#my skin is crawling just thinking about it

[fayes-fics]

Vibe & Vexation

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU w/ Regency roleplay

Summary: Watching Pride & Prejudice evokes playtime in Benedict.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, established couple, Regency era sexual roleplay, teasing, remote vibrator, dirty talk, female orgasm, brief vaginal sex. Also features lake!Darcy!Benedict, anachronistic costumes (just like the real show this season tbh) and absolutely unacceptable use of Jane Austen.

Word count: 2.4k

Authors Note: Yes, the title is a terrible play on Pride & Prejudice. Listen, I don't know what this is either, and I'm posting before I lose my nerve after 3 weeks of writer's block. This is dedicated to @godofstory whose casual comment on one of my fics finally dislodged my brain block. This is modern Benedict roleplaying Regency. Also thanks to @colettebronte for reading through, being kind and saying I haven’t lost my mind. Well, not completely. Err, enjoy? <3

“Ben, don't be silly…”

“Are you suggesting that I wouldn't look dashing in a frilly shirt and snug trousers?” he teases, raising his head from your belly and twisting to look at you, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint as the credits roll on the Austen film you've been idly watching on a rainy Sunday.

“No, I'm not saying that,” you chuckle, your fingers touselling his hair. “You look good in everything and nothing…” you tease, enjoying the prideful swell of his chest at your compliment. “But I'm not in the mood to track down Regency outfits for a little sexy role play.”

“Leave the details to me, my love.” He waves a dismissive hand as he flips over and begins to crawl over you. “I will be your Mr Darcy….” he attests, lowering his voice to that rumble which always makes your belly flutter.

“But I don't have a lake in this flat,” you deadpan, perhaps not helpfully referencing a different adaptation, but too distracted to care, his crooked smile hovering right above you now.

“‘Tis a pity,” he agrees, quirking his lips, “but I shall think of something….” he winks before capturing your lips with his. 

And, just like that, you forget all about the subject…

—

Two days later

“They didn't have any fusilli, so I got penne; I hope that's okay…” you call out as you enter your flat, dropping the heavy bag of shopping from your shoulder and flinging off your shoes, grateful to be out of them and home.

When there is no answer, you frown. When you texted on your way home, he sent back a list of supplies for dinner.

“Ben…?” you round the corner into the kitchen and realise it's empty, nothing cooking on the hob. “You're not even cooking….?” you raise your arms in a shrugging gesture, nonplussed, apparently talking to yourself in what appears to be an empty flat.

“Ms Bennet….”

His voice rings out resonant, a teasing lilt that has you spinning around. And almost toppling over.

There, in the doorway to your bathroom, is Benedict…. dressed up as a Regency gentleman. 

Well, partially dressed. And what he is dressed in is damp and clinging to his skin in a way that gives away absolutely everything about why you cannot resist him. Broad shoulders and a tapered torso, completely visible through the most transparent white frilled shirt you could ever imagine. Snug blue trousers that, again, give everything away. He must have hopped into the shower to achieve this effect, his clothing virtually painted upon his skin.

You literally bite the edge of your tongue.

“Mr Darcy….” you stumble, incapable of any other words, mouth falling open as he saunters towards you with a confident gait, his trousers straining over his thighs as he does so.

“My eyes are up here, Ms Bennet…” he teases as yours ping guiltily to his face, knowing you are being entirely called out for your ogling. 

“What if your eyes are the very last thing I am interested in, Mr Darcy?” you finally find your voice, stepping into the role of a feisty, historic heroine you enjoy so much.

“The eyes are the window to the soul…” he tilts his head challengingly, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s Shakespeare, not Austen,” you shoot back pointedly.

“All the world are good and agreeable in your eyes,” he corrects, indeed a quote from Pride and Prejudice. He has obviously been revising—something about that is as adorable as it is arousing.

“You don't fight fair…” you whisper as he closes in on you with a handsome smirk, but it hardly feels like defeat as his long fingers spider up your jacket buttons, the warm fug of his clothes amplifying the mouthwatering scent he wears under them.

“All is fair in love and war,” he counters, sliding nearer, his lips warm on your temple now as he flicks open your topmost button.

“Are you going to talk in literary quotes all night?” 

Your ask is much breathier than you intend, very much not a protest about what is transpiring—a tingle down your sternum where his fingers trail over your skin down to the next button. You feel the curve of his cheek against your face from his responding smile. 

“I might stop,” he proposes airily. ”But perhaps only to tease you until you pass out…” 

“How?”

The question falls from you unbidden, curiosity seizing your lips.

“With the help of things poor Mr Darcy never had access to…” he offers enigmatically. “But for now, how about you go change into your outfit, Ms Bennet?”

“I have an outfit too?” your breath catching at the idea he has planned a whole scenario.

“Oh yes, ‘tis hanging in your room, fair lady,” he mutters, taking a half pace back. But before you go, he grabs your hand, raising it to his mouth and dropping a kiss that is anything but chaste—wet, plush lips with a slight edge of teeth dragging over your knuckles as his hot tongue lathes between your fingers lasciviously. 

—

“I'm not sure this is quite Regency accurate…” you assert as you swan back into the living room a few minutes later, even as there is a frisson over your skin at the very sexy outfit he has chosen.

“Perhaps not,” he concedes, his eyes lingering on the pronounced swell of your breasts as you sashay closer. “But yet, I cannot fault my choice.”

“More Marquis de Sade than Jane Austen…” you opine, revelling in his stare, the time spent fastening each hook and eye down the front of the ivory corset worth it for that hungry look and the nascent swelling you see in his clinging trousers. The silk, frilled French knickers he picked out are new, which you are grateful for, but they match perfectly. There was an odd weight to them as you pulled them on, though, but you did not spend much time contemplating it, so keen to get back to the scene.

“Ms Bennet, how dare you turn up to my home so scandalously dressed when I am entertaining company?” he admonishes, his tone suddenly brusque, stepping fully into his roleplay, gesturing to the empty kitchen area as if it were filled with guests.

“Mr Darcy, I can only apologise. I thought you were away on business,” you improvise, clutching your hands over your body in a futile attempt to conceal your state of undress, acting horrified to be caught.

“Do you make a habit of trespassing in my home and flouncing around so slatternly?” he snaps tersely, his eyes flashing approvingly.

You know the question is rhetorical, so you just hang your head, biting your lip, playing at being ashamed and chastised for being so wanton in the home of the man you desire. This is nothing like anything in Pride and Prejudice, but you could not give less of a damn, a flutter low in your gut that this could go somewhere utterly delicious. 

“I must insist you desist,” he continues imperiously. “This must never happen again! Now go to my private quarters and think upon what you have done!” he concludes, pointing to the sofa. 

“Yes, Mr Darcy,” you nod and curtsy with faux demureness, which he seems to greatly enjoy based on the flash in his eyes, seemingly even more so when you break character and poke out your tongue insolently as you pass.

You take a seat on the sofa and watch, initially confused, as Benedict remains in the kitchen area, play-acting as if he is chatting to guests, supping from a wine glass and gesturing. Puzzled, you watch as he reaches for his phone casually and flicks something on the screen, his back still turned to you.

There is a sudden, sharp buzz in your underwear that steals your breath, your legs tensing, your feet kicking out reflexively, sliding your clit heavier against the vibration.

Oh fuck.

That’s why the underwear felt oddly weighted. He must have snuck a thin remote vibe pad into the lining.

He makes a half-turn and smirks over his shoulder as you pant and stare at the play of his back muscles under his translucent shirt, your fingers clawing into the sofa at the sudden not-at-all-gentle onslaught.

“Ms Bennet, are you quite well?” he calls out, a triumphant look claiming his face. “You appear somewhat flushed.”

“Mr Darcy, I find myself in a most perplexing dilemma,” you grit out between clenched teeth, impressed you can even form words. The vibe is a persistent thrum that you attempt to tilt yourself away from slightly but seem unable, always there, dragging against you in a way that makes you writhe, your back arching.

He spins around to face you entirely now, putting down his wine glass, phone casual in the other hand, thumb hovering portentously over the screen with a gleeful mien.

“What troubles you, Ms Bennet?”

His lilt is teasing and velvet, humming in your bones as much as the toy. The vibration suddenly ceases, and you collapse back into the sofa, panting mildly, the corset restricting your ability to take the gulps of air you need, your chest heaving, unable to do anything but stare slack-jawed at him.

“Have you quite forgotten your words, Ms Bennet? I thought you a creature of learning…” he needles, the painted-on regency garb he wears just more temptation, his cock straining against the wool now. He makes no move to draw closer, but he does flick open the buttons around his wrists and roll up his sleeves, his toned forearms flexing as he does so.

“I am a woman of learning,” you defend after a pause, “but I find myself rather disadvantaged tonight. I suspect deception…” You narrow your eyes at him.

He throws his head back and laughs, his Adam's apple bobbing prominently as he does so. It makes you want to pitch forward and bite it.

“Whoever would deceive such a fine woman as you?” he fires back as he tilts back down. You cry out as his thumb yet again swipes over his screen, and your underwear roars back to life—this time a softer pulsing wave, but no less titillating, an inflaming tease that staccatos against your engorged flesh.

“You might, Mr Darcy…” you accuse, but it's lighthearted at best, a toothless threat as all of your efforts are focussed on the fizzing pleasure radiating out into your pelvis.

“On the contrary, Ms Bennet. In vain have I struggled…” he begins. 

That speech.

“It will not do….” he adds, shaking his head for good measure as he flicks open the buttons upon his soaked shirt, your eyes tracking the movement as each new slice of damp, heated skin is revealed in the soft, low lamplight.

“My feelings will not be repressed…” 

He peels the sodden shirt from his form, and you moan as that honed body is revealed to you, glistening slightly. The vibe is a roiling wave against your clit that makes your pussy clench around nothing, wishing to be filled.

“You must allow me….” he pauses and lopsidedly grins as he roughly tugs upon the buttons of his trousers, a teasing striptease that has you spiralling fast, leaking copiously into your knickers now.

“Allow you what…?” you throw in, huffing against the restriction of the corset, something about its tight hold escalating your addled state, moaning as he drops the last vestige of his clothing, his cock springing free. His whole being glowing with pride in how much he can affect you.

“To tell you how ardently I admire and love you….” he concludes, his voice dark and smooth, settling over your skin like warm molasses as he finally prowls towards you.

You want to pitch forward and nuzzle your face into his cock. But he dips down as he approaches, pushing your legs far apart with his hands and falling to his knees, burying his face into your cleavage. He suckles vehemently on the swell of your chest, lathing his tongue over your flushed skin as you fight to gasp in enough air, the vibe and his lush mouth hurtling you fast towards oblivion, his hands a firm grip on your hips.

“I love you too, Mr Darcy,” you gulp in delayed response. “But, please release me from this torture…” you append weakly, needing reprieve from the prolonged hold.

“Is it not the sweetest torture, though?” he argues back as his nose trails up your clavicle to your neck, his mouth earnest upon a spot that always makes you pliant. “I want to see you struggle, my love, bound in my corset, sat upon my vibe, teased and vexed until you can take no more….” his words are a sinful soliloquy gusting almost wistfully into your ear, your lobe snagged under his teeth.

“Take pity upon me, please; I am distressed,” you appeal, feeling a slight wooziness as you circle a chasm of pleasure that licks teasingly at your edges.

“You are beautiful,” he counters, a firm hand cupping the back of your head and puppets you to stare into his blown pupils, his rigid cock trailing a sticky line over your thigh as he rumbles more debauched. “Now come for me, Ms Bennet, and then I shall have you…”

You screw your eyes shut just as he flicks to a higher setting on the vibe and can no longer fight or struggle, letting your body break, febrile, a dew on your back as it arches, you screaming to the ceiling as you are thrown into the stars and the earth at the same time, torn in a hundred directions by the intense pulse radiating out from your core and fanning across your whole body, every muscle tensing and releasing in a sudden wave.

Hazily, you hear his jubilant praises ringing in your ears, but it feels far away even as his hands and mouth are hot and heavy on your skin, ripping the corset and knickers from your body with a vehemence that would shock you were you in less of a euphoric, altered state. He pulled you bodily to the edge of the sofa, teasing his cock against your throbbing clit, making you groan and paw at him, the need rising again as you return to your surroundings.

“You have bewitched me body and soul,” he pants as he slides into your body, a surging insistence that has your fingernail curling into the sinew on his forearms, your toes curling around the fuzzy meat of his thighs. “I never wish to be parted from you for a second. I love you..,” his tone rough, broken, stuttering as he bottoms out inside you, quoting the film you watched together the other night before taking you urgently towards another blissful peak.

Benedict taglist pt1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

[hoseoksluna]

CHERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

pairing: soon-to-be-boyfriend!hobi x oc (feat. ex-boyfriend!jk)

genre: heavy, heavy, obnoxious smut

word count: 12.7k

summary: you don't know how he does it, but hobi makes you forget about the life you led before him, using his tongue.

playlist: hobi's playlist ; hobi's the weeknd playlist 

pinterest board: cherries / taglist: join

warnings: oh my god—dd/lg but differently, businessman!hobi, dominant and emotional and fucking possessive hobi, oc is horny... a lot, praise kink, breeding kink sdflhldghfdklaxjkfghskfg, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, female and male masturbation, use of a sex toy, cum eating, ass eating, religious personification, mentions of anal sex, thigh and ass slapping fuck

note: my babies, i'm so happy to be posting PART TWO OF BERRIES for you, oh my god. i had the time of my LIFE writing this, had to take breaks every 20 mins, was horny beyond my fucking mind BECAUSE THE SMUT IN THIS? FUCK. THIS IS PURE FILTH. 12K WORDS OF FILTHY HOBI SMUT. IM DEAD. HAVE BEEN DEAD. i missed writing so much that i spewed this out in 3 days... literally how? but i'm so happy to be back. i hope you enjoy this part. make sure to let me know what you think! i'm in a severe (hehe) need of your feedback. I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

side note: this part has the entirety of my being in it. from the first word to the last. it means a lot to me. very special chapter! <3

By the time you come out of the art museum, it’s storming. A sound so cacophonous that it spreads dots of gooseflesh along the perimeter of your skin underneath your silk dress and the layer of your heavy trench coat. Loud and violent like your heart’s deep drum that stills once you see Hoseok leaning against his glossy car. Arms and legs crossed in the same fashion, clothed in the coupled shade of blackness, a mop of tousled hair swept back and rippling in the unforgiving wind that flushes his cheeks with its rosy coldness and then clouds pull in, darkening his stare fixed on you. 

A shower of sudden rain finishes its touch on his countenance. 

Eye contact broken, Hobi’s shoulders raise as he feels the iciness of the slender raindrops falling upon him, eyes flicked up to the shadowed heavens. A heartstring of yours snaps and you don’t really know who gave the command to your aching legs to run towards him with your coat suspended over your head—whether it was that weakened heart of yours or basic human decency. Emotion versus logic. 

You find soon enough the verdict of the winner. 

Because when you have to stand on your tippy toes to cover him from the rain, despite the fact you’re wearing your high-heeled boots, and Hobi takes the makeshift shield from your hands and shrouds you both from the wetness, an identical flush crawls from your left cheek, upon the column of your nose right next to your other cheek, warming you up from within. 

Emotion. The string that ruptured grows again to its full length during that fleeting moment and you’re aching to take him home. 

No rain in sight—just him in this close proximity, in this gray cocoon, smiling down at you lopsidedly, a dimmed light flickering in his inky pools, faintly, barely, only there for you to see. To catch and cling to like his patchouli scent does to you, a whiff of dainty wildflowers leaning in and enclosing around you, forcing away the thoughts that are erect in the corners of your mind, waiting for the adequate moment to strike. Thoughts of how you sense Jungkook’s life entwining around your world again; his companion perfuming the air with petrichor, the inner turmoil she must be facing the very strength that pulled those clouds in, causing a storm to stretch across the skies. You figure each beat of her confused heart must be the grumble of the thunder, but then Hobi’s outer film of softness amidst the darkness is a force way greater, because firmness broods right underneath it, and it is an energy that keeps those thoughts pressed against the walls of your mind.

He did turn you into a locked orchard—and the threat of another declared war isn’t even a wind that brushes past your fruit trees and berry bushes. 

In fact, the more you deepen your exchange of gazes and Hobi cages you in between his shirt-clothed elbows, the more you want to show him the stain of your juices upon your panties. 

You’re aroused—blooming, in need to be picked. It outweighs the past and you’re glad for it, deem your newly born sexuality more important than the doomed normalcy of your life. 

You sink your manicured nails into that newness, adamant on not letting it go, regretting that you agreed to see your ex-boyfriend later tonight, regretting that you grew soft at the hint of his own normalcy, even though you said to yourself that you wouldn’t. It’s one of the reasons why you dig your nails deeper, maximizing your closeness to Hobi—it’s done in an effort to erase your foolish moment of weakness, to better yourself like you encouraged yourself to do earlier when you had perceived that you misinterpreted him. You curl your lips under your teeth to stifle back a sigh, wishing you were as firm as him, as stable in your decisions and your way of living as him. Wishing your weakness wasn’t a putty you play with, leave your fingerprints of your bad decisions on that blemish until you hate yourself, until the paste hardens and there’s nothing left for you to do but to watch it. Watch the evidence of your failure, your brokenness and your imbecility like still life—the curse, the doom of your life, haunting you. 

It almost slinks in, threatening yet again to desiccate your orchard, the movement akin to a wave rolling in, but then Hobi speaks. And his voice sears those thoughts to nothing. Not even their shadows are left behind. 

“Did you say hi to your friend?” he murmurs, reaching behind him to open the door of the passenger side for you, the coat that’s propped on his forearm lowering until it rests back around your shoulders. 

You can merely nod, your empty mind focused on the absence of your selfishness—for once again, you want to be close to him for his sake, even more so when Hobi places his palm on the top edge of his car so you don’t hurt your head. 

A prince, an orchardist, and a gentleman. 

You’re feeding him and sucking his dick before he goes to work—you don’t care. Hope to God he fucks your brain out of your head and plants a new one; one that isn’t so stupid. 

Seated inside his car, you glimpse profoundly at the way the rain kisses the crown of his head as he rounds his vehicle, sitting right beside you and carrying inside his heavenly skin fragrance, now accentuated by the residue of petrichor that all of a sudden doesn’t have anything to do with what you just bore. No hints, no thoughts, no wars. How he does it is something you’ll never have the capability of understanding—a fracture of attention of the intimate kind and he binds you to him, erasing your still fresh past as if it never happened. 

You flex and relax your hand on your lap, a gesture that depicts that you cherish it to the point that you yearn to submit to it and remain submitted. And you will. You’ll figure out a way to stay stable, even if events appear to try and revolutionize you. A way to keep your fist clenched in his presence. 

Hobi lets the car warm up a little bit before he turns on the heating, angling his rear view mirror just right, from which two purple, plush dice swing back and forth, colliding once and never meeting again. 

How inspiring. 

And then you watch his hands. Watch them dominate the car, spur it to life as he drives through the drenched street, parting the rain like a curtain, stepping in, taking you home. 

As if he sensed your thoughts, he glances at you. “My place or yours?” 

A red light halts his control and Hobi uses it to tap on the screen of his dashboard, dousing the space in a sultry, wet ambiance as slow, calm music breaks the silence. While it was comfortable for you, now you feel even more at ease and you wiggle in your seat, sinking deeper into the leather. 

