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#if he can make people lethargic

todayisafridaynight · 10 months

Note

GOD. Epilogue of "A Dream a Kirin Dreamed" pisses me off. This is not to say it's bad by any stretch. It just pisses me off because WHY DIDN'T KIRYU BOTHER TO TELL DAIGO ANYTHING. Why did he just say "He didn't betray you" without backing up his point at all and then fuck off entirely without checking back in.

The man just woke up and he's awake for a week before he's discharged from the hospital??? Maybe catch him up to speed on something that's clearly weighing on him??? Or on anything else that's happened in the time he was unconscious ??? Hello???????

Like. Dude. Is it not enough that you're just dead weight for the entire fucking ending. Knowing this is your son's best friend. And no way he doesn't know because even aside from Mine's monologue which (obviously) focused on his perspective, Kiryu says himself when he encounters a journalist who can't find any friends or family to interview about Mine that Daigo would know him best.

KNOWING this is your son's best friend. You LET him kill himself in front of you both because for you, sitting on your ass and going "Mine!" was good enough. You didn't think to reason with him. You didn't think to grab onto his leg or something when he was three feet away. You weren't injured. You weren't THAT exhausted. You just didn't think to do it. Even though A SUBSTORY IN Y3 ENDS THE WAY THE MAIN STORY SHOULD HAVE AND IT'S ONE OF THE LAST THINGS YOU CAN DO BEFORE HEADING TO THE HOSPITAL.

Y3 ending is literally my Y7 ending in terms of how much anger rises up within me whenever I think about it because it just Somehow, To This Day, piles more and more on top that makes it worse than it already was. Like its ONLY saving grace is that Mine didn't actually die. Allegedly. At least you can argue Ichiban and Aoki didn't have time to react, but Kiryu had all the time in the world and did nothing.

Ok I need to stop I need to stop I know I should be mad at Yokoyama and Takeuchi and not Kiryu and I literally had to run this post through an all-caps -> sentence caps converter But Anyway Point Is If Ichi Had Been The Protagonist Of Y3 Mine Would Be Alive

i cant even really blame something like kiryu's emotional ineptitude to explain why he couldnt just be open about What Mine's Business Was because the guy can CLEARLY speak from the heart and say good and honest things. like he knows how to communicate For The Most Part so its truly just. The Fuck Happened Here you dont think it wouldve been a good idea to get daigo up to speed on the past week or 👁️👁️ just saying Mine Didn't Betray You is like. a FAIR start i GUESS but ELABORATE a bit ??

not at all a 'rare' L moment just a typical kiryu L honestly （；´д｀）

#long post #snap chats #mizuki goated fr fr. highkey those two's substories are my fave theyre so fuckin bizarre.....#BUT REAL LIKE KIRYU. ILY I DO IM SORRY but i KNOW your ass can get up #mine DID just beat your ass but youre not THAT banged up and its not like you have any reason to relax after knowin richardsons alive #like there was PLENTY of time to react this some yakuza 'let him finish speaking its honorable' bullshit i PROMISE (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)(;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)#dont look down here im ranting about y7 related stuff #OK BUT NO THIS JUST REMINDED ME OF ONE OF THE MOST INFURIATING TAKES I READ ONCE #AND IT WAS BASICALLY PEOPLE BLAMING ICHI FOR AOKI DYING LIKE EXCUSE ME #how on gods green earth was ichi supposed to react in time- when its KUME of all people #what the fuck was he supposed to assume was going to happen its KUME he's a wet rag of a bitch boy #especially when all he did was praise aoki like how the fuck was he supposed to think he would stab him oh my godddd #like its not just kume showing up either ichi and aoki JUST had an intense emotional moment and they finally got a chance to breathe #like they thought they were good and in the clear and they were in a steadily-getting-better mood why would they be on guard (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)#FORGIVE ME thats been bothering me for months. i needed it off my chest #anyway im going for a walk. we got ice cream today and idk why i eat ice cream when it always makes me sad/lethargic #so heres to hoping a lil nature walk and heavy metal improves my mood a bit

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zhongrin · 1 year

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a hybrid’s instincts

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, gorou, tighnari, (bonus) platonic!diona

◇ tags ◇ pregnancy, afab!reader, dragon!zhongli

◇ a/n ◇ what's that? will i ever stop pushing the dragon!zhongli agenda? hahahahahahahhahahhaha hhahaha ha ha- no.

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

oh? what's this? it seems like your pregnancy triggered something in these men. their more… "animal side", perhaps?

ever since baizhu’s confirmation - actually, even weeks before that - zhongli has been very reluctant to let you wander out of the house. or even out of his sight, in general (which is quite strange since with his enhanced dragon senses you know he’s able to locate you within the house with no problems at all).

at night, you sometimes wake up to him in his dragon form. sometimes it’s his compact form nuzzling and he's purring near your stomach, sometimes it’s his half-dragon form where he’ll place his head beside your stomach with his tail curling around you protectively. it doesn’t matter whether you’re already showing or not; your heartbeat and the little hatchling’s brings him a sense of comfort that he needs, lest he becomes restless.

his nesting behavior is out of control. he’ll bring you all the pillows and blankets, surround you with the nicest smelling flowers, make you always wear his shirt, and he’ll bring anything you want to the bed so you don’t have to leave the nest. the further you are into your pregnancy, the more reluctant he is to leave you alone. he ends up taking that paternal leave hu tao has been telling him to get. bless her.

gorou is just as excited as he’s alerted. kokomi will have to force her best general to take a temporary leave from the army throughout your pregnancy because he’s so jumpy and sensitive to literally everything and his behavior is making all of the soldiers anxious.

gorou insists that you take a walk with him every day; just something light around the block to keep you from feeling lethargic. he’s also developed a habit to sniff everything that will touch your hand. yes, that includes your supposedly harmless change of clothes. it’s not ridiculous in his opinion! it’s a necessary precaution!!

will snarl when a stranger approaches you and tries to touch you in any way, even if it’s just a friendly gesture. he would be so embarrassed and apologetic about it afterward, but only once you’re at the safe haven of your house.

are you a forest ranger? an adventurer? does your profession require you to venture into the wilderness? welp, say goodbye to your job for the time being, because there is no way in any cycles of samsara tighnari would let you go into the dangers outside while you’re carrying his pups.

walking arm-in-arm whenever you're out and about is a must these days. whenever a villager congratulates you, you can sense his hold tightening despite the polite smile on his lips. if it was up to his instinct, he wouldn’t have let you get out of the house, but rationally he knows you need to move around and breathe in the fresh air.

though you still won’t be exempt from your beloved’s sassiness (”you want me to get you coffee…? do you think i’m an idiot?”) as long as what you ask for doesn’t harm you, he’s at your every beck and calls now, no question asked. you’re craving for collei’s specialized pita pockets? he’ll learn the damn recipe from collei herself and serve it on your favorite plate the next day. you want to be carried everywhere? good thing he’s got the physique fitting for the head of the forest rangers. you want ten kisses a day? say no more; he’ll give you thirty.

[bonus - platonic]

at first, diona seems super indifferent about it, only reacting with a ‘hmph… congrats, i guess’, but her actions speak louder than words. you know how cats tend to hover around pregnant women and even lay themselves near their bulging bellies? that's right.

no, you will not be having alcohol. no, your spouse will not be having alcohol. no, all the people within five hundred meters radius from you will not be having any single drop of alcohol. she won't allow those boozehounds to get close to you.

she’s so amazed at how your stomach keeps growing bigger every time you visit her. when you give her your permission, she’ll curiously poke and stare at your bump. her hand will gently pat your tummy as she unconsciously smiles. she starts to seek you out more often after that, telling you that she’s just there in case you need help, but you know she’s just worried about you. she would be such a good big sister to your baby!

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #zhongli #zhongli x reader #gorou #gorou x reader #tighnari #tighnari x reader #diona #platonic!diona #rin writes #cw.pregnancy #tw.pregnancy #afab!reader

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vampsywrites · 10 months

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balance of life

synopsis: "if you don't yield, we won't hesitate to kill the tsa-hik." as quadritch and his men launch a ruthless attack on your village, your life hangs in the balance.

pairings: olo'eyktan! aged up! neteyam x tsahik! fem! reader

tags: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE AND DEATH, mentions of guns, blood, gunshot wounds, violence, war, neteyam going feral, ambiguous ending hehe, mother neytiri suffering (again)

☄️part 2 💫

"Mawey! My people! Mawey!" Your anguished plea echoes through the air, tainted with a tremor of unbridled fear.

Gasping, you find yourself shoved to the ground as the weight of a marine's boot presses upon your back, mercilessly crushing you. A bone-chilling sensation courses through you as his rifle hilt presses against the side of your skull, the threat it posed abundantly clear.

The air fills with haunting screams, a cacophony of agony and desperation, as your people struggle frantically to break free from their restraints.

Quadritch chuckles, moving his gaze to the forest before him. "I know you're there, Sully. You and your little soldier boys."

Jake takes in the situation, clicking his tongue as he pressed his back further against the solid trunk of a tree.

Clutching his rifle tightly, he curses under his breath. The crackle of his communication device interrupts the tense silence as Neteyam's voice comes in.

"Sir? What's wrong? We have them outnumbered and surrounded…Why aren't we initiating an attack?"

Jake hesitates for a moment, a palpable fear gripping his heart as he struggles to find the right words. With a shaky hand, he presses a button on his neck, activating his device. His voice quivering as he delivers the news, "They've got Y/N at gunpoint."

Neteyam chokes, feeling the air get knocked out his lungs, his entire body tensing, muscles coiling like a tightly wound spring. From afar, Neytiri meets his gaze, and he can see the worry etched on her face as her hands shake immensely around her bow.

"Oh, my sweet girl," she rasps, watery eyes peeking at you from behind a tree.

Neteyam's teeth grind together, his jaw clenched so tightly that it might as well break. Swiftly, he pushes through the green foliage, moving closer and closer until you were in his sights. His heart plummets, and a nauseating feeling spreads through him as he catches sight of you.

Tears mar your dirt-streaked face, mingling with the soil as a soldier forcefully presses your face deeper into the ground. His heart shatters as he catches fragments of the frantic prayers that escape your trembling lips.

In the midst of the chaos, Quadritch's voice slithers through the air, its lethargic slur accompanied by a thick, heavily accented drawl. "Let me make something abundantly clear," he enunciates, his words laced with malice, "If you don't yield, we won't hesitate to kill the Tsa-hìk."

In an instant, Neteyam's snarl tears through the air, his fangs bared in a primal display as his instincts roar, urging him to protect you at any cost. The soldiers swiftly pinpoint his location, their weapons trained upon him.

Unwavering, Neteyam prepares to draw his bow, poised to take action. However, before he can make any moves, a hand firmly seizes his shoulder, dragging him into safety just as a barrage of bullets whiz through the air. He finds himself taking cover beneath a fallen log, with Lo'ak gripping onto him tightly.

"Bro," Lo'ak seethes through clenched teeth, arms wound tight around Neteyam in a chokehold as he struggles to hold the raging male down, "Listen to me! If you make any hasty moves, you'll only end up getting yourself killed."

Neteyam's muscles strain against Lo'ak's grip, his chest heaving with a mix of anguish and fury as his eyes dart to the direction where you're held captive. Eventually, Lo'ak's words begin to sink in, and he reluctantly relents, slowly easing his struggling.

Gritting his teeth, Neteyam focuses on the situation at hand, his mind scrambled and racing. The weight of his helplessness settles upon him, but a fiery resolve ignites within his core. He locks eyes with his brother, an unspoken understanding exchanging between them.

"Lo'ak," he growls, "I need you to cover my right flank."

A muffled sob bubbles up your throat as the sky demon circles you, his monstrous gaze drinking in the sight of your fear-stricken figure.

"That boy's takin' his sweet time, ain't he?" The colonel chuckles, his boot nudging against your cheek, forcefully lifting your face up. A low, contemptuous whistle resonates from deep within his chest as he scrutinizes your features with an unsettling gaze. "Well, well, ain't you somethin' to behold? No wonder he went ahead and crowned you queen."

The colonel's sadistic chortle then drops abruptly, his smug expression contorting into a frown as the forest echoes with a thunderous war cry.

A surge of adrenaline courses through your veins, compelling you to lift your head defiantly, your eyes locking onto a figure emerging from the shadows. "Ma Neteyam!"

Neteyam moves through swiftly, drawing his bow back and knocking an arrow dead set into a soldier's skull. The RDA, caught off guard, attempt to mount a defense. Their weapons swing and shoot haphazardly, their strikes frantic. Neteyam growls, easily avoiding their feeble attacks.

With a low hiss, he strikes, his blade digging deep into a marine's skin, leaving behind jagged, gaping wounds that mar their flesh. In a blood-soaked frenzy, his vision narrows, focusing only on his enemies, while the world around him blurs into a backdrop of carnage.

More warriors surge forward, joining the relentless attack. Arrows streak through the air, finding their targets with deadly precision, striking down the soldiers that had once surrounded you.

In almost no time, the weight pressing onto your back eases as the marine holding you hostage falls lifelessly to the ground.

Without a moment's hesitation, you propelled yourself onward, stumbling amidst the grim aftermath, desperately seeking sanctuary and cover from the chaos.

You were in such a state of blind panic that you failed to notice the piarcing gaze fixed on your back. Quadritch watched as you moved along the edge of the fields, a wry grin spreading over his lips, "Hey there, pretty bird."

In a single, fluid motion, he raises his weapon and mercilessly opens fire, his shots striking and finding their mark in your chest, sending a searing pain coursing through your body. You stagger back, a choked scream slipping from your lips as you feel your legs giving in.

"Y/N!" Neytiri's piercing shriek fills the air, her desperate cry reaching your ears as she swiftly drops down beside you, enfolding you in her protective embrace.

The crackle of gunfire intensifies, another relentless barrage of bullets tearing through the battlefield. With nimble agility, she hauls you into her arms, racing towards the nearest cover.

As her back finds respite against the rough bark of a tree, Neytiri's attention immediately turn to your injuries. Panicked, she assesses the extent of your wounds, her hands becoming stained with your blood as she applies pressure.

"My sweet girl," Neytiri's voice trembles in despair, her words saturated with raw emotion. Tears stream down her face, mingling with the dirt and blood that now stains her skin.

Sobbing, your body goes limp in her arms, sending the woman into a frenzy. Her voice rises in a haunting wail, a soul-piercing cry that reverberates through the battlefield.

"No. No. Great Mother! No!" she beseeches the divine with all her being, as if her fervent cries alone could alter the cruel course of your fate.

In that heart-wrenching moment, a figure drops down beside her, and Neytiri turns to see Neteyam, shrouded in blood as his usually steady temperment crumbled.

"Oh, Ma'Eywa, Great Mother, please no," he falls to his knees, his arms reaching out for you as he frantically takes you into his embrace. You whimper and stir, your head spinning as it falls onto his chest.

"Yawne? Hey, syulang. Hey, it's me," he cradles you closer, his lips gently pressing against your temple as you heave and shake in his embrace. "Shh, shh. I'm here now, right by your side. I'm here. I won't let you go."

"Ma'Teyam," you rasp, your eyes fluttering as the abyss of sleep beckons. "I…I am so tired."

With quivering lips and a voice choked with grief, he whispers your name, his voice a fragile plea."No, no, you have to stay awake, yawne. You have to stay with me," he presses in a hoarse whisper, his words trembling with a vulnerability you rarely see.

"Please," Neteyam's tears drip onto your pale face, fingers trembling as they brush against your blood-stained skin, gliding across your flesh with an almost desperate tenderness, as if his touch alone could heal the wounds that mar your body.

The battle rages on around you, the chaotic sounds of war blending into muffled ringing. In this moment, time stands still, and the world around you fades into shadows.

"'Teyam…" Gasping for breath, you feel a final heave escape your body before everything is consumed by a blinding light.

07/16/23 — I am writing a part 2 due to popular demand 🙈 I have a taglist ready as well! So feel free to comment if you would like to be added!

☄️part 2 💫

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orcinus-veterinarius · 2 years

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Can you elaborate the story of the ”Free Willy” orca (forgot his name). From my understanding the orca couldn’t survive in the wild and imprinted on hunans to the point that he seeked out human compaionship

Oh Keiko. His is a sad story. In 1979, he was tragically captured from his native Icelandic waters as a calf and, after bouncing around for several years, was sold to an amusement park in Mexico City that would eventually become Six Flags Mexico. It was here that he found fame as the star of Free Willy, a very sweet and very fictional story (a favorite of mine as a child!) that later spawned a trilogy, all while convincing the public that it’s easy to free a whale.

The tank you see in the movie is the same tank Keiko lived in during his time in Mexico. Intended to house dolphins, it was incredibly undersized, and the water was far too warm for an orca. Worst of all, he was isolated from others of his kind, with only the companionship of his human caregivers and a few bottlenose dolphins. The years of poor husbandry took their toll on poor Keiko, and he was lethargic and in ill health when his story because known throughout the world.

Although many parties were involved in what happened next, Warner Bros. studios (the filmmakers behind Free Willy) and the Humane Society of the United States (HSUS, my beloathed) were at the forefront. Once it became public knowledge that the real Willy was not, in fact, returned to the wild to live with his family and was still living in that too-tiny pool, many of Keiko’s fans (mainly children) began writing letters asking for their favorite cetacean movie star to be released.

Doesn’t that warm your heart? *she says sarcastically*

Some time—and an incident in which Michael Jackson (yes, that Michael Jackson) tried to purchase the whale for his personal collection—later, Keiko’s owners relented. It was decided by the newly formed Free Willy-Keiko Foundation, founded by Warner Bros. and cell phone mogul Craig McCaw (and still in operation to this day, unfortunately), that it was time to make fantasy a reality and set Keiko free. In 1996, Keiko was transferred to the Oregon Coast Aquarium for rehabilitation, where he would spend two years.

Under the quality husbandry and veterinary care Keiko received in Oregon, his health began to improve. In my opinion, this beautiful habitat, with trainers who loved and cared for him, should’ve been his forever home. One would think this was the plan all along, considering his trainers were still doing waterwork with him. That doesn’t exactly scream “this animal is a candidate for release!”

But the HSUS and Free Willy-Keiko Foundation had promised the children of the world that Keiko would return to the wild. Think of the children, people.

In 1998, Keiko tasted the crisp saltwater of the Icelandic seas for the first time in nearly two decades. For the next four or so years, Keiko lived in a sea pen, with the intentions of gradually habituating him back to his native environment. Over time, his trainers took him on longer and longer “walks” in the open ocean. One day in 2002, the walk didn’t end.

Keiko was free.

15 months later, he was dead.

The cause of death was pneumonia, the most common disease of cetaceans both in the wild and in human care. He was 27 years old (average life expectancy of a male orca is about 30 years).

Perhaps it would’ve been worth it, had Keiko spent those last 15 months with his long-lost family. But he didn’t. Though he was occasionally observed trailing pods of orcas, Keiko never rejoined a wild pod. Instead, he spent those 15 months traveling the coasts of Iceland and Norway seeking out the only family he knew. Humans.

Keiko would approach swimming children, allowing them to ride on his back as he had with his trainers over the years. He would follow boats in search of food and companionship, as his caregivers had interacted with him from boats during his ocean walks. These escapades became so frequent that the local government passed ordinances to stop its citizens from interacting with the whale. Although the HSUS claimed otherwise, Keiko was never again a truly wild whale. He was a whale dependent on humans, humans who ignored the advice of experts and tried to bring fiction to life. In 2009, the journal Marine Mammal Science did a retrospective review of Keiko’s rehabilitation and release. They determined it was a failure.

Despite this, Keiko remains a poster child for anti-zoo activists. The still-hypothetical Whale Sanctuary Project (my even more beloathed) uses Keiko as an example of why their experiment is a good idea, tugging at heartstrings of well-meaning animal lovers like HSUS did all those years ago.

In reality, Keiko was quite possibly the worst candidate imaginable for release. He was a fully mature male, with a history of poor health, who had spent decades in the care of humans with absolutely no contact with others of his kind since he was basically a toddler. The decision to release him was made entirely on emotion and carried out by movie executives and animal rights activists. For further insight into the political and financial woes of the release, I highly recommend Killing Keiko by Mark Simmons, one of Keiko’s caregivers throughout the rehabilitation process.

