#I live for all the little guests that come here in spring and the ones who stick around during winter

[arthur-r]

tonight is my last night sleeping in my bed. possibly for the rest of my life. and my last time in my room possibly for the rest of my life. and i want to just get a good night’s sleep to be ready for a long day tomorrow but it’s really not working out like that.

[phantom-of-the-north]

The European pied flycatchers are back in the birdhouse in my mom’s backyard :)

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Day 9 of TUI-Mas

Warnings: pregnancy, angst, mention of Harris's bio mom, happy ending I swear

WC: 1.5k

September 1999

Another school year is underway, the warm weather slightly chilled with the beginnings of an autumn breeze. The leaves remain on the branches of the oak tree in front of Jeff and Viv’s house, providing a sliver of shade as you walk up the front steps. 

The two of you try to get together once in a while for a mom lunch; Eddie usually brings Harris over to play with Ettie while he and Jeff reminisce about the good old days of Hellfire Club and playing pranks on Principal Higgins. Today, however, Harris is at Wayne’s for some “Grampa-Har Bear bonding time,” so you and your husband are on your own. 

“You look gorgeous,” Eddie murmurs in your ear as you ring the doorbell, hearing the chime softly echo from within the house. “Wish that wasn’t a maternity dress so you could wear it all the time.”

You roll your eyes at his flirtatiousness, a giggle giving away how tickled you are at the compliment. You truly do feel beautiful in this dress; the skirt swishes around your ankles with each gentle movement like you’re a princess. 

Viv opens the door with a smile far too wide for someone who can’t get a cocktail with her entree. “Come on in, head into the kitchen and grab some water. It’s still pretty hot out there.”

“But then I’ll have to pee.” Your unborn son seems to enjoy using your bladder as a makeshift drum set; Eddie has been telling Gareth that he’ll have some competition for the band’s percussionist once the baby arrives. Still, you oblige, trudging towards the overhead cupboard to grab a—

“SURPRISE!”

Your heart leaps at the burst of voices; you bring a palm to your chest. “Wh-What?”

“It’s your baby shower, my love.” Eddie stands behind you and rests his head on your shoulder, hands wrapping around your bump. “To celebrate Baby Munson.”

“Oh, my God.” Tears spring to your eyes and roll down your cheeks in rivulets, no doubt smearing the mascara you’d applied before arriving. You give Viv a squeezing hug—the best you can manage with both of you pregnant—and turn to the group of people in her living room. 

Robin and Jess jump up from the sofa to embrace you, and your co-workers whom Viv’s invited follow suit. You get choked up yet again when you spot Max Mayfield next in line to greet you. 

“Did you really fly in for this?” you ask incredulously, pulling back to get a better look at her. She’s cut her bright red hair a little shorter so it frames her face and her blue eyes hold the exhaustion from her demanding doctorate program, but she’s still the same Max you know and love. 

She nods enthusiastically. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” She leans in and whispers, “I knew you were the one for Eddie from the first time I saw how he looked at you. Like you’re this flower that blooms no matter the weather.”

“Okay, Almost-Doctor of English literature,” you tease her poetic waxing. Jane Hopper shyly steps out from behind her and you hug her as well. 

Viv clears her throat to grab the party’s attention. “Thank you all for being here today,” she begins timidly, not used to having all eyes on her. “Since Baby Munson seems to have a major sweet tooth, we’re skipping a formal lunch and going straight to dessert!” Her announcement is met with cheers and she directs the guests towards the abundance of cakes and cookies in the kitchen. 

You’re pulled towards the scent of freshly-brewed coffee, still steaming in the carafe. “That one’s decaf,” Viv informs you, pointing to the pot on the left hand side. You pick it up, careful not to burn your knuckles on the hot glass, and tilt it into a paper cup with Showers of Love for Baby Munson stamped on the side. 

“Should you be drinking coffee?” Genuine concern seeps from Eddie’s words. “I mean, is it safe for the baby?” Before you can respond, he’s taking the cup from your grasp and placing it on the kitchen counter.

You furrow your brows, the tiniest disbelieving laugh escaping your lips. There’s no way he’s serious, right?

“Eds, it’s decaf,” you reassure him, still unsure of his intentions. “Besides, having a little bit of coffee isn’t going to hurt the baby.” You reach for the cup, but he just pushes it back farther from you.

His jaw steels, carefully mulling over his words despite his building frustration towards your dismissiveness. “Right, but it still contains trace amounts of caffeine. And it could stunt his growth and lead to, like, brain development issues.”

“Look,” you seeth, a hushed tone poorly masking your raging hormones, “I don’t need you hovering over me, okay? Do you not trust me or something?”

“I do. I do trust you.” But there’s a telltale pause beforehand that makes you believe otherwise. He notices your small step back, a dagger dangling just above your heart. “Sweetheart, it’s–”

You walk away with a shake of your head, determined to enjoy your baby shower. Eddie is a protective person–it’s one of his qualities that you most admire–but this errs on the side of controlling. 

Dutifully, you sit down on your chair at the head of the Reynolds’ living room, digging into a slice of vanilla sponge cake and easing back into the upbeat atmosphere. You unwrap boxes of cartoon-stamped shirts and onesies, the tiniest clothing articles you’ve ever seen. Max has even managed to find a pajama set with the outline of an electric guitar stitched on the front. Your lap overflows with bottles, crib sheets, and pacifiers while Eddie hangs back in the kitchen. 

“This last one is just a little something we all chipped in for,” Jess announces, excitedly thrusting a small envelope in your direction. You tuck your thumb under the seal and open it, revealing a gift card to Enzo’s.

“For your first date night after Baby Munson’s arrival,” Viv chimes in, her fingers curling around her own coffee cup. “Jeff and I will babysit,” she offers kindly. “It’s important to keep the romance alive.”

Robin scoffs from her corner of the sofa. “Yeah, like these two will have a problem with that.” She playfully rolls her eyes. “If you look up ‘lovesick’ in the dictionary, you’ll find their pictures.”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment’s heat as everyone else agrees with her. From the corner of your eye, you see Eddie pouring a fresh cup of decaffeinated coffee and preparing it just as you like it. He shuffles into the room, his empty hand shoved into his front pocket. The brush of his lips on your scalp is an apology, a sentiment you both echo and accept with a squeeze of his forearm.

“See?” Robin continues with a teasing grin. “Absolutely sickening.”

“Thank you guys,” Eddie says, resting his palms on your shoulder as you take a sip of coffee. “For the gift card, for the shower, for always supporting us.”

You place your hand on your bump and nod. “Baby Munson is already feeling the love,” you agree. As if emphasizing your point, he softly kicks within your womb in a heartbeat-esque flutter. 

The car ride home is quiet but not uncomfortable, you and Eddie unwinding after the eventful day. Angus Young croons in the background as Eddie speaks. 

“I trust you.” His fingers hover over your thigh, hesitant to touch you if you’re still angry with him. “And I know you’re not…I know this isn’t like with Harris…” He stumbles over his words, trying not to offend you while still making a point.

 “Eds.” You hold his hand in yours, eyes shiny with understanding. The unconditional love you have for Harris, the ease with which he calls you ‘Mommy,’ often has you forgetting that you’re not his biological mother. “I’ll never, ever do anything to hurt our children. I feel bad enough when I accidentally step on Harris’s toes.” You lean over and kiss his cheek, leaving a remnant of lipstick on his stubble. “Decaf coffee, in moderation, is fine during pregnancy.”

Eddie lets go of you to rub the swell of your stomach. “Little man’s not gonna be doing backflips in there?” he asks with a mischievous grin, the tension between you dissipating.

You laugh and shake your head. “Nope, just doing his best Pelé impression,” you say with a wince as the baby kicks again. 

He notices when you stifle a yawn moments later. “I’ll wake you when we get home,” he promises, lowering the radio so you can rest. 

You’re lulled to sleep as he drives, hearing him hum along with the music under his breath. Since your eyes are closed, you don’t catch the way he looks over at you and smiles.

“Love you, sweet girl,” he whispers, bringing his attention back to the road but keeping his thoughts trained on the woman he loves. 

--

[nebulaafterdark]

Lavender Haze

Summary: Y/N and Haymitch take a pill in the Capitol. Set in the Moves & Countermoves universe but can be read as a one shot.

Warning: 18+ ONLY MDNI alcohol/drug use, p in v, praise kink.

“My feet are killing me.” Y/N rushes to the plush chair, in their guest suite.

They were ‘invited’ to a huge party, in the Capitol, all to celebrate him. That’s what they say anyway, truthfully it was just an excuse to bring their favorite lovers out of hiding. It’s been months since the wedding, people are starving for more.

“Here,” Haymitch pulls up a seat, holding out a hand.

“Here what?”

“Gimme your feet.”

“No, it’s your birthday. Shouldn’t be giving me a foot rub on your birthday.” Y/N argues.

“Just give me the damn things.” He pats his lap, as her stilettos go flying.

She brings both feet into his lap, allowing his skilled fingers to work over the throbbing arches. “Mmm.”

Haymitch arches a brow, “that’s the spot?”

“Yeah, don’t stop.” She turns her gaze to the table. There’s a folded note card, beside two lavender pills.

-For a good time.