Quite useful material for the lecherous saturation of your mind; for the lustful layer of sweat lining your skin. You feel so hot. Feel the need to be ridded of your clothes right now. Feel a certain kind of vivacity that drives you to do things you wouldn’t normally do. 

You take his hand from the shift stick, cradling it with both of your own hands, a finger tracing the veins that paint a slender but a strong temple—a temple for his beauty and character, you suspect. 

“My place,” you say, yearning to make him feel at home in your space; cook for him, make him come, stuff like that.

Green light blinks and Hobi doesn’t withdraw from your hold. No, he tells you what to do, quickly. 

“Keep your hand on mine,” he instructs and you listen, sinking your fingers between his and gripping him like in an effort to grip onto stable submission. “Just like that.” 

Your stomach flips at his choice of praise and you lick your lips, tightening your hold hard enough that he peeks at you with a smirk while he shifts the gear stick with you and speeds down the road. The heat worsens and you don’t think you can take it anymore.

That alone is the most attractive thing you ever experienced with a man. 

And when he plays with your thumb, you can’t help but to squeeze your thighs together. Watch him intently sneak a glance as you do so, knowing your dress has ridden up a little, exposing your tanned thighs, swathed with the brown leather of your boots. Your position also provides him the intriguing reveal of a secret—you’re wearing knee socks underneath. They were invisible to his sight this whole time and now that he sees them, his eyes linger there for a few seconds longer before he drags his teeth along his bottom lip, flicking his gaze back to the road. 

“You’re wearing knee socks under those?” he asks, his voice low and tortured. Doesn’t look at you as he does. Only shifts the gear stick again, stiffly. You imagine something else is stiff, too, and you smile, a tendril of confidence clothing you in allure and sinful, dark joy. It beckons your vivacity to drive forward. 

You move his hand to let the pads of his fingers feel the smooth fabric. His body twitches, his lungs inhaling a short, soft air, mouth parted, eyes unblinking, gloomy just like the heavens above. A thunder sounds and you feel like roaring just the same. 

“It matches my underwear,” you murmur and the thunder prolongs, echoing feebly. You drag his hand down your thigh with the intention to also make him feel the nylon material of your panties, but he halts your movement halfway, hand gripping your flesh, trembling ever so slightly, stirring your confidence. You almost moan at his brusqueness. 

“Don’t,” he scolds, brows furrowing, chest heaving in that slow manner. His lips dry and he wets them. Doesn’t spare you a glance. Turns the wheel with that one hand as he takes a left turn, his posture slouched, thighs spread, a small tent evident in between. His arousal for you grows and it only propels you to finish the job, knowing his scolding was merely a warning, not a portrayal of his discomfort. And he proves you right with his next words. “If you do that, I’ll crash this fucking car.” 

You laugh through your nose, your confidence and your own arousal fluttering in you, begging to be let out. Your favorite artist starts playing and you’re not surprised by the way your body reacts. Your thighs naturally spread and you move your pelvis forward. Feel your slick dampening your panties even more, trickling down your needy seashell just as The Weeknd begins to sing about your desire. 

“I wanna fuck you slow with the lights on…” 

You lick your lips, inhaling deeply and exhaling with a soft moan. Hobi digs his fingernails into your skin, coaxing another one out of you and he calls you by your name in a sterner warning. You caress the edge of his hand with the thought in mind that you’ve always loved the crescent moon, so it would only be illogical for you to not want more of it imprinted on your skin. 

“You shouldn’t praise me then,” you croak out, doused in adrenaline-tinged lust, your sweat heavy upon you. You clutch your cherub necklace, needing to be touched, a habit of yours that you’ve had ever since you were a teenage girl. Your fingers graze your collarbones, lingering in the dip between them. “Besides, you’re such a good driver that I think you can handle it.” 

Hobi hums out an endearing laugh, that smirk of his reappearing on his mouth. He rubs the moons he impressed into your thigh from side to side and your hips buck, asking for that movement down low where you need him the most. 

“You have a praise kink?” he questions and you catch him bite his lip, catch him enjoying that information, sinking it into his flesh. You want to kiss it, bruise it, make it permanent for a little while. You revel in such a dirty, yet gentle conversation and you stop yourself from bucking your hips again. 

“A severe praise kink,” you correct him, emphasizing the adjective with a bit of a bratty tone to divulge to him what he does to you and how much he needs to pay for it. And before you can go on, he catches you off guard. 

“If you want me to keep praising you then rub your clit,” he negotiates with you, taking your hand and moving the gear stick, leaving it there. “And you’re wrong. I can’t handle you like this. I can’t touch you when I’m responsible for your life.” 

Daddy. The title would’ve slipped out of the tip of your tongue had a moan not been first, coating the ambience with a sultriness that makes you tug at his hand in order to do as he says, in order to be praised, to be gratified. But Hobi doesn’t budge. He tightens his grip around the shift stick, clicking his tongue. 

“No, baby. With your other hand,” he orders, his breath shaking and amidst the enveloping of his fatherliness around you, strengthening you and binding you with ropes of safety, girlishness and seductiveness, you scrunch up your brows, wanting his hand to be there when you make yourself feel good. 

And you tell him. 

“I want you to help me.” 

The rain thickens, creating a sensual background noise to the next slow song playing and Hobi sighs, disliking your attitude. Your arousal grows to highs you’ve never seen before, a sweet, pleasing darkness consuming you, sprinkling you with glitters of appetite and craze. 

All because your sexual chemistry is so good, so strong—so natural, despite the fact you just met and don’t know each other enough for it to be possible. It exceeds the laws of human connection and the feeling of it is heady, intoxicating you with wine of the ripest cherries. You even feel as though this is your first alcoholic drink. Feel as though you’re an unspoiled virgin on the cusp of her very first sin—the Virgin Mary with long hair, cherub necklace, tanned skin, knee socks and high-heeled boots. 

Hobi erases your past life. Paints a new one with watercolors; paints you anew. You know the dulcet taste of fatherliness and manliness from Jungkook and while it was what you needed at the time, sexually that is—as it wasn’t often that he used this kind of energy day-to-day, and if he did, it was to tease you—what Hobi does runs deeper. It surpasses your need; it’s not a filling that will decompose soon enough and ask for it again. It’s something else entirely. 

It’s something that falls upon you and stays. Clicks and connects with no way out. It’s another layer of skin, strands of hair growing out of your scalp, the drum of the vein upon your neck. 

It began in the museum and uncoils here. It’s not worth it to juxtapose it with what you had before—it’s laughable to do so. Hobi has established his fatherliness the moment he held your coat as a heathen in a church, not taking his gaze off of your intimate prayers for even a split second. Unkinked it with his honesty and by expressing his responsibility over you, listening to the murmur of the sea of your sexual need but not diving head-first into it, knowing better. And now it is ready to bloom with flowerets, with fruits, with leaves to accompany you. 

“It’s this or nothing,” Hobi decides, squeezing his fingers against yours to also emphasize the gravity of his words and you purse your lips in response, finding the ultimatum so attractive. “You live thirty minutes away, so you either rub your clit on your own or you wait. It’s up to you.” 

It’s mind blowing to you how he went from being timid to now ordering you to pleasure yourself. You’re sweltering beneath your clothes and Hobi notices, looking at your body through his rear view mirror. He turns the heating up and you laugh, blush deepening, eyes crinkling at the corners. Your heart thuds heavily in your chest. 

“Why didn’t you put your seatbelt on?” he mutters, letting go of your hand and giving you a mean look that makes your walls clench and your throat let out a low, almost soundless moan. 

You never put a seatbelt on. As dangerous as it, you hate the way it chokes you due to your small stature and you tell him. “It chokes me, Hobi, I don’t really like it.” 

Hobi doesn’t respond. He reaches over and drags down the seatbelt adjuster without taking his eyes off of the road, driving steadily. His patchouli scent hits your nostrils and you nuzzle your nose into his bicep, fingers curling around his arm, smelling him in a simple, comfortable manner. Hobi gives you a quick smile and you hear the sound of him pulling on the seatbelt, but then a pedestrian runs across the previously empty crosswalk, forcing him to stomp on the brake abruptly and your heart nearly skips out of your chest. Almost flying forward, Hobi holds you in place with his strong arm, which you cradle against your quickening chest. 

Exchanging a look, you both pant in tandem and Hobi shakes his head at you. Panic lines his dark eyelashes and he immediately grabs the seatbelt and, tugging harshly, he sinks it into the buckle, placing the belt behind your back. He doesn’t acknowledge the pedestrian lifting his palm in apology and neither do you, too preoccupied with the fact he just saved your life. 

“You wear a seatbelt in my car. No buts. Understand?” 

Too shocked by the twist of events and too touched by the gesture and the sternness of his words, you nod. He pats your thigh, the one he marked, fondling the skin with his thumb, and it drives you to say something. “I’m sorry, Hobi. I’ll wear the seatbelt from now on.” 

You mean it. This has never happened to you before as you usually take the public transport, but you do understand now how dangerous it is to not wear one. Your heartbeat calms and the aftershocks of the adrenaline come to the surface, scattering along your figure. Numbness melts and your arousal returns at full speed. 

Hobi nods, smiling gently, pleased with your apology, and you feel so peculiarly gratified that you managed to do something like that to him. He sinks his fingers under your thigh and you marvel at the size of his hand because his thumb still remains there on the top of the flesh, even as he wraps his digits around you like that. Kneading just once before he lifts them and begins to tap on his screen again, shifting the energy with the voice of your favorite artist. He moves the gear, accelerating. 

“Why you rushing me, baby? It’s only us, alone,” The Weeknd sings and you sigh, your body loosening up. You hike the seatbelt around your hips higher, curling lower on the leather, thighs parting until your knee taps his hand. You miss his touch and you long for it again, finding its warm ghost on your skin not enough. 

“You like The Weeknd, don’t you?” Hobi says, his pinky finger brushing along your sock-clad knee, causing you to almost twitch. 

You smile, relishing in the love you have for the singer. “I’ve spent ten years of my life loving him.” 

Liking your answer, Hobi skims his fingers along the side of your inner thigh until he finds yours, intertwining them—this time his palm closed over the back of your hand, placing it to its former position on the stick. It’s warmed by him and you love it so much that you search for his thumb, playing with it. 

“I could tell,” he breathes, his tone deepened by a heartfelt emotion that moves through you. You raise your brows in curiosity and question, wondering how that has come to be. Glancing at you to see your reaction, Hobi laughs softly, his heart evident in the sound, coated with it entirely, and you catch his thumb, holding it, on the verge of bursting. “I saw what you did when I put him on.” 

You round the tip of your tongue along your top lip, recollecting well what you did when you heard him. “What did I do?” 

A beat of silence between you and him, he lets the singer sing his elegy. Then, his index finger traces your manicured nail on the same digit. “You spread your legs. Made such a pretty sound that I almost stopped this fucking car and fucked you until the whole city could heard it.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat and you’re too late to halt the moan from slipping out, a fire coursing down from the top of your head to your toes. You want a taste of his desire so bad that you’ll do anything for it. Even let the seatbelt choke you to death. 

Hobi gives you a look, one that chills your blood this time. But it feels absolutely exhilarating.

He calls your name. “Don’t do that to me. Not here.” 

Your breath trembles as you scurry to regain your composure, sliding up in your seat. Hobi, too, stops that movement by cradling your thigh, putting it back to the stick once you get the message. 

Why does this feel better than if he gave in? 

“What if I want to?” you challenge and Hobi rubs his eyes, slapping his hand back onto the steering wheel. Frustration, it looks so good on him. “What if I want you to fuck me here?” 

He shakes his head, just once, biting his lip, reddening the pillow. “No, I don’t share.” 

Fuck. 

This is a point of no return. You will never be the same after what he said and you feel your attachment melting into his chest, dissolving there into leaves from your fruit trees. Your imaginary wings flit, aroused from his possessiveness. 

“You know what to do,” he adds without looking at you, turning up the volume as if to subdue your incoming moans. 

A cherry on the top of the fucking cake. 

You don’t waste a precious second. Lifting the hem of your dress, you expose your drenched panties, a large wet spot in the center darkening the black fabric. Hobi doesn’t spare you a glance. No, he takes your intertwined hands and fixes his rear view mirror, tipping it down. Dangerous, but smart. Responsible. 

It’s those glimmering flecks of his character that drive your fingers to pull your panties to the side, but Hobi, once again, stops you. 

With words, this time. 

“Do you want me to die?” he rasps, tortured—horribly tortured and you cup your femininity, coaxing a groan out of him. “Do it over your panties, baby. Please.” 

He begged. You don’t think you ever heard that word come out of a man’s mouth in your life and you break, whimpering, pulling your panties back in their place over your pussy, dragging the tip of your middle finger up and down your dripping slit, sighing. Adding your index, you put pressure to the sides of your clit as you slide your digits in the same direction, over and over, teasing yourself, breathing out little moans that make him grip the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. 

Hobi glances once at what you’re doing and swears. “Fuck, rub your clit. Don’t tease yourself, baby. Make yourself feel good.” 

With a mewl, you stick your fingers together and begin a series of circles, doing as he says. Your eyes roll back, head knocking back into the leather, satisfaction seizing your body and sweetening it. The material of your panties is so flimsy that it feels as though your fingers are stroking your bare flesh and when you tug the fabric to your hole to wet it and rub your clit harder, your moans gain volume, mingling with The Weeknd’s poetry seamlessly and magnificently, dethroning the rain. 

And then Hobi shifts the gear stick with your hand and drives so fast that your pleasure deepens, thrill rushing in your veins. You match your circles to that speed, your sounds becoming obnoxious, whiny squeaks when you look at him to see his jaw clenched, chest heaving and the tent in his pants larger than you last checked it. 

Hobi skims his fingers along your forearm, back and forth, cradling it. Senses your stare and reciprocates it, catching you at your best when you find your spot and buck your hips, furrowing your brows. He moans, clutching your thigh. 

“So good. Such a good girl, rubbing her clit for me to get praised. Fuck, baby. You’re doing so good.” 

You lift your fingers in order not to come, the aftershocks of your ripped away orgasm quivering throughout your whole body and you squeeze his hand, letting go—wrapping it around his tent, instead. You figure he deserves it for praising you like that. 

He finds your lidded, mischievous eyes in the rear view mirror and he flattens his lips, a brutal expression on his face that should make you scared, but it doesn’t. It only spurs you on. You graze your palm on him, causing his breath to quicken, and you whimper when you search and search for the tip of his cock. He’s slender, but big and your mouth dries. 

“You almost made me come with what you said,” you say, truthfully, retracing your path down his length, his breath, now hardened, wafting over you. You love the way he focuses on the road with every fiber of his being as you’re toying with him. Love watching him grit his teeth, narrow his eyes; love watching sweat adorn his flushed chest and neck. You ache to bite him there. 

And you would—had he not buckled you in place. 

You don’t notice you’ve arrived at your apartment until he stops the car and turns to face you, leaning his elbow on the center console. Nobody could gaslight you into believing that ride took thirty minutes. Nobody. 

Hobi made that fifteen. Ferally. For you. 

You can see it in his shining face—his need for you, his desire, the fact he sped down the road because you’re so horny. And you ache to kiss him. 

“You really do have a praise kink,” he says, mutedly. Must be thinking the same because his gaze flicks to your lips. You lick them for him, encouraging him to do it. “Almost coming from me praising you. Such a good girl.” 

You hiss, the drum in your clit returning, stealing your attention. Hoseok grins, pleased to be proven right, pleased that you make it so easy for him. You squeeze his length and he makes the same sound, gritting his teeth briefly before he pouts. 

“What’s this?” he asks, speaking of your hand placement. “When did I allow you to do this?” 

You breathe heavily, descending your fingers to his full balls, feeling them perfectly due to the silky fabric of his dress pants. You knead them and he moans, the sound traveling right to your yet again needy bundle of nerves. Your hand automatically flies to it, rubbing it, and Hobi curses, eyes narrowing, fixed on the movement of your fingers. 

“It’s asking for me, isn’t it?” you murmur, sliding your hand back to his manhood and his pools almost go cross, head tilting back. Your pleasure from your motions expands, your nerve endings burning. 

“I’m so hard for you,” he agrees, his hand clasping over yours, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows with great difficulty, the column of his throat such a thing of beauty for you that it forces you to unclip your seatbelt. You’re about to crawl onto his lap, but one darkened look from him makes you decide against it. “Show me that pussy, baby.” 

Your moan has a certain elation to it, giddy at the fact you get to expose such an intimate part of you to him, giddy that he’s taking this to another level. 

You slide your drenched panties to the side and at the sight of your glistening pussy Hobi groans deeply.

“Lean against the door,” he commands, wiping at his mouth and you tremble all over, more than delighted that he’s reacting to you this way. 

You swivel, propping your back against the leather of his door and Hobi lifts your legs, spreading them. You hook one of them around the back of his headrest while the other dangles in his hold. His gaze zeroes in on your pussy and as he bites his lip, he acknowledges himself with her by tracing the flesh with his thumb. Your clit, your lips before he circles your gushing hole, groaning, bettering the song you barely can hear. Your confidence and your allure skyrockets and you follow his digit, riding it, begging for more of his touch. He plays chase with you until both of you and him can’t take it anymore and when his thumb is completely soaked, he lifts it to your mouth—only to fuck with you, though, because he plunges it inside his, leaving your own parted for nothing. 

You’re embarrassed, but he likes it. Whimpers around his finger. Pushes your knee to your shoulders and dives right in. 

You yelp, grabbing a hold of his hair as he licks over your clit, closing his lips over it and sucking until your eyes roll back, until all your still parted mouth knows is his name and your thick heel digs into his shoulder. 

But you moan the wrong variation and he’s quick to correct you with a dripping chin, his hands on either side of you, face merely inches away from yours. “That’s Hoseok for you, not Hobi.” 

Red all over, you can only moan in response, gripping his hair until he hisses in pain. He strums your clit without breaking eye contact, so slippery and swollen from his attack. The orchard in you grows, brims with fruit that is on the cusp of bursting, the berries in you big and full. His eyes narrow furthermore, pupils dilated, causing his gaze to darken in ways you’ve never thought could be possible. 

“Moan my name, baby. Show me how good I’m making you feel.” 

The wrong variation slips again, all due to the mind numbing pleasure he’s giving you. He adds more pressure to his fingers for a second before he withdraws and slaps your thigh. And slaps it again. 

“I can’t praise you if you don’t learn well, can I?” he mutters and you whine so loudly that his eyes round, body growing boneless. “Fuck, baby, if you keep making sounds like that I’m gonna come in my pants.” 

You scramble your words, find it the most difficult thing in the world. And he doesn’t help you. Not when he sinks a long finger inside your heat, fucking you slowly until you can take him. You lose your mind altogether. 

“You’re making me feel too-too good,” you breathe out, hiccuping as he adds a second finger in, silencing you when he gives you long strokes. You follow his gaze down and perceive that he’s watching you soak his digits. He twists them, moaning, a litany of mad, mad curses falling out of his mouth in a hushed tone. 

“So wet just from me praising you, oh my God,” Hobi comments and you squeeze your eyes shut, taking it as he begins to pound you to the hilt, his arm bulging, his whole body moving. “Eyes on me. What do you call me when I make you feel this good, hm? I already told you. Just remember.” 

You know which variation he means and wants to hear, but your tongue curls, aching to utter a different name that he deserves to be called by. 

And you say it, opening your eyes and boring them into his. “Daddy.” 