RIP Keiko. You were a beautiful, sweet man who inspired millions 🐳

#keiko #free willy #orcas #killer whales #cetaceans #marine mammals #killing keiko #humane society of the united states #whale sanctuary project #answered asks

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bunji-enthusiast · 2 months

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Scuttling back in to say;

YOU MAKE ME WANNA WRITE MORE STUFF SO BADDDDD ITS SO GOOD

Would there possibly be room for a Dogday & Catnap scenario where reader came in sick, because they simply refuse to take sick days, and those giants just hate seeing them like that and just take care/help with work?

Keep up the good work buddy, I LOVE EATING READING IT

Gentle Giants

Note || AHA- thank you!

WC || 1,152

Sypnosis || your fuzzy companion refuses to let you overwork yourself, even in sickness.

CatNap –

You had him CONCERNED, and he doesn’t feel like that rarely for anyone else. Right off the bat when you come into work he can tell you are sick, he voices his concerns with Bobby who he thought of having good advice for a situation like this. She had suggested that he help take the load off of your workload at least, as you were stubborn and proclaim you can do work all by yourself.

CatNap didn’t want you to ever accidentally hurt yourself, seeing as how you will go to every corner of the factory to get your duties done – even if you had some work to do as a caretaker, just a temporary one. He decided that he had enough of it, seeing as how you’d only get worse when you're working.

Halfway through your shift, he decided to intervene, picking you up around the waist and laying you on his back despite your many protests to leave you alone. CatNap retorted with an audible snort, refusing to relent against your words. He’s seen what happens to employees when they come in sick, not taking a sick day off. No way would he allow that to happen to you. You simply were far too precious to CatNap, you were; kind, patient and gentle with him, despite his many times that he had treated you a little… rudely.

The insomniac cat thought it would be best to bring you to his sleeping place, clean and unmarked of his scratches (though save for the few claw marks here and there against the walls). His stretchy tail had elongated far enough to pick you up by the waist again, which in hindsight did startle you a little as you had gotten used to being on his back for a long period of time. Gently, CatNap settled you on his bed, promptly laying you down in the proper position as if he had done this all before – with children, of course he’d have this experience to do so. You were tired, lethargic, simply just flopping against the orange mattress and finding comfort in how springy and just comforting it was.

Truth be told, he did admit to snatching you away. Only to another employee who asked where you were, they were understanding once he had pointed out you were sick. People needed rest after all, and the employee knew you were quite the stubborn type. CatNap had finally returned with a blanket that was draped over his shoulder, and a bucket of water he held in his mouth alongside the rotund rag that laid at the silver edge top of the bucket. He had steady motions, setting down the bucket that was hanging from his mouth beside the large mattress bed. Soon enough, he had also finally covered you with the blanket, quiet enough as to not wake you as he had seen you fall asleep in his absence.

At first, he wasn’t sure what to do with the rag, just sitting there at the top of the bucket. But soon enough he had found a solution. CatNap had found one of the brand new fresh miniature smiling critters, who was alive like he was and filled the rag with water, then laid it across your forehead.

CatNap was glad, though he knew the process of having to wet the rag over and over again as it can get dry after some time.

DogDay –

Cuddly, protective and very stern when needed. DogDay was happy at first to see you coming to work again, but overtime it became less of happiness and more so concerned as he began to realize you were most likely sick. He took his thoughts to Bubba, as he knew him to be smart and informative for the most part. Bubba had told him you just were most likely sick, knowing how you didn’t like taking sick days off even if you really truly were sick.

DogDay needed a plan, action to help lessen the load on your shoulders. He won’t stand for the fact that you are working actively while being sick at the same time, heck even a dog like him knew this! He wanted you to get some proper rest, but how was he actually gonna be able to do so? But as ever, DogDay remained to be looking on the bright side of this as he asked Bubba once again what he should do. Bubba was very smart in comparison to him, he wasn’t that well informed with sickness himself.

Bubba had suggested that he take half of your workload at least, so he went exactly to do that, people had eyed him for his weird out of place appearance outside of where one usually would find him. He didn’t really care for it, just continuing to do your work load without your knowledge. When you had gone to do your other duties, you were waved off, confused as to why – they had told you someone had already done it all for you.

You were practically already done with your work for the whole day, you had a sneaking suspicion that you knew who had done half the work load for you. When you went to confront DogDay, he had admitted under the weight of your glare, saying he had done the other 50% of your work because you were sick. You were surprised to say the least, touched at the thought he did it because he knew you were sick. But you never told him, which raised a few brows from you.

“Aha, angel.. Dogs can be good at noticing things better than humans normally do.” He said with a tinge of nervousness. You sighed, walking up to hug him despite the vast differences in size that was comparable between you and DogDay. He was elated to know you weren’t angry, bending down to hug you, finally he had you trapped. DogDay picked you up, which had elicited a yelp from you, feeling he had now carried you bridal-style.

DogDay had insisted you needed rest, taking you with him as you relented to his insistence. Truly he was a leader and a friend till the end.

Both –

When the both of them team up, there is no way you are getting away with working while you're sick. They both reassure each other what they are doing is okay, they both care about you very much. CatNap just kind of drags you away, bringing you to his bed while DogDay had walked alongside him, checking your forehead for how hot your fever may be.

Luckily, DogDay slipped away while CatNap had set you up to be in a comfortable position while you were sleeping. DogDay came back with a bucket of water and a rag to administer to keep your fever down as much as possible.

With these two, you practically have nothing to worry about.

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime chapter 3 #dogday poppy playtime #poppy playtime dogday #catnap poppy playtime #catnap

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kneelingshadowsalome · 10 months

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I have an odd request… perhaps a captain price fic where the reader is much younger and edgy- likeee covered in tats and stuff,, and price isn’t rly used to that but finds it hot as hell… idk maybe they work together ?? Smut ensues …

IDK I have tatts and wonder what he’d think of that 👹👹

Just an idea 💡❤️😫

Fire it Up (John Price x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.8 k

Tags/warnings: Smut 🔞 mutual pining, flirting, swearing, older man/younger woman dynamic, forbidden love, smoking & drinking, voice kink, a tiny brat taming kink squeezed itself in here too. Reader has tattoos and works as a coder at the base. Rough ~10yrs age gap described, reader is of age I hope to god it goes without saying (Price is canonically 37) Also: no use of 'daddy' in this fic

A/N: I'm so glad for this request anon and I hope you like what I made! Also people please be gentle, this is my first Price fic 🥹 God I wish I could attach the fat scent of cigar here to give you the full experience.

You don't know what caught your attention first.

The cigar, perhaps. Or the beard? Might be his hips, the ass that tells you this man can fuck a woman for hours.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's too old for you.

No, not too old…

Just older than you. A decade, perhaps, if you were being gentle with him and lenient with yourself.

He certainly isn't old enough to be your father, but he wasn't the type of man your eyes usually drifted on either.

He looks like someone who's supposed to be fishing in Alaska, sucking that fat cigar while taking in the view of mountains while trying to catch wild fish in some wide, free stream.

He's supposed to come home to a remote cabin: to his little wife who pours him a scotch after he has shown her what he caught today. Make sweet love to her while stars shoot and speckle the indigo night.

He looks like someone who makes love to women.

You, on the other hand, want to ride with him to the sunset on the back of a Harley, clutch his jacket as he drives you to some bizarre highway motel. You want to watch him drink that scotch from your navel.

You'd do all kinds of crazy shit with him, keep his head between your legs with both hands, grind all over that mustache, and see how wet it gets. You want him to pound you with those narrow hips, take you from behind while you look back with parted, swollen lips and relish the sight of what must be a grown man's hardened body, covered with hair and scars and–

"The bug's still there."

You return to reality, look at the code on your screen, and then at your colleague, a 20-something bloke who looks at you with the lethargic stare that only belongs to techies. You've just been caught daydreaming your eyes off in the middle of a lazy afternoon. Coffee doesn't do shit after 2 PM…

"Yeah I know. I'm working on it," you say. But when the dude leaves, you decide it's time for a creative break. You tell yourself it's only because the code jumps on the screen, not because you hope to catch a certain someone smoking outside.

The leather jacket is a little too much these days, but you throw it on out of pure habit. You realize the weight of your mistake when you go outside from the ventilated building and notice the sweltering heat. Spring has finally turned into summer.

Coffee doesn’t do shit, but it’s time for another kind of wakey-wakey. And butterflies are a funny term for something that mainly feels like it’s eating your insides out of pure excitement.

Because he's here too.

Jonathan Price, although no one calls him Jonathan. Few call him John, either.

Mostly, he goes by the title Captain.

He's stressed; you can tell. But his eyes soften immediately when they fall on you, a brief look to the side, just to know who else comes out to have a breath of fresh air or a smoke. He looks like he's been expecting you, but that might only be a silly girl's daydream. You two share a vice, and you've never been more grateful for your bad habit before this place and him.

And you wouldn't call it necessarily a bad habit. It's simply stress relief if you do it once or twice every few weeks. It's not like you smoke two packs a day. It's not like you even smoke one cig per day.

Although ever since you started this odd little job in this odd little place, you've smoked one or two nearly every day… And it's not because of the stress.

It's because of Price.

John. You’d like to see his reaction to you moaning that word in his ear…

"How long have you been here?"

His eyes are still on you, mouth covered by a hand as he makes love to his cigar. And that bedroom voice always gets you. It's better than the upcoming slow drag of nicotine. You're not here for tobacco at all.

"Two weeks." You reach for your excuse and try to prevent your hands from trembling as you light the cig. Usually, you're not this shy with people. Not with men, anyway. But with him, your wits and words disappear.

You blow the smoke through the air with a quick, lively wisp where he lets it roll out his tongue in a heavy cloud. He's still watching you as if to weigh what kind of woman you are exactly.

"How about you?" You continue the small talk with nervous ease.

He chuckles; the little smile even shows a flash of teeth as he steals a look at the clouds, calculating years with those surprisingly lively eyebrows curled up toward the sky.

"Ages."

He's not that old. Perhaps well over his thirties, might be knocking his forties. The statement is merely an underline of his stress today. You can only wonder what kind of pressure the captain of Task Force 141 is under when you get sleepless nights from a stupid source code. There are a few wrinkles around his eyes, but they only tell you that this man smiles a lot. He might be the only one in this compound who smiles a lot.

"Have you ever tried a cigar?"

There's a glint in his eyes as he offers the thick roll of tobacco to you. It's suddenly difficult to breathe, difficult to even keep your thoughts together.

"No," you shake your head as if your answer wasn't enough to tell him he's the first person ever to offer you such a thing. Then you realize the word does not precisely deliver your eagerness to try that stout cigar.

"Would love to," you hurry to add with a soft smile. "Can I have a taste?"

He walks to you slowly, and your eyes drop to those hips, which sway like he's purposely trying to seduce you.

Fu–ck…

Then your eyes sink even lower, between his legs, to his fucking junk, and it's too fucking late–

Jesus–get your shit together…

You force your eyes back to his and see the little glimmer in them gain a surprised spark – you're totally caught red-handed on checking him out.

Fuck. How can you be so stu–

"Gently then, kid."

You swallow your heart and thoughts down and take the offered cigar; of course, your first thought is how thick and heavy it is. And somehow, you decide right then and there that you will no longer be the nervous, hot-cheeked woman on the corner.

It's time to make him flustered.

So you take a hollow-cheeked, slow suck on the fat cigar. A chaste, savory taste, more like, but there's nothing chaste in the way you raise your eyes to his, putting every ounce of soft seduction in that stare.

He draws breath slowly – his face is full of expression for an allegedly cold-hearted elite soldier. You don't know how often women flirt with this hunk of a man, but he sure looks taken aback by your sudden play. Probably thinks you're too young for him – and you curse the second time you put that jacket on. You want to see his reaction to your sleeves.

"Mm. It's thicker than I thought," you weigh the cigar between your fingertips and let the smoke roll out your mouth. The man switches his weight from one foot to another, speechless, and you suppress a big beam of a smile.

"The taste," you emphasize as if innocent, as if you didn't see that shocked little shift. "Round, and… god, it's almost sweet."

You smile as you give it back, and he chuffs an approving laugh through his nose – those eyes are bear-warm playful now, his mouth curves into an easy smile.

"Nice," you look him up and down as if you're talking about the man and not the cigar.

"Beats those little sticks."

His voice drops down a few notes; it's almost a husky growl. You barely make out the words he's saying. The tension in the air could form little balls of lightning around you, the flirt is over the roof, and there's even no roof because you're outside – and you take your jacket off, slowly, to make it clear it's summer and not spring.

His eyes fall on the ink immediately, and he blinks a few times, draws some more breath – you tweet your thanks accompanied by another smile and go back inside.

You know he's checking your ass in those black jeans as you walk away.

….....

It doesn't end there.

You see him again and again and again, and at some point you realize he has to walk almost 100 meters from the other end of the base to get to the little corner where the two of you smoke.

He's intrigued but decent. Holds a distance, never says anything that could be taken in the wrong way – or even in the right way. But he's fucking you with his eyes.

No… making love to you.

And it drives you crazy.

You don't want that. You don't need that. To be that little wife in the cabin. Pouring him a drink, climbing in his lap, ghosting a finger down the stubble on his chin, see how wide and proud it makes him smile to hold you like you're his and his alone...

God. When did it come to this?

You suck on his fat cigar every now and then. Look him in the eyes while you do it. Once, it makes his tongue dart out, it wets his bottom lip, and then he does that thing with his mouth... the thing where he kind of purses his lips and it makes the mustache dip, and you realize, you learn it's a sign that he's restless, he's flustered.

You make the big, burly captain of Task Force 141 flustered.

And he doesn't smell like the people inside smell. Of stale coder sweat and Joy Division and soft drinks and mommy's home-cooked meals. He smells of rich forest and fine bourbon and half-burnt gasoline. Maybe Saxon on vinyl. Definitely beats those little sticks that are your nerdy co-workers at the hacker department, as you call it.

He may have a flask somewhere; perhaps he takes a sip or two every now and then, whether at work or not. And you don't blame him. Even with those laugh lines and that brown bear benevolence, you can tell he's seen things.

You wonder what he's like out there in the field. Brutal? Or just efficient?

He never asks about your tattoos, but he eyes them often. There's a certain admiring esteem in his stare. He's checking you out, scratches his chin, and rips his eyes off when they start to drift down. He forces his eyes to stay above your neckline no matter the cost. You mourn that you got rid of the septum a few years ago: you're pretty sure he would've liked that, too. After all, it's a piercing that screams 'warrior' the most. Break after break, you return to your desk, aroused and giddy and surrounded by the rich, masculine aroma of his cigar.

One night, he drives by when you're walking home after what was supposed to be one or two pints.

The car is a big, black pick-up, and when it slows down and starts to inch by your side, your first reaction is a silent curse of why the fuck don't you carry some pepper spray in your pocket.

"Hey, you ok?"

Your head rises from the asphalt the second you recognize that smooth, pleasant voice of a man you had compared every guy to at the pub that evening. The whole man is brimming with burnt sienna, he's hard alcohol with no ice…

You stop and turn, a little wobbly from the pint turned to two or three. Or four.

"Yeah. Had a little girl's night out."

The car rumbles softly, not two meters away, and the sound reminds you of his voice. A soft purr that can turn into a growl, even a roar if he wants to.

He looks like he's going fishing, even without the boonie hat. The dark hair is cut short, so you won't have anything to tug if he ever ends up between your legs. But you don't really mourn that fact, because he looks so damn good.

He looks you up and down, and you notice the briefest blob of his Adam's apple before he gives you another offer.

"Want me to give you a ride?"

Would love a ride.

Would fucking love to ride you.

"Sure. That's kind of you."

Your eyes must be sparkling like the fucking stars.

"No problem at all," he leans his elbow on the open window and waits while you round the car and get in. You try to tone down your drunken state, but your moves are a little too brash for a calm and collected coder lady this man has usually caught leaning against the wall of the workplace you two share.

"Did you have fun?"

He sounds like a dad picking up his girl from a school disco, and you purse your lips in slight distaste and amusement.

"Yeah. You know how it is when someone asks you for a pint."

He gives a short laugh and starts to drive. "That never ends well."

You smile and turn to look at him.

"Mm… This one kinda did."

You enjoy the brief look out the window, the sight of someone so formidable and robust and experienced trying to find his way out by feigning something caught his attention in the black, empty distance of a quiet city.

"Glad I could be of service," he brushes off your flirt like it's nothing more than a speckle of dust on his coat.

The rest of the ride is silent, too silent. He turns the music off in case it "bothers you," and it turns into an awkward, overly polite fight about whether to keep it on or not.

It's a minor shock to notice he was listening to some classical. Not 80's rock, not country, not even BBC. He was just soothing his nerves.

You can't put your finger on what makes you feel so sheepish around this man – usually, you put men on a leash with a few dry jokes and a hearty laugh or two. Now, your flirting is shy and does nothing: there's a wall built up, and from behind that wall, only a few stolen looks…

The pick-up is humming, the engine is running at idle next to your place far too soon, and it's time you get off the car – but you have vehemently decided you will knock down that fucking wall even if you have to drag him to your bed.

"You wanna come up and have a nightcap?"

Another look out the window as he raises his hand over his mouth, fiddles with his mustache, and avoids the rising heat between you two.

"Thanks, kid. But you need to sleep."

Your heart is pumping, and you feel like a harasser as you place your hand on his thigh.

He doesn't move, but you can hear the audible swallow this time. He doesn't move a single finger even when you slide your palm down that leg, then drag it over to the inner thigh, and start to drift back up slowly, slowly, to give him the time and space to stop you before you reach….

….the visible bulge between those legs, the absolutely gorgeous, ample bump pulling at those pants, something so delicious that you must fight tooth and nail not to race your hand up there and give it a fond grope.

His hand falls over yours just before you reach it.

"Kid. Let's leave it here and call it a night."

His voice is strained and tight, and he's still looking out the window. You don't move your hand away because he doesn't move it away. His warmth stays there, keeping you against him, and you feel like shit for thinking it's not a no… That it's a yes when he seems to hold your hand as a prisoner, wanting to feel your dainty little palm against him.

Your fingers curl slightly, a hopeful gesture to imagine how it would feel to curl and claw at his hips and that ass while he's fucking you.

"Listen. You're a nice girl. A very nice–"

You give a heavy, demonstrative sigh and finally draw your hand away.

"Come on Cap… You're seriously going to give me the "you're a nice girl" talk?"

Finally, he turns. His nostrils quiver as he tries to keep his breaths calm. Your lips part like it's a whole caress he just gave you – and his gaze drops to your mouth instantly. You start to see where the problem is.

You're too young.

You're forbidden.

"I offered you a nightcap," you tilt your head slightly. "You can come up or you can go home."

You wet your lips, give the bottom lip a tiny little bite, and offer him the last, inviting, soft smile. It must hold an equal amount of sorrow because you can't drown the bitter feeling of rejection, no matter how many drinks you've had that night. No matter how much he seems to want you, it doesn't change the fact that he's apparently decided to stay strong and keep his hands off the cookie jar.

You turn and get out of the car, lean on the door for the final fucking time...

"Didn't know I'd only get to suck your cigar... You're all smoke and no fire, Price."

The door flies closed with a louder slam than you originally meant.

Now that was a little bit passive-aggressive, you have to admit. But you're drunk, and he's being a pain in the ass, calling you a kid, looking at you like that, having a fucking hard-on and giving you nothing.

…But it does the trick.

You smile like an idiot when you walk to your place and hear the purr of the engine stop. Another car door opens, then closes, wide footsteps follow you…

A nightcap it is, then.

He looks even bigger when inside a place with walls and a roof. He stands inside your apartment tall and wide as if he's waiting to call attention. Those large hands are over his crotch, concealing the swell of erection you already saw in the car.

You know the tank top you wear reveals even more skin covered in tats as you throw your jacket away and go get him that drink. The glasses glide on your table, slide nearly to the floor, and the bottle of Jim Beam meets the counter with a devastating clank. You look at the excuse to get him into your place and sigh.

"You know what… Fuck this."

Offering cheap bourbon to someone like him seems a bit ridiculous. So you offer him something he might actually like. Something he actually came here for.

You walk to him and throw your hands around him – he stiffens from the middle but looks down at you with a heated glimmer in those eyes. You could've sworn they were charred brown, the same color as his cigar, but up close you see they're actually molten iron. Mercurial.

"You sure about this?" He asks softly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He unclasps those hands from over his groin, and the warmest weight falls to rest on your waist, even steals a caress to your hip. You want to hurl yourself at him, press yourself against his crotch and grind until you bleed from just that tiny touch he finally gives you.

