.

"Don't I get a 'How was your day, Riddle?' How did you sleep, Riddle? How did you acquire these bruises, Riddle, and I hope you looked hot doing it, Riddle" it was then that you glanced at the hand on your shoulder. Busted knuckles bred bloodied and broken skin. Riddle's hand was a smorgasbord of cuts and bruises that disappeared up his black, cotton sleeve shirt. You ignored the useless warmth knotting in your core as you continued to undo your shoelaces.

"I needn't ask you because I know you were in the centre of yet another degenerate fight," you had said, burying all the feelings of need amongst your usual, scholarly distractions.

"You love it"

"I hate it actually. It makes me question my affiliation with you.

"You say that princess, but you secretly love it"

You did love it, and right now, distracting yourself is not an option. You watch with bated breath as the object of your affections walks into the Slytherin common rooms. There are plenty of bodies swaying in the dungeons illuminated by various Ravenclaws who have casted Lumos

You see Riddle across the room, head thrown back while he nursed a cup of Firewhiskey. When his head comes back, he sees you too, he raises his cup and he pushes himself off the wall to lessen the distance between you. Your legs certainly achieve a quicker gait as you push past the swaying bodies and soon enough you're bombarded by firewhiskey, with an undercurrent of sweat and leather.

The second you’re close, Riddle lowers his cup on the desk, already having his explanations ready for the impending combat. "If you think I'm gonna let you take my freedom away again, you’re fucking crazy. I'm barely buzzed and I'm getting drunk, or high by the end of this night and there's nothing you-" But your fist is already digging into the softness of his button up shirt and your lips are open as you force them onto his.

Right there, in the open.

Mattheo is naturally stunned, possibly discombobulated.

Had he really gotten higher than he thought?

Did that fucking Hufflepuff make him a stepped on joint?

Frankly, he couldn't care less, and as the shock of it all wore down, and he could feel you begin to slip away, Mattheo slithers his battered hand around your waist and pulls you impossibly close. He smirks into the kiss, as he brings his hand up, fingers gliding across your collarbone, while the other hand lingers around your waist.

"What happened to your hand?" It is a question that threatens to burst the bubble established between the two of you. Why would you ask him this? Why would you bring him back to the events of earlier today when you were so prettily malleable in his hands right now?

"Nothing,"

"Matt..." You say, clouding your words with innuendo, which has him looking up at you with furrowed brows.

"Nott," Is all he says before he buries himself in the crook of your neck. His proximity awakens something animalistic inside of you, it pushes you to the depths of your lascivious desires and has you melting right there on the dance floor. All around you, fellow Slytherins continue to sway to the beat, letting the thrum of the enchanted muggle music speak for them. You throw your head back, gasping at the overwhelming need pooling in your core as Riddle begins to send reckless kisses down your collarbone, all while you imagine beating another guy silly. You blame your cycle. You blame your body. You blame every single hormone responsible for allowing you to emit such a wanton moan so openly in the very centre of a crowd.

"Who do I have to kill in order to get this reaction out of you everyday?" Mattheo is panting, with his hazel eyes dilated (whether from pleasure or substance, you might never know). Who do I have to curse in order to get you to be this slutty for me every single day?" His breathing is shallow and audible, even through all the noise. Mattheo's mind is foggy and the party guests are reduced to a memory. The only image he's able to conjure up is his lips between your wet folds - his tongue eager to find the source of your need while you moaned above him and kneaded your own breasts in a slutty haze.

"I need you, Mattheo," it was fucking infuriating to admit but the wetness has completely soaked through your underwear and a fresh scar is present in the corner of Mattheo's eye. There's a slight red smudge under his nose, and his knuckles are red and angry at the best of your neck, cradling your head close to his.

"Say that again-"

"What? No, I will not fucking-"

Mattheo's grip on your neck immediately unhooks and he detangles your limbs but before he ventures any furthers you're pulling him down to you and with your lips to Mattheo's greedy ears you angrily mutter, "I fucking need you. I need you really badly,"

He stares in your desperate, dark eyes with wonder and awe before letting your wrist be enclosed by his iron grip. Soon, you're being dragged through a Slytherin party with a boy adjusting the front lf his pants and barking orders at the drunken strangers to move before they fucking died.