And you don’t stop saying it. Not when he closes his eyes for a split second, agonized by such saccharinity. Not when he undoes the button of his pants and pulls himself out while thumbing your clit. You gasp, legs quivering, what you touched brought to reality and your orgasm nears, especially when he fist-fucks his length. 

Hoseok draws back down to your clit, licking it over, nuzzling his face in it as he drinks your nectar right from the source, his wet fingers from you making squeaky sounds around his girth, causing you to scream, the intensity of the moment running so deep and you’re too weak to take it, overwhelmed by his arousal. 

He lifts his head for a moment. “I want you to call me Daddy when you come on my tongue,” he rasps amidst his growls, never stopping the movement around his cock, and you nod your head, vehemently, willing to do anything for him.

“I’m so close.” 

Hoseok pouts. “That’s so good, baby. You know what to do?” 

You swallow. “I’m gonna call you Daddy when I come.” 

He grins at you and the expression breaks when he fucks his tip, his brows casting a shadow on his face. You break along with it, shuddering—pleasured from watching him pleasure himself. And you break again when he praises you for your good answer. “Such a good girl. You’re gonna come hard for me?” 

You don’t get to say your yes because when he sucks your clit into his mouth and groans against it as he flicks it with his tongue, he’s a witness to it himself. The fruits in your orchard explode and he drinks their juices, running the muscle all over your pussy, his mouth smacking, enjoying every drop. You squeal the title, forcing pleased growls out of him that deepen when you swear, repeating the name over and over again until your orgasm smooths down the perimeters of your body, slowly dwindling away.  

You can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t see. White dots flood your vision and the only thing that grounds you is Hobi taking your hand in his. The dots swim away, revealing him on the verge of his own orgasm as he tugs on his length, rapidly now. 

“That was so good, baby. You came so well for me. Called me Daddy like I wanted. Good girl,” he praises and your moans are an endless stream, enveloping around his cock, which he guides your hand towards. The weight of it, his warmth, the protruding veins, you could come again just from the feel of him. “Jerk off your Daddy. He’s close, too, from the way you came for him.” 

The third person, fuck. You bite your lip, focusing on his tip as you grip him, twisting your wrist. His skin is sticky from your nectar and you spit onto your hand, earning a praise from him that makes your mind spin, even though you heard those two words plenty of times throughout your sinful date. 

It will never get old—it will only make your femininity wetter for him. 

And his growls, the same could be applied to them. They propel you to fuck him faster while your fingers sneak over to your sensitive clit that he provokes, rubbing circles that cloud your vision with a mist, painting him to be an angel—like the one you saw in the museum. 

And when he comes, he grows a pair of glorious wings. Black, with hints of rose gold and pinks. His body doubles over, hands propped on the dashboard and the passenger seat as he spills for you, ropes of cum painting your stomach in that eternal ivory color that serves as skin for those sculptures. In a way you become them once he praises you for making him come, his breaths a legato rivulet that gives you life, his hips snapping, fucking your hand. 

He smears his cum on your tanned stomach, fingers dipping below the waistband of your panties to discover a lighter shade of skin, marveling at the difference. Light passes through his eyes before he covers your pussy with the fabric, opening the glove department to fetch some tissues, cleaning you up, dragging down your dress and helping you sit up.

It’s at this moment, as he’s kneeling—towering over you and you’re sitting on your bum with your hands folded on your lap like the good girl he made you into, that he clutches the back of your neck and smashes his mouth into yours, moving it against you with such strength and vigor that you struggle to devour him in the same manner. It causes you to claw at his sides, to long to see his body in its full, bare beauty. His imaginary wings wrap around you, sealing the resplendence of your orgasm profoundly inside your skin and when he tastes you, his growls traveling down your throat are the raindrops that the orchard inside you needs in order to grow. You help him by moaning back, the aftertaste of you the sunlight. 

Piercing his gaze into yours, he caresses your hair, messes up your diligently fixed updo. Catches your ribbon as it falls, wrapping it around his hand, the wisps dangling from his fingers like your leg was just a few moments ago. 

You’re so satisfied that you could cry. 

You don’t even understand what just happened and how it came to be. Don’t remember what occurred before you sat down in his car—Hobi has completely and wholly erased it. 

And it’s him who notices that your hand still carries the remnants of him. You don’t care to look—you can’t rip your gaze away from the shine on his face, from the gratification smoothing out his features, from the pink flush decorating the perfect redness of his swollen lips. But Hobi forces you to, in the tenderest of ways. Looks lovingly at your palm, cooing, shooting that look into your eyes, where it unfolds, creates something new that you never experienced before. And when he grins, your stomach flips, winged creatures intoxicated with madness inside. 

“You see what you did?” he whispers, the love in his eyes expanding, growing warmer, burning you faintly. “I want you to lick it up. You deserve every drop.” The breath you let out causes him to tremble and you cradle the fabric of his shirt in your fist. Hobi kisses your fingers, looking at you through them, his smile quivering. “Stick out your tongue for me, baby.” 

You do and he slides your palm over it, his salty nectar the sea that swam against your body a week ago in your healing time and you moan, devouring his taste like he devoured your mouth, licking it up, collecting it until there’s nothing left. You show him your tongue, then, and Hobi plays with it, using his thumb, your ribbon wrapped around his hand tickling your chin. He rubs it on the muscle, playing chase with you again until he tells you to suck it. And the sound that descends from his lips once you do makes you squeeze your thighs together, your own wetness dripping out of you. 

To end it, Hobi kisses your forehead, lingering there for a few seconds longer. Caresses your mouth, tracing each line, tracing your cupid’s bow, making you glisten with your own saliva. A shining, lively angel—just like him. You whimper. 

“Swallow it, baby.” 

You do, showing him the evidence that you obeyed after. 

“Good girl.” 

You take the underside of him, semi hard, into your hand, giggling, heart thumping. “You just made me horny all over again.”

Hobi hums, brushing his ribbon-clad fingers through your hair from the crown of your head. You want him to do that once you suck him off. “And you’re gonna make me hard all over again if you touch me like that.” 

You mimic the noise he made, squeezing him. Hobi curses, delighting you. “Let’s go inside. I owe you that breakfast, don’t I?” 

He kisses you, softly, with a hint of harshness that causes your nipples to harden painfully against your bra. You almost rub your clit again, so fucking out of it, crazed. 

“You do, baby.” 

You got everything you wanted in such a small amount of time that your vision twirls. Hobi is holding your hand as you’re leading him to your apartment, your ribbon still hanging from yours and his intertwinement, and your heart hasn’t stopped beating feverishly in your chest. Not even once. 

You’re facing the inevitable as you watch Hobi unlace his dress shoes on his knee, his cock stiff and uncomfortable in his pants. You’re brazenly falling for him. You know your hormones swirling your system from the lustfulness you indulged in aren’t to blame—if there’s anyone to blame, then it’s Hobi himself. You consider him to be such a beautiful person that you would be absolutely stupid, blind and deaf not to fall for him. And what’s more, you sense your decline to be safe. Stable. A leverage that won’t ever break. A ribbon that won’t fray. 

It’s as strange as it is inviting and your submission comes naturally to you. And this time, you don’t fear it won’t last. Don’t fear you’ll let up. There’s a sense vibrating in you that assures you that Hobi will take care of it. Put it back where it belongs if it ever strays. You don’t have to monitor it. You don’t have to do shit. 

You were wrong about one more thing. Hobi isn’t Daddy. 

He’s Father. 

It’s this thought that drives you to take off your dress and leave it in the middle of the floor that leads to your kitchen. You’re barren down to your soaked underwear, bra and knee socks, your feet basking in the way they don’t have to ache in your boots anymore. Pulling a plate of eggs out of the refrigerator, you set it on the counter, preparing a pan by oiling it on the stove. You hear Hobi’s feet pad on the floor as you pop some bread in the toaster and you turn your head, seeing only his dark silhouette standing behind you, your dress and your ribbon in his hands. 

Your heart quickens, abnormally. 

“How do you like your eggs?” you ask, resuming your cooking as you break the shell of an egg on the lip of the pan, spilling the delight into the bubbling oil. 

Hobi crosses the distance and you can only feel the softness of your ribbon when he places his hands on your hips, letting them travel until they stumble across the pooch of your lower belly. He groans, holding you there, pressing his hard, silk-clad cock against your nearly bare bum. 

Self-consciousness creeps in as he kneads one of your insecurities and you quiver, clasping your hand over his, your confidence wavering. 

“However you like them is how I like them,” Hobi flirts and you laugh through your nose, shaking your head, waiting for the egg white to fade into that milky color he painted your stomach with. 

Sunny side up it is. 

“Hobi, your game is out of this world,” you flirt back, sliding your spatula under the egg to check if it’s done before you can flip it. 

Hobi lowers himself onto his knees and you gasp, soundlessly. He begins to scatter violent kisses along the dots upon the flesh of your bum, sucking it into his mouth as if it were an orange he was sinking his teeth into. You have to grip the counter in order not to fall over, willing strength into your weakened legs. 

He bites the supple roundness of your ass cheek, smoothing out the pain with a flick of his tongue and kisses, gentle ones this time around. Hums. “Is it?” 

He glides his nose along the inner of your thigh, rooting right in the center of your pussy, burying his face there. You turn around halfway, arching your back, latching onto his hair that you’ve ruined, egg long forgotten. 

“Your thighs are wet again, fuck,” he whispers, mouthing your clit before he descends once again to them, licking them over, drinking your nectar that he’s created. Trails his tongue back up and, sliding your panties to the side, he takes you into his mouth, growling as he sucks onto your lips, playing with them using his tongue, hands spreading your ass cheeks, so he can have more space to make you absolutely lose yourself in him. 

And it’s working. Even more so when he begins to swirl his tongue around that other, tiny hole, causing your eyes to go cross before they roll back. Your head dips into a dreamy daze, where time doesn’t exist as he switches between flicking your clit and eating your ass and it isn’t until a certain burning smell suffuses your nostrils that you snap out of it. 

You’ve burned his egg, its edges black like the feathers of his imaginary wings, and you yelp, turning off the stove, pushing the pan away. 

“Hobi, I burned your egg,” you exclaim and he bends you over the counter while still remaining on his knees for you, sucking your clit with all the strength he possesses. Your climax pinches you in warning, lovingly, promising to melt over you like rain soon, so very soon. 

Hobi doesn’t give a fuck about his egg, it seems. 

“Just a little more, please,” he begs, moving his flat tongue from side to side on your bud, hands descending down your wet thighs until he reaches your knee socks, stopping there. Whimpers. 

That would’ve thrown you over the edge had he not pulled away, fingers wrapping around your knees. 

You turn around and the sight of him on his knees with his glazed nose, mouth and chin, with his cock pitifully erect in his pants, creating a print that makes you salivate, absolutely and irrevocably breaks you. You can still hear his plea ring in your mind, begging you to give him a few more seconds of your pussy, and your brain malfunctions. Numbness tightens around your fingers when you cradle his face and it feels so real when you do so—the fact that you’re wanted, desired; the fact that Hobi is the one in submission to you, dominant yet attentive to you to the point that he would never want do anything you wouldn’t. He listens to you, carves his life around you… and he hasn’t even known you for a month. 

You messed up his hair—and when you run your fingers through his strands, you feel your powerful ruination sifting through them, feel your seduction and your confidence, alive and breathing in that thick, dark brown mop of his. And now you crave to mess up his skin. Bruise it. Stain it with the pinks you can see in his imaginary wings. Watch them turn yellow like the rose gold in their flecks over the following days. 

You’re not letting go of him. 

Not when he looks at you like you’re Virgin Mary and he’s a sinner. 

You pull him up by the collars of his shirt, wrinkling the fabric, adding to the ruination, and it’s electrifying. He’s the cleanest sinner you’ve ever had the grace to see and you want to stain him. Beyond the stickiness of your juices. And when he towers over you and cages you in between his buff body and the counter, hands on either side of you upon the marble, his patchouli scent making you bloodthirsty, you don’t kiss him. No, you go straight for his neck. 

He didn’t expect it, groaning when you lick a stripe over his vein, sucking the skin inside your mouth. Over and over again until the sucking noises make him twitch and fist the ends of your hair, pressing his cock against your stomach. You’re feral, you’re inhuman, scattering kisses along that column like you’ve never had a man in your hands before. And it’s true. You never have. It was always you who had been in men’s hands. Never the other way around. 

Your fingers gain feeling when you undo the buttons of his shirt, ripping some of them, secretly preventing him from going to work after you’re finished with him. Unless you plaster your correcting concealers on him, he really can’t step a foot outside. The bruise you left on his column is huge, purply red, and the only thing it’s missing is bite marks. A joy rotates in you, rooting from the fact that you’re changing his plans, that you have an effect on him, and you unfold that emotion when you tug that shirt down his broad shoulders and press a kiss in the middle of his chest. 

But then Hobi grips your hair on the crown on your head, making you look at him. 

And you can’t explain it to yourself, why you like being manhandled like that, despite the freedom you just experienced. Like a child, whose father let her run free before he scolded her and told her to stop, for she ran for too long and it’s getting cold. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, lowly, and the tone etches itself onto your own throat because your answer is ready on the tip of your tongue, unabashed, dirty, throbbing.

“I need you to fuck me.” 

Hobi blinks, his brows rising, a light like a comet shooting past his irises before an unbounded, starless night shrouds them. 

You’ve done it. You’ve stained him. Now he needs to come all over you. Make a mess. Paint you again. 

He slackens his hold on your hair. Runs his hand down the length. “If I fuck you, I’ll breed you.” Curls his hand around your throat, where those words form a new necklace, plated with that rose gold. Your mouth parts, a moan falling past, your nectar in tandem, mind dizzy from the idea of being stuffed full of his cum. He flattens his palm over your sternum, hooks his fingers over the band of your bra in the middle of your breasts. You hope he chisels the lines of his hand into your skin. You want to wear him. “Are you on birth control?” 

You stopped taking it the moment you were broken up with. Didn’t think you’d need it so soon. Didn’t think you’d have a man in your life again, let alone sleep with him. 

Your body desires to please Hoseok so resolutely that a wisp of your regret swathes around his wrist—regret that you threw away those pills that are the driving force in his sexuality. He might have been okay with not taking this any further, but you’re not. You’re far, far from okay. 

You want to be bred. You want to be bred so much that you could cry. 

Your mouth pouts, but your sadness doesn’t touch your seduction. It merely heightens it. 

“You have a breeding kink?” you ask, mimicking his former words, causing him to drag his tongue over his lips slowly, divulging his arousal. It’s another tree that begins to grow in your orchard, planted by your bare hands. A cherry tree, its pink flowerets the flush that spreads across his prominent pecs. You want to make them shiny with your tongue. 

And you do. 

You place wet kisses over the underside of his left pec, nibbling on the skin, your small stature making it easy for you. Hobi inhales a sharp breath, sneaking his fingers under the cup of your bra, grasping your breast, squeezing until you whimper. 

“A severe breeding kink,” Hoseok corrects you, just like you did in his car. He pulls down your bra straps, his hand quick to undo the clasp on your back, disposing you of the undergarment, dropping it onto the ground. Gooseflesh spreads across your skin and you let him feel it, let him feel the effect he has on you by pressing yourself against him, twisting your arms around his torso. 

A tender hug, in the middle of a bonding moment. You’d be so happy, you’d laugh, you’d skip, if you had never thrown away those pills.

You wonder if he feels the drum of your heart, if he feels how it’s creating a brand new music that no human, no celestial being has ever heard before. 

“I stopped taking birth control several weeks ago, Hobi,” you say, your regret and your sadness lowering your tone. Hobi coos and it makes you want to sob. “Did you bring a condom?” 

He caresses your bare back, your hair a stream of a waterfall that he parts with his hand. “No, I didn’t expect this to happen.” 

You do the same for him, burying your face deeper into his chest, perceiving that you’re embracing a pure angel. You engrave patterns into his skin, feathers of wings that are dripping with the fire of stars. Even though you’re dying to get fucked, this tenderness is, little by little, appeasing your darkness in a way you don’t really understand. 

“We don’t have to do anything. I can make you come with my mouth again,” Hobi says, drifting his nails along the perimeter of your shoulder blade while his other hand grips your waist. The memory of the moons to the sky you paint on his back.

You lift your head. Meet the gray clouds in his eyes. “You want to breed me that bad?” 

A smile curls one end of his mouth. “It’s what you deserve.” 

The same smile finds a way to your mouth, then blossoms into a grin, your heart a heavy music, and you press it into the middle of his chest. Bite him there, his growls another instrument in the song. He clutches the hair at the nape of your neck, coaxing out a similar sound, your darkness a wave that ebbs to and fro. 

“Put it in my ass, then.” 

Hobi calls you by your name, sternly. 

“What?” 

He sighs. “You want to get fucked in your ass on the first date?” 

You don’t know what part of his sentence makes you hiccup. Whether it’s his purity, the fact that such an angel voiced out that lewd desire of yours and didn’t jump head-first into its sea—or whether he acknowledged, once again, that this is a date. Hobi laughs, endearingly, and you blush. He kisses your cheek, lifting your chin, placing a chaste kiss onto your lips and you could die right now and know you’ll be entering the pearly gates. He’s saved a spot for you there, negotiated with God that you’ll spend your eternity there like the businessman he is. 

It’s what propels you to get on your knees. 

“Baby.” 

And it’s him stopping you each time you want more that makes you fall for him harder. 

“You’re so good to me, Hoseok, I can’t help it. I want to give back to you as much as I can.” 

He utters a low, deep curse, tipping up his chin as he cradles your face in both hands. Helps you stand to your feet, kisses you with something that doesn’t resemble the chastity of before and you moan into his mouth, digging moons into his back. You press your pelvis against his thighs, frustrated that you can’t reach his manhood and Hobi hears you, lifts you up and you wrap your legs around him, grinding your femininity against his manliness, squeaking the same curses down his throat. 

“Fuck, baby, grind that pussy on me like that. Just like that, yes. You learn well, don’t you? You’re such a good girl, you just need to get fucked, don’t you, baby?” 

You agree with every word, your expression of pleasure saying the words for you, and Hobi moans, pushing your hips down on him while he meets you each time. 

“Where’s your bedroom, baby?” 

“Down the hall. First door to the right.” 

You suck on his neck as he takes you there, plopping you down onto the edge of your bed. You watch your hands undo the button of his pants, but then he accidentally kicks into something and you know exactly what it is. 

An orange Nike box filled with the two toys you own. 

And Hobi wouldn’t have crouched to get it had you not started giggling. 

How thrilling it is—to see him holding something so private, something no one has ever seen before. 

He palms his cock once he discovers what’s inside, rolling his eyes back. He throws the box next to you on the mattress, pushing you back and ripping your panties out of your body in a split second. Your giggles die, replaced by whimpers, replaced by the beat of your clit and his vulgarities as he pins your knees down, gazing, lovingly, at the way your nectar trickles down to your other hole. He bends to lick it up and you die, too. 

“Naughty fucking girl. How can you be so naughty and so good at the same time? You’re making me lose my mind,” Hobi snarls, putting his entire weight into the back of your knees and you gush for him, gasping, not able to take his praise, your hips instinctually raising for more of his tongue, which he slaps your thigh for. Once, twice, three times, four times until you whimper so loudly that there’s nothing else left for him to do but let up, grab your pink hitachi and lay down on his back, guide you to sit on his face. 