"You've had one too many, love."

Love…

Shit.

The warmth spreads from his eyes, from that hand, from the word that rolls out of his mouth like a beautiful puff of smoke. It unfurls inside your heart, swells inside your throat, plummets to your groin, and you switch the weight to your other leg to feel how that hand gains more weight as it gets pressed more firmly against you.

"Doesn't change the fact that I want you."

Your voice is nothing short of a purr. When have you ever purred like that to a man? You sound like a housecat, tame and adoring, waiting for a gourmet meal.

"You really want an old man?"

He still has that reserve in his eyes, decent and distant, but underneath, you sense a terrible heat, like the glow of a cigar lit in darkness, an adamant smolder that never dies out.

"You're not that old."

Your purr turns into a deprived meow. You dangle from his neck, and the smoke, the fire that surrounds him, blends into the gentle scent of a man, the musk of a mature beast. You know he's hairy under those clothes; he fucking has to be. The vision of how his cock must look, surrounded by untame, coarse fur, has tormented you night after night.

And now he's finally here. In your apartment.

You skate your hands over his chest while slowly dropping into a squat, then languidly kneeling in front of his crotch.

He doesn't stop you, not even when you open his belt and the zipper and crawl your fingers down the waistband of his underwear. You have to stifle a delighted gasp upon seeing how his cock springs free and stands proud in front of you in all its glory. And fuck yes he's hairy – the hairiest man you've ever had.

Cigars feel like tiny little sticks when you wrap one hand around him and lick the weeping slit like it's your favorite ice cream. The groan that follows is a husky eruption above you and gets stuck in his throat as you take him in your mouth.

"Fucking hell, kid…"

He's thick, broad, and the musk fills your nostrils, but what he just said makes you pull back and whisper on the bulbous tip–

"Don't call me a kid," you breathe on his cock, swirl your tongue around him, and his thighs bunch. "Old man."

You finally manage to push some buttons.

The back of his hand brushes your cheek, then slides over to your throat. He's gentle but firm as he forces a thumb under your chin, curls fingers around your neck as if you're a cat who's about to be force-fed some medicine that's only good for her.

"Is that how you wanna play it?"

His thumb brushes down the ridge of your throat. Tentative, promising.

"Perhaps," your lips quiver with anticipation as you smile; your voice is a pitched vibrato before it drops, just to give him a reason to put you in your place... "Old gum–"

The hand pulls up, the grip tightens just enough to guide you back to your feet and up to meet his face.

"Didn't know you asked me here to tame a brat."

Fuck…

You almost moan.

The hand doesn't choke you; it makes love to you. Claims you as his.

"Really…?" You sigh. Flash him a filthy, guiltless smile.

The fire surges forth and nearly buckles your knees. His eyes flash in rhythm with your grin, like a sudden flicker of a campfire in the middle of a dark, parched forest.

"This what you want? Hmm?"

The rumble reminds you of the engine of a Harley roaring to life. His throat is burned from the fire of his cigars, the hand on your throat is used to squeezing dead metal and pulling pins from frigid grenades. But even they can't stand a chance against his woodland fire and sycamore smoke. He could bring a cold, inanimate rock back to life with all that fire.

"Yes. I want it. John."

His name on your tongue is a cat's meow. It has the exact effect you hoped for.

"Let's get the brat tamed, then."

"Hah," you finally moan. "Promises, prom–"

The fingers around your throat pull you to his mouth with a python strength. His lips spread yours with soft devouring as he coats you in fire. The coarse beard smells of sweet tobacco – nothing like a pungent cigarette. It's like an old memory: safe and sturdy and strong. Male.

You moan in his mouth – god, what will it be like when he's inside you? – and he capes both arms around you and crushes you against him. Broad shoulders envelop you like a shroud of thick smoke, the cock gets trapped between you like a hot spear, and you mewl like a slut.

Your pussy clenches, just from his warm mouth, the rich velvet of his lips. He takes everything with that kiss, and you're weak in his arms as he bends and molds you against him just the way he wants, opens your mouth with his own and breathes you, samples you like those puffs of smoke he sucks from his cigar.

Your brain short-circuits, you barely notice how your top slides up as his hands go under it. It's dragged up, up, over your breasts and then over your head as he detaches just enough to rip that piece of clothing away.

You look at him like he's Christmas, then reach for your bra while he opens his pants more to get them down. Your jeans are accursedly tight, and he's breathless, too: the whole room is dark and filled with heavy breathing and rustle of clothes as you claw your socks off, slide your strings down and away, watch him get out of his shirt and throw it on the floor too, all propriety gone.

And then…

Jesusfuck–

He picks you up, lifts you from the ground like you're nothing but a leaf, and strides with you in his lap until your back meets a wall.

The barrel-like chest presses the air out of your lungs while your back travels up – you don't know if his arms or chest do the lifting, but you're being positioned for his cock to enter. Your hands try to grasp something solid before it's too late – his back and neck – your legs wrap around him, feet hooking over his ass as the thick of his tip pokes your soaked folds, and after a few seconds of probing, slides in.

"F–uck…" you gasp, sounding so needy that it could be a voiceline from a bad porno movie. His lips find the place between your ear and neck immediately.

"Be good for me now," he gruffs, dark and round like the sweetest bourbon, although you know he's the finest single malt in the world. "Be good…"

"Ah–John…"

I'll be good…

Just for you, I'll be so, so good.

He pants heavy on your neck, grunts as he starts to fuck you against that wall. You knew he might be intense, but apparently, you had no idea. The man is needy as fuck, and has concealed it up until this point.

You could cry, scream from joy from the thickness that spreads you, fills you with every fat glide of a thrust. The sex borders on rough but is so incredibly tender too, so needy it makes your heart collapse, compress into a taut knot in your chest. It's the softest rocking, the gentlest fucking as he retreats, then ruts into you again and again with sharp, rusty moans. You're in a slow but steady rodeo with this man, your breasts pressed against a solid chest covered with hair, and it tickles, even if his pecs threaten to crush your ribcage.

"You're one hell of a girl," he gruffs in your ear, beard grazing up and down your neck. "Taking me so– Fucking hell, look at you…"

His eyes are embers as they sweep over you: your abundant ink, the helpless, adoring look in your eyes, the little mouth that opens with a gasp, the trickle of sweat that forms between your breasts and meets the hair on his chest.

He doesn't have to look down to see how greedy your cunt is for him. He can feel it.

"This is what you wanted the whole time? Huh?"

He's all smoke. All fire.

"Yes…"

"Wanted me to take you against a fucking wall? Eh?"

"Yes…just, just take me," you moan and purr some more, giving him everything he wants. "Fuh–fuck me good…"

"Ahh shit..."

You know you're a drug to certain decent men. But to him, you're a forbidden fruit in all its aspects.

A calm, collected captain who enjoys wide respect, eyeing an edgy, younger woman from the tech department? That's not how this was supposed to go. Thirsting for someone who did what they wanted, looked just the way they wanted, walked this earth like a dark fairy – that's not his usual go, surely. He was supposed to settle down with a proper lady. If he were to settle down at all.

"I've dreamed of this," you whisper in his ear, lips moving just enough to deliver your secret to him.

"Yeah..? Me too," he gives your throat more love with a velvet growl. "Know I shouldn't, but–"

"Shh. Don't–don't…" You grip him tighter, taste the spruce and salt as you breathe his neck. "It's good. It's all good."

He rumbles in approval. Your skin is raw from his beard; even the coarse hair dusting his thighs feels too rough on your skin. And your skin is used to being needled, shot full of ink right inside the dermis. But this… This is branding.

You're silk in his rough embrace, and plundered with no remorse. You sigh and moan, hug him... And then he dares to stop, panting and throbbing inside you.

"Darlin'. Where's the bed?"

The soft question makes you panic. If you go to bed and let him push inside you while you're lying on your back, if you brave a look into those eyes while he takes you, you'll develop more than just a horrid lust for this man. If he collapses on top of you, spent and spoiled while you're at your most vulnerable, you'll tie a string from your heart to his, and you can't, you just can't allow that to happen.

Because he's untamed too. He's not a man who settles down, he's not up for domestication; he's a wandering fire.

"No–no bed," you pant on his muscles, the shoulder that keeps you safely pinned on the wall. "John…? Please."

He's breathing wild too, disguises his surprise well.

"Alright."

He sounds disappointed, and it's not because he doesn't have the strength to maul you against that wall. The rejection stings him too. It makes you want to offer a truce, a little something. When he rocks you again, you graze your fingers up the back of his neck, knowing he will feel ripples across his scalp from your caress.

"We can smoke a cigar after," you propose, not knowing why your voice still comes out as an airy whisper. "Together. I'll pour you that drink…"

His chest swells with a deep breath, he huffs fire on the hollow trench between your collarbones.

"Fuck, woman…"

It's dense syrup that surrounds you much like those shoulders and arms, that coarse hair, that bold male want.

"And after that I want you to…" You catch your breath and sound like a mouse with your next shy question. "Would you go down on me, John?"

It's like you're under a bear attack, but he stills; his head tilts a little to the side and meets your temple.

"You wouldn't tease a man like this," he says. A soft warning, brimstone coated in velour, but the core of it is despair. So much need, so much forbidden, distant want…

"Right? No more teasing."

He's still thinking that you're teasing him… That it's some kind of a joke that you want him.

"I'm serious... I want your mouth on me. I need your–"

"I'll put my mouth on you as soon as we're done here, love."

You have to bite your lips, suck them between your teeth to prevent another deprived moan from escaping.

"Want you to fuck me all night," you continue to whisper on his neck. You should shut the fuck up because it doesn't take a bed to tie that string from your heart to his. After all, they're right there, beating against each other through bone and skin and chest.

"Yeah? That's what you want?"

"Want you to… F-fuck me slow and good from behind and–"

You sniff. Whimper.

You should be ashamed: mewling for more when he's already buried inside you. What kind of a brat are you, wrapping your thighs around that narrow waist like you never want him to pull out?

And you're not crying.

It's just that the cock inside you is throbbing against your walls as if he's making a home there, his hands dig into your ass cheeks like you're his already, the breath upon your sweat and skin feels far too affectionate. When exactly did a raw wall-fuck turn into such an affectionate, gentle taste of love?

And it's not enough. You want to climb on top of him every morning, ride him slowly and watch him unravel as the sun climbs the sky and coats that fur in gold.

"Could you do that? Please… John, please," you whimper and whine, beg like you're tame already.

"I'll fuck you all night if that's what you want. Fill this pretty, tight cunt up every way you like."

It's coarse smoke. It caresses you until your legs start to shake. He adjusts his grip, drags the pull-outs like he drags those pulls from his tobacco. Keeps you nicely in place for him to drive back in–

"I'll fuck you 'till you cry, love. Yeah?"

He punctuates that promise with another good, fat thrust. You moan all tame now – a rippling stream, laughing and crying in his molten hold.

His cock fills you while your thighs quiver and tremble in his hands. Your pussy throbs; it sucks him already, the orgasm is seconds away, and your fingertips search for support but only slip over sweaty, hard muscle.

John. John.

"Fuh-…"

He spreads you a little. Those arms are pure iron as they mold you for him to plow. You know he can feel the waves, the way your cunt grips him with longer, deeper pulls as you start to sound downright pathetic.

"Just like that, just like… hah…"

"M-hm. Yeah," he bends the vowels, daubs them with smoke. "That's it. You're doing good. Doing so well my love."

He huffs between the thrusts that have turned into slow, intense love-making. He's making love to you – god, why does he have to be like this…

"Cum for me. Nice and pretty, yeah? Come on."

He encourages you with words, but you can't hear them anymore.

Heat coils in the pit of your core just before you burst with a heady scream.

The spasm is so sudden you almost hit your head on the wall. He's at your throat the minute it's exposed, and your scream turns into a weak wail when his tongue grazes your skin. It's blazing, and dips into the hollow between your collarbones like it's a shot glass full of scotch. Next thing you feel is fire, even some teeth on your neck.

And you thought Price might, just might be intense…

Your head drops as the blunt of the orgasm leaves you. Your feet unclasp, and next up would be some soft waves, but the man continues to fuck your shattered cunt and marshmallow soul with a good, intense pace. The words that pour out of your mouth are those of a brainless person.

"Ah–hah, God–"

"Where's that cheek now, mm..? Pretty little thing."

"John–h…"

The thrusts rub you against that wall like he wants to staple you there.

"So nice and good for me now, ain't ya? Cummin' on command…" An amused chuff right on your poor, chafed skin… "Begging for my mouth and cock."

You travel up and down in a limp heap, trying to hold on to him with weak limbs as he drives into you with a tight series of half-thrusts. Your legs hang loosely on the side, but he has no trouble carrying the full weight of you.

"Slow–slowly, Cap…"

"Ahh fuck–"

He swears on your ink, right on the trotting pulse on your neck. Through the vapor of man sweat and rich smoke and a whiff of cedar trees bending in the wind, you feel him tense and thicken.

"The fucking things you do to me…" he pants with a low growl, hushed but intense. Your pussy answers with a good, demanding pull.

"Fuck… fuck–!"

You're a limp doll between him and the wall when he comes. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, literally. His chest being the rock, an entire boulder that whips the oxygen from your lungs as he drives deep, his balls giving a few taut pulls against your ass as he empties himself into you with a satisfied, dry moan. A dark, ripe blossom, shooting straight to your core while you're sealed tight around him.

The world goes still after that; the only thing that moves is your breath and his, a refreshing hot breeze coursing through the stale air. The darkness of the room isn't half as snug as the safety of his arms.

Your fingers find his neck, the short-cut hair and the skin pounding with a rush of blood. He lets you go reluctantly, bends a little to set your feet back to the solid ground. He doesn't pull out, keeps huffing all over you even when you're returned back to the earth.

And you never want to come back. Your cunt still throbs around him and cries a tiny, thick stream down your thigh. His upper body still pins you against that wall, his breaths still mist your skin, caress the red burns of his beard.

He feels so good. Too good…

When he pulls out, he does so with intense care. He gives you some space to catch your breath, and you finally notice he has fucked your legs into splinters.

"I'm…" You break the hush of heavy breathing with a soft laugh. More viscous load pushes out of you with it. "I don't think I can stand."

"Yeah? Tried to take you to bed," he muses softly, sounding annoyingly content with his achievements.

"Gotta admit it was a good idea."

"As was the nightcap," he rasps, voice drenched in soft smoke.

"We'll get there eventually."

"I have no doubt about that."

You give him a soft, warm chuckle as you cast your eyes between the crest of his pecs. Rough, tight muscle meets your soft breasts with heaving breaths, and teases your nipples to taut little points. The wet hair on his chest looks good paired with your inked, smooth skin… You two look so goddamn fine together.

"I hope I didn't make you deaf with that scream."

He stands at his full height, but tilts his head down and slightly to the side as if you were a new, interesting species he's just found on his travels.

"Wouldn't complain, love," he says. More wet syrup, just for you. He weighs you with his stare, curious and appeased, and you feel shy. For fuck's sake, you still feel shy even though this man was inside you just a moment ago.

"The bed. Now be a good girl and tell me where it is."

"Down the…hallway."

A delicate little whisper, again.

It's laughable, how the veteran of Task Force 141 turns you into something so dainty and meek. Captain John Price takes you against a wall like you're nothing but a doll, makes you purr and beg, reassembles you into a weak-willed woman who gets carried to bed.

This is not how it was supposed to go...

He lifts you back in his lap while you continue to hold onto him like he's your prince Charming. A laugh spills on your lips when he tries to lay you gently on the bed and you manage to pull him down with you. You end up tumbling there in a sweaty, messy heap.

"Knew you were trouble," he's smiling too as he settles beside you. You curl and wrap yourself around him, your bodies mold and curve together like they're made for each other.

He's so solid, so warm, the kind of man you'd love to fall asleep on every night. No more cold sides of the pillow, no more tossing and turning and trying to get the code out of your head. Just… this chest, those ember eyes burning in the night. Some soft breathing, a roaring engine standing still, waiting for you, just for you…

"I hope this wasn't a one time only occasion," you test the waters.

"No." He shifts a little, disentangles from you slightly. "Unless you–"

"No."

You bend in his arms like a young willow, cut his doubts off with a kiss. It's passionate, and so sloppy it threatens to make the same sounds as your cunt and his cock a while ago.

The hand on your hip tows you closer, then steals its way down your leg. You hike your thigh up, perfectly willing. You're a sticky mess, but so is he: his rock-hard thigh meets your still soaked pussy like these two have always belonged together. And this man's full fire has escaped you until now. There are so many hidden, wild things in him too.

He would look so good on a Harley… He would look good on a motel bed after riding for days and days with you attached to him like an eloped dark bride. The nights would be smeared with hot sex and cinder and smoke, a dash of scotch on top, he could drink it from your lips. You would serve it to him from your mouth, round the taste a bit so that it wouldn't burn so much…

"Have you ever been to Alaska?"

The liquor is leaving you, but you don't feel any more sober. The lava in your veins has only been replaced by another kind of fire.

"No."

"Would you like to go?"

"What'ya mean," he murmurs on your tongue, and you know he's hard again just from the thick lust coating his voice. "What kind of question is that?"

"I was just thinking."

"What were you thinkin', kid..?"

"Don't… call me that," you laugh. In truth, you're growing quite fond of it. It reminds you of old movies. "Here's looking at you, kid" and all that.

His laugh is a charred roll in his chest. To him, you're a brat – an unruly kitten – no matter what you say.

"Kid. Why Alaska?"

He's curious. Borderline hooked. You steal a peek into those vulcan eyes.

"You'd look good in Alaska. Old man."

"Really," he rumbles a soft purr against your heart.

Another soft kiss follows. Affectionate… He plays time, but he's also a probing, scanning. You bloom in his embrace, unfurl on his lips like he just wrenched you wide. He could haul you to the cabin right now and you would only cook him dinner.

It's too late, even if you try to shift after such a kiss. Escape to press your cheek against that place between his pecs, the spot where the hair is darkest and thickest. You want to lick that valley where his heart meets his musk. That scent must be born from a good, stout heart.

"Would you take me with you…? If you ever decide to go."

It's a fragile question. A baring of the heart. It holds so much more than an inquiry about whether he would whisk you away on a secret leave. It's strings, pulling from your heart to his, taking root.

"Sure. But you're quite a handful, love."

"Is that so…?"

You crawl over him as gracefully as you can. He allows you to straddle him, and of course he does. You're no threat; you're only a one woman show. The only thing he's probably missing right now is a glass of scotch and a thick roll of tobacco.

He takes in the view with hunger: not satiated by that pent-up fuck, just like you're not...

But then his hands come to rest on your thighs to check if they're still shaking. The touch bleeds possessiveness: it's a thoroughly absent-minded, instinctual attempt to reach for you. It tells you you're exactly where you belong.

"You seem like the kind of woman who's not for the faint of heart," he says like you didn't just mewl in his arms like the tamest fucking housecat.

And perhaps that's what intrigues him. Contrasts. And even more than that, the odd place where black fuses into white, the gray area where everything is possible. The split-second moment when the skin accepts the ink and traps it in.

Everyone always says you get buried with your tattoos. That you should think twice before staining your skin with such permanent hookups.

But the thing is, you get addicted to it. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff before a bungee jump. You know you'll never be the same person after you jump, and you know you can't leave that cliff without jumping. It's a stalemate until you clear your mind of doubt and just plunge.

And you don't want to leave this earth without getting stained and sweaty, without dipping your soul into the full experience. You're supposed to get a little dirty. This is Earth, after all.

Your fingers disappear somewhere in his slick fur. Sunrise is hours away, but his eyes spark aflame. They're always, always smoldering like the butt of his cigar. He's a man who causes wildfires at the end of the world – he's a reckoning, a flicker in the dark forest, roaring into a bonfire as soon as the wind passes through the trees.

And you've always loved fire. Wild, and free. The only thing that competes with such freedom is a wide, wild stream.

"But you can handle me. Right?" Your fingers curl softly around the hair surrounding his navel. "Tame me and everything?"

It's an offering that causes even fire to tilt its head in curiosity. In the end, you're not sure who tamed who.

"Someone has to," he grabs your hips with rich promise.

You'll pour him that drink. Light him a cigar after his mouth is full of your taste, see how well it pairs with fire and smoke. You'll toast to the Harley, the crazy motel…

And Alaska.