Y/N scoffs, picking up the offering. “You wanna try it with me?” Not that they need any kind of ‘assistance’ in that department, but it might be fun.

Haymitch shrugs, “what the hell, cheers.”

“Cheers,” she pops the purple capsule into his mouth, before swallowing down her own, with a mouthful of champagne straight from the bottle.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to drink with it.” Not alcohol anyway.

“You’re drinking.”

“I’m an alcoholic.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him, flopping down onto the bed in her little dress. “How long does it take to kick in?”

“You’re asking me like I’ve done this before.” Haymitch chuckles, coming in hot beside her, glass still in hand.

“Haven’t you?”

“No.”

Her cheeks heat up, realizing her mistake. “Oh.”

“Never had anyone to do it with.”

“I’m sure people wanted to.”

“Yeah, they were all lining up.”

“You’re like hot, hot, Haymitch.”

“That’s Panem’s most powerful aphrodisiac talking.”

“No, that’s me talking.” Y/N counters. “Because this stupid pill is still not doing anything.”

He looks over at her, “there was nobody I trusted enough.”

“But you trust me?”

“I do.”

She gasps, startled by that electric feeling. “Did you feel that?”

“What?” His brow furrows.

“My nipples like… started tingling.”

“Let me see.” He insists, licking his lips as her tits spring free from her dress. “Fuck, angel.”

“Please be gentle.” Y/N gnaws the inside of her cheek, as she moves to straddle his hips.

In a frenzy, Haymitch kisses her once on the mouth and then down the valley between her breasts. Carefully taking her right peak into his mouth, her hips buck against him. “You’re so sensitive.” He blows, over the puckered skin.

“Haymitch,” it is a plea and a warning.

“I’ve got you.” I’ve always got you, I love you.

She keens, gliding her wetness over his erection through their clothes.

“So eager.” His lips trace her jawline.

She moves off him, quickly tossing away her dress and undergarments. His cock is hard, freed from the confines of his clothing and aching for her return. Y/N remounts him with nervous desire.

“I need to be inside you.” I want to live inside you.

She obeys, taking him deep, all the way to the hilt. “I don’t know how-” she’s never been in this position.

“I’ll help you.” He encourages, “find what feels good.”

Y/N lifts her hips, fucking herself experimentally on his cock. Angling herself until he brushes over that spot within her. So fucking deep, it takes her breath away. “Is this ok?”

“It’s perfect,” Haymitch thrusts up to meet her, “you’re perfect.”

She squeals as he slides against her g-spot, a second time.

“So pretty,” Haymitch watches Y/N lose herself in pleasure. Mouth hanging open, breasts bouncing in time with her movements.

Y/N leans forward, sealing her lips over his and fucking him in earnest. Like she means it and can’t get enough.

The noises she makes drive him insane, nipping at her plush lips as they part.

“It feels so good.” You feel so good.

“Good girl, make yourself cum.”

“Haymitch,” her cheeks heat up. Still not caring enough to be embarrassed.

“Look at me.” He cups her face, thumbing over the delicate skin.

She forces her eyes open.

Haymitch holds her gaze, the lids of her eyes heavy with lust. Her brow furrowed, she is close. He can feel it.

“Fuck,” she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Look at me.” He whispers again, tracing his knuckles over her jawline.

Y/N blinks at him. His eyes set on hers, stay with me. So intense, so intimate that she wants to close her eyes. But she stays with him, even as she falls apart.

Haymitch groans at the feel of her clenching around him. The heat of her drives him over the edge, milking him for all he’s worth.

She keeps moving, but slower now. Wanting more, needing it, ignoring the bite of overstimulation.

“Y/N,” Haymitch warns, exhaling through his nose. God, he’s still so hard it hurts.

“Please,” she breathes, “please.”

His fingertips dig into the skin of her hips, holding her steady.

She sobs in protest.

“Shh. I just need a minute, angel.” Haymitch hushes her. Repositioning himself to sit with his back against the headboard. Practiced fingers find her clit, just above the place they are joined. He circles it with his fingers and she jumps.

“Oh!” Y/N presses her lips to his forehead, with a startling amount of affection.

It makes him feel things he shouldn’t. He’s moving faster now, chasing her high.

“Haymitch.”

“I’m right here.” He coaxes her tongue out to play.

“Can I move, please?”

Do whatever you want to me. “Yeah. Go ahead.” I’m yours.

[flowersandbigteeth]

So you said your requests were open so ill take a shot at this. I would love to see more yandere orcs. Maybe reader is a merchant in a small town and the orc is a solitary man who lives in the mountains and rarely comes to town but when he does he only interacts with reader and buys small stuff just to talk to her. One day he comes by after winter is over (he couldnt risk traveling while winter was in cause of the cold and shit) and the reader is saying that she is getting married in a month and that sends the orc straight to kidnapping her and locking her up in his cabin to be his little house wife and mother of many little orclings. (Breeding kink please)

I think I got something close to that, lol This request was a lot to fit into just a few thousand words so I tried my best... ^_^'

Orc (Moth) x female reader

Word Count: 3k

W: nsfw monster smut, breeding kink, outdoor sex, kidnapping, forced marriage

“Damnit, this damn thing,” you grumbled at the rickety sign hanging over the door of your shop. Instead of swinging like it was supposed to, some tall bastard had bumped their head on it and now it was stuck flipped up. You hopped, trying to reach it. 

“What the bloody hell are you doing?!” your father growled, poking his head out of the door of your little apothecary, “the boy’s gonna be here soon! You can’t greet him looking like that! Go put on one of your mother’s dresses.” 

You pointed up to the sign. 

“Forget the damn sign, this is far more important than that,” he growled. 

He had a lot riding on the meet cute you were about to have with the fairy lord Darold he was hoping to arrange your marriage with. Why Darold was even coming you had no idea. Apparently he’d seen you walking through the market and immediately had his men find out where you lived so he could approach your father. Your father was hoping to negotiate some sort of sale or something to hand you over. It was all very dreary when you thought about it so you tried not to. You were hoping he would meet you, quench his curiosity, find out you were very dull, and leave.

A shadow passed over you and there was a squeak as the sign was righted. You glanced up and smiled. 

“Moth!” you said, greeting your friend, “it’s been a long time! I hope you had a peaceful winter! You look quite well.” 

The handsome orc smiled at you. His hair had gotten longer and was pulled up in a ponytail and his green skin looked healthy and glowing. Your eyes drifted over the tattoos on his bulky arms, biting your lip. He was always a treat in the tight leather pants he wore and rather small vest that showed off his sculpted chest. No Fairyfolk in all of Fairy had better bodies than Orcs in your humble opinion, at least this one. His bright brown eyes burned for a moment, before they were drawn away by your father. 

“Moth, my boy!” he cheered, scrambling through the door, “so glad to see you back! Got a couple things around the place that need fixing!” 

Your father had gotten dependent on Moth’s kindness. Every spring he came back down from the mountain where he lived to load up on supplies. He needed lots and lots of medical supplies to last him through the season, before he returned again before the winter, so he was one of your father’s favorite people, spending a lot of money all at once. 

Whenever he came down he offered to fix things up around the shop. He’d fixed your roof, some floorboards that had come loose, and all sorts of other little things. You had no idea why he offered, but your father didn’t turn away his help, coming to rely on it as he had gotten older and less limber. 

“Hurry! Hurry!” your father said, “we’ve got a guest coming and I don’t want the place to look like it's falling apart.” 

Moth’s eyes drifted back to you and you pointed to the sign and mouthed “thanks” which got you a smile. Following them inside, you hurried up the stairs to do as your father said and find one of your late mother’s dresses. You weren’t at all the same size, but they were the only fancy things you owned. The rest of your clothes were simple, but durable wool dresses for working in the garden. 

You split some seams and tightened others, fastening everything with pins, to get the dress to look halfway decent on you before you returned. Since you lived in a few rooms above the shop, you didn’t have a proper place to meet so you hurriedly set up a small table and some chairs outside near the garden before rushing back inside to start some hot water for tea. All this time you were mulling over the injustice that you had to do all this work to prepare for someone you didn’t even want to see. 

You were too flustered and busy to notice that Moth had slowed his work on the back window and was watching you. He was always watching you, that’s why he offered to do chores for your father. Otherwise he wouldn’t have an excuse to hang around your shop. He liked to see you smile when you helped customers with your soft, gentle hands and flit around the garden collecting plants for potions. It made him imagine those soft smiles were for him and his children and you were enjoying the garden he’d been steadily building for you and your family. 

He carried those memories with him all season when he was back in his lonely cabin in the mountain, working on adding new rooms for the babies he planned on filling it with and building you a greenhouse so you could still have plants in the cold winter months. He knew as a hedgewitch that was very important to you.  

Today, though, you weren’t your usual happy self. Your brow was creased and you were dressed in a hideous dress that didn’t fit you properly but was covered in ribbons like the ladies in town. When you hurried around the corner to go look for something in the storage shed he pulled you behind the corner of the house, away from your father’s eyes. 

“What’s wrong (Y/N)?” he asked, “you look upset.” 

You blinked up at him, the tears that were hovering on the edges of your eyes threatening to drop. 

“I’m supposed to meet with some silly fairy to get married,” you pouted, “it’s not fair. I don’t understand why I can’t help father run the shop! Why does he want to send me away?” 