It’s now that he takes the time to ogle your body. His night-tinged eyes glide along your tan lines, his fingers tracing them, making you shudder and rotate your hips above his mouth that he wets and keeps wetting as if it’s not enough to quench his thirst. 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he chokes out, brushing the pads of his fingers along your stiffened nipples. Fireworks shoot out above your orchard, casting a rainbow of colors upon the trees and bushes. “I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you to have you like this. You belong to that museum, baby, but I’d die if someone were to look at you in my place.” 

His possessiveness coated with so much affection and admiration for you elongate your imaginary wings. And you can’t halt the rounding of your mouth, the pool of tears that line your eyes, the cracking of your heart as you take in his precious words. You feel like flying; you feel like soaring free with the knowledge that with the two beats of his own wings he’ll catch up to you, fly with you like two doves. 

You want to kiss him. Pay your gratitude that way and when you begin to crawl down his body, he stops you by grabbing your waist, immobilizing you above his face. 

“Stay where you are. You’re not sitting on my cock until you come on my tongue. Is that what you want? Ride Daddy’s cock until he covers you with his cum?” 

You can’t take it anymore. You simply can’t. 

Hobi turns the vibrator to life and its buzzing sound makes you quiver. You lower yourself onto his mouth that he quickly opens for you, darting out his tongue. He lets you ride the muscle, guiding your hips to twirl in circles, and you hold onto your breasts for emotional support as you sense yourself slowly disappearing in him, in the pleasure he gives you, in his warm, dark aura. 

Your mouth has no lock, no force to stop it from speaking. 

“I was wrong, Hoseok,” you start, changing the direction—swinging your hips back and forth as you grab onto his hair with one hand while the other stimulates your nipple, making you pant, whine and so terribly out of it. “It’s not your game that’s out of this world. It’s your fucking dirty talk.” 

Hobi hums, flicking your hand away and pinching your nipple, causing you to tip your head back and pour more vigor into your movement, his mouth too busy to respond. 

“If you ever talk to anyone like this that’s not me, I’ll kill her, you hear me? She won’t live to see the next day.” 

It’s Hobi now that can’t seem to take it anymore. 

Holding you steady by the waist, he sits up, sucking on your clit with so much strength that you scream, your body shuttering so violently that you completely lose yourself. He throws you onto your pillows, raises your hips until they’re at level with his mouth and finishes his fucking job. Alternates between sucking and licking, stars flooding your vision, the ones you traced on his beautiful, broad back. 

You come and you don’t stop. 

Hobi spits on your clit and presses down the hitachi on it, moving it from side to side, your orgasm prolonging, reaching highs beyond the heavenly kind and all you can see is him, doused in colors that glimmer and his name, the right variation of it this time, falls from your lips like a prayer. Right variation, right prayer. 

Virgin Mary that is looking at her God. 

Setting the toy and your bum on the bed, he takes both of your hands into his fist as you’re still convulsing, in the middle of your undying orgasm. He lines his cock at your entrance, changes his mind last minute, and glides it along your sensitive pussy, holding himself at the base. Back and forth, the ebb and the flow of the sea. The sight does anything but calm you down. It supports the continuation of your orgasm. 

“Listen to me very carefully,” he whispers, lowering your hands to his manhood until they wrap around him. “This cock has been yours the moment you came out of this fucking building to meet me outside. Every ridge, every fucking vein is yours.” He squeezes your hold against him, moving it up and down in an agonizing way that makes him shudder just the same. God at a very breaking point. “And these—” He groans as he uses your hands to cup his balls. “These fucking kids are all yours. Yours to swallow. Yours to decorate this beautiful body with. Yours to stuff your little hole with.” Your chest doesn’t rise with any inhalation of breath. You’re motionless, bloodless, paralyzed through and through. Scorching to the touch. Horny beyond your senses. Hobi pins your hands above your head, lining himself up, at last, at your entrance. Sinks inside you in one swift, but vigorous motion until he’s buried in deep to the hilt and he consumes your scream, kissing you so hard that he sucks every last drop of life you had in you. Then, he nudges his nose against yours, kissing its tip as well. “So don’t think for a second that these eyes are for anyone else but you.” A brutal thrust. A yelp. A loss of time and surroundings. “I’m yours, pup. I’m fucking yours.” A mad, mad laughter. “I’ve known you for a week. Ate your pussy first before I kissed you. And you touched yourself in my fucking car because you got horny from the way I praised you in that museum. How could I not be yours?”

The pet name, the magnificence of his sonnet, the stillness of his cock as you clench around him—the very cozy feeling of him being at home, being at the mountain of Athos that you blessed. You feel so small beneath him, so taken care of—and you’re at loss for words, though only one remains in your otherwise erased vocabulary, and from the top of your lungs, you utter it.

“Daddy.” 

His imaginary wings flutter, the pink swelling over the black, and he growls, letting go of your hands and folding you in half, leaning his weight on the back of your thighs. Props an overlapped pillow beneath your bum, so you’re at the perfect level for him to start fucking you properly.

And he does, coaxing out your screams, causing your legs to shake on either side of his shoulders. 

“That’s right, pup. I’m your Daddy. You’re doing so good, screaming for me the way I like it.” 

Hobi pounds into you, giving you a half of his length that’s more than enough. Bends at the waist to scatter wet kisses along the back of your thigh, filling you to the hilt as he does so, your juices squelching around him, making such a serene, glorious sound that forces him to bite down hard onto your flesh. No alleviation after, just long and ruthless strokes while he stares down at you, eating you with his eyes. The ghost of the pain lingers, adding to the experience, adding volume to your whiny noises. 

“You’re taking it so well. You’re a good pup, aren’t you?” 

You sob, the pressure gyrating deep in your lower tummy, the pet name the thing that will throw you over the edge if he calls you by it again. “Yes, Daddy. I love it when you call me that.” 

A hum. “Oh, yeah?” 

There he fucking goes again. 

A dam rushes to break and you’re defenseless.

“Yeah, I love it so much that it’s gonna make me come.” 

Hobi sucks in a breath. “Tell me you’re my good little pup and I’ll let you come.” The same breath he inhaled lodges in your throat and you watch him with a blurry vision reach over for your hitachi and turn up the intensity until the vibrations are so loud that you hear them echoing within your headspace.

He fucks you faster, ridding you of any chance to speak. Teases you with the toy by placing it, barely, on your stiffened nipple, leaning over to moisten it with his tongue before doing it again. And you can’t stop it and neither can he, the way your orgasm overtakes your whole being. It’s at this moment, when he thrusts become sloppy, that you manage to croak out the words he wanted you to say. 

“I’m your good little pup, Hoseok, oh fuck, yes, yes,” you whisper, your sentence blending into an efflux of legato moans—and this, this is his very undoing. 

And Hobi does something you didn’t expect him to do. 

As colors burst in your perspective and your orgasm drags you under, he stimulates your clit with the toy, pulling out of you and pressing his tip against its vibrating side, growling so deeply that it forces your juices out of you, sprinkling him with its iridescent drops as he tugs at his length. He paints your stomach, paints the hitachi, his nectar so enormous that it lands upon your breasts, even as far as on your neck. His body glistens in sweat and now your essence—and looking at him with your hazy vision, another orgasm rolls in. 

You thrash your body so hard he has to pin you down, ripping the pillow out from behind you, laying down his weight on you. He kisses you and the lip lock lasts, seemingly, for a century. He moves his mouth against yours, basking in the feel of your puffy mouth as he alters between kissing you harshly and kissing you gently, getting to know you this way. 

And when he lets up to breathe, he brushes your hair away, flings the vibrator out until it falls off the bed. 

“Say it again,” Hobi says, affection flashing in his now rounded eyes, its warmth thumping. “Louder, for me.” 

Your throat is dry, but you manage to do it with a sleepy smile. Think you would do anything to please him. “I’m your good little pup.” 

Cupping your face, he kisses you with such tenderness that you begin to cry. Your tears soak his cheeks and he whimpers into your mouth, moved just the same by the depth, the vibrancy of the energy thickening between you. 

And when he looks at you, his own tears rush in his waterline. 

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, pausing for a second. “What have you done to me?”

When afternoon rolls in, Hobi is still tangled up in your sheets. You brought him breakfast to bed, one you didn’t burn this time, while he rested, naked and gratified, still flushed in pink, but clean from your shower. His patchouli scent intermingled with your body wash, cinnamon and lemon, concocting something intoxicating in you that made you see him with a halo above his head. He became a saint by giving in to his desires, by coming so hard that you still feel his hot ropes of cum singeing all those sensitive, intimate parts of your body. Hobi took his time tracing and smearing each and every drop, rubbing it deep in you as if he was digging a grave for your past. And you watched him do it, with tear-stained cheeks, acknowledging yourself, just as intimately, with the information that this is something Hobi likes to do.

You plan to put that into practice the next time you get to touch him. 

He’s grazing his fingers along your arm as you’re laying halfway on your side, halfway on him, your leg in between his. Seems to be lost in thought, seems to be searching for his words when he widens his travel across your body, going as far as to the peaks of your shoulder blades before returning back. You feel an inkling to help him, feel like it’s the least you can do. 

“What are you thinking about?” you try, dragging a finger across his collarbone. Hobi sighs, so terribly reactive to your touch, your head lifting in such a calming manner as he breathes in and out. 

“Did I scare you with what I said?”

His heart under your ear begins to hammer and right away you understand the gravity of his question. He’s lost himself in a flashback of today’s sinful events, but stumbled across a high, overpowering mountain of his bared emotions—the blessed mountain of Athos. And it seems as though he’s forgotten the way back, the trees around him growing dense, the trees of panic that whisper to him that, maybe, he made a mistake. 

You hope, with every fiber of your being, that he doesn’t regret those words of beauty that have come to live under your skin like planets in the universe that you and he have created. 

That would ruin you. That would break you—and not in the pleasant kind that you like. That universe would drop upon you and you don’t think you’re strong enough to pick up your own half of your creation, shake it off and learn to live again. 

You straddle him and he covers you with your duvet. Not your naked breasts, but your torso, inviting you into that island. You thought he did to prevent distraction from weakening his focus, but he doesn’t regard your body like that—doesn’t regard it as an instrument of lust. Something about that moves you, enough for you to take his hands, your thumbs in the middle of his palms, and spatter your soft kisses on them. On his fingers, his knuckles. And when you reach the back of his hand, you halt, boring your gaze into his, catching that comet flying past his eyes again and staying this time, staying in the glint that appears as his brown pools wet. 

“Your words mean a lot to me. I carry them in my heart. You know that poem?” 

Hobi shakes his head, flattening his lips, closing his eyes for a brief moment. 

You don’t mind. You’re delighted to enlighten him. 

“I carry your heart with me,” you recite, keeping the heel of his palm against your lips. “I carry it in my heart. I am never without it. Anywhere I go, you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling,” you finish the first stanza of the poem that has not left your bloodstream ever since you were a teenage girl. Sharing that with him brings out a sea of feelings you remember your past self invariably longed to swim in. Tenderness, closeness, passion. Having it now feels as though you’ve passed a milestone. Hobi’s halo flashes with a rosy pink hue and your softened heart constricts. “The things you said were my doing, Hobi.” 

He caresses your side, starting from your armpit, going down the side of your breast, your waist until he arrives at the fleshy part of your hip, which he grasps. His chin quivers as he opens his mouth to speak and a lump forms in your throat. 

“You’re a poem, pup,” he whispers, circling his thumb over your tummy. “You don’t mind that I said those things?” 

You kiss his hands again, upon the same places to make your affection last longer on his skin. Your clit awakens at the pet name and naturally, you scooch over until you’re sat on his soft manhood over the duvet and you begin to move your hips back and forth. Hobi hisses, but doesn’t stop you this time. Lets you do what you want in the safety you conjured around him. 

“Say them again.” 

You speed up your movement. 

Hobi moans. Pauses. Swallows. Thinks. “I’m yours.” 

You grind harder in reward, moaning with him, feeling him stiffen under your clit, feeling him comprehend that you love those declarations. 

“My cock is yours,” he breathes out, his other hand joining the other and gripping your hip, digging in his nails. Another half moons, another beauty, intensifying the pleasure. You lick your fingertips and pinch your nipples. Hobi shudders, visibly, underneath you. “If you keep this up, I’m gonna have to cancel my work meeting.” 

You laugh, meekly but seductively, prolonging your thrusts, slowing them down, coaxing pained groans out of him. A delight. “Who said I wanted you to go?” 

Hobi curses, switching places with you on a whim that surprises you, bends you over, arches your back by lifting your bum in the air. The duvet falls, sadly, off of the mattress—and your soul, for him, falls equivalently. 

He slaps the side of your thigh. One, twice, thrice. “Who’s pussy is this?” 

You long to see him, your soul begs for it. Whispers to you to grab your phone and you do, swiping your finger on the screen and angling it so your camera has a blissful view of him. Of him fixed, darkly, on your ass and your femininity in the middle. 

Curious to know what’s taking you so long to answer, his brows rise as he discovers what you’re doing and he bites his lip, pulls on your legs to straighten them and you plop down on the mattress with a loosened breath. He gets in the same position. Licks over the swell of your ass cheek. 

“Film it. Film yourself telling me who’s pussy this is,” Hoseok commands and in a millisecond, without a thought spared, you click on the red button, excitement tingling your nerves. 

“My pussy is yours, Hoseok.” 

His eyes flick to the camera, meeting your stare, and your breath hitches, the view so attractive as he mouths that skin, marking it. He sneaks a hand to your clit, lifting his body a little, and spanks the spot he bruised. You gasp, elated, humming in a high-pitched tone, causing him to smirk. 

“Ride my hand. Whose pussy is this, baby, hm?” 

You snap your hips, furrowing your brows at the faint pleasure, at the desperation that courses through your veins. 

“Yours, Hoseok, ah, fuck. I want you inside me, please.” 

And he takes you, right there on camera, from behind—immortalizing your inside joke as you and him mention it and laugh about it together, immortalizing the way he paints your wings that ivory color and the way he rubs it in, sinking it deep within its membrane. 

And when you’re so spent that you can’t keep your eyes open and Hobi is drifting his mouth over your breasts, he tells you to send it to him. And with one cracked open, you do. 

It’s later in the evening that you find out that it wasn’t Hobi you sent that video to and your blood freezes. 

Your phone rings and Jungkook’s picture fills the screen. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah, @fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ part one

#hobi smut #jhope smut #jhope x reader #jung hoseok #hoseok x oc #hoseok x yn #hoseok x y/n #hoseok smut #jungkook x oc #jungkook x yn #jungkook smut #hoseok fanfic #btscreatorscorner #btswritersclub #btswriterscollective

[soobnny]

shall we dance? — bang chan. strangers to lovers. fluff. chan gives you his shoes when your feet hurt. conversation inspired by a scene in little women. (0.9k words)

Bright lights pollute your vision, and it’s getting hard to hear anything over the music echoing around the room. 

Nobody told you how hard it’d be to look for quiet, even just a thin line, amidst one of the nights teenage girls will be writing about in their diaries when they get home. Quaint gestures of friendliness are starting to feel a little forced. Friends of a friend mingle around, clad in the prettiest dresses they spent months looking for. 

You’re not quite sure if you’re enjoying the night or if your thoughts are just a little clouded because no one has asked you to dance. All you know is that your brand new heels are burning holes on the soles of your feet and you don’t think you can handle another look of pity from your friend. 

Maybe it’d be best to mask yourself amongst the massive curtains decorating the corners of whomever’s house this is. You’re sure you saw a room there when you’d first walked into the house. So, with your gaze straight ahead at what’s meant to be the dance floor, you start backing up–step by step, careful not to startle anyone’s periphery. The sight of you sneaking away might be the laughing stock of the town. 

“Hi.”

The sudden voice startles you. You don’t expect anyone else to be in there, especially when the night is reaching its high. 

“Hi. Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was here.” You smile sheepishly. Though, you suppose being caught by one is better than the burning gaze of a hundred. 

He has a cute moon smile, eyes morphed like crescents, and he isn’t unattractive either. He’s opposite the spectrum–almost breathtaking–clad in a white dress shirt with a few unbuttoned at the top. You’re sure it costs more than everything you’re wearing tonight. His hair is wavy, but effortless in a way you know that he’d spent maybe a minute to get it to look that way. How is someone like him hiding away from the crowd? If he were to step out, you’re sure that hundreds of girls would line up even just to look at him. 

“It’s alright. Don’t mind me.” He’s still smiling, though a little more effortless now. “Stay, if you’d like. It’s a little overwhelming out there, no?” 

“I won’t disturb you?” 

He shakes his head cutely, hair bouncing a little as he does. 

“You’re Miss (Last Name), right?” 

You’re surprised he knows your name, maybe a little tempted to ask how. But with the way he’s dressed, and how he’s comfortably lounged in the room, it would be safe to assume he’s the son of whoever owns this house. He must be acquainted with at least a few of the guests his father invited. 

You return his smile. He’s looking directly at you, patiently waiting for your confirmation.

“Ah, yes. But I’m not Miss (Last Name), I’m only (name). Last names bring heavy expectations, and tonight, I just want to be (name).” 

His smile grows.

“Well then, I’m only Chan.”

The air feels easy, a few giggles escaping both your lips after you’d both introduced yourselves. The unpleasant awkwardness of just meeting someone is almost non-existent. 

“Don’t you want to go out there and dance?” You fiddle with your fingers, shifting your feet a little before returning your gaze back on the boy. 

“Would you like to dance with me?” 

Heat crawls up on your cheeks. You don’t know why you feel embarrassed. Maybe it’s because minutes ago you’d been sulking over not being asked to dance. And while you’d love to, your brand new heels are killing you—you think scars are forming from the way the skin of your feet that’s in contact with your shoes feel like they’re burning. 

“I can’t, I’m sorry.” You shoot him an apologetic look.

“Why not?”

“My feet are burning. I don’t even think I can walk.” You laugh, sitting down and taking off a heel to show him your ankles. Just as you’d suspected, it’s painted bright red. Just a bit more friction and you’re sure it’s going to start bleeding. “But I really, really would’ve wanted to dance with you.”

Chan crouches down to inspect your ankles, a respectful hand on your foot to assess if there was any scarring. Then, he starts taking off his own shoes. You don’t even get to ask him what he’s doing, not when he’s pushing his massive shoes in front of your feet.

“Wear mine. Then it won’t have to hurt.”

“But then you won’t be wearing—”

He gently slips his shoes on yours after taking your heels off for you, even despite your protests that he’d be wearing nothing but his socks. 

Chan offers a hand out to you, and it’s only then you realize a few silver rings decorating his slender fingers–the ones that are a few inches from your own hand.

When you take his hand, you first discern how big it is compared to yours. He’s very tall, shoulders far broader than yours. It’s driving you a little crazy. Then, your eyes trail down to his massive shoes that’s now on your feet. 

Your attention on his shoes is short-lived when you feel a palm grazing over your waist before settling itself in a gentle grip. The music is muffled, but it’s loud enough that you can still dance a little to the beat. 

“Now, shall we dance?” 