#john price x you #john price x reader #john price x female reader #captain price x you #price x reader #captain price smut #captain price x reader #john price smut #john price #mw2 smut #captain john price #john price fanfic #cod fanfic

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andhumanslovedstories · 1 year

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A while ago at work, I had a patient whose condition rapidly deteriorated during my shift, which I believed at the time was due to me not monitoring certain therapies closely enough. Essentially patient had parameters that their oxygen saturations should be between 88-92%. The patient was on supplemental oxygen via a nasal cannula, and was having oxygen saturations of 95% or more. The patient later became lethargic, confused, and hard to rouse. The patient was in hypercapnic respiratory failure, where they essentially were not exhaling enough CO2, the waste product of respirations. Patients who have oxygen parameters of 88-92% tend to be COPD patients, and I'd been taught where giving them too much oxygen can result in CO2 retention.

We ended up having to call a rapid response on that patient who needed to go on the bipap (non-invasive ventilator) to help them breathe effectively, and I went home from that shift feeling certain that I killed this person. That I had triggered a terminal decline that the patient would never recover from.

(Perhaps some context here: my grandfather went into hypercapnic respiratory failure and then died within a few days. Maybe he would have passed either way, I think probably he would have, but the respiratory failure was the moment his decline started accelerating. After he went hypercapnic, he was non-responsive from that point on.)

I called in sick to my next shift because I couldn't face going in. I spent the day thinking about what I'd done, what my moral obligations were, how do you atone for something when you cannot reverse the effects of the original error, and how paralyzed by shame I felt. What did I owe the patient? What did I owe the family? What did I owe myself? How many times had this happened before and I just didn't know because the decline happened after my shift ended?

It was a productive if unpleasant day of trying to sincerely examine myself and the things I'd done wrong without flagellating myself. It'd be almost easily to complete condemn myself and to stop nursing because I'm a Bad Nurse than it would have been to acknowledge the many steps that led to this patient outcome, only some of which I had a hand in. But this was my patient. They were my responsibility. What was the right reaction to have? What should I be feeling? In the course of doing my job, I caused harm to someone I swore to take care of. I still think that I am a thoughtful, hardworking, and compassionate nurse. I don't think the hospital would be better off if I quit. But I hurt someone.

I thought a lot about how this outcome happened, came up with steps to prevent it in the future, and found a new commitment within myself for continued learning. (If you've got a timeline of my particular fixations, this is about when my determination to go to grad school began.) I also thought about how much shame was making me sick. When my patient started declining and I realized the effects of my actions and inactions, one of my first thoughts was genuinely, "Everyone's going to know what I did." It was thought with absolute horror. I'd hurt someone and everyone was going to know it. They were going to know I was bad at my job and bad as a person.

And I was struck by what an unhelpful emotion that was. How much it made me, if only for a moment, tell NO ONE what was going on and what I believed to be the root cause. That it'd be better to let the decline continue rather than intervene because if I intervened that'd be admitting that I'd done something wrong. I didn't listen to that voice that told me to hide what I'd done, but I instantly understood the power of it.

There's this thing called the Compass of Shame which is about the different ways people handle their own feelings of shame--they avoid the shame, they withdraw from themselves and others, they attack others, they attack themselves. I know my own reactions to shame and try therefore not to go with my gut instincts, which are always to say I'm an irredeemably bad person and no one can know about this and if anyone does not about what I've done wrong, I deserve literally whatever punishment they could give me. I've had to learn I can both have failed to complete my responsibilities and still not deserve to lose my job or my flunk this class or give up on college or lose all my friends. But there is something appealing about masochistic shame. Like you can prevent others from judging and punishing you if you sufficiently judge and punish yourself. You'll still be a wretched monster, but no one else needs to know that.

That's actively dangerous for patients, who are the victims of healthcare errors, and it doesn't help prevent future mistakes if we are too ashamed to talk about what happened and why. We'll just keep fucking up in the exact same ways because no one else told us how they'd fucked up that way in the past and here's how we've changed the process because of that. I therefore have an ethical obligation to not internalize shame when I make mistakes at my job. I have tried to remember that while also trying my best to not make the same mistakes twice.

And then a week later, I was sent back to the same floor with the patient who'd declined on my watch. Because I'm a float RN and therefore don't have an assigned unit, I go to different floors every night (occasionally multiple floors on the same night). I see patients for 12 hours and then almost never see them again. Since I was back on the floor, I girded myself and went to go visit the patient, who to my surprise was alert and upright and about the same as I'd seen her at the beginning of my shift before they'd gotten bad. I said hi and asked how the patient was doing, and the answer was that patient was doing about the same as they'd been doing for the last month.

This was not good news for the patient, who was still medically complex, still dealing with an extremely difficult to address condition, but they were also not in the ICU, dying, or dead which is what I'd feared. And with the new knowledge that the patient was, if not okay, than at least stable as ever despite my actions, I could look back on that shift and see it differently, namely that this patient kept continuing to go into hypercapnic respiratory failure with or without oxygen. And then I looked into what I thought I'd been negligent about before and found that the scholarship on it was more complicated and divided than I'd thought. That the mechanism of action that I thought was driving the hypercapnic respiratory failure was in fact waaaaaaaaaaay more complicated than just over oxygenation, particularly in this patient who had a number of muscular abnormalities that made much more of an impact on ventilation than the oxygen would have. And while I still had to improve my practice, upon more reflection I could no longer say there was a direct one to one of my actions and the patient's decline.

I felt simultaneously forgiven, absolved, and humbled. I cannot describe to you the almost sheepish relief that rushed over me. Nothing that bad had happened. What did happen was only ambiguously my fault.

There's a power fantasy to shame sometimes, that you are uniquely bad and that your actions have monumental consequences. My actions on the job can have monumental consequences, but usually they are little things, little cares, little turns, little med doses, little therapies, little steps, little tasks, little jobs, little kindnesses or little cruelties that help a patient move forward or which hold a patient back. I'm there for 12 hours and never again. I can do a lot in that time, but I'm not gonna cure them and I'm probably not going to kill them. It's a relief, and it's a strange disappointment. We want to be important, even in bad ways.

While I can certainly fuck things up for patients, while I can certainly kill patients or traumatize them or withhold care or misuse my position, while I can do all those things, I don't actually have that much power over life and death. Everything that goes wrong isn't my fault. And sometimes something is your fault and nothing really happens except a few people have a bad night and you try not to do it again. I think that last bit is the most important part. I still should have titrated her oxygen down. I'm more careful about that now. I'm trying not to fuck up in the exact same way. I'll find exciting new ways to fuck up, and then I'll learn from those too.

#nursing tag #this is like waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay more detailed that i typically like to get with a post about my job #but i've been really thinking about it #this is the long post i said i'd reward myself with btw

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laiiaaa · 8 months

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THE IN-BETWEEN — CARMEN BERZATTO

summary Carmen comes home late again and takes you to bed.

length 2k

contents established relationship, another fluff vacuum (i serve the people), a teeny tiny bit of angst but nothin’ crazy dw!, so many kisses, sweet sleepy moments, Carm being a good bf, so so soft dom bc that's just who he issss, i literally melted while writing this i'm so soft for him

On later nights like this, Carmen’s used to coming home to a dim, serene apartment. A lamp left on in the corner of the living room because you hate to think it’s pitch dark when he arrives; so too the light above the sink because you know well by now of his habitual hand washing; a dark bedroom with your form fast asleep, yet loving enough to cuddle into his embrace when he joins you.

This is anything but.

You’ve left an album playing on that gem of a record player you found years ago—the one that had your face lighting up like he’d never seen before, beautiful and glowy and more than enough to have him falling for you. The kitchen lights are on, too, and there you are at the counter: perched in a stool, laptop open and glowing pale blueish light upon your sleeping features propped up in your hands.

Cute, he thinks with a warm grin blossoming on his face.

Peeling off his coat and toeing off his shoes, he takes a deep breath and runs his fingers through his hair as he begins unwinding for the rest of the night. He brings the music to a stop and tucks the record away back in its sleeve, and he turns the living room lights off, as well as the harsh overheads in the kitchen. He spots a few stray dishes from whatever dinner you had earlier and is a little irritated at the thought you had to cook for yourself—that’s his job—but he’s at least grateful you ate without him eyeing you to do so. He washes them by hand, wincing and turning over his shoulder to make sure he doesn’t startle you when the fork slips from his grasp and clangs about in the sink. Slowly, he closes your laptop and lifts it from the counter, handling it with care as he packs it into your bag and plugs it in so it’s ready for you by morning.

The lights are off and the apartment’s filled with little else other than muffled commotion of the city when he finally decides to take you to bed. Easing himself behind you, his hands brush ever so gently down your arms to your elbows, his chest coming to meet your back and shoulders as his chin settles into the crook of your neck. As if on instinct, your head nuzzles closer to his.

“Hey, baby,” he coos, and he presses a kiss to your cheek.

You groan softly and rub your face into your hands, and Carmen commits this moment to memory. Adorable.

“You want me to take you t’bed?”

“Mmmm…” you drawl, clearly too tired to think, or to speak, or to walk yourself to the bedroom. You rub your eyes a little more deliberately before he thinks you’ve come to. You whine a little and it makes his chest flutter when you say, “Hi, Carmy,” your hand reaching over your shoulder to tangle your fingers into his curls.

Carefully he sweeps your hair out of your face, and he cranes his neck to check up on you, smiling when he sees your sleepy pout and your eyes still closed. “Hey.” Another soft kiss to your jaw. “Whatchu doin’ in here so late, hm?” The tip of his nose nudges against your cheekbone. “You should be in bed.”

“…Wanted to see you when you got home…”

“Yeah?”

His heart is full and his head swirls with affection at your words—not that they’re new or unheard of, but that they’re constant. They’re not something you’ve ever denied him, instead being an affirmation: I want you here. And maybe it’s not so much the fact that you say those words but the fact that you always prove them. Working away into late night hours, drowsy and lethargic at the counter instead of cozying under the covers, leaning into his touch when he finally comes. You want him around, and that’s all he could ever ask for.

“Mhm. Was workin’ on a project ‘n got tired.”

He hums. “I can tell.”

The bridge of his nose caresses your cheek before you turn to face him, and for a moment the two of you let it linger that way, foreheads resting against one another as his hand comes to cup your cheek, and yours comes to circle around his forearm, like you want him tethered to you. His fingertips graze along your neck and it makes your eyes flutter shut, coaxed back into that sleepy haze that has his heart swelling at the thought of you being so comfortable with him. There’s a hint of guilt, though, in knowing you had to wait on him—that he can’t always be at home with you at normal hours, that you spend more time with him asleep than you do awake on most days, that he’s stuck between two worlds and one always seems to be winning.

And that guilt increases tenfold when you kiss him gently and murmur against his lips, voice groggy as much as it is yearning. “I miss you, Bear.”

His gut wrenches and brow furrows as he swallows it down. “I know, baby, I miss you too.” Another sweet lip lock has him itching for the weight of you in his arms and on his chest. “So much. But I’m here now, yeah?”

“I know…I just wish you were home a little more.” Your voice is small, like it hurts you to say it.

He picks up on it, how you say you wish he were home instead of wishing you could simply see him more. Because truthfully, you see each other as much as possible. In the mornings before he heads in for work; stopping by for family and having him stick by your side till he’s needed for service; brief lunch breaks where he runs home to make you something before heading back to the kitchen; late nights with moments before sleep—nights like this. But they’re not the same as being home all the time, he knows this. Those moments are clouded by the looming presence of his work, a clock limiting affection exchanged. They pale in comparison to a full day together.

He knows it’ll never be enough to fix it but he tells you anyway: “I’m sorry.” Eyes closed, he offers another kiss to your lips and it lingers. “ ‘M gonna figure somethin’ out, though, okay, baby?”

“You will?”

Nodding against you, a furrow in his brow at how sweet you sound, he assures you, “‘F course. I’ll…I’ll take more time off, hire new people…”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I do.”

“You don’t, it’s okay.”

“Stop that. You’re important to me.” I love you. “I’ll make it work.” More than I can wrap my head around.

You answer him sweetly, the way that lets him know you hear exactly what he’s left unsaid. “Okay.”

“Thank you.” He kisses you one, two, three more times with his hands cupping your jaw, feeling your exhaustion seeping through and slowly circling around the chair to stand at your side. “C’mon, you should get back to sleep.” He almost waits for you to stand and hold his hand before you’re already leaning—melting—into him again, head pressed into his chest as your hands loosely grab for his, fingers intertwined, and it has him swooning. “You need me to carry you?”

“No,” you grumble, “I’m jus’ really tired…”

He looks down and thinks he could get used to this, you being clingy with sleep, and he rubs a hand along your back. “Mhm?”

“Mm, ‘m sorry…jus’ gimme a second…” You begin sitting yourself up again with his arms as leverage before he interrupts you.

“Uh-uh, c’mon.” Grabbing your arms, he bends over and loops them around his neck as he waits for you to cozy into him. “I’ll take care ‘f you, okay?” He smooths his hands down your waist and over your hips to tenderly squeeze at your thighs, cupping his hands under your knees to urge your legs to wrap around his middle. “Alright,” he sighs, taking note of how you’re being lulled into your slumber again as he wraps one arm tight around your waist with the other supporting your thigh. “Up you go…”

He lifts you up and out of your chair, and your breath tickles his neck, and your body slumps against his just right as you exhale a soft groan. It dazes him, knowing he misses this so often. So often he sees you only after you’ve turned yourself in for the night that he’s nearly forgotten the in-between: that blissful grace period where you’re not quite fast asleep and not quite awake, when your kisses are long and drawn out with a wash of fatigue, when you hold onto him like he’s all you’ve got. Carrying you to the bedroom, he counts his blessings, and they’re bittersweet. Moments like these will forever be cherished yet he wishes they didn’t have to be.

The door opens with a creak and he’s careful not to let you go when he pulls back the covers. Wordlessly, he leans over again to lay you down, and there’s a bit of resistance at his neck before he lets go of your torso in exchange for unwinding the arms around him, pulling the blankets over your figure. Within seconds you’re cozying up again and turning to face his side of the bed, luring him to lean over you one more time to smooth back your hair and press his lips to your temple.

Quickly, then, while thinking of you, he strips and showers and gets himself ready for bed. A simple yet endearing routine: the shampoo you coaxed him over to, the body wash he buys because he’s convinced you snuggle closer into his chest when he uses it, towels fluffier than the shabby squares of fabric he used before he met you. It’s in the routine that he thinks of you like he does any other time of day, smiling to himself over all the little things you’ve brought into his life to take care of him—and in turn, to make him take better care of himself.

He’s never fully understood that about you, how you make him gentler, kinder. He just knows there’s a softness in his chest when you’re on his mind—which is practically all the time—that makes the good things good. Good days turn remarkable and the bad ones become a little less so. He remembers to eat better, to check in on himself when he’s stressed, to ask you for help, to be a better chef, a better boss, a better brother, and a better lover. He doesn’t know when or how it happened, but he knows you’ve changed him into a better person. He only hopes he can show how thankful he is for you—for showing him he’s deserving of something good.

Finding you again, he climbs into bed beside you, wrapping an arm around you and waiting. Waiting for that moment that comes like clockwork, when somehow, by some mechanism he doesn’t have a name for just yet, you creep a little closer, relax into his touch and tuck your head beneath his chin once you know he’s there. He’s lost count of how many times it’s happened and it never feels like anything but the first.

His chest swells, a tender smile grows, and his hands smooths along your back beneath your shirt as he kisses the top of your head. Slowly but surely he’s lulled into his own sleep just by feeling the slow beat of your heart close to his, content with the thought that by morning your bodies will be further intertwined and he’ll get to witness the in-between all over again: your soft hands running through his hair, his lips trailing from your neck to your jaw, laughter muffled into his chest when he pulls you on top of him.

Tomorrow seems like a good day for some time off—and maybe even the morning after that.

#carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #the bear season 2

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petrichorium · 6 months

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you know jing yuan has been watching you since you emerged from the bathroom.

he lays in the bed, eyes blissfully closed whenever you sneak a glimpse—the covers are haphazardly tossed over his body and he gives a perfectly sound impression of himself dozing away in the dimmed light of the hotel room, but you know better.

you can feel his gaze on you every time you look away; have felt it since you’d stepped out in a bathrobe and turned your back on him to put on your clothes. you’d have thought that he’d jump at the chance to zip up the minidress you’d chosen; apparently, whatever intent he has with his faux sleep outweighs his typical enthusiasm to put his hands on your body.

(you emphasize your struggle anyway, pouting and sighing and all but audibly lamenting how oh, you wish your handsome boyfriend were awake, his hands are so much more skilled and steady, to no avail)

those eyes are still closed when you turn to make your way towards the vanity. you’d splurged on the hotel room, admittedly eager to show your lover the best your home system has to offer, though he’d probably name the bed as his favorite part.

jing yuan’s eyes had lit up when he’d first seen it—a large cupped thing like a bowl, lined with plush cushion and plenty spacious enough to comfortably fit five people. it’s built out into a bubble window on one side of the bedroom and the vanity you currently sit at is placed opposite, thus a perfect vantage point for him to observe you as you pull your stockings up your legs and then set about doing your makeup—which, as you apply a final choice of lipgloss, is now complete. with a quick glance to the clock ensuring you and he still have half an hour before you need to leave, you stand and turn to look at him.

while he relaxes his face and keeps his eyes stubbornly shut, it’s no coincidence that he turns over with your motion. it pulls the covers mostly off his body, ruffles his hair. the sigh he lets out is content, not sounding tired in the slightest. you huff a laugh.

he shifts again. the sheet falls further—almost nothing covers him now, little more than a strip of cotton across one upper thigh that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination with how wide his legs have been spread.

you approach the bed fully, padding over with stocking-covered feet on the carpeted floor until you stand right behind him. reaching out, you brush his bangs up out of his eyes and over his forehead, bending over at the same time to look over his lounging form.

“i know what you’re doing,” you say sternly, though you’re gentle as your fingertips caress him. “it won’t work.”

“won’t it?” jing yuan’s voice isn’t even laced with sleep; it’s perfectly alert, teasing, as he tilts his head back to give you more access.

you press a sticky kiss to his forehead. it leaves a shimmering mark of your lip gloss, tinted a faint pink. “you don’t have to come. you’re more than welcome to stay behind if you want.”

“we could remain here for a night in,” he counters. “this bed is… a marvel.”

his words have you giggling lightly. this time you kiss the mole just beneath his closed eye, drawing a heavy, pleased sigh from the elegant curve of his lips. your hand cradles his cheek, thumb reaching out to trace his cupid’s bow.

“tempting as that may be, we have a very limited amount of time on this trip. i’m not giving up on the only night i’ll be able to spend time with my friends like this.”

his hand, large and calloused and warm, reaches up to stop yours from pulling away. he turns into your touch, nuzzling at your palm with a petulantly grumbling noise. still, when his rough fingers move to lace with yours, you slip from his grasp and step away.

“i’m going with or without you, jing yuan,” you declare. “but if you’d like to come, you need to get ready now.”

“how very demanding. i must say, i thought i had successfully evaded orders when i took leave…” now he yawns and makes a show of stretching. you watch him shift, all lethargic grace, every motion meticulously planned—thighs tensing, stomach twitching, arms bulging. a display for you, a last-ditch effort to seduce you back into bed.

you snicker. it won’t work, but you’re hardly inclined to complain. it’s a pretty sight to see regardless; all that honed muscle working beneath porcelain skin, those scattered moles and full brush of stark white hair only emphasizing each sinewy movement. you’re drawn nearer once more, inclined to get a better look—that’s your mistake.

above all else your lover is a cunning man. it’s a miracle he put that mind to use for good, because he utilizes it for far more sinister things when it comes to you. beckoning you closer, setting up the trap, baiting it with his own body; your legs meet the edge of the bed and, though he’s still only halfway onto his stomach, a big hand darts out to catch behind your knee, so fast you don’t realize what’s happened until he’s dragging you towards him with inescapable strength.

your shin drags over the bed’s lowered entrance. the sheer speed of it all has you stumbling, only just managing to catch yourself with a hand on the raised side.

jing yuan lets out a disappointed little grunt. his touch is gentle, coaxing, as he attempts to pull your leg even closer. when that proves futile he eases himself towards you and presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. tilting his head up, he fixes you with a heavy-lidded look, those striking golden eyes glinting beneath long, pretty lashes.

“are you certain i cannot convince you to stay?”