Moth’s normally gentle face was suddenly furious. 

“He what?” he growled. 

You took a step back, not expecting him to respond so strongly. It wasn’t his problem. 

“It’s nothing,” you said, moving to retreat, but he stopped you with a thick arm against the wall of the house, blocking your path. 

“Who is he?!” he snarled, folding his body down to your eye level. 

You trembled in front of him, confused by his sudden intensity. He’d always been such a gentle giant around you. The thick scent of his musk rolled over you on the breeze and your eyelashes fluttered. 

“I-I don’t know…he said he saw me in the market or something, I’ve never even seen him before,” you replied. 

The last few words seemed like the right ones, because he relaxed just slightly. Only instead of backing off, he scooped you up in his arms and started walking swiftly away from the shop. 

“Wh-what are you doing? I have to get ready for Darold,” you said. 

He growled at you, a sound you felt against your body pressed to his chest. 

“Don’t ever mention him in my presence again,” he snapped.

Your eyes got large. You still weren’t completely clear on what was happening until Moth loaded you next to him onto his cart and started driving away from town. 

“Moth, are you kidnapping me?!” you finally asked, now confident that’s what was happening. 

He eyed you with his flaring brown eyes. 

“Do I have to tie you up?” he asked. 

Your eyebrows went up and you shook your head. You peered behind you down the road that led in and out of town. 

“Aren’t you worried they’ll come after us?” you asked, “my father is going to realize we’re missing pretty quickly.” 

He looked at you and smiled, winking. 

“I have a secret,” he said, pulling a chain from underneath his shirt with a large purple crystal on it, “I have a teleportation crystal for emergencies and this must be what I’ve been saving it for. It won’t get us all the way to my mountain, but we’ll get far enough away that we can't be followed.” 

You looked nervously behind you seeing clouds of dust building on the horizon. 

“Well you should probably use it soon,” you murmured, as the black spots of riders were just becoming visible through the dust. 

Moth turned around and, much too slowly in your opinion, made sure everything in the cart was situated. 

“Moth…” you murmured as you got the first glimpse of your would be husband cresting the hill on his horse, his bright orange hair flaring in the sunlight. He wasn’t at all your type, though he was traditionally quite good looking, skinny with pale skin instead of Moth’s rich, beautiful green. You heard shouting as his men spotted you. 

Glancing up, the orc beside you threw the crystal on the ground smashing it into a million pieces. Purple smoke surrounded you invading your lungs and you coughed bitterly. The horses whinnied, not at all happy about the magic being foisted on them. Did it work? 

The smoke took far too long to clear, but the first thing you noticed was the quiet sound of birds chirping, not the yelling of guards. The horses had settled and Moss gently coaxed them forward out of the cloud of smoke and on to a peaceful looking road. You glanced behind you, worried someone would emerge to chase you through the smoke, but it just got thinner and thinner drifted off on the breeze until nothing but the road in the other direction remained. 

“Where are we?” you asked Moth, who was looking quite pleased. 

His eyes flashed at you and you realized suddenly this was the first time the two of you had been truly alone together. 

“We’re deep in the forest leading to the mountain,” he said, pointing to the shadowy mountain ahead of you, “there’s no one around for probably a hundred miles…” 

“There’s truly no one?” you asked, slipping a little bit closer to him to his surprise. 

“Um…yeah…no one…” he murmured as your hand drifted to his leg, sliding up the sinewy muscle pressed against his pants. 

“So…now that we’re a couple…we should probably talk about how many babies we want to have,” you said, letting your hand drift higher and higher to the slowly hardening monstrosity that was pressed down one pant leg. 

That was the exact sort of conversation Moth wanted to have and he couldn’t hold in his smile, tusks shining in the balmy afternoon sunlight.

He scooped you up in his big hands that could lift far more than some little fairy, and tossed you into the back of the cart, where you landed in a soft pile of some linens he’d picked up for your bed and any little ones you may have before he made it back down the mountain. 

“We’re a couple?” he asked, still feeling a bit shy, though he could hardly hold himself back. He just wanted to hear it again. Just to be sure that you really wanted this. He wouldn’t have let you go if you didn’t, but it was all the more sweet that it seemed you did. 

You smiled and cupped his face in your hand as he hovered over you. 

“I certainly hope that was your intention when you kidnapped me, or this is going to be a very awkward trip,” you giggled, “Yes, we are a couple. You went to all this trouble…”

He hushed you with a heavy kiss, his tusks brushing your cheeks. Your skin sparkled as his hot mouth dragged away from your lips and he nibbled your earlobe. 

“I’m going to make you round with five little green babies,” he purred, making you melt underneath him, he chuckled, “unless you want more…we can make more…” 

Your fingertips found his chest, dusted with dark hair and you smoothed your hand over it. 

“Six is a nice even number,” you whispered back as his kisses dropped lower and lower down the column of your neck. 

“I can give you six,” he rumbled into your skin, “but first you have to give me something…I bet you can guess what it is…” 

You heard the fabric of your dress tearing and in a moment you were bare in the afternoon sunlight, while Moth showered your body in kisses. His greedy fingers dug into your flesh, pinching and squeezing your soft places. 

“Mmm, please,” you pleaded with him, bucking your hips, “take it.”

As eager as Moth was to do just that, he was much too large to go slamming into you. While he sucked a nipple into his mouth, his hand dropped lower to feel your puffy lips. A sense of satisfaction washed over him as you opened your legs for him, inviting him in, asking for more. 

Slipping his fingers through the wetness he circled your clit with a digit, smiling into your breast as you moaned for him, writhing. Tugging your nipple with his teeth to get your attention, he thrust a finger inside, opening you up before pushing in another. 

“Moth, please…breed me,” you groaned, love drunk and dizzy. 

He’d never heard sweeter words, scissoring his fingers inside of you to stretch you a bit, his anticipation building for your sweet pussy wrapped around his cock. 

“I’m gonna fuck six little orc babies into you, sweetheart,” he murmured between kisses as he made his way down your body, “pretty ones just like their mama and strong ones like their papa.” 

You keened when his tongue reached your clit and he covered it with his lips. He needed you gushing if you were going to take him. 

“Come on, mama,” he groaned into your pussy, “give papa what he needs.” 

He thrust his fingers extra hard inside you and you fell apart on them sobbing his name. 

“I need you inside of me,” you were quickly begging despite the glittering orgasm you’d just had. Your pussy was spasming around his fingers, but you knew you could be fuller…much fuller. 

He smirked, torturing you with long laps on your pussy to taste your nectar. When he was finally satisfied and you were limp and dripping, he inched himself inside you a bit at a time. His girth burned at first as it stretched you, but soon it turned into a good burn as he gently bottomed out between your warm folds. When he was fully sheathed he kissed you, his tongue tangling with yours. 

By the time he’d pulled away he’d lost any semblance of control, your tight, wet hole squeezing him, begging to be rutted. He tried starting out slow, giving you a few firm strokes before his pace quickly increased and you were mewling underneath him, your ankles almost behind your head as his big hands forced them down. 

“I’m gonna keep pumpin’ you fulla cum ‘til your belly’s nic’n round,” he slurred, his pretty brown eyes glittering at you, chasing that goal, “gonna be sucha pretty lil mama…” 

A finger found your clit, swirling it as his cock battered you, stretching you to hit all the right places. He was fucking the words out of you, all you could do was glow up at him and moan. You’d fantasized about this so many nights. Moth’s big body, moving on top of you. It was so much better than your naughty dreams. You came in absolute bliss, your cunt clamping down on him. 

He roared, slamming into you a few more times before he unloaded his hot load into your womb. Rolling his hips into you gently a few more times, he didn’t even want to pull out of you. He could stay buried in you for eternity, but he couldn’t keep you folded in half forever, so he reluctantly slid out of you and rolled to your side, letting out a satisfied breath. 

Rocking himself back over, his eyes drifted down to the mess leaking from between your thighs and he used a thick finger to push a big drop back in. 

“I think we made baby number one,” he purred, slipping the same hand around your waist and dragging you to his chest. He buried his nose in your hair, just to sniff you. He never wanted to be away from your scent.

Since it was very unlikely that anyone was going to happen upon you on this empty stretch of forest, the two of you napped in the sunlight until you continued your long journey home.

[martiandmichelle]

Ya comfortable cause this is a kinda long post. . .

Some of you long-time followers may remember that I used to do a fair amount of prostitution. I cut way back on it several years ago after one bad experience and the growing success of Studio M. I did keep a (very) few of my favorite johns that I might see once or twice a year. One is a guy near my age (73) who lives alone on an isolated ranch in Texas. In the 11 years I've known him he's always been a gentleman with a great sense of humor. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately!) he has minimal control of his average-sized cock and cums quickly though only a couple times a day. In between those few orgasms of his he spends his time with me groping, sucking, and staring at my tits.

Soooo, anyway, it was during my last visit with him this past late winter, and while his was admiring his handiwork with my boobs, that he asked me about other tricks I had going. I try to be as honest as I can with someone who pays so much interest and cash on me, so I told him he was only one of 5 guys and 1 woman that I prostitute for. He wanted to hear more so I told him what little I could - not wanting to give away any secrets of my other clients. He began rolling my nipples between his fingers and masturbating them as they grew, lowering my resistance and increasing my breathing. He said he thought it would be really hot if I prostituted myself more often. The winter/spring "conference" of the southeastern US chapter of my global studio was coming up and he thought I should go and advertise my services. By this point my nipples were squirting milk all over the place and my cunt was gushing so how could I say no?!?