#bang chan fluff #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids fic #stray kids oneshot #stray kids drabbles #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan fafic #kpop fluff #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #chan drabbles #chan x you

[bluegarners]

What if the whole Batfamily takes a turn playing Nightwing and each has a cameo?

i would vomit tbh

#god. thats horrifying. pls dont speak it into existence anon #like i am of the opinion that no one should ever really inherit the nightwing mantle #no one really should have inherited robin but you know. here we are #it just feels soooo slimy and gross to think about someone taking over dick's second chance at freedom #writer's didn't appreciate what robin meant to dick and if nightwing gets passed around the same way... i might just have to give up comics #thats why that dan mora sketch of a possible bruce in nightwing suit severely altered made my skin crawl sm #like theres not even an attempt there to truly honor nightwing at all there- its all just been bruce-ified/batman-ified #and its grotesque

[crystallizedtwilight]

I really like how you draw what you love in the moment. I am making a shift in my drawing interests as well, but I'm starting to feel guilty. My friends and followers know me as the (insert fandom) artist. Deep down I know what I am feeling is silly. Draw what you love! Who cares! I know that is the truth. So my question to you is, what do you do when those thoughts come to your head (if it does)?

What a thoughtful question! Below the cut:

Thank you! I've been on tumblr for 10 years and I have come to accept that I will always receive certain messages when I begin drawing a new interest:

"Guess you don't draw X anymore" / "Why did you stop drawing X?" / "Are you ever going to draw X again?" / "I want more X" / "When can we expect more X?" / "We're never going to see X again, are we?"

Though I've emphasized many times that this is my blog for all of my art and all my fandoms, every time I switch interests I am swamped with messages like this 3-4 months afterwards. It's an inevitability, because new folks may have missed that this is a "my current interest" blog, and old folks may not like the new content you're interested in.

At first it really bothered me, because I'd draw like 150 pieces of art for a fandom for 6 months straight, need a break, and the next day people will be like "guess you don't care anymore" like all the art I did wasn't enough.

The reality is: I like the idea of managing one blog for all of my artwork. I like how low-stress it is to have one, singular place I can still use a playground for my interests. I think it's a concept some people have forgotten is an option. Dare we call it a portfolio.

I am aware that the more "modern" way to conduct things, if you want to build an audience, is to have several blogs, each dedicated to one of your interests. But the very thought of managing 100 blogs every time I got a new interest makes my skin crawl and I know it would instantly suck the fun out of it for me.

I don't want to do that. I don't want to "build an audience", I just want to have a fun space for me. There are already so many social media sites out there besides tumblr, and if you're an artist that uploads to more than one, multiplying those by each of your fandoms? Sounds like more work than I want to do.

I can't remember the name of the artist, but I recall a few years ago one of the artists for the show Korra was bombarded with these sorts of messages when they started posting art that wasn't Avatar-related. And they said something to the effect of "I gave 2 years of my life to this show. Let me explore something new." And I'll never forget that. I feel the same way.

The theme of this blog is "my art". That's it. My interests change, sometimes circle back, and change again. And that's ok—that's how artists keep art fun for themselves. Every artist deserves a playground where they can share and connect with other people who are also just as excited about their newest thing. That's the joy of it.

Keeping yourself in a box just because that's what people want or expect you to do is the death of creativity. I am at peace with people unfollowing if our interests don't align anymore. This was never a blog for catering to anyone but myself, and that is ok.

So those messages don't bother me anymore. I know they're coming. I know they will always be there. And, every time, I will find new folks who do want to share in my new interest. I think in many ways I like starting over again. It feels refreshing.

But more than that, I know the importance of keep a space for myself online where I can be as creative and fun and silly as I like, chasing after the latest thing that is making me smile.

[eepwriting]

• mean brat taming dom ii who is SO soft with u after (my hc says there’s no way he’s not into impact play tbh)

• ivy being the absolute softest gentlest daddy dom ever (tell me he doesn’t give that strong gentle energy. the praise he would give?! UGH)

• primal feral vessel claiming you after chasing you through the forest. right there on the leaf littered floor

• iii edging you over and over on his thigh until you’re sobbing and brain dead (really i just think iii would enjoy being as much of a fucking tease as possible. whispering dirty thoughts in your ear through the day. stealing spicy touches. leading up to when he can finally get you alone and drive you REALLY crazy)

• reader x vessel x ivy threesome. soft daddy dom ivy and mean dom vessel

i have too many filthy ideas but no ability to write them so 🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡 godspeed, hope these inspire some filth from you!

- thirsty girl 💘

Count ‘em ✶ II x GN! Reader

Warnings: nsfw, smut, impact play (spanking, light slapping, choking, pinching, hair pulling), degradation, oral (m receiving), mean! ii

TRUST when I say I will be returning to this ask to write something for every prompt. Also, THANKS for some ii stuff!! I was feeling bad that I only had one thing wrote for him 🤍🤍

!! mdi !!

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚

“Move it, I’ve already said it once. That should be enough.” His voice is stern, his eyes serious as he impatiently drums his fingers on his legs.

You knew him well enough at this point to know what his calm demeanor truly meant. Even the way he undressed you minutes before had been slow and careful. Only you knew that the second he got you over his lap, his actions would not be gentle.

You swallow nervously, hoping he can’t hear the sound of your heart about to break through your chest. You knew your brattiness throughout the day had gotten you here. Your unrelenting back talk and attitude wasn’t something you gave ii often, but for whatever reason, you wanted to see how far you could push him today.

You’re slow to move towards him, his full and undivided attention on you feeling as if it was about to burn a hole into the side of your face. He lets you help yourself onto his lap, crawling to lay face down across his spread thighs. His hand is heavy on your back once you get settled, sliding up your spine to rest in between your shoulder blades. “What’s up with you today? You’ve been awfully difficult.” His hand moves up into your hair to tug, pulling your head back slightly. “Hm?”

You think about your answer carefully and decide to just be honest with him. He’d know anyway if you were lying. “I think it’s fun.” Your hand grips his calf when he tugs harder, isolating a chunk of hair at the crown of your head. “Fun? To mess with me? To irritate and piss me off to no end? You think that’s fun, is what I’m hearing?” You nod meekly, silently enjoying the pull on your hair. He only hums and reaches his other hand around to wrap around your throat, applying enough pressure to make breathing slightly more difficult, but not enough to make you panic for air.

“Well I don’t think that’s very fun at all. In fact, only a desperate, pathetic little whore would find something like that to be fun. Is that what you are then? A desperate and pathetic whore?” The hand in your hair disappears to grope roughly at your ass before settling on a cheek, leaving a stinging pinch. You take in a short gasp of air at the sting, earning a quiet snicker from ii. His full hand comes down in a dull smack before massaging over your skin. “You make it so easy, you know. Your skin practically begs to be marked up. You seem to want that too, don’t you? You wouldn’t act up if you didn’t.” Another, this time harsher smack is dealt. “I didn’t get an answer to my question.” The hand around your throat tightens.

Your eyes close in a long blink before you attempt a nod. He makes a sound of disappointment next to you. “You know you’re supposed to use your words. Don’t play dumb.” His hand moves to the back of your thigh to pinch and pull at the skin.

You squirm and squeeze your eyes shut. “Yes. I’m a desperate and pathetic whore.” This earns you a groan and another spank. “There you go. Maybe you can follow instructions. Why don’t you count ‘em for me, hm?” His touch is soft as he runs his hand up your back. Your mumbled and nervous “okay” is enough for him to swat at your ass again. He waits for your response before landing another. “2…” The pain is tolerable but you know he’s just warming up.

He lands 10 solid smacks, each progressively getting harsher before massaging his hand over your stinging skin. You hiss at the touch and make a poor attempt to shift your hips away from him. “I like watching you jolt from the pain. The little gasps you let out.” The hand around your throat moves to run through your hair.

He repeats the same actions on the other cheek, but doesn’t build up at all. The 10 makes your skin sting, like hot fire, your eyes watering at the repeated blows. II knows you can take it, knows you enjoy it. Clearly evident by the way moans and whimpers flood out of your mouth and your hips grind down on his thigh.

He lets you rest, massaging his fingers over your scalp, his other hand lightly scratching over your back. “On your knees now.” He says after his moment of quiet tenderness. Excitement blooms in your stomach, ready and aching to take more than just his harsh hands. You’re slow to move off his lap and even slower to sink to the floor. The skin on your ass is hot against your calves and ankles, a dull but persistent sting radiating as you get situated on your knees.

II cups the sides of your face, moving your head side to side as he looks down at you. His thumbs move over your cheeks before he leans down to press his mouth to yours. It’s harsh and rushed. Teeth clashing together before he bites over your bottom lip. His hand returns around your throat before he drags you up to stand on your knees. He roughly grips your hip, digging his fingertips into the skin, hard enough you’re sure to see a bruise in the morning. He licks into your mouth a final time before breaking away from you. He groans when he looks at you. Hair messed up from his hands, lips red and slightly inflamed, the skin on your neck a bright white with how much pressure he’s applying to your throat. His thumb absentmindedly runs over your lips before he hooks it over your bottom lip to force your mouth open. Your tongue comes out to lick over his thumb, earning another low groan from ii. “Such a pretty mouth. I’m gonna fuck it.” His thumb messily runs over your outstretched tongue. An inadvertent whimper comes from you at those words, your hands impatiently grabbing at his thighs. He snickers at you before standing to remove his jeans.

Both his hands cradle your head in surprising tenderness but his eyes and facial expression are cold and stern as he looks down at you. He lightly slaps your cheek twice and you take that as a cue to open your mouth for him. He hums, sliding one hand to the back of your head. He wastes no time in sliding his cock fully into your awaiting mouth. II’s jaw clenches and his hips buck towards you when your lips wrap around him. “Put that mouth of yours to good use.” He grunts, cock moving in and out of your mouth quickly. His too tight grip on your hair makes you whine around him and squeeze your eyes shut. A harsher slap lands on your cheek. “You keep your eyes on me.” It almost comes out in a growl as he practically straddles your face, forcing his cock as far into your mouth as he can. He doesn’t let up despite your watering eyes, gags and nails digging into the skin on his thighs.

You know he’s close when the sounds he lets out become higher pitched and the rhythm of his thrusts turn disjointed. “Take it. Be good and take it.” He breathes out before letting out a long groan. His movements pause as he cums at the back of your throat, his hand holding your head close to him. You breathe through your nose and patiently wait for him to pull away from you. You can finally close your eyes, forcing leftover tears down your cheeks when he backs away. You stay looking up at him, his chest heaving, eyes heavy and relaxed now.

He lazily reaches out to brush over the top of your head and wipe over your cheeks. He holds his hand out for you, letting you take your time in rising to your feet. He pulls you into a long hug, hands running up and down your back. He guides you to lay on the bed, insisting you lay on your stomach. He lays next to you for a short while, asking you repeatedly if you’re okay, peppering kisses on the side of your face. He leaves your side and comes back with water and an ice pack. He watches you sip the water while holding the ice on your still red hot skin. He coos at you when you wince, shuffling closer to you as he watches you with concern filled eyes.

Your tiredness eventually catches up to you and you’re not sure how long you’ve dozed off before you feel ii straddle your hips. You whine when his hard again cock pushes against you. “Mm, don’t touch…it’s too much.” You furrow your brows and try to shift away from his hands that brush over your aching skin. “Shhh, I know, love. You’ve been so good for me…wanna help you. I’ll be gentle. I promise.” His voice is quiet as he leans over you, nuzzling his head against your neck. He lazily mouths over your skin and ever so slowly inches into you.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚

The way I could not focus for more than 5 minutes while writing this 🙃 I had different plans for this but I just could not use enough brain power to write it lol

BUT I’m so excited to return to this ask!!! So many good ideas 👏🏻 thank you again anon 💘

Anyway, hope y’all enjoyed!

K. Bye bye.

#sleep token #sleep token worship #sleep token fic #sleep token x reader #sleep token smut #sleep token ii #ii sleep token #sleep token ii x reader #ii x reader

[turcott3]

the way

kirby dach x fem! reader

warnings?: tooth rotting (and i mean it) fluff

masterlist

the way i love you

-

“it’s nice to see you too pretty girl.” kirby giggles lightly as you climbed quickly into his lap. the work day seemed to crawl as you anxiously waited to greet your boyfriend at home for the first time in a month and a smile never left your cheeks from the moment you clocked out.

“i missed you.” you mutter as you hug yourself to his chest, his arms wrapping delicately around you.

“i missed you too.” he replies into your hair, kissing you gently on the head.

“being apart from you for that long really made me think about you, and us, every single day. there wasn’t an hour that passed that i didn’t think about you.” you say sitting up in his lap, now looking down at him.

“what about me?” he asks, giggling tucking your hair behind your ears.

“everything.” you reply and a confused expression spreads across his face.

“kirby. you’re perfect. i love the way you’re shy meeting new people, i love the way you still blush whenever someone speaks highly of you, i love the way your eyes disappear when you smile, i love the way you fill my stomach with butterflies just bye making eye contact with me, i love the way you support your siblings, i love the way you take care of your teammates, i love the way you care so much, you’re just everything my love.” you continue, taking his cheeks into your hands.

“can i kiss you?” he asks very seriously.

“yes?” you reply as his lips find their way to yours, gently and lovingly, filling your whole body with butterflies. you could never get over the way he held you so gently and the way his lips melted perfectly onto yours. it’s like he was handcrafted for you.

your heart ached when he pulled away, instantly missing the feeling of his soft, pink lips on yours.

“why’d you stop?” you pout.

“because. how else am i supposed to tell you how much i love you?” he replies a smile slowly spreading across both of your faces.

“go on.” you egg him on and he giggles.

“i love your smile and how contagious your laugh is, i love the way your body so perfectly fits against my chest and how gorgeous your eyes are, i love when you dress up, i love when you wear my sweatpants, i love the way your tongue pokes out of your mouth when you’re focused, i love how passionate you are about things you love, i love the way you dance to any music, but mostly i just love the way you love me, and to me that’s what matters most.” he says, not once breaking eye contact with you.

“wow that was a lot.”

“i have more.” he smiles.

“you don’t need to list anymore kirbs.”

“i love you so much baby.”

“i love you too.” you blush, wrapping your arms tightly around the brunette. his grip finds its way under your legs, supporting your weight as he stood up, walking you to your shared bedroom.

the night was full of passion. a months worth of pent up love, sadness and joy all spilling over in the matter of hours. you missed the way he made you feel. the way his callused hands grazing over your bare skin caused it to be littered with goosebumps. you missed the way the sweet kisses he pressed to your jaw helped to drown out the hazy sensation of the intense stimulation you felt between your legs.

the way he made you feel loved, like never before.

every moment practically made you wonder how god put you on earth with him at the same time, in the same place. almost like he was hand sculpted just for you. you’d never felt a love or understanding like his. it was strong, yet soft. the exact sensation you’d been craving ever since you were a little girl, sitting in front of your living room tv watching a princess movie.

“do you ever think about our future?” you mumble, laying on his chest as his hands rubbed gently up and down your bare back.

“i do.” he simply replies.

“what do you see?”

“home.”

“what do you mean?”

“you. you are my future. you are my home. i want to do life with you until we’re old and ugly.” he says finally locking eyes with you. a blush quickly spread across your face as you buried your cheek on his chest.

“awe are you blushing?” he giggles, tickling your sides.

“kirby dach, stop it.” you laugh sitting up slightly,

“were you blushing?” he asks again, taking your chin into his hand.

“yeah i was.” you admit as he runs a soft thumb over your cheek bone.

“i love you.” he says quietly.

“i love you.” you reply, reconnecting your lips with his.

#kirby dach #kirby dach fluff #kirby dach x reader #kirby dach imagine #nhl #montreal canadiens #nhl imagine #turcs’ talk

[before-it-felt-like-a-sin]

Can you write sfw alphabet with nat?

SFW Alphabet with Nat

A/N: I got two of these so I figured I had to do it :). I'm also in the midst of a longer fic but since yall have been starved for like three months I wanted to post something real. (As funny as my little insane posts are I think yall deserve more.)

--------------------------------------------------------

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

She's touchy, but not hella touchy. Just like a tap on the shoulder, or a side hug mostly. But she's mostly a quality time or gifting type. Like she loves just sitting in the same room together, doing your own thing. And for the gifts, she sees literally anything she thinks you'd like or reminds her of you, she's brining it to you.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

She's a great best friend, and your friendship stemmed from you deciding she was going to be your friend one day. You just show up and start talking to her. She's very much confused but ultimately rolls with it because you don't seem to be doing anything as a joke.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

She's cuddly when the two of you are alone, but you're out with friends or at a party, it's more just an arm around the shoulder. But the minute you're home, the two of you can't be close enough. She'd probably crawl straight into your skin if she could.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Depends on how "settled" we're thinking. She's not the white picket fence, married with kids type. But she's very pro-getting a shitty apartment together in a medium-to large city. She definitely works at some shit bar, but that's the closest to settled y'all will get.

Cooking, she's great. An amazing cook. Cleaning? Mediocre, but your apartment is never fully a disaster.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Erm.

She'd definitely do it in the middle of an argument, completely impulsively. She doesn't really mean it, either.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

At first she's very knee deep in the passenger seat about everything (haha casual by Chappell Roan reference), but after a while she realizes she really likes you. I feel like she sees you talking to another girl and gets jealous, and the next day she's ready to commit.

As for marriage, I don't think she really needs that to feel committed to you. She's not opposed if you want to get married, but she's not going to be the one to bring it up.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Physically, middle of the road. Obviously doesn't intentionally hurt you, but she can get kind of rough sometimes. She'll stop the minute you say something about it, though.

Emotionally? When you first meet, not at all. She'll say whatever she's thinking and not even comprehend it might hurt you. I feel like as time goes on, once she realizes you're not gonna leave her, she gets a lot gentler.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

She likes to do the hug from behind and rest her head on your shoulder when you're cooking or something like that. I feel like she's not really into the stereotypical full-body hug. It's mostly side hugs or from behind.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

She doesn't say it for a while, not because she doesn't think it, but because she thinks you won't say it back. When she says it for the first time, she thinks you're asleep and whispers it. You mumble an "I love you too" back and she kind of freezes. But then she realizes that you said it back.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

I don't think she's super jealous, but when she is, it's bad. If someone's flirting with you (or if you're flirting back for attention), she's all over you. Kissing your forehead, running her hands all over you. She makes it very clear that you are taken.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Her kisses are kind of rough. I don't think that girl has ever even seen a chapstick.

Where she likes to kiss you: your mouth, neck, shoulders, and hands.

Where she likes to be kissed: temple, mouth, neck, and her hairline.

If she imitates a kiss, it's generally rough from the start. Like she kisses you like she's starving and needs to taste you. But I think she likes when you're softer about your kisses.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

I know it may be a controversial take, but that girl is amazing with kids. I don't think she wants them for herself, but when your friends have kids or if you have nieces or nephews, she's obsessed. Honestly it gives you baby fever every time.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

She's asleep. It's never a "get up and get going" morning with her. You spend a lot of time just sitting in bed together, especially if you don't have to get going for work. She sleeps very late, so you mostly spend time reading or scrolling waiting for her to get up.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

It's almost the same as the morning. If one of you has to be up the next day (most of the time it's you), you generally stay in and watch a movie together. If it's the weekend, you go out to dinners or bars.

As for actual sleeping arrangements, she's always up really late. She's not even really doing anything, she just doesn't sleep very well. So essentially, instead of you awake like the mornings, she's the one just waiting.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

You know a lot of her past traumas pretty fast, since you were friends first. But you're like three years into your relationship when you realize she's never told you her favorite color. She definitely doesn't reveal everything at once, you kind of have to work for it.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

She's not easily angered in most scenarios, but if you're lot listening to her then she gets pissed off. Or like if you make assumptions about her. She is easily annoyed though. Or at least she pretends to be. But if she's teaching you something she'll make sure you get it no matter how long it takes.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

She remembers literally everything you say, but doesn't show it. For months, you thought she barely listened to you until someone asked your favorite food/color/book/etc, and she answered before you could.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Your first kiss, for sure. It was before you two were together officially. The two of you were friends before, and at one point just ended up kissing, whether out of curiosity or something else. That was when she realized she had feelings for you, and the two of you casually hooked up for a while.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

She's a bit protective, mostly by an arm around your waist if she thinks someone's a little too close to you. She never gets physical with people, but she's often glaring at people when they look at you weird.