“yes,” you answer without hesitation, entirely unmoved by his responding whine. you remain stoic, too, when he drags your lower leg into the bed and begins to kiss down the side of your calf, lips searing, lingering longer and longer with each press to your stocking-covered skin. upon reaching your ankle he gives far too much attention there; free hand reaching around to grab hold of your foot and maneuver it to let him pepper nipping kisses along the top.

with your face growing hot and your leg squirming beneath his attention, you forget entirely about his other hand—until it pinches at the thin fabric behind your knee and tugs, fast and hard. the mesh rips with ease, a run tearing down the length of your calf. you yelp, attempting to pull back but stopped by the immovable grip he has on you. he sinks his teeth into the back of your ankle just enough that you’re certain it’ll leave a mark, but when he pulls away it’s obvious what his true intent was.

this time the rip is loud, fabric caught between his canines and giving way like tissue paper. you stumble back and yelp out a protest; his grip becomes solid, tugs you back to him so strongly that you lose your footing and spill into the soft drum beyond. he’s atop you instantly, caging you in with a thick arm on either side of your head.

“jing yuan!” your wail is swallowed by a kiss, but even as his tongue delves into the hot cavern of your mouth it cannot distract from the tattered remains of your stockings. you lift your knee to brace it against his chest; there’s a loud, wet sound as he finally pulls away from your mouth and buries his face into your neck.

“stay,” he groans out between each searing, open-mouthed suck at your skin. “let me hoard you, let me keep you to myself—”

“i thought that was my job?” your words catch and come out breathy as he trails lower, running a hand down the side of your body and then shamelessly shoving it up the hem of your dress—which has, admittedly, ridden up indecently high. still, you do your best to continue. “stealing you away from your responsibilities on the luofu.”

“a dual effort, then. we must be made for each other, my dear.”

his grip on your thigh is almost painful. he nuzzles at the other, reverent, eyes clouded over when they dare to flit up to meet yours. when his tongue pokes out from between plush lips, wetting them and then retreating, you realize the intent seconds before he bows his head.

you’re faster. your hand flies to his hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking back just before he manages to burrow beneath your skirt. for half a moment the pair of you remain there, frozen—his lips halfway parted, your chest heaving with pants. you blink. then you slowly ease your legs from beneath his torso.

“i told you,” you say, tightening your grip until his eyes flutter and he lets out an obscene, unabashed groan, “it won’t work. you can wait until after we come home.”

you’re precise as you peel yourself away; you keep your spare hand free to swat at any further attempts to pin you, slide your body out from beneath him until you can perch up upon the bed’s entrance and catch your breath as you stare down at him.

jing yuan props his head in his hand and returns your look. you click your tongue, but it’s impossible to fight back the affection in your tone. “scoundrel.”

his lips twitch. “so they say.”

“it’s deserved.”

“i can hardly deny it. i only wish you put up less of a fight.”

“no you don’t.”

“no,” he concedes, “i don’t.”

finally you turn and stand. the feeling of the carpet beneath your bare foot reminds you that you need to change your stockings—you frown as you glance at tattered remains of fabric on your leg.

“bastard,” you hiss out, far more venomous than the previous accusation. your suitcase lies closed upon the dresser; you approach it to dig through for your spare.

behind you, still, you hear no sound of motion. you sigh loudly, dropping the ball of socks in your hand and turning your head just barely to give jing yuan a lidded look where he’s draped himself over the side of the bed, arms crossed and biceps bulging as he watches you. never one to give up; a stubborn, bullheaded man who would chase you to the farthest reaches of the universe for a single kiss, only spurred onward by your fleeing.

perhaps you’ll throw him a bone.

“if you’re fast enough,” you begin sweetly, “i’ll let you help me into this new pair.”

he’s up instantly, darting for the bundle of clothes you’d set out for him before you’d even showered with a speed rarely seen outside of the battlefield. the offer will make you late, surely, and quite possibly cost you your second pair of stockings—you’re well aware his mind is running wild with schemes to bury his head between your thighs and glut himself on his well-earned prize in whatever fleeting time you might give him before finally shoving him away.

but what kind of leisure trip would it be if you didn’t give in to his whims?

#jing yuan x reader #hsr x reader #mine.🌧#char.🌧 jing yuan #heavily selfship coded but not the elaborate lore building stuff just yet....... eventually tho. probably

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poquiii · 1 year

Text

König x reader / Ghost x reader Headcanons

Their Drunk Persona

Ghost

●He doesn't like to drink.

●Sometimes he doesn't mind having a beer with the other soldiers or with you if you ask, but not much at all. It's enough to feel just a slight haze of calm over alcohol, but no more than that.

●He likes being sober. And he doesn't like to lose control of himself. On rare occasions he gets drunk.

●And oh, he'd better not.

●A drunken Phantom is an uncontrollable Phantom.

●He is used to always controlling his face and keeping his emotions under control. But when drunk, but alcohol acts as a huge tank that breaks down all his emotional walls, tearing them to shreds and leaving dusty ruins, on top of which Ghost becomes wild.

●His tongue is unleashed and his whole sarcastic nature bursts out.

●He continues to speak and act with his inherently unfriendly nature, but now he has absolutely no control over it.

●Sometimes, if his rivals are drunk enough to lose their sense of fear, fights ensue.

●Of course, he wins, even when everything swims in front of his eyes.

●He suddenly becomes jealous.

●If you are drinking with him among other people, he will start behaving possessively: he will put his arm around your shoulders, put his arm around your waist, or (if he is totally drunk) he will put you on his lap.

●Just so everyone knows who you belong to. Because all of a sudden it's starting to make him feel like there are too many people around you who look at you the wrong way.

●He'll have a headache in the morning and won't take painkillers from your hands on principle, because you can't hide your smirk when you remember how he called his co-workers names last night.

König

● He doesn't drink too often.

● He doesn't like the taste of alcohol. He prefers strong tea or soda.

● However, if he does get drunk, he suddenly becomes bolder.

● His laughter becomes louder and his movements loosen up.

● His shoulders straighten and he gets even bigger than usual without trying to hide it. And finally it doesn't bother him.

● He starts smiling stupidly, but nobody sees it but you. Because he only takes off his hood when he's around you. If he's only a little drunk, he just gets incredibly chatty. Often he doesn't even realize that he's switched from English to German.

● He's not at all shy about touching you, although usually in public he tries to behave discreetly, for fear of attracting attention.

● But now his anxiety is drowned in alcohol, and he's happy to hug you in the middle of a conversation or take you in his arms for a spin.

● But this energy doesn't last long at all, then König becomes abruptly sleepy.

● He becomes lethargic and prefers to find a comfortable corner where he can snooze. Preferably, you should be next to him so he can cuddle with you, basking in the warmth of your body.

● The next morning he will vomit so badly that for the next couple of days he will constantly tell you that he will never drink again.

My Oa3 If you're interested -

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mechaknight-98 · 26 days

Text

Beastmaster’s Bond I (NSFW) Ft Chaehyun

Author’s note: well I guess it's a series now. I suppose that's what I get.

Part II, III, IV V

After the doctor's appointment, Marshmallow and I made our way back to the Zoo, greeted by surprised expressions from our fellow employees upon our arrival.

"Dino, why are you here? You're supposed to be off," Zahir exclaimed with raised eyebrows as I strolled alongside Marshmallow.

"Well, Chaehyun needed my assistance with the logistics of relocating 'her Magnamallo' from its former spot to here. But fret not, I've already sorted it out with her. I'll be taking my two days off as planned," I reassured Zahir, who nodded and wandered off. Chaehyun looked at me with surprise as we continued doing rounds with the others.

Chaehyun regarded me with a mixture of surprise and amusement. "That was smooth," she remarked, her smile betraying her astonishment.

"Years of practice. I've learned how to navigate tricky situations," I replied nonchalantly, earning a grin from Marshmallow.

"I can't believe I underestimated you," Chaehyun admitted.

"Trust me, you're not alone in that," I replied calmly.

"I'm just shocked you didn't call me Marshmallow. I was expecting you to stumble because I don't think you ever learned my name," Chaehyun quipped.

"I knew it the whole time," I responded

" So why Marshmallow then," Chaehyun asked with surprise.

I face her squish both of her cheeks and she responds, "Okay fair, but don't you want a skinnier girl? I mean..." she starts but before she can any further with that line of thinking I interject

"Don't finish that thought. I like you the way you are. You're sexy as fuck and if I didn't like you the way you are I wouldn't have fucked the shit out of you twice," I respond

"That was crass..., but thank you," Chaehyun responded with a smile.

I shrugged as we strolled through the zoo. Fortunately, the chaos from yesterday had subsided. Deciding to be prudent, I decided to check in on all my "sons" while we were there: Dino (our Glavernus), Sparky (our Astalos), Raptor (our Valstrax), Alucard, Swampy (our Almudron), and Frozone (our Goss Harag). Frozone, known for his perpetual chill demeanor (pun intended), was always the last stop.

Entering Frozone's enclosure, I found him looking considerably calmer than the molten rage he had exhibited the day before. Chaehyun trailed behind me, her eyes widening at the sight.

"I think this is the biggest Goss Harag I've ever seen," she exclaimed with excitement.

Frozone, with his ever-languid gaze, tracked our movements as we approached.

"Hey, Dad," his expression seemed to convey.

"Hey, son. Feeling better?" I inquired.

"Yeah, just tired. I see you've brought someone new," Frozone observed.

"Oh yeah, this is Chaehyun," I introduced.

Chaehyun waved enthusiastically. "Hi, buddy," she greeted, eliciting a mirrored wave from Frozone before he resumed his lounging.

"He seems so lethargic. Is he okay?" Chaehyun asked, concern evident in her voice.

"He's perfectly fine. Goss Harags aren't naturally active creatures, especially in warmer climates. Their low activity levels help conserve energy, particularly in intense intense climates they often find themselves in. If we had another male or female, he might be more lively, but for now, he's just chilling," I explained, reassuring Chaehyun.

"Don't make me do laps again, Dad. Please, I've been watching my weight," Frozone interjected with a glare.

"No need for laps, son. People just aren't accustomed to seeing such a big Goss Harag," I reassured, chuckling as Frozone gave me a thumbs-up.

"Wait, can you communicate with them?" Chaehyun asked, astonished by Frozone's behavior.

"No, they can't speak. But after spending so much time with them, I've come to understand their behaviors and gestures, so it's more like a silent conversation," I clarified.

"That's incredible. I've never seen megafauna that was so... chatty," Chaehyun remarked, her fascination evident.

"Well, they all are. You just have to be willing to listen," I reply.

"You are a marvel you know that right," Chaehyun asks as we leave the enclosure,

"Really How so," I ask confused as we head to Tony's enclosure.

"You're attachment to them as like family almost is remarkable and the reciprocation between you and them is amazing," Chaehyun responded as I opened the door.

"Well, I don't treat them like objects which I see a lot of people do.", I reply, "I raised all of them since their birth, They are my sons, whether adopted or not," I add firmly. Chaehyun steps back and her eyes narrow.

"be careful using that tone," She chides.

I turn back to her and my eyes narrow, "and why is that?" I ask with an even more fiercer tone. Chaehyun looks at me with eyes full of lust and desire.

"Because I'll make you a father again she says." she tries to steady her breath. She closes in on me and puts my hand in her pants near her clothed pussy. "Feel how wet I am! You keep talking recklessly and I will make you put a baby in me," she states erotically. I fight tooth and claw not to pounce on her.

"You're insatiable," I reply teasingly.

"And you're such a tease," Chaewon growls, as she moves to corner me putting a hand under her shirt and forcing me to cup her left breast as we stare at each other. I smell her arousal and it spikes mine. Our eyes unfocus as we fall deeper into our mutual brewing lust, but I fight my more primal urges and turn back to the task at hand.

We walk into the enclosure and Tony is growling at Chaehyun.

"Why is she here? she reeks of wildfire," I see Tony "says"

"We are working on bringing you in a playmate," I respond.

"What kind of Playmate?" Tony "asks"

"it's a surprise," I say as Tony "glares"

"What's he saying?" Chaehyun asks,

"Oh he smells female Magnamalo on you," I explain, "So he's a little apprehensive," I respond. Chaehyun nodded and then said to me

"I can leave." to further iterate her point walked out of the enclosure. That left me with a text from her saying to measure Tony and measure the enclosure. Annoyed I called her

"What is it dear," she asked cheerily.

"dear, at least by me dinner first," I teased

"ha ha very funny caveman," Chaehyun responds.

" I do try, but um Chaehyun I know Tony's measurements by heart, along with the enclosures. I did have to build it after all so that's not all you wanted me to do right," I respond to Chaehyun

"You built the enclosure,"

"Yep and oversaw most of the other ones except for megafauna that was directly given to specific crew members, but even then I was consulted for help," I answer

"Why didn't Old McDonald..." Chahyun started

"E, I, E, I, O" I interject

Why didn't he give you the keys to the place as it seems you did everything," Chaehyun asked confused

"Well if I am being honest from my perspective. he wanted to turn this into a major research facility along with a zoo. I hate labs so he hired someone who could do the lab parts and push his dream further," I reply

"That's funny my father was the opposite. He wanted to be closer to the megafauna and was always trying to connect with them on a primal level." Chaehyun responded

"So we are a match made in heaven then for our mentor dreams I guess," I joke

"I guess so," Chaehyun responds laughing.

"So we good?" I ask.

"Yeah. Let's go," Chaehyun says with a smile. We left to go to the main office where Chaehyun had already set up shop. As soon as we sit down Chaehyun gets a call. her eyes go wide as she takes it then the call ends.

"I need to go back to Korea. They need me to help hatch and Elder Dragon," Chaehyun said she looked at me with conflicted feelings, "How fast can you get a passport?" she added.

"Probably not fast enough," I responded

"Shit," Chaehyun growled.

#kpop fanfic #fanfic #kep1er smut #kep1er chaehyun #chaehyun smut #chaehyun

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xerotiny99 · 25 days

Text

Trouble in Paradise // Our Precious #3

Trouble in Paradise (Our precious series 3)

M.list ┃ Previous ┃ Next

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x Reader

Warning: smut, dom!yunho, sub!reader, bits of food play (a little disgusting if you aren't into that kinda thing), frottage (non-penetrative sex), cunnilingus (oral sex), nipple/breast simulation, dirty talk & degradation (ofc, because Yunho's really got a foul mouth on him, and we like it <I need therapy>).

Note: do not proceed if you're uncomfortable or triggered by mentioned tags. Please, if you're really grossed out by "transferring" food from one's mouth to another's, then do not proceed. (Here, it's just strawberries, tho. So totally upto you 💀)

Gist: after the deliberate game night, you're left to contemplate about Jongho's and his flatmates' proposition of being their fucktoy. If that wasn't enough of an issue for you, a phone call from your parents leaves you in a mess. And the only way to relax during your hard times is something you know Yunho does all too well.

Word Count: 12,686

"So, have you thought about it?"

You bite your lip, obviously contemplating every word of his.

"You know, Jongho just asked me about it a couple of days ago." you stifle a groan and shake your head, "agreed you all are very eager to have me on board, but I'm going to need some time to think, right?"

You take a deep breath, listening to his deep voice murmuring, "and we don't mind how long you take to give us your ultimatum. Of course, I am aware of the kind of plight you're put through. So, don't sweat it and don't make a decision you would end up regretting, okay?"

The grin on your face widens when you let his words sink in; well, he was right. But there was something which was quite tedious to figure out.

"Can I ask you something, Yunho?"

Hearing him lowly hum against your ear, you resist every urge to stuff your hand in between your legs; you roll over your stomach and grab a pillow to hold it under your chest. Your lethargic body relaxes almost immediately when you feel the soft coziness of the pillow and silk sheets draped over your bed. The mattress sinks once again when you move, shifting on your back to stare at the bland ceiling before pushing your phone closer to your ear.

Your heart thumped in your chest, words itching to be said, somehow balancing off the tip of your tongue yet having no grit to let them out. This question, the supposed doubt you had in your mind was troubling you ever since Jongho dropped you off at your dorms the next day of your game night. It was a fiddling question, not too serious or brooding, yet you had your conscience tied in a knot over it. The after-bearing sentiments of your proposed 'bargain' had been irking you to your ultimate limits.

What if, keeping a sex exclusive relationship with the people you barely know, turns out to be the worst decision of your life?

Or, what if your feelings come into play with this superficial relationship?

It may seem crazy, but spending only a week with Yunho had already made you sublime; you could only dream of experiencing the better half of a relationship because Yunho was certainly the boyfriend material, the exact kind you had been craving for years. As truth would have it, and as it would sting your morales, you had couple of exes who were shitty and contemptibly obnoxious. So, now that you had a man who was ticking off every single wish on your list, the profuse quandaries were messy.

"Princess, did you fall asleep?" he teases you through the phone, his tone making you envisage him smirking.

You might as well—after a hectic day of chemistry lectures coming into a play for your lethargy and hebetude, you certainly didn't mind letting off some steam before falling sleep.

"No, I'm here. I'm just..." you trail off, "...I'm thinking of ways to voice my thoughts."

"Have I ever judged you? Even though for the past week you've told me some really disturbing shit," he laughs, and you retaliate, "and don't act as if you didn't enjoy as much as I did narrating it to you."

"I did. I did," his laughter wrings out to a sigh, "don't think too much, okay? Be openly honest with me, ask me what you want to."

"I don't want to ruin your grocery store trip," you let out a soft titter and could picture him rolling his eyes, "understandable, because grocery shopping is all rainbows and unicorns anyway."

"If you had me there with you, it would've been fun," you mumble, turning on your side to stare the dingy wall of your dorm room.

"If that was the case, we'd probably not even make it to the store." He adds, "and we do not want to piss Seonghwa off. He's not pretty when he gets mad."

You drawl on your lower lip and squeeze your thighs together, "it's hard to believe, but okay."

"Ask, Angel." His stern and commanding tone makes your heart palpitate faster in your chest, fluttering sparks in your pussy as you prepare yourself to question him, "okay, it's a simple question, so...why me?"

"Why you, as in why we asked you to be our fucktoy?" he muses and you groan softly yet again, rolling back on your stomach to hold the pillow tighter under your chest.

"Yes. Why me? Why not someone else—maybe Wooyoung's friend, or San's or you know, Mingi's even." You grit your teeth, nervously chomping on your cheek to rid your anxiety.

Yunho chuckles, heartily, very proudly so because he wasn't sure if he had heard you right or not. "Do you think those losers have any girlfriends, Angel?"

"Why not?" you let a smile fleet on your lips.

"Because Wooyoung is a manwhore, he's slept with entire female population in his department and if it isn't obvious, I'm not interested in someone who could be a prospect carrier for herpes," he titters still, "I'm not slut-shaming him, but—ah well fuck it! I am slut-shaming him. Not my fault, he is a pathetic excuse for a human because hit and run is his specialty. Now, you tell me why any of his casualties would agree to our demands, let alone would want to sleep with us?"

You shake your head, trapping your lower lip with your teeth. "I get it. So, am I supposed to feel special?"

"Hmm, I'd rather consider myself lucky to have a cum-slut like you." you squeeze your thighs again, remembering the two nights you had spent with him. "Hold on a moment, let me park my car first."

You hum, restless and exhausted; your day hadn't been decorous since the morning, and considering you had two consecutive chemistry sessions today, you were definitely drained of your frisky energy. Yet, there's something about Yunho and talking to him while he drives around the town to get to the grocery store; at this point you questioned your motives and abilities—why were you getting turned on by a man driving his car to the store?

Maybe because it was very much attractive in your mind. Him, driving a hatchback (probably, you hadn't seen what car he drives), wearing a dress shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black shades on his eyes, the dainty rattling bracelets he usually adorns around his wrist—to conclude, the picture you were painting in your mind was the cause of your panties getting drenched.

Silence engulfs you, not necessarily, you could catch up on the soft shuffling sounds his clothes, or even his delicate grunts as he puts the car in park and gets out, slamming the door behind him. Although, there's a momentary hush when his phone gets disconnected from the car Bluetooth; he holds his phone close to his ear, while he straightens out a stray crease falling on his shirt near his waist.

"Angel?" he calls out, breaking your trance of staring at your study desk adjoining your bed, "you're still on line. Are you...?"

"I'm here, I did not fall asleep, though I think I might because of the very tiring day I've had." You pout, shifting on your bed to rest against the headboard, while you bring your legs to your chest.