Just as you succeed in cutting through the crowd a voice stops both of you in your tracks.

"I'm going to fucking kill you, Riddle," the voice booms from over the thumping bass of whatever muggle music was enchanted over the dungeon. Mattheo's gaze cuts away from you, but before he turns completely away, a slow Cheshire cat grin curls at the ends of his lips.

"That threat has grown so unimaginably tedious after years of overuse, Theo but I can't do this right now-" His sentence has already been cut short by an audible blow to his lower jaw. Theo Nott blocked your path towards the darkened hallway, leading to your dorm room and you're left wholly unsatisfied as Mattheo is sent barreling backwards. He lets go of your hand, stopping to wipe the wetness at the corners of his lips and checking to see if it's blood. It is. And something scratches inside of you.

The Prefect inside you wants to intervene but an even darker part of you tells you not to.

Theo is livid, and his wide chest rises and falls as he descends on Mattheo,

"Why the fuck am I being told by Draco of all people, that I can't play Keeper because I'm stuck in the hospital wing-"

"Theo, I really don't have the time for this-" Mattheo begins, but Theo cuts him short,

"Are you trying to steal my fucking place, Riddle?"

Mattheo's voice is leveled as he raises his fingers and says, "Okay, first off, yeah, I am. Obviously I'm trying to take your place. You're a shit Keeper and secondly, I've got somewhere to be," Theo's barreling towards Mattheo once more.

A silly, borderline maniacal smirk explodes on Riddle's face before he makes the shotgun decision to charge and lands a punch at Theo's jaw, allowing for the taller boy to stagger backwards. Your shoulders jump, and you flinch at the sickening sound as you watch with a wide gaze as Mattheo nurses his hurt hand. Theo is a raging bull, but Draco appears from the crowd, with a firm grip on Theo's shoulder. A stern, quiet reprimand.

At the exact same moment, Mattheo's hand finds yours and he smirks as he stalks past Nott, wiping away at his chin as he leads you towards your dorm.

The quietness within is almost jarring compared to the noise out there and as soon as the door closes, Mattheo's lips descend on your neck, "I know, I know," He sighs heavily, as he brings his hand up to your shoulder, "I’m sorry. I just hope I haven't ruined the vibe-"

"I want your fingers inside me, Riddle." He stills at your quiet command, and you leave him standing by the door as you pad over to your bed. "I don't know why, but I just need you, okay? And my own fingers aren't quite doing the trick and I keep thinking about how fucking crazy you are and-", You sigh as you sit at the foot of the bed. Lifting the skirt of your dress, Mattheo watches in the dimness of your room as you venture your fingers under your dress and hook them into your panties. He walks towards you, propelling the wings of the butterflies in your stomach.

All he says is, "Which hand?" He doesn't know why he asks, but he does and his voice is barely above a whisper as he hopes you pick the right answer. His cock twitches in his underwear at the thought of seeing his blood on your skin.

Mattheo stops in between your legs, causing the fabric of the dress to rise while a breeze drifts over your soaked pussy. You bend forward and reach for his bloodied hand.

"I want your fingers inside me,"

Mattheo's resolve immediately snaps and his hands grip tightly at your hips, pushing you backwards and exposing your wet core to him.

"You're fucking dripping through the sheets like a slut- you're a fucking slut,"

Excitement. It rushes through you like a wave of magma at the neediness in his own voice.

Matheo rushes to rid both of you of the excess fabric, casting Evansco, until all he can see is your warm, glistening skin.

"Oh my fuck-" Mattheo's voice cracks as he stares down at your aching cunt, his fingers almost instinctively rubbing over the wetness.

"Touch your breasts," He commands, "I wanna see you do it,"

Your eyes pierce into his dark ones as you bring a shaky hand up towards your puckered nipples. The smallest brush elicits a violent streak of pleasure which would have occupied your entire mind were it not for Mattheo's long fingers already stabbing into your dripping cunt.