When it comes to protecting her, she doesn't really need it. She can hold her own. She more likes the support of knowing you're there for her if she needs it.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Dates: not a ton, but not because she doesn't care, she just doesn't care what y'all do as long as y'all are together. So, she mostly leaves date planning up to you.

Anniversaries: again, she doesn't really care? She gets some flowers or something small, but neither of you really expect anything big.

Gifts: she puts tons of thought into them. She grew up really poor, so once she has means to buy things when she wants them, she's getting you anything you want whenever you want it. And for birthdays/holidays, she spends months saving to get you something big every time.

Everyday tasks: if you remind her, she'll do them, or if she thinks of it. She's not super strong in either direction, but if there's a chore you absolutely despise, she'll do it every time for you without fail.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Cannibalism.

The more obvious choice is her substance abuse issues. I think if this is pre-crash or no crash, she just smokes (both cigarettes and weed) most of the time. She drinks too, but that's not her main choice. Honestly, you find the smoking hot, but you also wish she would stop for her health.

She also definitely bites her fingernails/cuticles. Like her nails are constantly a bleeding mess.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Conventionally, she doesn't care. She doesn't want to feel like she has to appeal to anyone. However, if she doesn't think she looks good in her own way, she's constantly asking if she looks alright.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Not incomplete, but lonely maybe? She doesn't have a ton of friends, and so if you're not dragging her around to talk to people, she really only has Kevyn and Van to talk to.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Okay this is a personal indulgence but as someone who's midsize/plus size I think she'd absolutely buy clothes big enough to fit you so you can wear them. Like she gets t-shirts huge on purpose so you can steal them from her. She pretends she just likes them really baggy, but she goes insane for the way you look in her clothes. You totally know what she's doing too, but it's just so insanely sweet that you don't say anything to her about it.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

I feel like she's a broccoli hater.

In all seriousness though, I feel like the thing she's really vehemently against is PDA. She's fine with like small kisses and holding hands, but beyond that? She's very much against PDA. At home, whatever. But whenever you're out of the apartment, she's not touchy at all.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Babygirl does not sleep right at all. She's going to bed at 3-4 a.m. every morning and then sleeps till two or three in the afternoon. She can and will get up earlier if needed, but never goes to sleep any earlier. It stresses you out, but no matter what you do she's still up until like the crack of dawn.

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets showtime #yellowjackets season 1 #natalie scatorccio #natalie yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x curvy! reader #natalie scatorccio x y/n #natalie scatorccio headcanons #teen natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x you #teen natalie #nat scatorccio #sfw alphabet #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets season 2 #yellowjackets x reader

[moody-alcoholic]

Freaky Friday

It's Friday, I want to improve my writing and get out of my comfort zone more so I write smut once a week.

+18 MDNI!! You know the drill lucky for you there is always a SFW version.

SFW version.

Masterlist <- check for previous weeks.

Summary: Simon x OC, established relationship. 900 words.

Enjoy ya filthy animals <3

“Like my dress?” I asked playfully hitching up the bottom and waving it. I slowly walked towards him looking in his eyes. I touched his mask. I wanted to kiss him so bad. He wrapped one of his arms round my waist and used the other to pull up his mask. I didn’t even wait for him to finish I just kissed him. He threw his mask to the side and picked me up in his arms carrying me to the bed. He laid me down kissing my neck.

“Simon,” I gasped, all I could feel was my own hot body sticky with sweat. He moved back up kissing my lips.

“I’ve missed you.” He said. I looked at him.

“I’ve missed you too,” I said smiling. “I need a shower and we’re not alone.” Shot a look at the door. He moved my chin forcing me to look at him and kissed me again deep, passionate, sloppy. His hand finds its way up my dress tugging on the waistband of my underwear.

“I don’t care.” He said. Jesus that sent tingles through my whole body. Before I could register what was happening he slipped 2 fingers under my underwear, gliding them over my entrance as I gripped his shoulders. I pulled him closer to me breathing him in but all I could smell was my own body. He pulled away and went over to the bedroom door locking it. Then came back and held his hand out so I was forced to follow him, he lead me into an en-suite bathroom, the whole place was rustic, decorated with traditional tiling. Simon guided me to the shower taking off my dress, his hands cupped my breasts, pinching my nipples. I helped him undress too as I turned the shower on cooling the room.

Simon was bent down running his mouth up and down my neck, leaving little kisses everywhere. Eventually his arms moved lower as his mouth finds my nipples. I moan feeling tingles rush deep through my body with each lick and suck. I moved back hitting the wall letting water flow over our bodies, cooling me down so I could focus on what he was doing. His fingers moved quicker rubbing little circles round my clit, the feeling making me weak in the knees as he continuously runs his tongue over my nipples.

“I want you.” I say my voice catching in my throat. This feels so good I don’t want him to stop, his lips leave my nipple with an audible pop as he looks up at me and smiles.

“You have me.” He says kissing me. His fingers working faster I spread my legs more for him, trying not to dig my nails in his back so hard. I can’t contain myself panting in his ear as his fingers tease my entrance, using his thumb to keep my clit stimulated. I feel the hot water splashing against my skin as I gripped onto Simon letting him move me. I didn’t think about the mission or where we were, I know we had to be quiet at least. We leave the shower on to help with noise suppression as we fall into bed together.

I lay down as he crawls over me his dog tags clinking with mine, he works his way between my hips I gladly move my legs out the way for him smiling. He reaches down giving his cock a few tugs then pressing it up against my entrance. I almost want to beg him for it, I feel like he can see the desperation in my eyes as he doesn't wait pushing himself into me. I bite the inside of my cheek trying everything in my power not moan as loud as I want feeling a wave of pleasure flow through my body. I find myself moving my hands to my clit as he thrusts. His head drops as he pants into my ears, my body relaxes as I lazily touch myself matching his speed.

I don’t care that it’s plain old missionary, I don’t even care if I cum this feels too good. He grunts as he whispers sweet ‘I love yous’ and mumbles about how much he’s missed this. I’ve missed it too I find myself rubbing faster as he picks up the pace. I grip his back with my free hand. I don’t know what it is about this new speed but it’s hitting all the right spots, now I’m panting in his ears. He kisses my cheek looking down at me, his eyes twinkling as he locks his lips on mine playing with my tongue. I close my eyes enjoying the over stimulation pushing me closer to the edge. I clench down without realising, which only makes his thrusts feel better as I lean my head back letting out a moan. He kisses my extended neck as he speeds up.

“Si..” I manage my voice breaking as I swallow the saliva from our sloppy make-out session. I grip his shoulders with both my hands, my moans becoming louder as waves of pleasure threaten to spill over.

“Come with me baby.” He breathes in my ear. Holy fucking shit, that was it.

“Yes..” I whimper, as I give in. My body trembles as Simon rides me through the orgasm. I feel him come too his thrusts long and deep as his cock pulsates inside me. I catch my breath feeling overstimulated and hot. Simon takes a deep breath in the flops down on the bed next to me. We just lay there for a few seconds both trying to normalise our breathing. I turn to him and smile.

“What?” He asks smiling back.

“It’s too fucking hot.” I say shaking my head as he laughs.

Sorry I missed last week I took a mental break from writing and I really was not feeling it. Take care of yourselves :*

#fanfic #cod #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #simon ghost riley #call of duty #simon riley x oc #simon riley smut #ghost x oc #ghost cod #+18 content #+18 or +adult only #smut

[muddy-water-1997]

𝖠𝗀𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖡𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖿𝗂𝗍𝗌

𝖳𝖶: 𝖲𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍, 𝖯𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾!𝖲𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗆𝗂𝗇, 𝖠𝗇𝗀𝗋𝗒!𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗇, 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗍𝖻𝗁

Chapter 22 - A Rose Between Two Thorns

You didn’t know why Seungmin was there instead of Chris, but you took the roses from him with a questioning smile. It was hard to see him as anything other than a harmless friend, but the look in his eyes was off-putting; this seemed like a game to him. It was only last night that you were called a "quick fuck," and he stormed out of your apartment, taking half of the boys with him.

“You wanted to see me… without him?” you questioned, moving toward the kitchen and placing the roses in the sink water. You might be cautious of Seungmin's intentions, but you couldn’t deny that the roses were beautiful.

“Yeah…” He followed behind you into the kitchen before continuing. “I need to apologize for last night; what I said was completely out of anger.” He explained as he leaned against the kitchen counter, the same counter Chris was kissing you on this morning. The memories kept flooding back. Where was he? He was supposed to be back by now.

“Out of anger?” you echoed, trying to keep your tone neutral, but the scepticism was evident.

Seungmin nodded, his expression earnest, but his eyes still holding that unsettling glint. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was just... frustrated and I took it out on you. It wasn’t fair.”

You glanced at the roses, their vibrant petals contrasting with the confusion and unease swirling inside you. “Why now, Seungmin? Why apologize now, and why without Chris?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Because I need you to understand that what I said last night was a mistake. And... because I wanted to clear the air without him interfering.”

Interfering? The word hung heavily in the air, and you couldn’t help but feel a chill. “Interfering how?”

Seungmin took a step closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “I don’t think he’s the right person for you, Y/N. He doesn’t appreciate you the way you deserve.”

You took a step back, the proximity making your heart race with anxiety rather than affection. “Chris appreciates me more than you think,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “And he was supposed to be back by now. Do you know where he is?”

Seungmin’s gaze darkened for a fraction of a second before he plastered on a smile. “I’m sure he’s just running late. But think about what I said, okay? You deserve someone who truly values you.”

“I told you,” you began, trying to take a step back. Seungmin mirrored your movement, closing the distance until your back pressed into the fridge. You were trapped.

“But does he worship your body like the rest of us do?” His voice dropped to a low, menacing whisper as he pressed a hand above your head, his eyes boring into yours. “Does he fuck you as good as the rest of us do?” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin. “I bet he didn’t even touch you last night.”

There was a twisted pleasure in his words, a sick satisfaction that made your skin crawl. His smile was a predator’s grin, relishing the fear and discomfort he was causing.

“Seungmin…” you tried to muster the strength to speak up, but your voice wavered, barely more than a whisper. You had never seen him like this, so consumed by a dark, insatiable need to dominate, to prove a point. It felt like you were nothing more than a prize to be won.

His hand moved from the fridge to your shoulder, holding you in place possessively. “You don’t need him, Y/N. You need someone who knows how to truly appreciate you. Someone who can give you what you really want.”

Fear surged through you, but you refused to let him see you break. “Chris cares about me,” you said, your voice gaining strength. “And I care about him. Nothing you say will change that.”

“We all care about you, Y/N. How come he gets to have all the fun? Stealing my limelight again. I only just got a taste, and I’m having to walk away already.” He growled into your ear, his eyes flickering down to the necklace around your neck that they had all bought you before the emergency evacuation. He took the charm between his fingers, a scoff coming from his mouth. 

Before he could continue, the door swung open with a loud bang, startling both of you. Chris stood in the doorway, his eyes blazing with anger as he took in the scene before him. “Get away from her, Seungmin,” he demanded, his voice a low growl.

Seungmin straightened up, a sneer on his lips. “Just having a conversation, Chris.”

“Now,” Chris repeated, stepping forward, his fists clenched at his sides.

Seungmin backed off, and your hand flew to your chest in a feeble attempt to catch your breath, feeling as if it was slipping away. Were you scared? Was that supposed to turn you on? What was that?

“Y/N, are you okay?” Chris asked as he rushed to you from the doorway, quickly stepping between you and Seungmin. It was a good question. Were you okay?

“Yeah,” you mumbled quietly, your hand moving to the necklace, checking for damage. “I’m okay.”

“What the hell is this?” Chris demanded, his anger not subsiding as he glared at Seungmin.

Seungmin shrugged, a smug smile still lingering on his lips. “Just a misunderstanding, right, Y/N?”

Chris turned back to you, his eyes filled with concern and fury. “Did he hurt you?”

You shook your head, though your heart was still racing. “No, he didn’t hurt me. It was just... weird. He was saying things, trying to... I don’t know.”

Chris’s jaw tightened, and he stepped closer to Seungmin, his body radiating protective energy. “You stay away from her. Do you understand?”

Seungmin’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a flash of defiance. “I’m just looking out for her, Chris. Maybe you should be too.”

“Get out,” Chris growled, pointing toward the door. “Now.”

“What?” Seungmin retorted, his tone sharp. “You wanted us to do better by her. Those were your words. Or does that not include making her feel good? Because you were fine with that detail up until last night.”

“Things change,” Chris snapped back, his patience wearing thin.

“Whenever you want them to, sure,” Seungmin challenged, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Enough!” You stepped in, unable to stand being caught in the middle of their argument. “I should just pack a bag and go back home.” You sighed, heading toward the bedroom. You should have done this last night; it would have saved all this drama.

“No!” They both said in unison, moving to stop you in your tracks before glaring at each other.

“I’m a person!” you yelled, the anger and fear suddenly pouring out at once. “I’m not a prize you can just win at an arcade. Jesus fucking Christ.” You buried your face in your hands, trying to take a breath. “Have I not been through enough these past few days? Truly. I’m in a foreign country, away from my family and my friends, and you’re here acting like a pair of children.”

You couldn’t tell if you were mad or hungry, remembering your takeaway plans with Chris that had quickly become a passing thought. The overwhelming mix of emotions bubbled up, making it hard to think clearly.

Chris took a step toward you, his voice softer now, filled with regret. “Y/N, I’m sorry. This isn’t what I wanted. I don’t want you to feel like this.” You let him get close, his body enveloping you warmly. The tears that stung at your eyes were threatening to fall. You felt so safe with him, like the world couldn’t touch you. But with Seungmin, the way he cornered you, he was so close to you. You couldn’t deny that the possessiveness turned on a part of you.

“It’s time for you to leave,” Chris spoke to Seungmin with a firm but quieter tone, keeping your body close to his chest. Seungmin didn’t argue this time, but Chris noted that the smile on his face hadn’t faded. It was almost like he knew how to push your buttons without you being wiser about it. He walked out of the apartment, not saying another word.

“Are you okay, beautiful?” Chris asked as he heard the door shut, kissing you gently on your forehead. You nodded softly against his chest, feeling a mixture of relief and lingering unease.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, though your voice was still shaky. “Just... a lot to process.”

Chris held you tighter, his hand gently stroking your hair. “I’m so sorry for all of this. I should have been here. I should have protected you better.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up into his eyes. “It’s not your fault, Chris. Seungmin... he just caught me off guard. I didn’t expect him to act like that.”

“I know,” Chris replied, his eyes filled with sorrow and determination. “But I promise, I won’t let him or anyone else make you feel like this again.” You had to process truly what just happened before you agreed to a statement like that. The possessiveness that Seungmin showed… that needed decoding in your brain first.

“Can we order something to eat?” You asked, pulling away from his chest slightly. He laughed softly in response.

“Of course we can, baby. Whatever you want- it’s yours.”

𝖶𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾? 𝖳𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾! 𝖬𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝖻𝗈𝗑 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌! 

𝖶𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗃𝗈𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗀 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍? 𝖣𝗋𝗈𝗉 𝗆𝖾 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝗋 𝖣𝖬!

𝖳𝖺𝗀 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌

@fr34k4c1dr41n @rylea08 @stellasays45 @darthmaddie25 @whatsk-poppinhomies @minnieprincess85 @purp13st4r @livixcore @hyun-hwanj @0325tiny @privhace @goldilovesharry @jisunglyricist @gloriajovicc @mimililylupinblack @laney1488 @missbangtangirl

Orange means I couldn’t tag you!

#skz x reader #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfiction #skz smut #stray kids ot8 smut #bang chan #stray kids #han jisung #stray kids ot8 #skz ot8 #lee felix #ot8 x reader #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #lee minho #lee yongbok #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #seo changbin #changbin

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

connected ch 7

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, maybe a tiny little splash of angst

word count: ~2.3k

warnings: attempted SA (it’s not real), knife attack (also not real), crying, pet names

masterlist * previous chapter * next chapter

an: this is the most wattpad coded thing i think i have ever written, and im kinda here for it tbh.

the elevator ride up to chans hotel room was long and awkward. you still felt a little shaken up and panicky about the whole situation and chan was being too quiet. you’ve only met him in person for the first time today, but you knew this amount of silence was unlike him. something was rattling around in his brain. you felt bad. they were here on a schedule and you messed it all up. chan has so much on his plate and all you did was add to it. you sighed as the elevator doors opened. you followed chan down the long hallway until he stopped in front of a door. he pulled his plastic key card from his pocket and the door swung open. he gestured for you to go first.

his room was nice. this was probably the nicest hotel room you had ever been in. it was like a small apartment. there was a living area with a tv, couch and coffee table. and then past that down a small hallway was what you assumed to be the bedroom and bathroom, though you couldn’t tell from where you were standing.

"the bed is down that little hallway." chan pointed. "the bathroom is there too." he gently took your injured hand in his own. "felix’s room is right next door, okay? if you need anything you have my number or you can always knock." you took a breath to say something but chan cut you off. "i promise you’re not going to bother anyone if you knock. please don’t hesitate if you need something." he said. he knows you so well already.

you gave him a small smile. "that’s not what i was going to say. though it definitely sounds like something i would say."

"oh." he looked embarrassed. "what were you going to say?"

now it was your turn to be embarrassed. you weren’t sure if you were going to regret what you were about to ask, but you didn’t think you really had a choice.

"uhm.." you pulled your hand free of chans grasp and fiddled with your sweater sleeves, unable to look at him when you asked. "would it be totally weird and wrong of me to ask you to stay here tonight?" you asked. the room was silent for a moment and you started to panic. you looked up at him. "not— not like in the same bed or anything! just like in the same room! i just don’t know if i can be alone right now. i would feel much safer if you were here with me. if that’s okay.." you slowly trailed off.

"hey.." chan soothed. he put his hands on your shoulders, squeezing gently. "i don’t mind to stay here. i’ll sleep on the couch. does that work?"

you nodded. "thank you, channie." you said quietly. he smiled down at you. he wouldn’t say it out loud at this moment, but that was the first time you had called him channie in person and he definitely took note of it. he loved it. it made him want to jump up and down and clap his hands, but he refrained.

"well.. um.. goodnight." you mumbled, awkward and embarrassed, and headed toward the bedroom.

"wait." chan said. you turned to face him. he walked over to the couch and unzipped his suitcase. he pulled out a black t shirt and some black athletic shorts and tossed them at you. "here. you can sleep in these. i bet sleeping in jeans wouldn’t be all that comfortable." he said.

you completely missed the clothes and they fell to the floor. you scrambled to pick them up quickly and stuttered out your thanks before escaping to the bathroom.