Yunho chuckles, "ah my dear princess, I am coming over after I'm done with this tedious task. You're not gonna get much sleep then. I'd suggest you take a nap till I get done here."

"Oh." you bite your lips, glancing down at your chest. "Wake me up when you get here, and ah—p-s, I'm not wearing anything under my dress."

You hear him let out a breathy chortle, more like a scoff which taunts you into slipping your free hand to the hem of your silk dress. Coming back from the university, you were too exhausted to care about your outfit. You simply put on a coral shaded silk babydoll which barely covered your ass, with spaghetti straps and called it a day—of course, by also abandoning the underwear. So, you were practically naked under the flimsy silk dress, your breasts loose and hanging, your nipples taut from the friction and they really did poke through the material of your dress. Both of you are quiet for a minute, but then you're also deeply submerged in the thoughts of him coming to your dorm room and fucking you. An annoying chime of bell dings in the background, followed by a soft sound of mechanical doors sliding open—that brings you down to earth, and so does his grumbling voice.

"An open invitation for me to wreck you in any way I want?" he muses, tittering as he moves past the doors and grabs himself a cart. "Princess, you better know what you're getting yourself into. I won't be gentle."

His warning only makes you wetter, your hand slithering past the hem of your dress to trace your fingers on your wet and slick folds. Biting back a whimper when the warmth of your fingers melts around your skin, you take a deep breath and throw your head behind. You knew your breathing would sound wispy to him if you tried to speak but you couldn't control yourself from not uttering a word.

"Yun—you can do—ahh..." you stutter, pressing your fingers against your mound, just above your clit, "I'll be waiting."

"Is my princess touching herself to the thought of me fucking her raw again?" he slurs his words, merely in a whisper considering he was in public. You were deaf to the somber tunes playing in the mart, you were too busy controlling your raspy breath because your desires were flaming you out.

"Yes..."

Yunho lets out a laugh and shakes his head, muttering under his breath then, "can't wait to taste that tight little cunt of yours. Rest well, princess."

He's the one to hang up on you; rather than throwing an imaginary fit, your mind is filled with the images of his cock straining in his pants as he meanders through the aisles of the supermarket. You might be too over in your head, but the exhaustion was slowly crawling up your spine. In no time you find yourself slipping against the headboard and slumping yourself properly in the bed. And in the few passing minutes, your eyes close and you're drifting away into your dreamland.

Dreamland. An alternate universe where you were living your wildest fantasies—maybe a little too realistically. The resonating voice of Yunho and his words were dwelling on your mind. Your imagination was coming to life, nonetheless in your dream. Soon, you're breathing out whimpers of desperation, squeezing your thighs together and murmuring your moans; you never thought you'd be having wet dreams, but you weren't fazed by the unpredictability. The tingling sensation in your pussy only grows when you envision Yunho with his head buried in between your legs, licking and lapping his tongue in your slit, over and over again.

A harsh tug at your lungs makes you breathe deeply, eyes squinting to the imaginary pleasure you were experiencing—with your brows scrunched together, you knew you were pooling in your lingerie. Though, in your dreams, Yunho doesn't stop, and it feels too real to not react to it; however, in the dark corner of your mind, you feel another presence.

Jongho.

The grinning man stands behind Yunho, arms folded over his chest, lips quivering with his eyes fixated on Yunho. Him watching Yunho eat you out was a turn on you didn't think you'd have. But there he was, with his twinkling gaze not once wavering off of you two. Why was it so hot? Why...? Out of the blue, a knot tied itself in your stomach and your guts loosen; the urge to just let go crosses your hazy mind but you try to hold it in. Until it gets too hard to bear and you're jerked out of your sleep.

You don't know how long it has been but when your eyes crack open, you're in direct contact with your open window and furling curtains. The space holds a beguiling view of the evening merging with the night, dark at the seams and bright in the middle. Purple and orange hues mixing together to a crisp shade of the fore-night; you're immersed in admiring the sky, too much to realize you had been holding yourself in. Though when the dire need starts tickling your stomach again, you rush out of your bed and head to the bathroom to relieve yourself.

Once your conscious clears out, you notice several things which have been cluttering your mind. One, you had a wet dream about Yunho and Jongho, two people you never thought you'd ever dream of. Two, as you're staring at your reflection in the mirror, you discern a wet patch on your dress, right near your lap; the dress must've been wedged in between your thighs when you were having that sensual dream. Three, you are really horny. Really really horny. Which sort of reminds you of yours and Yunho's conversation before you dozed off to sleep.

Biting your lip, you get out of the bathroom and dump yourself on the edge of the bed. Your eyes glance over at your desk to read the time on your alarm clock. 5:56 pm, it read, almost 6:00 pm you thought and heaved out a sigh. You run a hand through your hair and stroke out the tangles with your fingers. Searching for your phone, you find it near your pillow and grab it in a haste. When you watch the screen blare with the notifications, your breath hitches in your throat and then delves deeper down in your stomach.

Ten missed calls from your mom.

"Fuck," you curse under your breath and dial her number.

The ring resonates in your ear, infuriating and anxiety striking; yet you listen to it till it echoes out into the obnoxious droid voice telling you the 'number you've dialed is unavailable. Please try again'. You huff and call again but are met with the same outcome as before and it continues on for the next ten attempts you make to call her. Giving up at what you could remember as your twelfth try, you throw your phone aside and let the anxiety eat you out. How ironic was that, in your dreams it was Yunho, and in reality, it's your own mom.

You were certainly restless, weaving all these uncertain notions about your mom—your father too, but since you and your dad didn't really share much of an intimate bond, you weren't surprised to receive no calls from him. Soon, the anxiety reaches your gut, you're quivering with fear and second thoughts; what if it had been an emergency? What if your mom had something really important to say to you? What if you—what if you were too late to call her back? Everything was eventually gone in the blink of an eye.

Knock! Knock!

Two knocks sound on your door, and you flinch; even though you knew who was at your door, you couldn't shake off your perturbation regarding your family. It was true, you had stood up for yourself when your parents were against you pursuing your higher education in a different state but now all those moments were disappearing into a heap of worries. Did you even make the right decision of coming here? Given, you had scholarship and exempted tuition fee, was your decision to come here really ethical from all other perspectives?

Troubled, you drag your feet to answer the door. A trifling gasp is caught in your throat when instantly you're pushed against the door by someone's burly arms, closing the door in process. You were quite used to Yunho's scent, knowing he always carried around a delicate whiff of amber and peonies. The addicting scent rakes your senses to its fullest when his lips capture yours in a searing kiss. His lips move with yours, one arm around your waist tightly wound to keep you in place while his other hand cups a side of your face. Delighted, but mostly razed by his touches, a frail smile sculpts your lips, and you slide your arms all over his back to hold onto his shoulders.

The worries plaguing your mind soon melt away into the heat of your kiss; you're leaning in for more, diving headfirst into this beautiful mess when you know he's only going to tease you and not give in so easily. You're left whining when he bites down on your lower lip and tugs on it. Watching your lips wobble with a smirk on his plump ones, he chuckles softly and shakes his head. He grabs your jaw and pushes his fingers deep into your cheek for your mouth to open wide.

"Hey, Angel," one of his eyebrow twitches on his forehead when he calls out your name with a smirk. "You asked why you, right? I'll tell you why..."

He buries his head in the crook of your neck and sucks at a random spot on the juncture between your jaw and head. Warm tongue rubs your skin, before his teeth sink in and his lips suckle. You groan at the sensation, your mind numbing to any anxiety you felt before. His hand drops from your waist skims over the hem of your babydoll before diving under to trace it along your inner thigh; his fingertips graze against your wet folds before rubbing you down gently.

You prevent yourself from moaning out loud when his finger moves in and out of your slit at a slow pace. Holding your jaw tightly, he nudges your head back into the door.

"This—this fucking thing you have going," he mumbles against your neck, "I don't care about others and why they want you, but for me it's this—the way you're attuned with my body. And also, how fucking addicting you are to me."

You swallow thickly and throw your head further back against the door, banging yourself but you weren't bothered in the least. Hearing soft crinkles of a polythene bag, you peek at him through your half-lidded eyes; lustful gaze rummages around till your vision fills with the sight of him remaining buried in your neck, sucking deep purple bruises on your skin. The carnal darkness in your room is scattered when the lurid rays of moon wash over your invader. You notice him wearing a long coat over his outfit, you carefully listen to every crinkle of his dainty silver bracelets, and you're definitely lost in the appreciation of his teeth creating blotches on your skin.

"This thing started with us," he adds, a little breathless, "as much as I am willing to share you with my piddling flatmates, I can't pretend to be I'm okay with our arrangement. I'll be jealous, I'll be possessive. At certain times you might even see a side of me you probably won't find too adorable."

"I like it when you get jealous, though," you slur your words, smirking at him diligently. "I'm not sure what it is, but you rather have what belongs to you in your own ruthless ways."

Yunho coughs out a tiny chortle before stepping back and shaking his head; you stumble on your weak feet, watching him shrug off his long coat before flinging it over on the seat of the chair in front of your desk. Sighing dejected, as the anxiety once again starts bubbling under your skin, you make yourself comfortable on the edge of your bed. You kept your eyes on him as he loosens first few buttons of his pastel blue shirt—his bracelets keep chiming in time to time, with every movement of his hands. Just as you pictured him to be dressed; he wore a blue dress shirt adorning thin vertical white stripes and paired it with black trousers and boots. The faded blue hair of his was complementing the look, alongside the bits of silver jewelry he wore. He takes a step close to you and leans over to get to your face level; he slips a polythene bag in your lap and when you inspect into it, there are two plastic containers of peaches and strawberries. Did he get those for you? How thoughtful. He clears his throat, lips ghosting over yours as his arms plant themselves on either side of your thighs, trapping you against the bed this time.

"The first time I saw you at the bookstore, all lost and bemused, like a deer in headlights—I wanted to ruin your innocence so fucking badly," he murmurs, his hot breath fanning your cheeks, "if only had you taken a peek in my head that day. It's a bit exhilarating, isn't it? —" he nudges you with a subtle nod of his head, his hands tracing along the length of your arms, "—how you had to be Jongho's friend. How you were dragged into this mess."

For the purpose of your sanity, your fingertips grasp onto the plastic containers, tightly so because the proximity between your faces kept on dithering to nothing. Running his hands back and forth along your arms, he trails one up to hold you in place by your neck; you gasp the sensation of his fingers tightening around your throat, sinking into your skin, suffocating you.

He presses his lips against yours in a mere touch to whisper, "maybe it's some sort of fate's blueprint or whatever. I don't really care what it is..." he hums out low and drags his words in a gentle mumble, "but I know there's a spark between us, between our bodies to be so profoundly in sync with each other."

Stifling a moan, you mutter against his lips, "are you done with this banal folly? If you are, then just shut up and fuck me."

He raises an eyebrow at you, a small smirk then fleeting on his lips. "Your wish is my command, princess."

"What...?"

You muse to yourself when he pulls away and takes a step back, he eyes you with a lustful twinkle in his eye and strides towards to the full length mirror you had accommodated beside your study desk for the time being. Your dorm wasn't much, to be honest. It was spacious, yes; a bed to a side, a study desk adjacent to it and other trivial things you had lying around, including a closet to the right side of the door, a mini fridge situated next to it, and to the left side of the door was the bathroom. Single room dormitories were expensive compared to the shared ones, but you didn't like the idea of having a roommate or two even.

"Was this the same mirror you used to send me that picture?" he questions, observing it closely.

"Yeah, what about it?" you place the plastic bag to your side and bite your lip, considering.

"Hmm," he purrs softly and picks the mirror up to place it right in front of you. "Let's set it here, shall we."

"What's on your mind, Yunho?" you whine softly, turning it into a chuckle when he prepares to get down on his knees before you. "Really...?"

As exasperated as your voice is, you can't hide your anticipation of your body when he slides himself closer to you. His hands on your thighs, sear a burn on your skin when he grips your flesh. Thumbs rub circles, till they're pressing down and sinking in; he pushes your legs apart, and you let him do as he pleases. One of his hands is already skimming across your thigh to the hem of your dress, pushing it up till it rolls around your chest. He holds it there, exposing your glistening cunt for his eyes to feast on.

"I said I'd be pining to taste you," he mutters in a breath, and gazes up at you, "so here I am. Unlike others, I deliver what I say, princess. And I've been craving a taste of you for quite a while now—since the day I saw you. But with the mirror in front, you can see it for yourself, the kind of mewling mess you become for my tongue."

He shrugs and pouts, tightening his hand which rested on your thigh, while he prompts you with a nod of his head to hold your dress up. You do as said, letting your trembling fingers clip on the hem of your dress to hold it up. Perusing your glistening cunt with his lust-filled eyes, his lips curl into a sly smirk. He slots himself closer to you, tracing his delicate lips down your abdomen, fluttering kisses which tickle your spine and your spark your cunt. Watching his reflection in the mirror was already fucking you up; but watching his reflection when his head is buried deep in between your legs was certainly savage.

"And what are those fruits for? You were going to treat yourself, weren't you?" you mumble softly under your breath.

Dropping one hand to stroke his hair away from his forehead, you tangle your fingers in his luscious locks while trying to clasp your lower lip to bite back on any possible moans you might voice. His kisses trace up your stomach, up till he's giving your skin short kitten licks under your breasts. Your fingers pinch his hair, other hand struggling to hold your dress up—his thumbs help you soothe by rubbing circles on your thighs, engulfing you in a trance of comfort and ease.

"Of course, I'm treating myself," he mumbles under his breath, skimming his wet tongue down your abdomen to your stomach again. "Strawberries just taste better, you know."

Scoffing out in bewilderment, he presses a deep kiss just over your belly button and drags his lips slowly down, purposely teasing and nicking his teeth at your skin. You tilt your head back, your lips carved in a sleazy smile when the sensation of his soft lips flutter further down; your fingers tighten their hold on his faded blue locks, while other let's go of your dress. The silky material of your babydoll slips over his head, but he does not seem bothered as he continues littering soft kisses down your belly button.

And then, a moan hitches in your throat, anticipating. You're urged to squeeze your thighs together; only because his hot breaths were caressing your mound. His thumbs carried on rubbing circles in your flesh, soothing you bit by bit. In a way, his placid ministrations were helping you to keep your legs spread from him.

"Hmm, fuck," you gasp, voiceless, under your breath, screwing your eyes shut to the feeling of his soft lips pressing insanely close against your clit.

But you're left high when he pulls back, angling his head up to look at you; he wasn't fond of your dress slipping down your chest and waist, he didn't like it when your skin was covered. If you had the body to flaunt it, then why would you or anyone else want it covered? That was his logic, according to what you could stipulate from the week you had spent with him. Phrases and words like that made you an absolute puddle for him, you'd melt into a cold and sybaritic plash for him—all because you knew he would worship your body like the goddess you are, whenever he had the chance to. He has a chance now; he wasn't going to let it slip.

"You really like to tease me, don't you?" you squeak, listening to some shuffles of his clothes while your eyes peel open. "Now, what?"

"Getting rid of your lingerie," he grunts, huffing out a stubborn breath while lifting your babydoll over your head. Groping a handful of your tits, he buries his face in the valley of your chest and showers your skin with a few kisses. "I'd rather prefer you wearing nothing when you're around me. Can't get enough of this body, can't get enough..." he pauses, mulling over as his fingers dig into your fleshy tit, "...fuck, I'm all out of words to describe what this body means to me. Not just a fucktoy, no. Not at all. This body...hmm, this body should be displayed in a museum for being so fucking perfect. You're perfect for me, princess. Don't think otherwise, or else..."

Or else? You wondered. Not as much as exalting yourself in the way he was slurring his words, rambling even to get his point across. His teeth scratch your skin, his fingers now rolling your taut nipple; his other hand has been on your thigh all along, stroking circles to keep you levelheaded. You whimper at the sensation of his calloused hand kneading and groping one of your tits, while the other wasn't getting the attention it deserved. Turning your whimper into a whine, you look down at him, surprised to find him staring at you with the loudest smirk he could possibly scour.

"Aww, is my princess needy?" he tugs his lower lip out, brows scrunching down at the corners to feign his discretion. "My needy princess will get everything," he mutters against your skin, and leaves behind open mouth kisses when he gets to your other tit. "Hmmfyou—pfneeded—fthis?"

It drives you crazy how he was being muffled by your tit in his mouth; you glance down, biting your lip to avoid yourself from getting too aroused by the sight beneath. Oh lord, were you wrong. His lips had encased themselves around your flesh, tongue lapping and licking at your hardened peck; though, you could not resist being tempted by his doe eyes staring up at you with such nativity in them. His other hand squeezes your other tit, keeps it going till you're blabbering his name in wispy voice.

"Yunho...please," you shudder to the stimulation of your chest.

He hums around your tit, teeth slowly sinking in and biting lightly, his tongue was at it too, slicking it in his spit and unprecedented licks. Muttering a string of incoherent curses to yourself, you let your hand slip from his hair to the back of his neck, gripping tight. His moan gets muffled around your tit, sending spine-tingling vibrations to your cunt. You needed him, now. There was no way you could handle him playing with your chest like this.

He pulls his mouth back, reverberating a 'pop' sound on purpose as he does. "When I first saw you at the bookstore, I imagined you tasted like strawberries or peaches. So..." he blindly reaches out for the plastic containers of fruit he brought with him, while his other remains on your tit, caressing and pinching. "...coming across these at the grocery store was a good trip to the memory lane. I was reminded and I thought why not?"

"Let me devour you, princess."

You don't know what it was, but it was enough to make you leak. And in that while, you couldn't figure out how he got one of the strawberries out of the box you had placed to the side on bed before, and already had it in his mouth. The leaves were off the strawberry, conveniently—as he bites on it, the faint crimson juices slop past his lips and further down on his chin. You wanted to lick him clean. Maybe it was a silent yet coherent thought beeping in your mind, and maybe he had just read your mind. He slithers his hand along your arm and grabs the back of your neck, pulling you down, he lets his lips collide with yours.

Sweet. The redolent taste of strawberries fills up your mouth, eventually, a few bits of it when he forces his tongue in your mouth. There you are, frenching him while he shoves down the broken and mushy pieces of strawberries down your throat. Now, both of your chins are sticky and stained from the juices, though for you, a stray drop trickles past and falls perfectly in between your tits.

A spark goes off in Yunho's mind when he feels the coldness of the drop dribbling over his hand which still played with your tit. You trace both of your hands to his shoulder and grip them tight, crinkling and creasing his shirt haphazardly—well, as if you cared. He breaks the kiss and takes a deep breath in, while you're still breathless at how hard his tongue was shoving itself down your throat. A few pieces of strawberry are stuck in the gaps of your cheeks, and you swallow them down as you stare at him.

Picking out another strawberry, Yunho smirks slightly as he brings it to your mouth and prompts you to take a small bite out of it before he engulfs it whole. Again, the juices fill up his mouth, cumulative drops collecting themselves by the edge of his lips—but then don't spill, not until he buries his head back into your chest. A few drops roll down on your skin, his kisses soon turning into open mouth suckles. Pale stains of crimson trail with his mouth as he takes one of your tits in; it was the other one this time. His mouth wraps perfectly around your flesh, sucking and squeezing your tit with his lips and teeth. One of his hands snakes around your waist to rest on the small of your back, while the other cups a side of your face.

"This is awfully freaky," you mumble, dragging one of your hands to play with his hair falling on his nape. "But I like it freaky, you make it seem—ah," you gasp when you feel him give your nipple a gentle tug with his teeth, "—ah fuck, that feels good. So, fucking good..."

Your chest heaves up and down in his face, too bothered by him and his innocent eyes gazing up at you. The warmth of his mouth and the vague gelidity of the strawberry juices dissipates when he detaches himself from your chest; his smirk grows in his cheek, perusing the piece of art he had left behind on your chest. The sticky red strawberry pulp had adhered to your skin quite magnificently and he couldn't be prouder.

"This is just the tip of the iceberg," he winks, swallowing the remnants of fruit in his mouth. "I can get freakier."

Confidence in his eyes strikes you in the best way possible; you for sure know your cunt had drenched your bedsheets by now, all slick with the arousal his mouth was causing.

"Then get freakier, I need more from you."

In the erratic moment of time, he grabs another strawberry from the containers and props it right over your mound. The frigidity of the fruit was searing against your skin, that is only until he had fisted his hand around it and squeezed the life out of it—the pulp and juices trickled down, slotting itself perfectly in your folds and slit.