So, I went. He guessed at what I could charge new clients and I thought he was crazy while still begging him not to stop what he was doing to me tits. (I never have charged him more than I did that 1st time with him.) I took his suggestion and got management's wholehearted approval to go and show off and offer my services for what I thought was a ridiculous price. I made a bet with him that, at that exorbitant price, I wouldn't get over 10 clients.

So I staked my space at the "show" and opened up for business. Advertising my all natural T cup tits (that's before I grew to a U cup) and learning the next largest natural bust was an M cup, I thought maybe I had underestimated my traffic. What I did underestimate was my underestimation! After only one hour of opening, the organizers had to move me to their largest empty booth because of so many guests visiting me. My midday, they had moved me to my own room and at 5:00 pm they moved me again to my own ballroom - and even THAT was crowded!! (The photo above was from the conference as I accepted a sealed offer from a member.)

I simply could not believe there was that many men (and women!) who wanted to - and were willing to pay so handsomely - for time with me and my body! There were guys going together to have, threesomes, foursomes, fivesomes, and more "-somes" with me. There was no way I could say anything but "yes!" and "Thank you!" to them all.

If you would like to read more, just message or inbox me, or even just comment on this post. I'm not starting this service until after my mountain trip so my first "working visit" is on October 3rd of this year. 2025 is going to be wonderfully busy!

(But don't fret, I'll still be posting here lots!)

[moonstruckme]

Hi lovely, i hope youre having a good day.

Could i request a poly!maruaders (maybe +lily or bff lily) where reader is either muggleborn or a half-blood and does every day tasks normally (ie. redecorating, dying hair, climbimg to get something up high, looking for something theyve lost, painstakingly repairing something, trying to navigate in the dark). Maybe reader has convinced lily and Remus to help her spring clean and redecorate and they both just automatically go about it a muggle way. And when Sirius and James come to find them later theyre so confused because for them thats always been done with magic.

I have sent a very similar request to someome else before (think its been 2+ months) but i dont think they posted for it. Just in case they do i wanted to let you know. Also no pressure.

Regardless, i love you 🩶

Hi angel! I decided to do this with platonic (or, if you like, pre-relationship) marauders+Lily, and I know you said spring cleaning but my roomie and I just decorated for Halloween and I’ve got that on the brain so I’ve taken more than one liberty haha but I hope you like it <33 Love you too!!

platonic!marauders (+Lily) x reader ♡ 1.1k words

“Do you think this would look alright here?” you ask, stretching your arm as high as you can to pin the middle of the leafy garland to the wall. 

Lily hums contemplatively. “I don’t think that’s quite the middle. A bit to the left?”

You reach leftwards, tottering on your stepping stool, and Remus steadies you with his hands at your waist before you can fall. 

“Here, I’ve got it,” he offers, encouraging you to step down and taking your place. He makes the reach look easy (it’s hardly a reach for him, you suppose), taping the garland in place. “How’s that?” he asks, and you step back beside Lily, assessing. 

“It looks great,” you decide. “Thanks!” 

“‘Course, love.” He grins at you as he steps down, going back to dusting off your mantle. You’re immensely grateful for your friends’ help, the quiet between you companionable as you each work on your tasks, your Rumours record playing softly in the corner. You’d been a bit down about cleaning and decorating your first apartment all by yourself, and Lily had all but invited herself over, offering to keep you company. This morning, she’d shown up with Remus and a bucket full of cleaning supplies, and neither of them would hear your protests about not wanting them to labor for you. Remus had become immediately obsessed with all the dusty surfaces you’ve yet to clean since moving in a week ago, and Lily claims she’s going to make cookies after she’s finished cleaning the oven, so your apartment will smell cozy and homey. 

You’re not sure how you managed to snag such fantastic friends, but just as you’re about to tell them so for the upteenth time since they’ve arrived, your door creaks open. 

“You can’t just leave the front door unlocked,” James says, aghast. “You’re a young girl living on your own, shortcake. Exercise some caution.” 

Sirius breezes by James with a small box in his hands, and you accept the one-armed hug he offers you with faint confusion. Your friends are welcome anytime, but you hadn’t been expecting anyone other than Lily today and you worry the apartment is far from guest-ready. “I usually lock it,” you defend yourself. “It’s just that we’ve been in and out all morning. Anyway, who’s going to murder me with everyone here?” 

“Well, they won’t now that I’m here,” James allows, pecking you on the cheek amicably. “But if you were thinking Lily and Moony could defend you all by themselves, then I’m even more worried about you.” He receives matching exasperated glares from your friends, but ignores them, surveying the apartment. “This is a nice place you’ve got here.” 

“Thanks.” You beam, proud of your little apartment. It had been a bit run-down when you’d first moved in, but the morning’s efforts have really brightened the space. “Did you come by to see it? I’m not sure it’s quite ready for a tour yet, unless you’re alright with dust.”

“A lot,” Remus says wearily, “of dust.” 

“We thought we’d bring you a housewarming gift,” Sirius says, opening the lid of the box to reveal a cake. In cursive frosting, it reads Congratulations, graduate!, but someone’s struck through graduate and scrawled, in messy writing underneath, homeowner. 

You laugh. “Thanks, that’s so sweet! Um, you guys know I’m renting this place, right?”

“We know,” Sirius agrees. “But apparently they only do custom writing if you order, like, way in advance, and we didn’t have enough room to put congratulations on your first big girl apartment ourselves.” 

Remus snorts, but immediately begins sneezing after inhaling some dust from the mantle, and Lily comes over to admire the cake. “I think it’s lovely as it is,” she says, and you hastily agree. You love it, and you love them all the more for it, your sweetheart friends. “Still, Remus and I have been here all morning, so I think our housewarming gift is a bit better.” 

James laughs disbelievingly. “What’s your gift?”

“Cleaning and decorating,” Remus says, having recovered from his fit. “Bit more of a time commitment than a cake.” His voice takes on a slight haughtiness, and Lily smirks. 

“What, all day?” Sirius shakes his head. “That takes ten seconds.” 

“Not the muggle way,” Lily says. 

Sirius’ eyebrows shoot up, and James’ gaze sweeps over the room more intentionally, lingering on the unswept floor, the decorations still in their boxes. “Why in Merlin’s name would you do it the muggle way?” he sounds vaguely horrified. “We could charm this done right now.” 

Sirius nods, sliding his wand from his sleeve as if he intends to do just that, but you clamp a hand around his wrist. “That takes all the fun out of it!” 

“Dollface,” Sirius says slowly, looking at you like you’ve lost it, “how is laboring all morning to accomplish what could be done with a simple spell fun?”

You wave your hands about, gesturing vaguely to the room at large. “I don’t know, it’s about the simple things. You listen to music, and do things the slow way, and you get to choose where your stuff goes instead of letting the spell choose for you.” 

“And,” Lily adds, “it’s satisfying to know that you did it yourself. Like these cookies, which are going to be way better than if I charmed them to bake themselves.” She pauses, glancing at the cake. “By the way, you’re going to have a ton of sweets on your hands, Y/N.” 

“Oh, I was under no impression I’d be eating all this by myself,” you say, somewhat appalled. “Won’t you guys stay and help me with them? I can get us takeaway.” 

Sirius and James help with more than that. Neither of them will touch a broom (frankly, they have trouble wrapping their heads around the idea that some are used for more than flying), but they help you arrange your fake pumpkins on the newly dusted mantle, and bicker over whether they should charm your candles to float like in the great hall or leave them on the coffee table. 

By the time you make good on your offer of ordering takeaway, almost every crevice of your apartment has been cleaned, and it’s smelling like cookies and looking seasonally festive. Remus nips to the store to get a couple bottles of wine for you all, and you and James end up sitting on the floor to eat while Lily declares she’s taking you shopping for more chairs tomorrow. The cake is fantastic, but the company is better, and of all the things you’d wanted to decorate your first apartment with, you think you like filling it with your friends best. 

[holyratrimony]

Summer Love at Bighorn Ranch

Pairing: John Marston x Fem!Reader

Summary: After his divorce from Abigail, John Marston is a mess. A series of rash decisions lead to John purchasing a rundown piece of land called Bighorn Ranch. As the ranch grows, so does the need for extra hands. When you show up, ready for your new job, John is immediately taken with you. When you get caught in a thunderstorm and show up on his doorstep, soaking wet, will he be able to keep his feelings to himself, or will he confess everything? 

Word count: 9.7k (how does this keep happening?)