——

you crawled into the bed. it felt much too big for you. but the sheets were warm and inviting. chans clothes were soft against your skin and they smelled like him. that same musky vanilla smell that you noticed at the coffee shop. you pulled the neckline up to your nose and breathed deep. damn he smelled so good. breathing him in, it wasn’t long before you’re eyes became heavy and you drifted off to sleep.

you could feel the cold metal pressed against your skin again. the point poking a hole into your shirt, threatening to break the skin. you were panicking, hyperventilating. "be good and just let me take it, okay?" the man’s voice said in your ear, his foul breath ghosting over your face and filling you nostrils, turning your stomach. let him take what? he removed the knife from your skin and used his hands to grab your hips. you could feel the hilt poking into you. he pulled you flush against his body, your back to his front. he took his free hand and slid it up your shirt, running his fingers across your stomach. you knew in this moment what he wanted to take and you couldn’t let it happen. "yn?" you could hear chans voice from behind you. "let her go!" he yelled. and the man didn’t hesitate for even a moment before he turned around and shoved the knife into chans stomach. he gasped and reached for his now bleeding wound. the man ran in the opposite direction as chan fell to his knees in front of you. tears streamed down your cheeks as you fell with him, cradling his head. "yn.." he said, his voice weak. "i’m here." you comforted him. "yn." he said again, a little firmer this time. "YN" he yelled.

you gasped awake, clutching your chest, frantically trying to gather your surroundings. "hey, hey, it’s okay." chan grabbed your hand. "you were having a bad dream. you’re okay." he wiped your tears away with the pads of his fingers. "i’m here, yeah?"

finally taking him in, he was fine. healthy, not stabbed or bleeding. your bottom lip quivered. you threw yourself into his arms and sobbed. he was stunned at first, but he caught you with no problems, wrapping his strong arms around you and holding you close. "shhh, baby it’s okay. it’s over now. i promise you’re safe." your body shook in his arms as he soothed you. "do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly against your hair.

you pulled away from him and met his gaze with glassy eyes. it broke his heart to see you like that. he wiped your falling tears with his thumbs. "the- uhm.." you sniffled. "the attacker was in my dream. but this time when you came to save me, you got hurt." you said, voice breaking, fresh hot tears rolling down your cheeks.

"hey, don’t cry. i’m okay." he smiled. "i’m right here, see?" he gestured to himself. he gently took your hand in his and placed your palm against his chest. you could feel his heart beating beneath your fingertips. "i’m fine, yeah?"

you nodded, sniffling, your tears finally having stopped. your eyes now heavy with exhaustion. you wanted to lay back down. "i’m sorry i woke you up." you told him.

"oh you didn’t. you know me.." he pointed to himself. "insomnia." he chuckled. "i’m feeling pretty sleepy right now though."

"oh yeah. i forgot i bore you to sleep." you laughed.

"hey, you do not." his accent so thick, and he laughed. "i’m just comfortable with you."

"well.. i don’t mind if you stay here to sleep.." you told him. "you need your rest. and i honestly think you keep the nightmares away.." you added quietly.

he looked a little surprised. "are you sure? i don’t want you to feel like im trying anything. i swear im not."

"no, no channie. i don’t think that. we’re just helping each other sleep."

there it was again, channie. it sounded so good coming out of your mouth. it sounded so sweet. he softened at the sound of it. he smiled. "okay. as long as you’re sure it’s okay."

"i’m sure." you reclined back on the bed, snuggling under the cover. you lifted the edge so he could slide underneath as well. he slid in beside you, pulling your body flush with his. his fingertips making contact with a sliver of bare skin peeking out from under your (his) shirt. you felt that same electric spark course through you.

"is this okay?" he asked, his voice raspy as he whispered in your ear. all you could muster was a nod. all thoughts and words left your brain. you stayed like that for a few minutes, breathing easy, slowly drifting off to sleep in his arms before he broke the silence. "i’m sorry i put you in that situation today." he said.

you tried to roll over to face him, but he held tight. "you didn’t put me in any situation." you said to the open room.

"oh but i did." he said. he sounded so sad. "im the only reason you’re in chicago. i’m the one who had to leave early, forcing you to walk back to your car alone. i should have been there. and i’m sorry."

"chan it’s not your fault. you had no idea a crazy man with a knife would try to attack me. that’s ridiculous."

"ridiculous or not, i’m just… sorry." he squeezed you a little tighter, nuzzling his face into your hair.

"it’s okay." you tell him. "i’m fine, you’re fine, the guy is in jail. everything is okay."

"you’re right." he says. though you can tell he still feels guilty. "get some rest, okay? i’m here to catch all the bad dreams."

and with that, you fell asleep.

— —

the next morning came too soon. you had never slept so good. and it seemed, neither had chan. his alarm was blaring, the morning sunlight peeking through the curtains. he groaned and reached to turn the alarm off. once the room was silent, he pulled you close once more. he took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of your shampoo.

"chan.." you poked his bicep gently. you got no answer. "chaaaannnnn." you sing songed. still no answer. "chan i have to pee." you told him curtly.

"uh uh." he said in a childish tone, squeezing you slightly. you giggled.

"channie i really need to go." you pleaded. though, you didn’t want to ever leave his arms. but nature called.

"only because you called me channie." he said. he placed the softest kiss on the spot where you’re shoulder meets your neck and then he released you. but now you couldn’t move. you lay there in a stunned frozen state until he nudged you. "aren’t you going to go pee?" he asked.

"oh.. right." you chuckled awkwardly before getting up and heading for the bathroom. you changed back into the clothes you were wearing yesterday and brushed your teeth with your finger, before trying your best to flatten your hair with your palms. chan had already gotten dressed for the day, his normal black hoodie and beanie. his curls poking out from under the material.

"are you ready?" he asked. you nodded. "your car is pretty close to here. so i’ll escort you there before i have to leave."

he sounded sad. but you weren’t sure why. maybe sad because you were going home and he was off to whatever schedule they had. he didn’t know when he would see you again. was that too self centered for you to assume? because that’s how you were feeling. you weren’t ready to part ways with him yet. but you didn’t really have a choice.

the walk to your car was short and not as traumatic as you thought it would be. the spot where the attack happened was much less scary in the daytime. the walk was also quiet. chan really wasn’t saying much. maybe that’s just the way he is? maybe he’s naturally quiet, though you didn’t think so. he had something on his mind and that’s why he wasn’t talking. and you weren’t talking because you were thinking about what he might be thinking about. and before you knew it, you arrived at the parking garage. he followed you inside to make sure you got to your car safely.

unlocking the door, you turned to tell him goodbye. he was looking down at his shoes.

"chan, what’s the matter?" you asked. "you’ve been quiet the whole way here."

"i’m just sad to see you go." he said, giving you a small smile.

"i feel the same way. but we can see each other again, hopefully soon, if that’s what you want." maybe that’s not what he wants. maybe this whole mess has been too much for him. maybe you are too much for him.

"i’m not so sure it’s a good idea if we see each other again." he said quietly.

and there it was. that’s what’s been on his mind. how to let you down gently. you were too much for him. too much of a burden, an annoyance. did last night and this morning mean nothing to him? you had said it was just you helping each other sleep, but there was something there. you felt it. you know he did too. he kissed your neck this morning! how could he act like that meant nothing?

"so you were leading me on? and now you’re done having your fun? is that what this is?" you asked, your voice laced with venom. you were embarrassed and hurt and angry. and instead of rolling over and letting him hurt you, you were going to hurt him. and that will make this break easier.

"leading you on? no that’s not—" and he reached for your hand but you pulled it away.

"i understand that im not the typical girl you would go for. but i thought i felt something. but maybe that’s just me being delusional." you opened your car door. "just forget it. " you said, before climbing inside and shutting the door. you started the engine and backed out of the spot, leaving chan in your rear view.

taglist: @thinkingaboutlana @tamlinsfiddle @everythingboutkpop @iknowyouknowminho to be added or removed, just lmk.

🚨reminder: this blog is 18+ only. i’ve been getting a lot of new followers (which i greatly appreciate) but if there’s no age identifier on your blog, i’m blocking you no questions asked. (for my own sanity and peace of mind.) ik some people don’t actually go to my page to read the warnings, so im going to start attaching a warning at the bottom of all my posts. thanks for understanding. 💕

#stray kids #bang chan #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #bang chan stray kids #bang chan x reader #stray kids bang chan #bang chan hurt/comfort #bang chan angst #bang chan fluff #skz bang chan #bang chan skz #hyunjins orange slice too

[scarlethexelove]

hi, can you please do agatha harkness x fem reader, where reader was sexually abused by ex girlfriend badly and has trauma so agatha helps to overcome it? their first time being together...

Soft

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Word Count: 1684

Warnings: Soft sex, Smut, Soft Agatha, Fingering, Oral, just fluffy smut

Pt 1

A/n: I hope it is ok that I'm making this as a second part to my other fic. Aggie is just so sweet and soft and caring. I just can't with her. Hopefully this is ok and what you wanted.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

Your clothes slip off your body as you undress after the most perfect date with the perfect woman. Agatha has been so gentle and caring. She always checks on your boundaries after you explained your past to her. You don’t know how you lucked out on finding her but you are so grateful. 

You turn around to admire Agatha as she slips her clothes off. She is only left in her bra and panties. “Aggie.” She hums, turning around to look at you. “Oh shit. I’m sorry sweetheart.” She adverts her eyes from your already naked form. “Aggie it’s ok. You can look.” You say a bit shy. She looks back at you, her eyes filled with admiration for you. She always respects your body and always takes your feelings into account. You make your way closer to her and take her hand in yours looking up into her eyes. You give her a soft smile. “I think I’m ready to try.” Your voice is soft. 

Agatha looks at you searching for any hint of hesitation but finds none. She gives you a soft smile back. “Are you sure sweetheart?” You give her a nod. “You make me feel safe and loved. I’m ready to try.” You see nothing but the love and admiration she has for you. “If you are sure then I would be happy to. But if at any point you want to stop just tell me and we will stop. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Your heart melts with her concern for you. It has been many months of therapy for you to get to this point. You have gone to both personal therapy and couples therapy. It’s not that you needed to do couples therapy but you both wanted to learn about each other and you both could work on slowly introducing sex back into your life if you so wish. There have been countless conversations about your boundaries. It has never been too much to go over it multiple times in order to make sure that you are comfortable and you are so thankful for that. 

Agatha takes your hand and leads you towards the bed. As you crawl on the bed Agatha strips down the rest of the way. You can’t help but stare at how beautiful she looks. She catches you staring which makes you blush and looks down. She crawls on the bed moving to hover over you. She gently lifts your chin and kisses you softly. “You’re so beautiful baby.” She whispers against your lips. “Not as beautiful as you.” You whisper back, making Agatha shake her head. “I have never seen someone more beautiful than you.” If possible your cheeks turn a darker shade of red. 

The sound of your heartbeat is all that you can hear as your anxiety spikes. You tense slightly when Agatha gently grabs your hips and kisses your neck. She stops immediately feeling you tense. “Do you want me to stop?” She asks you worried. “No.” You shake your head. “Sorry.” Her thumb rubs gently against your skin which makes you relax. She pecks your lips softly. “Okay.” She smiles. “Just try and relax and I will do all the work.” You nod at her words as you lean back and try your best to relax.

Agatha kisses your neck starting to trail kisses down from your neck and to your chest. She is making sure not to leave any marks behind as she works her way down. She wants to make sure not to cross your boundaries that you set. She trails down further until she is laying between your legs. “Is this ok?” She asks you. “Yes.” It comes out a bit breathy as you nod, you’re already getting worked up from her small touches. But not worked up in a bad way, excited for the chance to give all of you to Agatha. 

Soft kisses are placed on your thighs as Agatha gently caresses your hips rubbing soothing circles there. You reach your hand down for her free one looking for a way to ground yourself before you become too overwhelmed. She takes your hand and laces her fingers with yours and smiles softly at you. 

“May I?” Agatha asks. She wants to check in with you every step of the way which makes your heart swell with love. “Yes… Please Aggie , I need you.” You haven’t felt this desperate in so long that you are a little taken aback by how you sound. “Anything for you sweetheart.” She leans in placing a kiss on your clit, which makes you shudder. An old sensation that feels new… different. 

You squeeze Agatha’s hand as she sucks your clit in her mouth. In all of your talks about boundaries it was agreed upon that your first time would only be mouth and fingers and only two fingers. Agatha doesn’t want to overwhelm you with more, giving you just the perfect combination. She can keep it gentle as she works you up. 

Agatha gently sucks your clit causing a soft moan to tumble from your lips. Agatha feels her chest swell in pride for being able to make you feel safe. Your arousal starts to leak down onto her chin as she licks and sucks at your bundle of nerves. Your hand never leaves her as she grounds you. Any worry you had washing away as she slowly builds you up. She brings her hand not holding yours down, slowly teasing your entrance with one finger. 

Iridescent eyes find yours silently asking your permission. You nod your head breathing heavily as you look down at the woman between your legs. She slowly pushes her finger into your waiting hole. Once fully pushed in she lets you get used to feeling. The feeling is slightly overwhelming causing you to grip her hand harder. She gently rubs her thumb on the back of your hand trying to relax you. After a moment your grip relaxes and she starts to slowly thrust her finger. 

You hate to admit how embarrassingly fast the knot in your stomach is growing. The new feeling and how soft and attentive Agatha is being is bringing you closer to the edge. Your hips start to lightly buck into her face the more comfortable you feel with the woman. You can feel her smile against you as you do so. Her finger curling as she pulls out hitting that perfect spot inside of you. Moans start to tumble from your lips the more pleasure that you feel. 

Agatha adds her second finger stretching your walls more as she builds you. Her expert tongue toying with your clit has your walls clenching around her fingers. She can feel how close you are getting. Your hips buck as your thighs tighten around her head. A pleasure that you never thought you would welcome again slowly taking over. 

Agatha can tell you're close to falling over the edge as she works you up keeping a gentle and slow pace. “Cum when you're ready baby.” She mumbles against your clit. The vibrations sending you over the edge. You moan as your thighs clamped around her head. Your walls pulsing around her fingers as you coat them with your cum. Your hips wildly buck when she sucks on your clit. She rides you through your high before it starts to become too overwhelming for you. 

You close your eyes feeling tears well up. Agatha stops and pulls away slowly not wanting to hurt you. When she sees the look on your face and you open your eyes she panics. “I’m so sorry baby. Did I hurt you? Oh god I’m so sorry.” You can see the panic and worry written all over her face as she sits up and looks you over. She sees the unshed tears and panics more. You shake your head. “I’m ok.” The tears were happy tears. You had thought that you would never be able to be intimate with another woman after your ex but here you are with the most amazing woman ever. 

Agatha doesn’t buy it though still worried that she has some how fucked it up and ruined all of your progress. You shake your head and pull her hand towards you gently kissing the back. “I’m happy Aggie. I can’t thank you enough.” You tell her admiration for the woman in front of you. You can see her relax at your words so thankful that she didn’t hurt you. She moves to lay down next to you. You instantly move closer to her and she wraps her arms around you tightly pulling you closer to her. “No need to thank me baby. I would do anything for you.” 

You can tell Agatha wants to kiss you but is hesitant. Your juices are still coating her lips. “Aggie, you can kiss me.” You tell her. “Are you sure? If you aren’t ready I can go brush my teeth and clean up.” You shake your head with a wide smile on your face. So thankful for her always putting your needs above her own. “Kiss me.” You mumble leaning towards her. She can’t resist you and meets you halfway there as your lips meet. It’s odd to taste yourself on her lips but oddly satisfying.  

When the two of you pull back you lay your head on her chest as the room falls into a peaceful silence. “What about you?” You look up at the older woman breaking the silence. She shakes her head with a soft smile. “Tonight was about you sweetheart. Don’t worry about me.” You're hesitant. “Are you sure?” Agatha kisses your head. “Absolutely, I don’t need anything other than you. You can next time, how about that?” You smile and nod. “Next time.” You whisper as you cuddle in closer. Both of you slowly drift off to sleep in each other's arms. Content with life and excited about the progression of your relationship. It isn’t always this easy in the future but you always work together to make things right.

#agatha x fem reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha x reader smut #agatha x reader fluff #agatha harkness fluff #agatha harkness smut #agatha harkness x female reader #agatha harkness x reader fluff #agatha harkness fanfic #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness x reader smut

[littlelovelyra]

The Ritual - (The change pt4)

"You will kill him. You. Will. Kill. Him."

Notes: Pt 4 is here! Spent some time day dreaming this one and the time has finally come to kill the bastard :D The first half is in Astarion's PoV and then Tav's PoV takes over. I have marked it clearly (hopefully.) I hope this all makes sense - I'm a bit sleepy so tried to make sure i edited it enough.

Warnings: Violence, Tav gets called a wh*re again (poor tav but its ok), soft dom astarion, blood sharing, PiV, Oral, C*zador, death, let me know if I have missed anything.

MINORS DNI

Ao3 if you prefer <3

_________________________

Astarion:

This place makes your skin crawl, and not just because of the terrible decor, though that has always been abysmal. You and your companions stand before an intricately locked door, one that your lock-picking skills won't be able to conquer. There's only one option left: you must search for clues to unlock this blasted door. As you walk these halls again, unsettling memories flood back. If it weren’t for Tav checking in on you, you would have been overwhelmed by your trauma the moment you set foot in this God-forsaken place.

As you journey down the corridor you find yourselves in a room you are all too familiar with and you can’t stop the shiver that rolls over your body. She touches your cheek and rubs her thumb in loving circles “I’m here. We are all here, you are safe.” Breathing her scent, you turn your mouth into her palm and kiss it.

“This room is where I brought my… conquests for Cazador… I would entertain them here until he was ready for them.” Your face scrunches in disgust as she pulls you in and holds you for a moment running her hand up and down your back.

“Tav, Astarion, sorry to interrupt but I think we found a way in.” Karlach stands at the doorway her expression is soft but laser-focused at the same time. You give her a nod and grasp Tav’s hand in yours as you return to the locked door.

You watch as Gale places a ring on the door and speaks an incantation, after a moment you hear a click and you push the door open. As you and your companions look in you see a few werewolves, bats, wolves and rats. “Cazador is getting desperate,” you think as you walk in.

“You’re new, Cazador never kept guard dogs before.” You spit out at the werewolf making its way to you.

“The runaway spawn! You reek of the master’s scent. Come with us, come to master.” The creature sniffs the air eagerly inching forward.

“Excuse me. I will not be ordered around my own house by some blow-in mutt.” You wave your hand dismissively in the creature’s face.

“We bring you to him! We get his favour!” He snarls and readies himself for a fight.

Instinctively you push your hand out and move Tav behind you as you pull two short swords out lunging forward at the mutt in front of you and expertly slashing it twice across its chest. It shrieks in pain and stumbles back, it shakes its body as if it were shaking off the pain you inflicted and it gets ready to pounce.

Behind you, you hear Tav’s voice “Ira et dolor!” a cloud of cold black mist forms in a circle, encasing the beast and several others inside. You hear whispers emanating from the darkness and recognise this as a Hunger of Hadar incantation and multiple screams erupt from within.

You glance back and flash her an approving grin and she replies in kind. “Nicely done my love, save those resources as much you can though okay?” You press your thoughts to her mind and she nods in reply.

You and your companions make quick work of clearing out the room and make your way to Cazador’s quarters. After looking around for about five minutes you stumble across an elevator.

“What in the hells? I never knew this was here. This was always Cazador’s private quarters, only he ever came in here. Well, him and the unfortunate souls we brought to feed him.” You say as you all stand on the platform. You activate the lift and hold your breath the whole way down.