"Ah, fuck—you fucking bastard," you half-moan-half-chuckle, but it soon turns to an astonished gasp when his hot breath casts itself on your cunt before his wet tongue licks up your slit. "You—fuck—you fucking—you fucking freak!" you succumb to breathlessness and close your eyes tight; clutching his nape with both of your hands, you held onto him for your dear life.

He chortles against your slick folds and delves further down; the tip of his nose nudges with your clit at first, and then slides along your slit. How fucking good did that feel? You moan, your chest ripping itself apart when you do. It was unlike anything you had felt, especially considering pleasures received through oral stimulation. Yunho knew what he was doing, and he was doing it really well. His tongue licks up a stripe, lips sucking around your clit for a hot second before he drags them down to repeat the long and hard licks. You were squirming with a want, the oh-so sweet want of release.

Yunho's hands grip your inner thighs, his thumbs nudge and spread your cunt apart for the remaining pulp and juice of strawberry to roll down in between your folds. He leans in close and picks out the granules with his teeth, biting down softly as he does. It sends tremors under your skin, forces a saccade series of moans and groans out of you while your eyes squint tighter to let out tears. The pleasure was immeasurable, wooing you off into a faraway land of orgasm and joy.

You were delighted, so delighted to find your stomach knotting itself without having to be stimulated with penetration. He continues to lick and suck on your folds, gradually giving your clit some attention with his tongue while his hands groped your thighs and fingers dug in; they were leaving bruises tomorrow, but you were looking forward to it. Those handprints of his, they were going to be something you'd love to show off to your friends or someone.

"Fuck, Yunho. Your mouth—" you take a breath in through your mouth, "—it feels like I'm in paradise."

When your eyes open you see stars twinkling in the corner, your sight was full of them eventually—that is, as he carried on with his ruthless licks and flicks to your clit. The knot was intensifying, if anything, you really were on the verge of letting yourself go and watching you cum all over his face. Your face twitches and you're about...

Ring! Ring! Ring!

The high you once sought to, was now a deliberate low laying fruit; the knot disappears as the blaring sound of your phone's ringtone grows louder. You click your tongue, and blindly swat your hand on the bed next to you to find your phone. As you would recall, you did fling it somewhere when you went to answer the door. However, Yunho wasn't bothered by the deafening rings percolating in the room, he continues. A man on a mission. You mentally groan at that thought and sigh heavily when you find your phone in your hand. Checking the caller ID, you couldn't help but swipe the screen to answer the call.

Mom's calling you. She's calling you back. You needed answers, something to appease you about the ordeal where she felt the need to call you ten times.

Pressing the phone close to your ear and while gasping for air, you mumble, "he-hey mom."

"Oh, hey Angel—wait, did I get you at the wrong time?" you shake your head, trapping your moans in your mouth, "uh-huh, I was worried—I was worried about you and da—and dad. Giving me ten misse—ten missed—fuck."

All breath is knocked out of your lungs when you feel Yunho's tongue slither along your slit and his spit cover you up in its warmth; you're left to drawl on the remaining air in your lungs, specifically when he places his hand on your lower abdomen and forces you to lean behind into the mattress. Your back arches, your hips lift off the edge slightly for him to fix himself better between your legs. The angle your body now holds, gives him the perfect view of your hole. You squirm, wiggling your ass and bucking your hips into his face to get that much needed contact you had been craving for so long.

"Keep it hush, princess," he whispers, glaring up at you, "and watch your mouth when you're talking to your mother, hmm?"

You slightly glance down, hand trembling to hold the phone close to your ear—his face was breathtaking, glistening with your juices and the saccharine scent of the strawberry mixing in with your musk. The tip of his nose goes back to being buried in your slit, while his tongue rolls on your clit till it trails down to your hole.

Knowing where this was headed, you clutch the sheets under you and press your lips together. You so hoped your mom wasn't getting any ideas in her head about why your words were slurred or whimpered.

"Angie, I can call some other time," she murmurs from the other line, reminding you that you were still on call with her.

"Mom, just—just tell me—fuuc—hmmm," you cry out in pleasure when his tongue thrusts into your cunt. "I'm good—I'm good, you had me—hmmm—you had me worried—it's—"

"Yeah, I'm sorry, darling," she interrupts you, her tone soft and gentle. "The thing is, your dad..." she sighs and continues, "...in the last quarter of your dad's business—we're going under, Angel."

She comes straight to the point and bemused you; but your mind is occupied with Yunho's tongue shoving in and out of your cunt, slurping your juices, squelching your fleshy folds, and pressing the tip of his nose against your slick slit. You were done for better this time. The familiar knot ties itself in your stomach again. This time, your body rather hoped you'd get to come undone and release your tension all over his face. But, Yunho had some different ideas in his mind.

Hearing a bit of static from the other side, your mom continues, "you're understanding the weight of this situation, right? It brings me no peace to tell you that," she pauses and you hum, sinking your teeth further down in your lower lip as Yunho's tongue carries on with the abuse, "we can't support your accommodation, Angel. The tuition is already paid for, which we have no concern about since you're on your scholarship—but your dormitory fees, they'll be—you'll have to pay them yourself. Maybe, get a job? Or look for a new residence, where you have to share your rent?"

Her words were going over your head, regardless you were able to catch up on few phrases which sounded important and held grave promise to them. 'Look for a new residence.' Okay. 'Get a job?' Surely something you weren't looking forward to. But 'sharing a house with strangers?'A big no-no.

Though, all you could do was nod along and release your lip from your teeth to mumble, "sure—sure, fine. I'll—mom, I'll call you later at night—I promise, I'm busy—fuck."

The moment the curse escapes your mouth in the form of a moan, you hang up the call and squint your eyes shut; Yunho was thumbing your clit at an accelerated pace, stroking circles to let your orgasm delve deeper into your soul. Your phone slips out from your hand, falling down on the ground with a subtle thump while you bring both of your hands to rest them around his neck. Oh how tempted were you to push his head down, to make his tongue reach deeper into your swollen cunt.

"Fuck, Yun—Yun, I was on call—I was on a fucking call with my mom—fuck, couldn't you—couldn't you tone it down?" you stutter, trying to steady your erratic breath.

Yunho hadn't stopped thrusting his tongue into you, neither had he stopped stroking your clit with his thumb—he doesn't utter a word and continues to do so. You were done with his teasing, huffing to yourself, you push his head down against yours cunt; now his tongue reached deep, submerged completely in your flesh and your walls clenched tightly around him.

"Yes, fuck, yeah, feels good. So good," you drool, throwing your head back and arching yourself to let the pleasure wash over you.

More importantly, your orgasm was only a few thrusts away; maybe a few flicks of his thumb could have you mewling at him as you release all over his tongue and face. The imaginary sight in your mind was riling you up in the worst ways already—you wonder what it'd be like if it were to come to life. Now that you do think about it, your dream comes crashing through—merging with the reality to spread goosebumps on your skin. Just imagining Jongho being present in the room, watching you get fucked by Yunho's tongue, was pushing you further to your edge.

"Yunho...? I'm—" you tap his shoulder twice, but he doesn't budge and continues to push his tongue in your cunt.

"Fuck." You yell and then scream out his name when you feel your walls clenching around his tongue one last time, "Yunho!"

His thumb stops toying with your clit, but his face remains buried in between your legs, his thumb having quit shoving itself into your cunt. You're flooding down his face, squealing and mumbling his name under your breath in a voiceless chant before catching a beat to respire properly. In the daze of your orgasm hitting you like a bucket of bricks, you hear him hum and nuzzle his head further into cunt; a second passes by in the heat of the moment, and he reels himself back. Leaning away eventually, he straightens himself and wipes his face with the back of his hand, getting some of your slick on the sleeves of his shirt.

"Are you insane?" you breathe out.

"Insane to get my princess cum on my face," he chuckles and shakes his head, "I hope you're feeling better now because I felt you tense up when you were talking to your mother."

He begins unbuttoning his shirt, one by one he undoes the button and shrugs his shirt off his shoulders. Exposing his toned body, he throws his shirt off to somewhere and gets on his feet. You're still trapped in the stupor of your orgasm, to even notice him shimmy out of his pants. Clad in his black briefs, he leans down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss.

"I've got a problem, Yunho," you murmur, and he nods, "and is it bad enough to keep us from fucking?"

Rolling your eyes you scoff, ready to shove him away, "are you really thinking with your dick, right now?"

He traces his lips down your jaw, leaving behind open mouth kisses along your skin to your neck. His hands roamed to her bare back, skimming his fingertips up front till he drags them painstakingly slow to your stomach and then further to your clit. You hug his shoulders, tight enough to hold onto him.

"You are less tense now, princess. I'm guessing my tricks are working, so...why won't I think with my dick?" he chuckles, kneeling down before you to slot himself between your spread legs.

"It's not about that, Yunho," your whine, suppressing a titter to yourself. "I'm practically homeless."

"What?" he gasps, amused and pulls back to stare at you, a confused smile sculpting on his lips.

"My parents are having some financial troubles; they are falling short to pay me for my accommodation," you pout, noticing the tent in his briefs, "so, I have to find a new place to live. And I don't where I can find an affordable apartment."

The worry lines on your forehead, concerns Yunho too. He licks his lower lip and sighs, "Angel, you can live with us."

"What now?" you massage circles into his shoulders as you hold them.

"Yeah, we've got a spare room in the loft. Well, Jongho occupied it not too long ago, but he can surely move back in with Mingi." He explains, wrapping his hands around your waist, "you don't have to pay us rent because you're going to be paying us in a different way...in all, it's the best arrangement you could ever ask for."

You think, muse and contemplate. To one side of your head you were agreeing with his proposition, but on the other side, you were marred with the thought of living with eight men out of which five were sexually interested in you and two had already fucked you good. Well, you're given no choice but to agree and get along with his deal.

"Hey, you don't have to give me an urgent answer," he mumbles, thumbing the sides of your waist, "after we're done here, you can come on over and we'll talk it out with Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Capisce?"

"Why, are they supposedly the alpha males of the household?" you joke, giggling softly.

"Technically," Yunho shrugs, "Hongjoong owns the loft and he was generous enough to let us stay and share the rent. It started with me and Seonghwa, others eventually joined us through mutual friends—it was the beginning of our freshman year, so..."

"I'd need their permission?"

Yunho scoffs playfully, "princess, no. They'd be happy to welcome you in. But this is supposedly my suggestion and I fall a little short on making such decisions as compared to them. It's better if you talk with Hongjoong."

You sigh, "fine."

A smile fleets on your lips and it delves deeper in your cheek. "So, are you going to ease my mind or not?"

"You don't need to tell me twice, princess," he smirks, diving in to kiss you passionately so.

You kiss back with the same want, same heat crawling up your gut as his; the intensity wasn't dithering, neither was your anticipation. He pushes you back on the bed till you're laying under him and he straddles your lap. The kiss never stops, even when he fumbles with the waistband of his briefs to get them off in a haste. He somehow manages to tug his briefs down till his knees and his hard cock pokes your inner thigh, until the tip of his cock brushes past your lower stomach. His hands are back on you, holding your neck to position you better to deepen the kiss; his tongue wriggles its way in your mouth. For the moment it does, you feebly taste the redolence of strawberries and your cum on his tongue. There goes without saying, you still couldn't believe he let you cum on his face.

But who's to judge his preferences? You aren't a saint either. Definitely not.

Moaning into the kiss, you drag your hands up his back and let your fingertip tickle his skin. Breathless, Yunho breaks apart from the warmth of your mouth, missing the way his tongue was shoving down your throat, and uses one of his hands to pump his cock, while his other supports his weight when he places it next to your head. His back arches, his fingers stroking the reddened tip of his cock as bits of precum drips from the slit—he angles his hand in a way to spread his precum along the shaft with the palm of his hand.

"Fuck," he grunts, closing his eyes shut tight and continuing to pump his cock into his hand.

For you, this was definitely a sight more than breathtaking to witness. How often do you see a pretty blue haired man stroke his cock so eagerly for you? It went on to show how sorely he needed you and yearned to fuck your cunt. This only takes you back to the time when he had railed you so good and hard; you knew it he was untamed and being so feral with that huge cock, was indeed going to deliver the best.

You let out a soft whimper, adding in to the gentle sounding moans of his. Insane, absolutely insane. His moans were pretty, just like him and you know you could never get enough of him moaning.

"Take a deep breath for me, princess," he indicates you with a nudge of his head while he opens his eyes to look at you.

Taking a breath, you prepare yourself for his cock. He chuckles at you, admiring your intrepidity as he eases himself into you. Your face contorts in pain, with only his tip submerging in you. Knowing the pain would soon subside into pleasure, however it doesn't. Your brows twitch and your eyes squint tight enough for tears stream down the side of your face; your mouth falls agape, wide to the ache your walls sensing with the stretch.

"Ah—Yunho!" you gasp out loud, breaking out into a yell. "It hurts, stop."

And he stops. With same ease, he guides his cock out of you and cups your face immediately after noticing the tears in your eyes. You flutter your gaze across him, a little blurry but you still discern the concern etched on his face.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asks, voice gentle and wispy. "Am I hurting you?"

"It just," you hiccup, "it hurts like hell when you..."

"Oh," he trails off, "is it because of last week? I think it is. I was too rough back then, wasn't I?" Sighing, his caresses your cheeks and leans in to kiss a stray drop of your tear away from your lips, "you're not used to such a huge cock, are you? It's fine. I'll have to be more careful with you next time—were you feeling any discomfort after that night?"

"I'm not sure, I felt sore and really raw at that time. Maybe I couldn't decry between vaginal tears and soreness," you mumble, assuring him with a faint smile before continuing, "look, it's not your fault. I failed to identify—"

"God, Angel," he groans, "it's not your fault, and for fucks sake put the blame on me. I should've been gentle with you for the first time. You're not used to it—ugh, never mind, I'll have to get you used to my size otherwise..."

"I'll be fine, stop worrying so much," you cup his face in your palms and reassure him. "Now, can we just...let's just forget about it and focus on making you feel good. It's only fair if I return the favour."

You lick your lips and let your tongue poke out through your lower lip; glancing down at his still hardened cock, you drool and your eyes twinkle with lust. He grabs your chin and forces you to meet his eyes.

"I am not so fond of blow-jobs," he says, smirking and then looking around till his eyes fixate on your chair and study desk. "Get on your feet, I've got a better idea." He then stands up and holds his hand out for you.

"Okay, mister," you roll your eyes and set your wobbly feet down, grabbing his extended hand before pulling you close to his body.

Your naked bodies crash into each other and heat emanates from both of you; his arms wrap around your waist and tug you around. He positions you in front of the chair, and pushes you down by the small of your back to have you leaning over the chair. He's right behind you, situating his cock perfectly against your ass which was raised high in the air.

"Legs apart," he whispers his command too close to your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

Slapping your inner thighs, he establishes a small distance between your legs and slips himself into it, his cock slides easily amid your thighs, a little below your folds. The tip of his cock rubs against your slit, rubbing back and forth—you're driven wild with the sensation, and even more so when his hands grope your thighs from behind. His fingers dig, sink in tight enough for bruises to appear. Again, you looked forward to it, being decorated with his marks. Perfect for a possessive man like him.

"Fuck, this is your idea to make yourself cum?" you dreamily laugh out, throwing your head behind on his chest.

"Your thighs feel godly, princess," he susurrates, licking up the shell of your ear before biting down hard on your earlobe. "Squeeze them."

You do as he says, squeezing your thighs together to feel his cock slip in and out at a steady pace. He bucks his hips a little higher to let himself rub against your slit in long and consistent strokes. This was certainly new to you, yet you were getting stimulated close to your second orgasm. You didn't think you would because this wasn't the same as the time he had actually penetrated you. There's no space for you to complain, you were slipping close into the world of pleasure and sensuality to give a damn about whether his cock was pounding in you or fucking your thighs.

"Fuck, just as I fucking thought—just as I fucking imagined what it would be to fuck your thighs," he whimpers close to your ear and later on you realise he was leaning over to kiss your cheek. "Princess, you've got unquestionably the best thighs to fuck. So thick, so tight—just fucking perfect."

You know he had lost it riding himself in between your thighs but you, on the other hand hadn't quite recovered from your last orgasm yet. Or even figured out how you weren't alerted to your vaginal injuries. It'd be unfair to call them injuries, they were basic nicks in the muscles of your vagina and cervix, from tremendous and tedious sexual activity. Pushing those thoughts to the far corner of your mind, your knuckles turn white while holding onto the chair, you were starting to get hot and bothered—so close to your orgasm again.

His cock thrusted along your cunt, hard and slick with his precum, which supposedly provided enough lubrication for his strokes to be smooth and pleasant. Your skin was covered with it however, and you were resisting to picture how his cum would paint your thighs. Picking up his pace, he thrusts faster yet keeps them long and sharp. Your walls clench around nothing, while your stomach drops to your knees; your legs buckle under you, under the weight of sensory overload his cock was proffering.

He flattens his palms on your thighs and gives you light slaps on either of your thighs, "we need to keep them thick and fleshy like this. I bet others would enjoy fucking them as much as I am right now."

"Hmhm, yeah..." you moan, shutting off your cognitive dissonance and mumbling along with him, "thick for you—thick for Seonghwa—thick for everyone."

"Ah, you're already blabbering bullshit, aren't you?" he titters heartily, pulling his hips back and driving them in sharply. "My cock makes you dumb, doesn't it? Hmm...a pretty little slut like you would be dumb for anyone's cock, isn't it?"

His taunts make you shake your head, lips parting to whimper, "no, fuck, only for you—only for you, Yunho."

"That's what I thought," he gasps, increasing his back and rattling his hips into yours.

His death grip is back on your thighs, his eyes are shut tight as he lurches forward to rest his forehead on your shoulder; sweaty chest presses up against your back, while you hold onto the chair for your dear life and to sedate the tremors his thrusts which caused your body to keel. The same tightness grows heavy in your gut, your spine tingling with how close you were to your second orgasm—your nails scratch off the varnish on the chair, scrapping bits of wood in them as he plunges his cock ruthlessly in between in your thighs. You squeeze them firmly, sensing the knot coming undone in your lower belly.

"Are you going to cum for me, princess?"

You nod your head, closing your eyes shut and leaning back into his touch; the heat creeps up your stomach and in a second's beat, the tension slips into comfort. You're releasing all over his cock, splashing on his and your thighs, a bit on the floor too. This time, you were knocked out for good; this orgasm was far more intense than the last one, far more overpowering too. You're mumbling his name like a chant, while he lets a laugh rumble in his chest.

"Fuck, my princess really made a mess on my cock, and everywhere else." he adds, "now, be a good little whore and help me cum too."

Without any warning, he goes even harder and faster than before, causing your body to convulse to his relentless thrusts. His untamed desire was evident in the way his fingers were bruising your skin, how tightly he was groping your thighs to stable himself from his ever increasing pace of his thrusts. He could go for long, and he does; your brain is turned to a mush in regard to the time or energy—his cock keeps hitting your folds, and the tip keeps abusing your clit.

You were past the point of sanity, breaking apart at the seams with your foul mouth screaming out his name and moaning it as if he was your god—technically, he was starting to show you stars, galaxies and miracles behind your shut eyes. All this from only rubbing himself between your thighs; it makes you wonder how much wilder the sex would get once you get to move in with him. Those ideas are for later, right now, you were vicious with his cock.

"Princess, I'm close. Don't worry—fuck—squeeze them tighter, for me—fucking please," he babbles out in despair, and you clasp your thighs even tighter on his cock.

"Fucking perfect."

He words out in a heavy breath, bucking his hips in your thighs as the tip of his cock remains close by your slit; heaving out, the warmth of his cum coats your folds and your slit. Gradually, he starts pulling back, still letting his cum sputter on your skin before he releases all of him on your ass and back. A few of it streaks down your butt-crack, eventually seeping down your butthole. You're groaning out in pleasure and possibly due to overstimulation. Nonetheless, you were satisfied, more than satisfied to know he had painted your back with his cum.

You're both breathless when he leans away from your shoulder and steps back; his small laugh resonates around you before dissipating into a soft titter.

"Princess, you just fucking know how to take a cock, don't you?" he mumbles in his post-orgasm daze, while grabbing his trousers to pull out his handkerchief. "Well, let's get you cleaned and then we'll take a shower together. We are both...sticky."

"Sounds good to me," you manage to gibber, not sure if it was audible or not. "I could use a hot shower and thorough cleaning after this."

"Hmm, I'll gladly help you clean."