"Fuck, you're so wet," He whines, unconsciously burying his hips into the sheets at the foot of your bed as he watches. He is utterly transfixed by his middle and ring finger disappearing into your cunt. Every time they sink deeper your mind gets filled with images of Riddle's unrest and violence. You're utterly wrecked with the thought of his bloodied fingers being inside you, touching the most private parts of you.

"Pick up the pace, Riddle,"

"Shut the fuck up," He mumbles as he takes his time in exploring the very depths of you. Your voice soars to higher octaves as you feel your first orgasm cresting quite literally against your will. How utterly embarrassing, to cum so quickly.

"You're fucking squeezing my fingers- fuck-" You're desperately humping at his hand, hoping your hips might achieve the feat of sinking his fingers further into you. "You're humping my hand so fucking well." His cock aches as he continues to grind it into the sheets, in tandem with your swollen cunt taking his fingers.

"Are you seriously going to cum so soon? Are you that desperate to get fucked-" Your cunt spasms around his fingers and you're moaning as you squeeze your sensitive breasts, already soaring to the heights of your orgasm. Your screams rival the music outside but Riddle never tells you to keep quiet, instead he watches with hungry eyes as your body melts into its orgasm.

"Look at what the fuck you've done," Mattheo's words have you slowly coming back to earth, but not quite... his voice is heavy with lust as you raise yourself by your elbows. Your stomach sinks as you watch Mattheo, he's frozen in front of you, with his head lowered and his gaze on his palm.

"I-I'm sorry-" Your sheets were soaked with your release, leaving a visible damp spot. You squirted everywhere.

"You're gonna do that on my cock," before you can comprehend your words Mattheo already has his cock positioned at your wet folds.

"I'm going to fucking cum inside you and you're going to take it, yeah?" The serious shadow in his darkened eyes hold no room for negotiation, you'd never seen Mattheo quite this serious because seriousness just didn't run in his bloodstream. However, he's utterly ruined by your neediness, needing to take advantage of your compliance before it slipped through his fingers.

"Oh my fuck- Mattheo!"He pulls your hips towards the edge of the bed and his cock forces itself through your folds, until Mattheo is quite literally fucking you with reckless abandon.

"Matt- I can't-'' You're still riding on the sensitivity of your previous high and you think Mattheo could be a little mindful of this but his goal, it seems, is to leave you overstimulated.

"You can," he mumbles, with his eyes squeezing shut before he quickly opens them, wanting to see every emotion flowing over your face.

"You're a slut but you're not a useless slut, are you?" You tits bounce with every movement of Mattheo's hips, and you're shaking your head despite the fog. Your cunt is squeezing the life out of his cock and you feel him pushing at a very sensitive part of you.

Your head is buried in the pillows as your back arches and you swallow him deeper.

Mattheo bends forward, his hips quickening into a needy, restless rut as his teeth sink into the skin around your nipples.

"FUCK-" The pain bleeds into pleasure which streams into your next orgasm. Riddle moans around your skin, suckling at your nipple while he fucked you like he is as touch starved as you are.

"I'm cumming, Matt-" The fact that you're still able to form words is a complete and utter mystery because, not a second later, you're exploding around his cock. A gushing, clear liquid rushes through you while your lips chant his name like a prayer.

"I'm going to fucking breed you, baby- oh fuck, you're so pretty squirting around my cock-" the cracks in his voice; the desperation laced on every word has him cumming inside you, pushing his hips with every spurt of warmth.

You're still shuddering when Mattheo slumps over you. You're both huffing and puffing and basking in each other's release with his cock still very much inside you. "You're getting a contraception potion from Madame Pomfrey tomorrow," you can do nothing except nod as your satisfaction settles.

"I'll come with you," He says.

#mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle #mattheo x y/n #mattheo x you #hp fanfcition #hp fanfic #hp smut #harry potter x reader #harry potter smut #harry potter fanfic #mattheo riddle x black!reader #x reader

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