Warnings: minors dni, 18+ only, I’ll kick you in the knees I s2g, do not read this,  dry humping, premature ejaculation, coming in pants, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, p in v sex, creampie, older man/younger woman

A/N: This takes place during the 90s, John’s in his forties, R is like mid-20s, Jack is like 10 in this, hedgehogs are not rodents but John doesn’t need to know that, also R wears John’s clothes at one point (as someone who's plus size I think John would own pretty baggy clothes), John is mega horny in this (in like a very pathetic way), how’d angst get in here? (it's just a lil bit), John thinks he is in charge but R has him wrapped around her finger, no physical descriptions of reader, no use of y/n, not beta read

To say John wasn’t doing well would be an understatement. After the divorce with Abigail, he’d hit a bit of a midlife crisis. The first step was moving out and subsequently crashing in Dutch and Hosea’s guest room. The two older men were patient with him, lending him some much-needed emotional support as he processed his feelings. After about a month, one drastic haircut, and a new earring, John finally was ready to move out to a place of his own.

He’d decided to return to his roots, taking out a rather large loan and purchasing a run-down ranch on a large piece of land in the middle of nowhere called Bighorn Ranch. The land was green and vast with a mix of plains and forests. It only took three days of him trying to lay the foundations for the house alone before giving in and calling Charles and Javier for help. The two men had come to his aid quickly, and with three hands they were able to get the ranch house built within just a few months. Then the barn, stables, and coup went up, followed by a half dozen small cabins about a mile from the main house. Both Javier and Charles opted to live in the cabins despite John’s protests, stating that they wanted to give him his space in the house. Ranching made sense to John. It was something he was good at. Whether it was keeping up with all the chores or breaking in the wild mare Charles found wandering the plains. As the ranch grew, so did the need for more hands. Javier had been tasked with taking the truck into the nearby towns, the closest being 30 minutes away, and hanging up help-wanted posters. The new ranchers would live on the property in the remaining cabins and would be responsible for a mix of construction, maintenance, and handling of the animals. Within a few weeks, four new hands had joined the ranch. The hands were set to arrive on a sunny spring afternoon. John was waiting on the porch with Charles and Javier, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers. His hair was still growing back since the regrettable impulse cut, the ends reaching his ears. His beard was short, little more than stubble. The scars he’d gotten from a neighborhood dog when he was growing up cut through the dark hairs. He’d kept the small gold hoop in his ear despite the light teasing from Charles and Javier. The three men were discussing the horse show that was coming up next month when the sound of a car cut them off. The red and white Dodge Ram 2500 rumbled up the dirt drive, kicking up a small cloud behind it. The truck pulled up in front of the house, stopping next to John’s teal and silver Ford F-150. Three men in their twenties piled out of the truck, each sending a friendly smile and wave toward the older ranchers. John, Charles, and Javier made their way down the porch steps, John stubbing out his cigarette on the railing. The new hands introduced themselves, apparently all childhood friends which explained why they arrived together, shaking hands and giving names. After introductions, John showed the men around the main part of the ranch. Showing them the stables, the coup, and the different paddocks for the sheep, goats, and cows took up the better part of an hour. As they headed back towards the house John let them know that that was probably enough for right now. Once they were on the porch he explained the basic amenities in each cabin. They’d have electricity, a small kitchen, a bathroom, a bed, and a landline. John handed them each a slip of paper with the number for his line, letting them know that if they needed Charles or Javier they’d be living right next door. Charles offered to take the boys down to the cabins and Javier offered to join, citing that he needed to change out of his dusty work clothes. The boys hopped in their truck and followed after Javier and Charles, the cloud of dust slowly getting further and further away. John took a seat on one of the chairs on the porch, looking down over the property. There was still one new hand that was supposed to be arriving, likely within the next hour. John pulled another cigarette from his pocket, cupping his hand around his lighter as he flicked it, protecting the flame from the wind. Heady smoke filled his lungs as he leaned back. The three boys seemed nice. All were well-mannered and friendly. One of them, Riley, John thought his name was, said he’d worked at the MacFarlane’s ranch for a few years, dealing mainly with the horses. The other two mentioned they’d worked doing construction for the last few years. Apparently, they wanted more exciting work and while the MacFarlane’s didn’t have any more jobs available, they knew Bighorn was hiring and sent the boys in John’s direction. Javier had handled the applications, of which there were few. He was typically in charge of the business end of things despite the ranch belonging to John. Javier had a charm and refinement that was perfect for dealing with people and local businesses that John seemed to lack. John’s mind began to drift, as it often did when he was alone, to Abigail and Jack. He had Jack for a few days each month. The last time Jack came to visit, John had shown him how to ride. The two of them didn’t talk a whole lot but the time they spent together always felt special. Jack had a room in the ranch house, filled with his medieval fantasy books, a couple of his toys, and a small gaming setup with a sega genesis and little box tv. Jack had tried to teach John how to play Sonic but John was hopeless. His fingers were too big for the little buttons and he just couldn’t get the hang of moving that damn rodent around. He missed Jack, every damn day. Abigail too, but that was getting easier. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of tires on the dirt road. A grey and blue Chevy Silverado pulled up the drive. John stood up, a slight groan leaving his lips. He was only in his forties but his years of hard living seemed to be catching up to him. He moved down the steps, his eyes trained on his boots until the sound of a car door slamming shut had him looking up. John’s heart stopped. Or he couldn’t breathe. Or he died. He wasn’t sure. All he could tell was that the woman in front of him was like a dream. The late afternoon sun shone on your form, bathing you in a golden glow. Your eyes were covered by sunglasses, a black shirt adored your torso while your legs were covered by a pair of blue jeans, and a pair of brown work boots on your feet. Your smile was easygoing as you raised a hand in greeting. Your voice was kind and warm as you greeted him. “Hi! I’m one of the new ranch hands. Are you Javier?” John let out a laugh at that, trying to compose himself.   “No, no, I’m John. John Marston. I uhh… I own Bighorn.” He was trying not to let his eyes drag over your body but he couldn’t help himself. “Jav-Javier’s in charge of the business side of things, you’ll meet him later.” “Nice to meet you, Sir,” A spike of heat seemed to pierce through John at the title. The smile etched on your face was radiant as you gave him your name. God, you were pretty. John cleared his throat as he attempted to avoid looking directly at you. “The other hands got here bout an hour ago. They’re down at the cabins right now. Ya wanna join them or do ya wanna tour of the ranch?” His hand rubbed the back of his neck almost sheepishly. He couldn’t help but wishing you’d take the tour. Selfishly hoping to get some one on one time with you before introducing you to the other men. He finally mustered the courage to look up at your face. Your smile seemed almost shy as you replied, stepping towards him slightly, “I think I’d like to see the ranch, Sir.” He was fucked. ~~~~~~ Having extra hands on the farm proved to be endlessly helpful as spring turned to summer. The animals that had been born only a few weeks after you and the boys arrived were growing bigger and bigger. The four of you also helped John and Charles bring some of the horses to a show in one of the neighboring towns, bringing in a pretty sum of cash. John was beginning to feel a little more at peace. The loans for the ranch were beginning to get smaller and smaller as he paid them off. The stress on his shoulders seemed to be lessening as the weeks went by. His self-deprecating thoughts being replaced with thoughts of you. To say John was enamored would be putting it lightly. To start with you were a good worker. Often working longer hours than necessary, going until you felt the job was complete. At the end of the day, you’d slump onto the steps of the porch, your shirt sticking to your chest, your skin glowing, a blissed-out smile on your face. John would come out and offer you a beer. There would normally be only five minutes where you were alone before the rest of the men joined the two of you. John tried not to resent it, knowing he had no claim over you, but god he wished he did. John found himself staring at you as you moved around the ranch. Whether you were carrying bales of hay to the stables, pounding in nails on the fence you were fixing, or helping break one of the new horses. John would let his gaze drag up and down your body before catching himself. He would reprimand himself. Reminding himself that you were a. Almost twenty years his junior, b. Likey dating one of the younger hands (a thought that had made him prone to snapping at the young men without much prompting), and c. wouldn’t want a broken man like him. He’d scold himself, telling himself he was a pervert for looking at you like that, for wanting to take you, claim you. But he couldn’t seem to stop the thoughts from creeping in late at night. When his rough hands fisted his cock and he’d think about you on your knees for him, your lips and tongue running up and down his length as you looked up at him with those pretty eyes. Or how you’d feel wrapped around him. What you’d sound like as he took you from every position imaginable. How you’d react if he pinched your nipples, if he spanked you. Despite being alone in that big house he’d bite his fist as he came, moaning out your name as the drag of his hand became too much. When the lust had passed and his cock softened, cum drying on his stomach, and reality set in, he’d mutter to himself, “You’re a fool, Marston.” The sentiment never seemed to stick because he’d see you bend over in that pair of jeans the next morning and would be stuck fighting the arousal that seemed to surge through him for the rest of the day. He was jacking off like a teenager, seemingly unable to control himself. When he spoke to you he’d stumble over his words, never being able to fully articulate his thoughts before getting lost in your eyes or your smile. Charles and Javier had picked up on his infatuation. Relentlessly teasing him when it was just the three of them. There was one day you were going to run errands in town. You’d stopped by the house to ask if the men needed anything else picked up while you were there. The day was already blazing hot despite it only being midmorning