You're too weak to turn around, so he helps you swivel on your feet while he holds your body close to his for support. Lethargic and drained, your eyes were closing themselves involuntarily. It was the lack of sleep—the sleep deprivation was slowly catching up with you.

"Keep your eyes open, princess. I need you here with me, okay?" his voice soothes a nerve in your mind, and you nod, opening your eyes. "Guess I'll have to be quick."

"Of course."

The rest of the evening, basically half-evening-half-night goes by smoothly. You both did take a shower together without engaging in anything and got rid of the sweat and stench of sex—but unfortunately, your room still reeked of sex, sweat and cum. You didn't care. Not particularly when you were dragged out of your dorm room by Yunho, after getting dressed in fresh clothes. You wore a long and oversized hoodie, shaded black and didn't bother wearing shorts or pants underneath as it covered most of your skin. To your surprise, as soon as you had your lip gloss on (because you liked lip gloss more than lipsticks), he had your hands intertwined and he was pulling you out of the door. He was eager for you, and the seemingly harmless arrangement you were about to propose to Hongjoong and Seonghwa.

You would've never guessed that this man drives a red corvette stingray if you hadn't been strapped in the passenger's seat of his car. An innocent looking man like him, driving such a flashy sports car, was indeed a shock to you. Looks can be deceiving, so who really cares? Everything passes by you in a blur when he speeds down the road; eventually, the city lights turn into streaks of neon haze and starbursts, until you're by the complex where his loft was located. He parks his car, and helps you out. Your hand in his, he guides you in and takes you to the loft.

Your heart is in your throat, not because you were back to this place with Yunho by your side but because you were too scared to anticipate Hongjoong's and Seonghwa's judgment on your proposition. This has to go well, and it will. Right? You have Yunho with you. What could possibly go wrong?

Yunho unlocks the door and pushes it to usher you inside. His hand never leaves yours; his grip doesn't loosen up for even a second as his pulling you further up to the living room. You and he had taken off your shoes in a haste and did not bother slipping into the house slippers. However, the commotion of your footsteps and Yunho's constant murmurs of 'it'll be okay', 'they won't bite you' and 'just relax' had gotten certain attention from the people sitting on couch.

You're soon greeted with San and Jongho, especially Jongho who has a twinkling and excited smile carved on his face. Both of them were seated on the couch, San having a laptop perched on his lap while Jongho made his observations on the screen—they were clad in their night clothes, San wearing a pair of black pajamas with white cats all over it and Jongho, a pastel blue pajama set with brown bears on it.

"Angel!!" he glees, catching your glimpse next to Yunho, "what brings you here so late at night?" his tone simmers down to being confused.

San adds, "yeah, it's not our game night tonight."

"Guys, stop pestering her, okay?" Yunho groans, looking around, "where are Hongjoong and Seonghwa?"

"Seonghwa's in the kitchen—"

"What is it Jongho...oh hey, Angel!" Seonghwa interrupts Jongho and quickly turns it into an elated greeting. "Should I be concerned for you to make your appearance this late into the night—can't ignore the fact that Yunho's here too. Are you two eloping?"

He's walking out of the kitchen, draped in a variedly stained apron and a wooden spatula in his hand. He looks gorgeous as usual, covering his white turtleneck and black trousers with a grunge red apron—not only his outfit made you quiver, but his hair was also pushed back and tied in a small ponytail behind. If he looked this alluring even when you move in, then you don't think you'd be able to resist the urge to suck him off every time he appeared in front of you.

Yunho clears his throat, aggressively and it becomes a series of wretched coughs till he's gasping for air. "Don't go too hard on me, Hwa. You know how I am."

"Fuck your preferences, Yun," Seonghwa rolls his eyes, "what is the point in bringing Angel here?"

"Well, I'll let her explain it," Yunho sighs, giving you a nudge of his head.

"Uhh, yeah, I need to talk," you mumble, scratching the back of your neck with your other hand.

Your words alert Jongho and San, and they're saturated completely on you, regardless of a certain video playing on San's laptop. Seonghwa hums along, encouraging you with a nod of his head while biting his lower lip. Yunho only stares at you, keeping a frail smile on his face.

"So, go on."

A coarse yet pitched voice booms through the room, followed by nifty footsteps of the man you had been waiting to come. You assumed he was in his room or something, but not thinking he could be at work. Hongjoong strides in, running one of his hands through his hair and other stuffed in the pocket of his jogger shorts. You watch him adorning a black tank top over his toned chest and nothing else; his complexion was striking but wasn't as pale as Yunho. A pop of melatonin makes his skin a little tanned.

"I suppose, Yunho bringing you here is rather crucial for you." He says, walking over to sit next to Jongho. Spreading his legs apart and relaxing back on the couch, he repeats, "go on, Angel."

You clear your throat, "I—I actually—I actually need a place to stay. My parents—"

"—she's in no condition to pay for her university accommodation, so she's looking for a new place to stay. I asked her to come with me since we have a room to spare," Yunho interjects, his eyes trailing over at Jongho, "you'll have to move back in with Mingi, baby bear. You're understanding enough, right?"

Jongho ponders for a minute before silently nodding, "sure. I don't mind. Angel needs it more than me."

You can't help but crack a smile at him, heart palpitating faster in your chest. Yunho could hear your heartbeat, and he squeezes your hand to ease you out. Seonghwa notices it and smiles to himself, shaking his head at the two of you before excusing himself from the living room and going back into the kitchen.

Hongjoong finds it amusing, his lips twisting in a knowing smirk before he asks you, "that's not the issue, Angel. What I need to know from you is—rather what I'm aching to hear from you is, your riposte to my proposed idea of you..."

"I agree to it," you're too quick to reply, taking the man off guard and others too.

San remains confused because he had no clue what you were talking about. Now that he is here, does it mean he'll also be involved in this reverse harem thing you have going on with others? If San gets involved then would the others be involved too? Of course you're thinking about Wooyoung and Mingi, one is a reputed manwhore and other is a man who resents you. That too for no apparent reason—or for something you don't know.

"You do?" Jongho squeals, questioning you.

"Yeah, I don't mind being your..." you trail off, glazing your eyes over at San.

From the kitchen, you hear thudding of metal dishes and spoons, soon Seonghwa comes rushing out with his wooden spatula.

"She agrees?" he asks, and Yunho nods, "she said she'd need more time to think about it, but I guess..."

"Are you agreeing to it because of your living conditions, Angel?"

There it was, Hongjoong comes straight to point. Even his stare was detrimental for you, and how insanely intense it was to pierce through yours. Hongjoong clearly liked to dominate submissive women like you—he has how own share of kinks and customs he likes to follow in the bedroom. And some of them, might seem too unconventional. You didn't want your mind to stray too far off, but he seemed like the type who definitely delighted himself in playing with chains and cuffs.

"I'm not!" you retort, explaining yourself further, "I gave it some thought and I don't think it's a bad idea."

Your pout melts through the stubborn and ice cold heart of Hongjoong's—for a man with domineering aura, he sure is letting himself submit to you. He doesn't let his stoicism waver on his face, rather his purses his lips together and spreads his legs apart further.

"Don't think it's a bad idea?" he repeats your words in coherence to your judgement, "Angel, we don't want you doing anything you are uncomfortable with. Your consent means a lot to us."

"And you have it," your pout grows, and you vaguely point at Seonghwa and Yunho, "I've already gone to the extreme with him and him."

Hongjoong chuckles, and keeping his lips parted, his canines rest against his lower lip, "we'll add it to the very list of your sex chronicles with us."

Your face heats up and turns red, before you could open your mouth to retaliate, San pipes in, "so, you've discussed this before? She's our new...fucktoy?" he cringes thereafter, shrugging his shoulders and scrunching his face in disgust, "with all due respect, let me rephrase, you are our new arrangement to satisfy our sexual desires?"

You nod, your heart hammering in your chest. "Yeah, one and only."

"Are you really sure, Angel?" Jongho wants a confirmation from you and smile at him, wide and bright, wanting to erase his doubts. "Then I guess we no longer have to wait for your answer."

Seonghwa chimes in, "so, when are you moving in?"

"Oh, once this month gets over. There's only a week left anyway," you shrug, smiling a little, "I'll start packing right away."

Yunho hugs you from behind, kissing your neck; first you're caught off guard, second, he's doing this right in front of everyone and third, his scent was driving you crazy.

"I'll help you." He mumbles against your skin.

"Yunho, you know the ground rules," Hongjoong threatens and the man who was sticking to you like glue before, now detaches himself from you in an instant. "So, less P-D-A."

"Ugh, ground rules," Yunho whines, but steals a kiss from your cheek. "I'll go get changed and you are staying over tonight. Let's have dinner together, shall we?"

"Of course!" San sings, "we'll get to know you better too. I bet Wooyoung would be pretty excited to know more about you."

"Speaking of him, where is he?" Hongjoong inquires and Jongho answers, "it's the peak hour, where else would he be?"

Hongjoong nods, getting his answer and Seonghwa sprints back into the kitchen not long before announcing, "we've got enough food for you too, so you're staying here."

You quietly agree to him and swallow thickly, striding over to sit on the lone chair adjacent to the couch. That's when Mingi comes into the room from upstairs, his hair tousled and messy, wearing grey sweatpants and a grunge green graphic sweatshirt. He eyes you as he crosses the living room, glaring at you to set his point through. He didn't want you here. But, he couldn't go against Hongjoong's or Seonghwa's wishes.

"Look who's finally out of their room!" Jongho cheers, laughing and joking around before clearing his throat and informing Mingi, "oh well, guess what, Mingi. I'm shifting myself back into your room. Angel's moving in with us and taking over the spare room."

"What?" Mingi grunts, burning his eyes on you, through you, in all hating your presence in the room altogether.

"Y'all really addicted to this whore's cunt, aren't ya? Keep me out of your fucking deal. I ain't getting involved."

And that fucking hurt your soul. But you keep quiet and while you're at it, Yunho walks in the heated room—Hongjoong and the others are about to defend you when Yunho does it himself. He adorns a conceited smirk and folds his arms over his chest, they bulge out through his grey hoodie somehow, but your eyes travel down to somewhere where they shouldn't have. His jogger shorts are too thin to show off the outline of his cock, he wasn't hard, but he was huge. Why are you drooling on his cock when you're having trouble in paradise? Not that you hadn't seen his cock before. And you are his damsel in distress.

"That's more for us then, Min." Yunho steps closer to him and gets all in his face,

"If you're not involved in this with us, then it's one less person we'll have to share her with."

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johns-prince · 4 months

Text

John was being honest when he described himself as dead lazy, and so having a partner and bff like Paul was perfect for him since Paul is such a workaholic and can hardly sit still.

John needed a push, someone who could carefully and patiently nudge and drive him along, or at least light the fire under his butt, because if not he could become listless, lethargic, and stuck. I'd say this was pretty obvious during the 70s.

Paul was perfectly suited for John in this, like in so many other ways too. Paul seemed not at all bothered, but quite comfortable with this position in their relationship, as far as I can tell. I'm thinking back to Paul making his way to John's house in Kenwood, that he'd often have to wake John up, this involving cups of tea or coffee. Maybe they did some writing and playing, maybe they didn't, as Paul said it was his way to get out of London.

Or, how Paul, John, and Ringo (sans George) had to do a Christmas recording, and how Paul, the whole time, was gently and patiently urging John on to just do it.

I think they're a perfect encapsulation of their relationship, these moments and memories caught.

They both gave each other a harmless need to compete, and to accomplish, together. I mean I'm sure there were plenty of times Paul's patience wore thin with John, and I'm sure John was very intentional in needling that, but insofar that I can tell, Paul really did have exceedingly, almost near limitless patience and love for John as both a partner and a friend.

John needed that, he needed someone like Paul, who could truly and unapologetically put up with him, and love him, and still want to work with him every day, day and night.

Even when the band broke up, the divorce finalized, and John was both loving and hating Paul in tandem for the next ten years... Paul was desperate to write with John again, and John was desperate just to write, you see.

PLAYBOY: But wasn’t it clear that John wanted only to work with Yoko?

LINDA: No. I know that Paul was desperate to write with John again. And I know John was desperate to write … desperate. People thought, Well, he’s taking care of Sean, he’s a house-husband and all that, but he wasn’t happy. He couldn’t write and it drove him crazy. And Paul could have helped him—easily.”

— Linda on John and Paul in the late 70’s and 1980. (X)

While Yoko was definitely driven and career oriented, that didn't necessarily mean she influenced, inspired, or drove John on herself. Not in the way Paul did. I think that's pretty evident, considering he subsumed himself to "house husband", only occasionally baking bread before even that lost his interest, in which he'd keep to lazing about, sleeping hours on end, and mindlessly watching tv.

John was no house husband, the role he took with Yoko was pretty far removed from his potential, even with Cynthia it wasn't that bad.

With Paul, John even thought of writing musicals, and he apparently wasn't even that fond of musicals—but if Paul wanted to do it, like so many other things, then why couldn't John? If John had Paul, then he could do just about anything and everything, really.

“MM: In the early days, did John and Paul really write together?

MARTIN: Yes, but they also wrote separately. “Please Please Me” and “From Me To You” and “I Want To Hold Your Hand” were undoubtedly collaborative efforts. They’d sit down and literally construct the songs together. I can’t remember the first individual songs, although obviously even before I met them they were writing individually, but if you go through them you can hear which of them are John-oriented and which are Paul-oriented. “Yesterday” is obviously Paul, and that’s an interesting point because it was the first time we ever used anyone other than Beatles on a record. There was no one on that record but Paul and a string quartet.

MM: Did you notice them growing apart, developing distinct personalities?

MARTIN: Paul and John had their own identifiable styles: Paul was the syrupy one and John was the hard one. But the rift wasn’t there then. They were really a unit.

MM: Could you tell me what you think of what each one has done individually since the last Beatles record?

MARTIN: I have great admiration for George. He’s done tremendously because it’s a sort of devotion to duty as far as he’s concerned. We forced him into being a loner, I guess … he could never collaborate with anybody in his writing and therefore when the split came he had more strength because he was forced to be alone. He learned an awful lot about producing, studio techniques, and so on, so that he was able … obviously, any one of them had the power - because they had the money - to spend as much time in the recording studio as they liked, and I know that when George made his album he spent six months doing nothing but overdubbing his own voice 16 times and producing his album. To have the tenacity to do that in itself is something of an achievement, but to go along and actually produce good sounds and good music and good lyrics with it is tremendous. I’m full of admiration for that.

I think the other two have suffered by comparison, because they’ve each indulged themselves in their own way. John’s become more obvious in a way … “Power To The People” is a rehash of “Give Peace A Chance,” and it isn’t really very good. It doesn’t have the intensity that John’s capable of. Paul, similarly with his first album … it was nice enough, but very much a home-made affair, and very much a little family affair. I don’t think he ever really rated it as being as important as the stuff he’d done before.

I don’t think Linda is a substitute for John Lennon, any more than Yoko is a substitute for Paul McCartney.”

— George Martin, Melody Maker Interview, 1971. (X)

John was very partner orientated. He needed someone, whether he liked it or not, and he needed them to need him too.

He didn't like being a husband, but he liked having a wife, someone there for him constantly, who loves him and will care for him. John had Cynthia for that, at the start. John had Pete as his partner in crime, bestest of mates, when they were just kids.

Then, John had Paul, and turns out, Paul just about covered all of that, too, and plus it. A best friend, a coconspirator, a wife, a collaborator, his partner, his rival and his greatest ally and muse. Cherry on top, Paul needed John just as badly, madly. Maybe John never saw it that way, maybe that was why he had his fear, his insecurity that Paul never really needed him as much as John needed him.

“IRVIN: Back then people were very keen on knowing who the leader of the group was…

GEORGE M.: Yes, I was. When I first auditioned them I said, “Who’s going to be the leader, is it John or Paul?” Such an odd couple really, because they were diferent and yet very similar, both had big egos, both very good songwriters, but they needed each other like mad.

IRVIN: Did they really like each other? It wasn’t just a competitive partnership.

GEORGE M.: Oh no, they loved each other! They were brothers, and like brothers they pissed each other off quite a lot. John could be maddening at times, Paul can be very bossy and even more maddening and George would get fed up with both of them. But they did love each other and adored what the other did and had an incredible bond.

Paul always took inspiration from John, especially in his lyric-writing. ‘Eleanor Rigby’, for example, wouldn’t have happened without John’s influence. Paul wrote all of it but John’s influence was there and similarly John was knocked out by the freshness Paul brought to melodies and harmonies. He learnt from Paul how to put in the odd chord that choked you up a bit.”

— George Martin, interview w/ Jim Irvin for Mojo: Sir George Martin: The Mojo interview. (March, 2007) (X)

I think I've gone off tangent, but the point of this was to say, John was dead lazy, vastly intelligent and talented, but very prone to sloth. Paul was a rather perfect stopper to that. He could whip John up, get him moving, shaking, ever patient and ever loving, just the right enough of mean, bitchy and stubborn, smart and quick tongued, to meet John toe-to-toe. Like a house on fire these two fired each other up, talk about all-consuming and intense.

They were pretty perfectly matched for each other.

“It was like a tug of war. Imagine two people pulling on a rope, smiling at each other and pulling all the time with all their might. The tension between the two of them made for the bond.”

— George Martin on Lennon/McCartney (X)

#mclennon #john lennon #paul mccartney #anthology of mclennon #anyways george martin knew what was up

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inkdrinkerworld · 8 months

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Hi! Love your blog. Its totally fine if you haven't/say no but have you ever thought about softdom! Spencer Reid having a lactation kink too? Like maybe he really enjoys it ever since you had the baby but also does it to help you out when youve already breastfed baby according to schedule, and they're too full and uncomfortable.

omg yes!! this is such a smart thought! cw: lactation!kink, mom!reader, dad!spence

spencer was nervous to bring it up first, especially when you had started overproducing.

you’d feed your baby, pump and bag milk and still be full.

it was more milk than either of you knew what to do with and spencer had read that breast milk is good for people of any ages.

“bug, can i try something?” he asks as he tucks your daughter into her cot beside your bed.

“try what spence?” you’re still full of milk and your breasts are a little hard as you press on them.

“i read that you can consume breast milk no matter how old you are and seeing that you’re overproducing i thought,” he runs a hand through his hair as his cheeks heat.

“i thought i could help.” he shrugs as he sits on the bed beside your thighs.

“if you think it’d help and if you’re not grossed out by it.” spencer’s eyes go wide.

“grossed out? i’m not grossed out by you. plus breast milk contains lots of lymphocytes that help with fighting infections.”

you chuckle and nod, “if you’re sure,” spencer is a thousand percent sure.

he lays in your lap, and tugs the straps of your nursing bra down. “you can’t have them both down,” you say sternly but spencer is already latching onto your exposed nipple. “spence,” you gasp, hand combing back his hair as he pulls milk. “feels good.”

he smiles around your nipple and his hand goes to your other exposed nipple and thumbs at it.

spencer times himself, ten minutes on one side and then he moves away. “did that help, darling?” milk is pooled at the corners of his mouth and his eyes have gone a little droopy.

your hand touches the top of your boob and you sigh as it feels soft and looks smaller than the other.

“yeah spence, thanks.” you say, already reaching for your pump to do the other side when spencer bats your hand.

“i wanna do the other side too.” he attaches to your other nipple before you can say anything else.

spencer spends a little longer on the other side, it takes more time to get the milk flowing. he understands why your daughter favours your other nipple.

“you’re an amazing husband, you know that?” you say as he pulls off and fixes the strap of your nursing bra.

spencer’s eyes are almost completely closed as he blushes. “you’re an amazing wife.” his words are slurred as he rolls over to his side of the bed. “they didn’t say that breast milk makes you lethargic in all those books.”

that makes you giggle softly as you slide down the bed and lay so your foreheads are touching. “i think that’s more to do with the suckling motion.”

your fingers brush his forehead and his hairline, watching his eyes flutter shut. “are you tired?” spencer asks and you smile.

this is your husband, the man who, even on the verge of sleep he wants to know if you are too. you’re positive if you tell him you’re wide awake he’d hold his eyes open till you were.

“yeah, if you give me a kiss first.” spencer puckers his lips and presses his lips to your jaw then your lips.

“i love you,” he slurs and you hum, tucking your face under his jaw.

“i love you too, spencer. get some sleep my love.”

#spencerreid #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x black!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x yn #dr spencer reid #cw:lactation kink #cw: lactation kink

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