As you finish your descent you feel Tav interlock her fingers with yours as you walk forward. You take in your surroundings, this place… is massive. How could you not have known about this after all these years? How could you miss this? The atmosphere is cold and uninviting, it smells of death as you walk down the corridor.

Reaching the end Tav stops in her tracks, her gaze fixed to the right-hand side of the room. “Astarion… do you know who these prisoners are…?” Her voice is soft as she slowly approaches the iron bars of their holding cell.

“I don’t even know what this prison is. He hid all of this from me and the others. If I had to guess, I’d say they are all part of his ritual. But where in the hells did they come from?” You peer into the cell and see an ocean of red eyes staring back at you.

“You. I know you. You’re the one from the Tavern. You smiled and joked and got me drunk.” A familiar voice fills the room and your body turns to ice.

“You- no. You’re dead.” Your voice shakes and it dips down into a whisper.

The male continues “You called me so many sweet things. My name sounded like a lyric on your tongue.” Your stomach twists into knots and you loosen your grip on Tav’s hand, suddenly feeling overcome with shame. You shouldn’t be touching her… you’re not good enough for her.

Your face twists in pain at the memory, “Sebastian.” Is all you can get out.

“You remember me.” Sebastian replies, his voice is monotone, flat… it sounds, dead.

“You were handsome. Shy. You’d never been kissed.” Your gaze falls to the floor and you feel as though your legs may just give way.

“You taught me how. And then you destroyed me!” In his rage, he lunges forward his hand reaching out through the bars trying to grab you and he drops to the floor defeated.

Tav moves toward you and you try to step away, how could someone so perfect love someone like you? You feel filthy. Unworthy. As if she can read your mind, she gently snatches your hand and gives it a tender squeeze.

“They’re my conquests. I pursued them, seduced them, and then brought them to Cazador. He told us he was feeding on them. But he turned them to spawn. He turned every last one so He’d have souls for this cursed ritual.” You are losing your composure, being faced with all these souls you deceived is eating away at you.

“How long?” Sebastian whispers. “How long have I been down here?” His voice is filled with venom as he stands facing you.

“One hundred and seventy years. You were one of my first.” You look at him and wait.

“My family. My friends, they’re gone… you took them from me. You took everything from me. I damn you to the Hells! I damn you to misery! I damn you - damn you…” he falls to his knees weeping as you stand there unable to move.

You feel a small tug on your hand and turn to Tav as she scans your face, her brows furrow and she leads you out of the room for a moment.

“Look at me. Astarion, look at me!” Her hands grip your shoulders as she shakes you firmly. “You had no idea what Cazador was doing, you did what you had to, to survive. You had no choice, those actions do not define you. What you do now… that is what matters.” Her hands come to your face forcing your eyes to meet hers. “You need to focus. We will end this and then we can decide what we do with all of them. But right now I need you to focus, Star. Please.” She kisses you deeply and you wonder what you ever did to deserve her love.

“Okay. You’re right.” You whisper back pressing your forehead to hers. You once again inhale her scent and it instantly grounds you. “Let’s get this over with.” You say as you both make your way to Cazador.

As you pass the cells again you keep your gaze forward but you extend a promise to your past “I will kill him, for all of you. For all of us.” And you push the last set of doors open.

Slowly you make your way down the stairs hand in hand with Tav, your allies following closely behind you. And that’s when you see him.

“Who stands before us? Is this truly our prodigal son? Do not slouch before me, boy! Have you no respect for yourself? Look at you, crawling back after abandoning your family. You should be begging our forgiveness!” Cazador glares at you, his crimson eyes burning with rage.

“Forgiveness? You’ve never forgiven anything. Every mistake, every slip was punished!” You spit out at him.

“I strove for perfection in all things, even those as imperfect as you. A pity you amounted to so little, despite my efforts. You couldn’t even protect your little pet you ‘love” so much from me. Pathetic.” His voice is smug as he gloats at your shortcomings. You feel the rage swell up inside you.

“No! No, fuck you and fuck everything you’ve ever done to me.” You will kill him… You will kill him. You. Will. Kill. Him.

“We’re here for justice. You’re going to pay.” Tav’s words are laced with hatred as she stares Cazador down.

“I will not speak to whores! This is between me and the boy. I will have you after I’m done with him” Cazador holds her stare. Whore… There is that word again, perhaps he forgot what happened to the last person who called her that wretched word.

“You son of a bitch! I’ll KILL YOU!” Rage takes over your body as you run up to him ready to punch that smug look off his face. As you pull back your hand and launch it forward Cazador takes his staff and with one strike to the floor, he holds you in place.

“You truly forgot my power. You truly thought our bond as creator and creation was all that stopped you from killing me? You are weak, my child. You are a small, pathetic little boy who never amounted to anything. But today, you will finally do something worthwhile. You will burn and I will ascend.” He waves his staff and you are flung into the single free spot and are suspended in the air.

Panic settles into your core “No! Stop him! And get me out of this!” You look to your lover, you know that look on her face and you know you wouldn’t be able to convince her to run.

“Witness the birth of the Vampire Ascendant! Ecce Dominus!” Cazador opens his arms wide.

Then it begins, you watch the fight unfold before your eyes, Karlach runs to the frontlines, rage explodes from her body as the werewolves surround her. The one closest to her clamps down on her arm, she twists around and drives her sword into its chest. She makes quick work slaying every single one of them and moves on to her next target.

Gale shouts an incantation of fireball that disintegrates a group of bats into ashes and focuses his attention on Cazador hitting him with a lightning bolt and taking out a few more bats along the way. Your eyes are darting around scanning the platform for her and you find her. She is surrounded by ghouls, a few of them make contact slashing into her arm and you watch her stumble back in pain with blood dripping down the lashes. You can tell she is quickly assessing her options and then her gaze meets yours.

“Inveniam viam!” She disappears for a second and reappears in front of you, your heart swells at the sight of her, yet again throwing herself in the middle of danger just to help you.

“Let’s get you out of here, you’ve got a vampire to kill.” You don’t know how she did it but the minute her hands were on you, you found yourself back on the floor and free to move about as you pleased.

You look behind her and notice a group of ghouls coming towards you and Tav protectively steps in between.

“Detono!” She sends them flying back over the edge, falling to their death.

The two of you lock eyes with Cazador, his face steaming with rage as he sees that you are free from the ritual’s grasp and his reinforcements are lessening by the second.

“Fiat lux!” Gale yells across the room and a bright orb appears in the centre of the platform, you hear Cazador yell in discomfort. “Gale you bastard I could kiss you right now!” You send down the tadpole’s line. “As flattered as I am Astarion, Tav may have an issue with that and I would not like to be on the receiving end of her envy.” He shoots back in response as you and Tav stalk toward Cazador's weakened form.

You glance towards Tav and see a little mischievous smile spread from her lips as her eyes darken.

“Obedi me.” She cocks her head to the side, her voice sounding like silk as the command runs off her tongue and her grin widens knowing her spell has landed on its victim. As you look up you see Cazador … dancing. Oh gods above she’s selected the most humiliating way to trap him. It sent a swell of approval towards her and you mentally note to show her just how much you appreciated this moment.

“Pathetic.” You scoff out watching Cazador's rage boil over as he uncontrollably dances. You unsheathe your short sword and slash his shirt open down his back. He winces in pain, his pride won’t let him scream. Not yet.

You throw him to the ground and kick away his staff as Tav releases the hold she has on him.

“Get your hands off me worm!” Cazador spits out.

“HAH! I’m not the one in the dirt.” You bend down and retrieve the blade from Cazador’s side. “One last thrust and I’ll be free of you. I’ll never have to fear you again. But if I complete the ritual I will never have to fear anyone ever again.”

You bring your foot down with blinding force to his shin and hear a satisfying snap. Cazador wails in pain and it is like music to your ears.

“You think me a fool? That I would let someone take my place? Those runes on your back lock you in place boy! I made you to be consumed!” He spits out at you.

“I can do this, but I need your help. I can be free, truly, completely free… isn’t that what you want?” You turn to Tav, the desperation of never having to be afraid is consuming you. This is how you can keep her safe. Keep you safe. You can be better than him.

“Star… I know you think the ascension will set you free, but it won’t. This power will trap you, just like it trapped him.” Her voice is soft as she points to Cazador.

“You- you’re right. I can be better than him. But I’m not above enjoying this.” You say as you bring your attention back to the vermin sitting in front of you.

Taking the dagger you plunge it into Cazador’s stomach and hear him scream in pain. After years of torment, years of abuse you finally have this moment. You twist it slightly and he screams once more as you start viciously stabbing him over and over.

Before the killing blow lands you stop yourself and look at him, his breathing is staggered you can tell he is almost at the end. Turning to Tav you extend the blade out to her, slowly she crosses the floor and makes her way to you. She kneels and places her hand over yours that holds the dagger.

“Together?” She says.

“Together.” You respond

His eyes widen in fear as the two of you thrust the dagger one last time and you watch the light leave his eyes.

The blade falls from your hand as you are overwhelmed with emotions, Tav wraps her arms around you and the tears start pouring. It’s over. It’s finally over.

________________________________

Tav:

Wrapped in each other’s embrace you sit there for a moment and take in what’s just happened. You feel his sobs start to slow and his breathing regulates. He offered you the final blow… you. Even though he was the one who spent years in torment he wanted you to have your moment, gods you loved this man, more than you ever thought possible.

“What do we do about the seven thousand?” He whispers to himself.

“That depends… On the one hand, we get rid of them which could haunt us, on the other unleashing them would mean they could inflict harm on innocent people… I don’t know what to do.” You feel hopeless, as the leader, as his partner… you don’t know what the best course of action is.

“I think…we need to release them. They deserve a chance… right?” He looks to you, pleading for some direction. You place your hand on his cheek and give him a soft smile. “Yes. They deserve a chance.” You reply and softly kiss his lips. “But if they come after you, they will not last very long. Not if I can help it.”

Astarion opens the cells by slamming the staff to the floor and you make your way up to the crowd of spawn.

“You are all free now. I know none of you willingly chose this life but what you need to understand is that he never had a choice either.” You point to Astarion as you address the crowd. “You have a chance now to live your life and live it well. Make the right choices.” You look around assessing the faces and see no immediate threat.

“Let’s go, this place reeks of death and I want to feel alive again.” He says as he takes your hand in his and you make your way back home.

Your companions anxiously await your party’s return to the Elfsong Tavern. You are greeted with enthusiasm and relief the moment you enter the doors. Shadowheart rushes to your side assessing the damage and begins to heal your wounds as best as she can. She hands you a potion and advises you to pour it into a bath so you can soak in it for a while. After a few moments of everyone fussing over you, you take Astarion’s hand and lead him to your private quarters.

You draw a warm bath and pour Shadowheart’s potion into the water. “Come on, Star.” You walk up to him and place a soft kiss on his cheek. The two of you sink into the tub and immediately feel the healing effects of the potion. Working the soap into a lather you gently start to wash the blood from the curls of his hair, massaging his scalp in deep circular motions he releases a long sigh and you feel his body relax. There are no words exchanged between the two of you during your time in the bath, you simply sit and enjoy the comfortable silence around you.

Once the water begins to cool you make your exit from the tub and dress yourselves.

“There’s something I want to show you if that’s alright? Something out in the city.” He turns to you his face is serious, something you are not used to seeing on him,

“Of course, lead on.” You offer a gentle smile, letting him take the lead as you stroll side by side.

He leads you to a quiet graveyard to a gravestone covered in overgrown ivy. You stay silent and wait for him to talk. He walks to the gravestone and clears the vines.

“Nearly two hundred years and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there. I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way up through six feet of dirt. Then when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was waiting. From that day on I was his. Until today.” His gaze is fixed on his tombstone.

“You were never his. Whatever he had, he took by force.” Your voice is soft in reply, you can barely get the words out.

“Maybe, but he did take it. There’s almost nothing left of the person I was. Just a name on a rock. For nearly two centuries I stalked the streets like a ghost while the person I was lay here, dead and buried. Now I need to figure out who I am. What I want.” He turns to you and smiles at you, his eyes have a spark in them that you have only ever seen glimpses of. But tonight, they shine bright.

“You are the person I love… the person I want. Tell me what you want Astarion and I will make it happen.” You hold his hands in yours

“I feel the same. You were by my side through all of this. Through bloodlust and pain and misery. Through… your change. You were patient. You cared, you trusted me when that was an objectively stupid thing to do. I feel safe with you. Seen. And whatever the future holds for me, I don’t want to lose that.” His ruby eyes glisten in the moonlight as tears fill them.

“You won’t lose me Astarion. Ever. I am here with you, through it all, forever.” Your voice cracks at your promise as you hold his gaze.

“Thank you. Well, I should probably fix this…” He leans down and starts chiselling away at his tombstone, you spot a white flower nearby, pluck it and place it on his grave.

He looks at you with a soft smile “Cute… I’ve been dead in the ground long enough. It’s time to try living again. With everything that life has to offer.” He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a handkerchief and slowly unravels it, revealing two matching bands.

“I found these, in the house of healing back in the shadow-cursed lands. I knew I wanted to give you one of them, I was just waiting for the right time. Gale told me they have a warding bond… this is my promise to you. I promise to be at your side, through all that life has to offer us. I love you. I love this. And I want it all.” He slips it onto your index finger and does the same with his.

“A promise ring?” You choke out your words.

“Yes. And one day, in the future, there will be another. One fit for this finger.” He raises your hand, taps your ring finger and then brushes his lips across your knuckles. “Come, it’s getting cold.” His fingers lace between yours and you make your way back home.

As the two of you arrive in your room he guides you to the bed, his hands slowly roaming their way around your body. He pushes your head to the side with his, and slides his lips down your neck and up again. Spinning you around he slowly brings his hand up your chest between your breasts, it glides up your throat seductively to grip the base of your head. His thumb rests on your bottom lip as he drags it down opening your mouth and he places his on yours, his tongue moving against yours. A soft groan escapes your lips at the sensation and desire pools in your core. You release all control, you want him to do whatever he wants in whatever capacity he is ready for.

“Tonight I’m in control, I want to devour you. I’m done letting my past hold me back because you, Little Love… you deserve it all.” His words are hot in your ear as he snakes his free hand down your body and slips between your legs running a teasing line down your panties. Out of instinct, you try to grind yourself on his hand.

“Tsk, so impatient.” He growls slowly laying you down on your stomach on the bed. He grips your hips and pulls them up so that your knees are on the mattress and spreads your legs apart. He places his hands on your ass, rubbing circles on each cheek. Slowly he rips your underwear straight down the middle leaving you exposed to him and a low growl of appreciation escapes him.

“What a vision.” He slips two fingers into you, pumping them slowly in and out and brings them up to his mouth. Sliding himself under you he brings you down onto his face, you gasp at the feel of his tongue slipping through your wet folds as he begins to lick long strokes against your entry to your swollen bud. His hands travel up your sides and grip your hips once more, moving your body back and forth so that it rides his face. You obey his silent command and continue the motion yourself riding his tongue you start to feel your body buckle and spasm as the wave of pleasure crashes down on you, crying out his name you fall beside him.

“Good girl…” he sheds his clothes and places himself over you, spreading your legs open for him you watch his hardened length twitch as his gaze rakes over your body. You wiggle your hips up practically begging him for entrance. He chuckles as he grips your hips and pulls your core to his, easing himself into you.

“Gods… I’ve missed this. The feel of you.” He says as he tenderly thrusts into you. His mouth comes down to yours once again, kissing you passionately. You can feel all his love in the slow movement of his body in yours. The way you fit together, he was your missing puzzle piece and he found his home. You found your home in him. He pulls back and your eyes lock, you roll your head to the side inviting him to drink from you. He bends down sinks his teeth in and offers you his wrist while he still thrusts into you.

You bite down on his wrist and as the two of you drink your bodies become hungry for more. His thrusts fasten in pace and your hips roll in time with him, you release his wrist from your mouth and he brings it down to your clit, working it in tight circles and both of you shatter in pleasure together.

As you lay there he brings you into his arms scattering sweet, soft kisses around your face.

“I love you and I will always love you.” He whispers into your hair.

“Forever?” You whisper back.

“Forever.” He replies

As you lay in each other’s arms you breathe a sigh of relief. Today was a lot… but it is the start of your forever. You feel him slip into a rest and an odd thought crosses your mind while you stare at him. You realise you had not seen Sebastian within the crowd after the spawns were released… “Perhaps it’s nothing” you tell yourself as a new anxiety settles over you.

#baldurs gate astarion #bg3 tav #bg3 #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #tav #bg3 fandom #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion fluff #astarion smut #the change fanfic bg3 #littlelovelyra

[chirpsythismorning]

PSA editors: PLEASE stop flipping Mike’s monologue in the shed scene horizontally to match it with the lighting of Mike’s monologue in the Surfer Boy scene. Because what you’re doing is removing an entire layer of subtext regarding where Mike’s heart truly lies, which was in part being conveyed by which side of his face was lit in both of those scenes. Left side of Mike’s face lit = where his heart truly lies vs. Left side of Mike’s face hiding in the shadows = his heart is conflicted. Aka shed scene in s2 vs. Surfer Boy scene in s4. The choice to make those scenes back to back for a transition in an edit isn’t the problem, in fact it is the work of pure genius. Which is why I can’t stand by anymore and keep letting this happen without saying something.

#byler #I just witnessed the most beautiful edit in my life #like it doesn’t even matter that it did this exact thing bc it is stunning #but also #they deserve to know that their edit removed byler evidence from mike's monologue to will in the shed #at the expense of trying to match with the style of mike's monologue to el in surfer boy #my skin is crawling just thinking about it #like its 100% unintentional on their part obviously #and not serious whatsoever #bc obviously it's an aesthetic choice to make the transition smoother #and it works like it looks awesome #and yet still i feel it is my duty to inform

[ayrennaranaaldmeri]

man the dev notes w/ the stormshore tabernacle convo. whatever they're there for it's kind of remarkable how so much of the notes there for her are just textbook abuser stuff.

#tbd #after all the advantages I gave you -- i have the visceral skin crawl reaction its the abusive parent anthem #things that make my skin crawl bruh #it's everything I did for you #child who i groomed #I'm being so magnanimous towards you giving you time == child who i groomed #look at how merciful i am even though my first instinct is that i don't like how you didn't obey me #the dev notes of that convo genuinely make it worse boooy #which well done but also i will throw hands #dming helm pls kill her again #anyway i think it's kind of fascinating that most gods in this game show themselves as these larger than life figures but mystra? #you are seeing the person who did that to gale you are seeing that person #that person came to him as a child #like that divine separation has just not been there #esp with the build up #where she first dispatches elminster and then again when he tells you about the grant but at the end it's just her in this human figure #i genuinely feel like it deliberately strips that divine separation away & its another layer of insidiousness on her part #it's grounded in the sense of the damage she'd done to gale idk i am waffling but its just something about it is worse when it's so..wow. #idk i think in this game? i think she's not written like the other gods in this game and i think it makes her worse not more sympathetic #bg3 spoilers #abuse tw

[devoutlywished]

establishing shots of the osborn penthouse in sam raimi’s spider-man trilogy (2002-2007)

#i just think it’s neat!!! #spider-man #raimi spider man #harry osborn #norman osborn #* #** #one need not be a house #i used to post about house horror all the time. i’ve forgotten my love #i love you walls that moan and crawl and shudder i love you doors that are mouth and curtains that are gowns and floors that are skin #and tunnels and passageways and dark corners and locked doors and confinement and the clostrophobia of being enclosed in the home