and you’d opted for a sundress. The fabric was light and airy around your thighs, the neckline cutting down to show more of your chest than was strictly necessary. John, Charles, and Javier had been in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee to brew, when you knocked, letting yourself in through the front door. “Hello?” Your sweet voice echoed through the house. “In the kitchen,” Charles called back. When you entered the kitchen it took everything in John not to drop the mug he’d just grabbed from the cabinet. The flush on his cheeks was immediate. He could feel his jeans getting tighter as he took in your form. He could feel his mouth hanging open slightly. He was only drawn out of his trance by Charles’ gentle elbow in his side. Luckily it seemed like you missed the small interaction. “Mornin’ y’all.” you nodded to Charles and Javier before turning to John. “I’m heading into town and was wondering if there’s anything you need me to pick up, Sir.” John could barely manage to shake his head. “T-that’s very nice of you but I think we’re all set sweetheart.” The endearment slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself. You nodded as you slipped your sunglasses onto your face. “Alright, I’ll see y’all, later.” You shot a dazzling smile towards the men as you turned, exiting the kitchen. John was able to stew in his slight mortification until the sound of the front door shutting echoed through the house. As the latch clicked John felt his friend's knowing gazes on him. Charles was the first to speak. “I’m not gonna lie to you, that was hard to watch. ‘Sweetheart’? Really?” The teasing lilt to his voice almost had John hiding his face in embarrassment. Javier clasped a hand on John’s shoulder, giving him what could only be described as a shit-eating grin. “Oh, you’ve got it bad, brother.” John let out a long groan, debating adding a bit of whiskey to his morning coffee. He was gonna need it if he had to put up with these two for the rest of the day. That night he came in the shower, fantasizing about fucking you dumb as you bent over in that pretty little dress for him. Then again later in his bed at the idea of your legs wrapped around his head, calling him sir as he ate you out until you cried. ~~~~~~ The storm that overtook the skies a few weeks later came out of nowhere. The dark and heavy purple clouds seemingly materialized out of the clear blue sky. Lightning and thunder breaking up the peaceful feeling of the ranch. John was in the house when the rain began to fall. The drops pounding against the roof creating an unrelenting din. He walked away from the window he was looking out to the phone in the hallway. He should probably call Charles and Javier. They’d taken the truck into town and were probably still at the mechanic seeing as the owner was an old friend. He dialed the number for the garage but was only met with static. One of the phone lines must have been knocked down in the storm. He’d have to check around the property whenever Charles and Javier returned with the truck, likely tomorrow at the earliest. John’s mind flashed to you, as it often did. He hoped you were back at your cabin, safe from the torrential rains. You’d been up at the ranch this morning but probably headed back with the boys earlier in the afternoon. He was pulled out of his thoughts by a frantic pounding, different from that of the raindrops. Someone was knocking on the door. He crossed the room, hand twisting the door open to reveal your drenched form. You were dripping wet. Your jeans were several shades darker than they had been earlier, your white t-shirt was essentially translucent. John tried to not stare at the black outline of your bra showing through the shirt or at the way the fabric clung to your skin, showing off your form perfectly. His gaze was brought back to your lips as you spoke. “I’m sorry to barge in like this, Sir. I-I was with the horses when the storm started and the thunder spooked some of them. I had to round them up.” He shook his head at your words. “Come on inside darlin’, you must be freezing.” You nodded, stepping in off the porch and onto the mat inside the doorway as he stepped back, making room for you, letting the door shut behind you. “Let me go grab you a towel.” He grabbed his favorite towel from the bathroom, trying to ignore the little voice in his head that was unhelpfully pointing out that the soft fabric would soon be running over your body. As John came back out into the hallway he took in your form once again. You looked miserable and cold, trembling slightly. He handed you the towel, ignoring the spike of heat he felt as your hands brushed his. “Do you have your truck?” His raspy voice was gentler than usual. You shook your head. “Wanted to enjoy the walk this morning,” you chuckled slightly. “Well, I think that means you’re gonna be stuck here for a bit. The phones are down, the boys are at the cabins, and Charles and Javier are in town with the truck. ‘N I’m not risking you walkin’ back in this weather.” You nodded again, a small smile gracing your features at his concern. John was still trying his best not to stare at your chest, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hide the growing outline of his cock for much longer. “You’re welcome to the shower if ya’d like. And I’ll bring you a change of clothes too.” As you toed off your boots you let out a sweet “thank you”. John showed you to the bathroom, before running to his room to grab a shirt and sweatpants. He placed them on the shelf in the bathroom before turning back to you. “The extra room is yours for tonight. If you need anythin’ just holler.” Your voice stopped him on the way out of the room. “Thank you, Sir. You’re very kind.” He chuckled lightly, “I’m just tryna help. ‘N you can jus call me John, sweetheart.” Your smile broadened a bit, “Well, thank you, John.” He nodded, barely finding the strength to close the door behind him. God, that was worse. His name falling from your lush lips. His mind grabbed onto the sound, playing with it, twisting it until he was imagining you calling it out from underneath him. As the latch clicked shut he leaned back onto the hallway walls, pressing the heel of his palm into his growing erection. “Get it together, Marston,” he muttered. He moved to the kitchen, trying to forget the shape of your body, the way the tops of your tits were visible through the wet fabric. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a glass from the cupboards, pouring himself a generous amount. He quickly drank the amber liquid, hardly registering the burn in the back of his throat. He poured another glass, just taking a sip from it this time. He could hear the water from the showerhead, even in the kitchen, and was trying to not get distracted by the thought of your body in the shower. He wished he could walk in there, wrapping his arms around you as you rinsed the day off. He’d trail soft kisses over your neck as he lathered soap over your form. He could imagine the noises you’d make as he kneaded your shoulders, the little groans that would leave your perfect lips. He shook his head, he needed to distract himself. His eyes caught on the clock across the room, it was getting late, and the both of you would probably be hungry soon. He opened the fridge and glanced over the contents. The mostly empty shelves seemed to glare back at him. He dropped his head into his hands, frustrated at himself. You were in his home and he couldn’t even make you a proper meal. He was so distracted by his perceived downfall that he didn’t hear the shower turning off, nor the click of the bathroom door and the footsteps that followed. “Sir?” Your gentle voice pulled his eyes up. You were standing in the entrance to the kitchen, his shirt hanging off your shoulders, his sweatpants hugging your hips. His gaze dragged up and down your body. You weren’t wearing a bra. Your nipples were hardened from the cold, the outline of them visible through the worn material. His voice was gruffer than usual as he forced it out around the lump in his throat, making his eyes meet yours. “I thought I told you to call me John, darlin’.” You nodded sweetly. “Alright, John.” His name sounded so sweet on your lips. He needed some sort of distraction. He grabbed the whiskey bottle from the counter, raising it for you to look at. “D’ya want a glass?” “I’d very much like that, thank you.” “How was your shower,” His full focus was on pouring a glass for you and topping off his own. Looking at you was almost too much. “It was really nice. Your water pressure is amazing!” your exclamation had John stiffening in his jeans once again. The idea of you in the shower, groaning as the water hit your shoulders, running in rivulets down your chest. He put the bottle back on the counter a little harder than he meant to, turning around to hand you your glass. The amber liquid on his tongue was a necessity for this situation. “I’d uh, I’d offer ya dinner but ‘m not much of a cook.” He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck at the admission, his cheeks tinted red. He was a grown man and the majority of his meals came frozen or from a can. “I could make something for us,” your voice was kind, soothing almost. John shook his head almost immediately. “I’m not gonna make you do that darlin’. Don’t want you to have to take care of my ass.” “I really don’t mind it, John. Plus I’d like to eat at some point.” Your tone was lighthearted as you grinned at him. After a little more back and forth he conceded, allowing you to take over the kitchen. You shooed him out of the room, telling him it’d be ready soon. John settled in the living room, flipping on the tv to try and drown out the thoughts of you. He couldn’t seem to stop. The whiskey wasn’t doing much to help. He’d occasionally flip between channels, but nothing was quite able to grab his attention. The idea of you in his house, in his kitchen, in his clothes was so domestic. The idea of walking up behind you while you cooked, wrapping his arms around you, kissing your neck, it was intoxicating to him. But he couldn’t lie and say his thoughts were completely innocent. Images of you in various compromising positions kept flashing through his mind, now accompanied by the sound of you whining his name. About half an hour later you emerged from the kitchen with two steaming plates of spaghetti, setting them down on the dining room table. When John walked over to join you the smell hit him. It was heavenly. How you’d pulled together something like this out of the pathetic ingredients he had available was incredible. As the two of you ate dinner you made idle conversation. John had talked to you a few times since you came to the ranch but he could never seem to hold a conversation. Too overwhelmed by your presence when you were close to him. Now he didn’t have much of a choice. He learned a little bit more about your life before you came to work at Bighorn. When you’d both finished eating, John offered to clean the dishes. You didn’t argue, letting him gather the dirty plates. “It's still pretty early so if you want to put on a movie while I clean up, you're more than welcome to.” You agreed and he told you where to find the tape collection. As he washed the plates in the kitchen he scolded himself. You’re too old for her, Marston. Pretty young things like her aren't interested in broken men. You’re an old fool. Once the dishes were cleaned he took a moment to lean against the counter, holding his head in his hands. He had to get it together. As far as he should be concerned you're just his employee and he should treat you as such. Seeing as he’d finished his whiskey before you had brought out dinner, he grabbed a cold beer from the fridge. He called your name towards the living room, asking if you wanted one too. You shouted back a yes. He uncapped the two beers and walked back to the living room. You were curled up on the right side of the couch, your legs tucked up off the floor, a blanket from the chest near the window wrapped around you. You looked warm and comfortable. John pointedly ignored the pang of affection that shot through his chest as he handed you your beer. The couch was small but he still tried to give you space. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But even with his hip pressed against the arm of the couch, your legs still brushed against his thigh. He had to keep his breath steady as he could feel the warmth from your body. He recognized the movie you picked as Jurassic Park, one of Jack’s favorites. You were only at the part where the scientists were on their way to the island. “‘S a good choice,” he gestured at the tv. “The movie I mean.” “It’s one of my favorites!” God your smile was cute. He wanted to make you smile all the time. As the movie continued, the two of you sat in comfortable silence. However, John was very aware of your presence next to him. Of the press of your legs against his. In trying to ignore the heat in his stomach and the feeling of you right next to him, he was staring very hard at the tv. When Ellie jumped off the ride to go look at the stegosaurus, you shifted towards him, moving your legs to the other side of you, your torso almost pressing into his side. “I still can’t believe how real it looks! It's crazy!” The excitement in your voice made a smile form on John’s face. Subconsciously, he moved his arm to the back of the couch, giving you room to move in, to lean against him if you so desired. He didn’t even register he had done it until he felt your body press against his, tucking yourself under his arm. He couldn’t stop the small hitch in his breath at the realization that you were willingly cuddling up to him. He was sure you could probably hear his heartbeat from your new position. He tried to keep his eyes on the movie but it was hopeless, his gaze focused intently on you. When you raised your head to look at him he wasn’t quick enough. You’d caught him. He was caught off guard by your hand pressing into his chest as you pushed yourself up. You were still close to him, but you were now upright, your chest turned towards him. Your gaze was calculating as your tongue traced along your bottom lip. He couldn’t help but stare at the movement. The indecision seemed to leave your eyes as you noticed what he was staring at. You leaned towards him slightly. “John,” your voice was soft as he finally was able to drag his gaze to meet yours. Your eyes were dark, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. “Kiss me.” His brain stopped. Or his heart stopped. He wasn’t sure. Maybe both. All he could manage was a small nod. His hand moved to grasp the nape of your neck, bringing your lips to his. The kiss was passionate, a mess of tongues and lips, of gasping breaths. John ignored every part of his brain that was telling him to stop. That you were too young for him, that you were his employee, all of the reasons that he shouldn’t let this happen. The feeling of you drowned out everything else. When he nibbled on your bottom lip, you let out a small moan. The sound sent blood rushing to his cock. All he wanted to do was draw those noises out of you. To hear every little sound you’d make in the throes of pleasure. Your kisses were as greedy as his, seemingly trying to savor every second of your embrace. He was able to pull himself away for a moment, pressing his forehead to yours as his hands came to cradle your head in his large hands. “Darlin’,” his voice was rougher than usual. “Are you sure you want this? Are you sure you want an ol’ man like me?” The glare you gave him was more chiding than actually frustrated. “First of all, you're not old. Second, I’ve wanted this since I started working here. Wanted you since that first day.” Your confession sent a shiver through John. “Really,” he couldn’t stop the slightly desperate tone that laced his voice. You nodded, smiling at him. “How could I not?” Your answer was simple but it sent a swirl of affection and mild pride through him. He moved a hand to your waist, you seemed to take it as an invitation to move onto his lap. Swinging your body so your legs rested on either side of his thighs. In this position, John allowed his hands to roam over your body. Tracing up your back, trailing down your sides, he let them come to rest on your ass, grabbing the flesh and pulling you against him slightly. The movement caused your hips to press against his hardness. You gasped loudly. His first reaction was worry that he’d done something wrong, but that thought left his mind when you rolled your hips against his again. He was painfully hard, his cock pressing against the confines of his jeans. He could feel the small wet spot forming in his underwear, his tip leaking precum. Each move of your hips felt like heaven. The feeling of you, in his lap, wearing his clothes, making those desperate little sounds as you ground yourself against him, was better than any of the fantasies he’d had. He was meeting your movements, thrusting up. The feeling was overwhelming, and when you attached your lips to his neck he keened. He let his hands slip under the hem of your shirt, just trailing them along the soft skin of your hips at first. When you didn’t make any move to stop him, he began to trace higher and higher. Fingertips brushing over your sides, your ribs, and then your tits. God, they were so soft. He let his hands pinch your nipples experimentally. You had to move your mouth from his neck when you let out a high-pitched moan. “Do that again,” your voice was tantalizingly desperate. “Please, John.” He complied, unable to deny you anything you asked for. His fingers twisted and pulled at your sensitive buds, rewarding him with your gasps and breathy moans. He pushed you back slightly in his lap, moving you so you were sat upright. He looked up at you as he brought his face to your chest, wrapping his lips around one nipple while continuing his ministrations on the other. The look on your face was the prettiest thing John had ever seen. Your lips were parted, your eyes squeezed shut from the pleasure, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you held on. You’d paused your hips when he moved you, allowing his pleasure to subside. When your eyes opened, your pupils were blown wide and lust practically dripping from your gaze, he couldn’t help himself from thrusting his hips to yours. His hands moved back to your waist, his eyes never leaving yours as he rolled his hips again, the pressure from your body providing him the slightest bit of relief. He’d been able to calm himself for a little bit, but with his hips humping against you and the look in your eyes, he was driving himself toward the edge again. He couldn’t help it. Couldn’t bother to be embarrassed about the needy moans leaving his mouth. It was almost without warning that he felt the pleasure in him swell as his balls drew up. The stimulation of your warm body rubbing against him sending him over the edge. His cock pulsed in his jeans, releasing spurt after spurt of hot cum. He came with a harsh gasp followed by an embarrassing whine of your name, his hands clutching you tightly as he kept humping you, drawing out the sensations. When his high began to subside he was overtaken with embarrassment. He’d finally gotten a chance with you and he’d cum in his pants like a goddamn teenager.   Your voice was small. “Um…John. Did you…did you just cum.” All he could do was nod as he buried his head in your shoulder, unable to fully look at you. Your hands buried into his hair, holding him sweetly. “It’s okay, John. It happens.” He couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye. He’d ruined his chance. “I-I’m so sorry.” he managed to get out. You let out a soft coo as your hands moved to cradle his face. “You’ve got nothing’ to be sorry for. I promise.” He tilted his head up, his gaze meeting yours. There was nothing in your eyes to indicate disgust or displeasure, just kindness. He nodded dumbly as he took you in. “Wanted this to be good for you, sweetheart. Been thinking of this for ages and I fucked it up.” You shook your head. “What makes you think you won’t be able to make it up to me?” your smile was teasing as you tilted his chin upwards. Hope sparked in his chest at your words. “Like right now?” desperation leaked into his voice. You nodded sweetly. “If that’s okay with you.” John couldn’t stop his overenthusiastic nod. “Well in that case I think I owe you somethin’” He shifted you off his lap, allowing you to stand. “My bedrooms, the door on your right, down that hallway there. I'll be there in just a moment.” As he stood you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, bringing your lips to his once again. You then leaned in, allowing your lips to brush the shell of his ear. “You better, or I’ll be left with no choice but to take care of myself,” you pushed away from him, a sly grin on your face as you shot him a wink and started in the direction of his room. John watched you leave, letting his eyes drag over your form, his thoughts notably absent of the guilt that would plague him whenever he’d looked at you before. When you were out of sight, he went into the bathroom, quickly cleaning himself up. As he walked towards his room he felt what could only be described as butterflies in his stomach. You were far too good for him, in every single way, but you were here, you wanted to be with him, to have him touch you. He couldn’t help the dopey smile that broke out across his face. He pushed open the bedroom door to find you standing in the middle of the room, seemingly taking in your surroundings. At the sound of his footsteps, you turned to face him. “You ready to make it up to me, Mr. Marston?” Your teasing voice was cut off as he closed the space between the two of you and pulled your body into his. His lips crashed into yours, his hand coming to rest on your jaw. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, almost asking permission, which you granted. You tasted like the whiskey from earlier. He began to walk you backward, your steps hesitant until the backs of your legs hit the edge of his bed and you fell onto your back. You looked so beautiful below him. You scooted yourself toward the headboard as he dropped his knees onto the mattress. He moved up until he was settled between your legs, his body pressed to the bed as his hands came to rest on your thighs. “I wanna taste you darlin’,” his fingers brushed against the exposed bit of skin that was visible between your shirt and the band of your sweatpants. “Would that be alright with you?” When he lifted his eyes to meet yours, your pupils had swallowed your irises. Your gaze was heavy with lust, your teeth sunk into your lower lip as you nodded. “Please, John. Need you.” His hands hooked over the band of your sweatpants, pulling them down over the tops of your thighs. He couldn’t look away as more and more of you was revealed. As soon as the sweatpants had slipped off your feet, his mouth met your inner thigh. His hands moved to the insides of your knees, gently pushing you apart for him. He traded between kisses and gentle nips as his mouth trailed over the sensitive skin. “Take off your shirt for me sweetheart.” his voice was low, filled with desire. You quickly obeyed, tossing the fabric to the floor and settling back against the bed. John couldn’t believe that he was here, between your thighs. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d thought about this, in this same bed as he fucked his hand. And now it was happening, it was real. He felt his cock jump slightly, blood beginning to return to it. You were whimpering under him, clearly frustrated at the lack of attention being paid to your dripping cunt. He could see the small wet patch forming on the cotton that covered you and his mouth watered. He couldn’t resist dragging a finger over your clothed slit as his mouth continued along your thigh. You let out a high-pitched moan when his finger ghosted over your clit. God, he wanted to draw more of those noises from your sweet lips. “Don’t be impatient now, sweetheart. I’m gonna take my time with you.” His voice was even raspier than usual, dripping with lust. You thrust your hips slightly at his words, trying to get more from him. He pressed your hips back to the bed with one hand, holding you still, tutting his tongue at you. He dragged his mouth higher, his lips pressing against the cotton of your panties. He smirked slightly before grabbing the hem of them between his teeth and dragging them down your hips. When you were rid of them, he couldn’t help but take you in. “John,” your voice was sweet with want. With need. His hands moved back to your inner knees, pushing your legs apart for him. Your cunt glistened with slick, the insides of your thighs shining with it as well. He couldn’t wait to taste you. He was laying between your legs again, his face only inches from your heat. This was better than anything he’d imagined. You were a dream and he wanted to show you how much he wanted this, wanted you. You let out the most intoxicating noise when he licked a broad stripe over your entrance, his nose bumping your clit. Your hands, which had been gripping the sheets at your sides, moved to his hair, tangling your fingers in the dark locks. You were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. He wanted to drink you in, the taste of you like heaven on his tongue. He wanted to drag it out. To tease you with soft licks, turn you into a begging mess. But that would take patience and John Marston was not a patient man. He buried his face in your pussy. His tongue laving over you as his nose rubbed against your clit. If he were to die right now, he’d die a happy man. His hands dug into your hips as he dragged you closer to his mouth. He was trying to memorize everything that made you moan, made you tug on his hair, or try to grind your hips against his mouth. The moan you let out when he wrapped his lips around your clit was absolutely sinful. “Johnnn,” your breath was labored, making it hard to form full sentences. “P-please,” you begged. “Please what, darlin’? What d’ya need?” His voice was teasing as his gaze met your lust-darkened eyes. “Please finger me, please. I need it, please, please, John.” He would’ve liked to tease you more but he was quickly realizing that he couldn’t resist doing anything you asked of him. “How could I say no when you sound so sweet beggin’ for me.” He brought his mouth back to your clit as one of his fingers traced lightly over your slit. You were so goddamn wet, the mix of your slick and his spit shining in the low light of the room. You shivered when he pushed a finger in, just to the first knuckle. He felt you clench at the invasion, making him let out a soft groan. He pushed his finger fully inside you, crooking it up to press against your walls. You let out a loud whiny moan at the sensation. He continued slowly dragging his digit in and out, brushing against your g-spot each time. He wanted to draw this out, show you how good he could make you feel. His mouth continued the assault on your clit, as he finally gave in and added another finger, much to your delight. Your hips rocked against his hand with each thrust, your back arching when he would slowly brush over that sensitive spot. He could feel you getting wetter, your breaths becoming shorter, the words leaving your lips barely discernible. “J-John, I-I’m gonna cum,” he could barely hear you as you wrapped your thighs around his head, your hand yanking on his hair, pulling him closer to you, trying to reach your peak. He sped up slightly, not enough to disrupt your pleasure, but just enough to have you gasping loudly. John felt you clench around his fingers, once, twice, and then you came. Looking back on it, he wished he could’ve seen your face, but he was so lost in lapping up the rush of slick from you. He could do this for hours, knelt between your legs, eating you out until you were exhausted or until he had his fill, whichever came first. He only pulled off of you when you tugged his hair trying to push him off as your thighs fell back to the mattress. He looked up at you, taking in your disheveled face. Your lips were slightly swollen from your teeth biting into them, your eyes were dark, your chest rising and falling rapidly with your breath. “Sorry darlin’, ya just taste so good. Couldn’t help myself.” He was grinning like an idiot. You returned his smile as you muttered, “you’re damn good at that.” “That mean I make it up to ya?” You nodded, “Doesn’t mean we’re done here though.” John’s cock jumped at that. Eating you out had turned him on more than he’d care to admit, his cock had become hard and heavy, pressed against the mattress. “Thank god for that,” his raspy voice was only slightly teasing. A small smile broke out across your face as you shook your head at him, your hands pulling him up to you. He knew you could taste yourself on his tongue, the thought driving him slightly crazy. He’d propped himself up, his arms on either side of you, keeping mind to not let his whole weight rest on you. You pulled back, the look in your eye intrigued him. You looked like you had a plan. Before he could register what was happening, you’d flipped him over, sitting on top of him, your body on display. You leaned forward slightly, your finger trailing along the buttons of his shirt. “I think you’re wearing far too much clothing.” John could only bring himself to nod, as he took in your form. He was in awe. Your fingers began to work on his buttons, undoing them one by one. As more of his chest was revealed you brought your mouth to gently kiss across his skin. He could feel his mouth hanging open slightly, his heart pounding as you showed him a gentleness he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Your touches were light and adoring. As more of him was revealed to you, compliments and sweet words spilled from your lips. Your lips trailed across the scars that littered his chest, murmuring, “you’re so beautiful, John.” He felt like he was being worshiped. Like you were treating him like something to be treasured. When your fingers undid the last button of his shirt, you helped him slip it off of his shoulders, tossing the fabric to the floor to join the other discarded garments. Your hands traced along his chest, running through the smattering of hair across his pecs. Your hands drifted down further, your fingers dragging lightly through the dark hair of his happy trail. They came to rest on the waistband of his jeans, tucking underneath the fabric slightly, your nails teasing the sensitive skin. Your eyes were dark as you looked up at him, asking for permission. He nodded, maybe a bit too enthusiastically. You made quick work of the button and zipper, your fingers once again hooking over the sides as you pulled his jeans and boxers down in one go. His cock sprang up from the fabric, leaking and red, the head practically dripping precum. John knew his dick wasn’t something to scoff at but he still felt self-conscious. That was until he raised his eyes to your face. “Oh, John,” your words were soft, you seemed transfixed, your hand coming up to wrap around him, your fingers only barely able to touch around his girth. He couldn’t help the hiss that escaped him at the pressure. Your hands were light, tracing along the vein that ran up his length, ghosting over the head, your thumb swept at the slit, catching a drop of precum. He was captivated as you brought your thumb to your lips, your tongue darting out to taste it. He couldn’t take this slow teasing, he couldn’t wait any longer, he needed to be inside of you. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you before flipping the two of you once again. God, you were so beautiful. His naked body pressing against yours. His hand reached up to trace your jaw, fingers coming to a rest on your chin, tilting your head to look at him. “Are you sure you want this?” As much as he dreamt of you, as much as he wanted this, he needed to know you felt the same. That this wasn’t something one-sided. Your hands reached around him, settling on the back of his neck, the smile you gave him was sweet, the lust in your eyes seeming to give way to something softer, something he’d dare call adoring. “John, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve been the one pursuing you all night. I know what I want. I know I want you.” He couldn’t formulate a response aside from bringing his lips to yours. The kiss was sweet at first but quickly sank back into something laced with sinful intents. He only pulled back to reach into the drawer of his nightstand, his hands tracing over the contents, searching for a condom. “John,” your voice was smaller than it had been a minute ago. “I-I’m clean. Got tested a bit ago. I, uh, I’m also on the pill.” His gaze was unable to leave your face as he tried to make sense of the words. His brain short-circuiting. When he didn’t respond, you continued, “S-so, I mean if you’re clean, we- I’m okay if we don’t use one.” He nodded, slowly at first, then with barely contained enthusiasm. “God, woman. You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispered as his lips met yours once again. The kiss was chaste, cut short by both of your eagerness. John moved back, kneeling between your legs, one hand languidly stroking his cock as he looked down at you. He used his other hand to help scoot you forward, tipping your hips up slightly as your legs wrapped around his waist. He ran his tip over your entrance, tapping it against your clit. A shudder ran through your body as you let out a frustrated groan. He did it again, relishing in the way you squirmed as he refused to give you what you so desperately needed. “John,” your voice was clipped, stern. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to leave and go finished myself off…alone.” He got the message, letting his tip stop at your dripping entrance before pushing in slowly. The heat and the tightness that met him was almost overwhelming. He had to stop himself from pushing in all the way in one go. He tried to go slowly, an inch at a time, but the way you were wrapped around his length was too much. Before he could stop himself, his hips thrust forward, entering you to the hilt, his balls pressed against your ass. He managed to let out a strangled, “sorry,” as he rested inside you, unmoving. You had gasped at the sudden movement, but now with him still, pressing incessantly into your g-spot, you were beginning to gyrate your hips, encouraging him to begin to move. His hands had come to rest beside your head, holding his body over yours as he slowly brought his hips back before thrusting into you. You moaned loudly as his body met yours. The pace he started was slow, purposeful. One of his hands moved to cup your jaw, bringing your lips to meet his in an almost loving kiss. He was holding back, not wanting to speed up for fear of hurting you. You seemed to not care as you pulled your lips back from him. Your gaze met his, it was hard and determined. “I’m not a doll, John. I'm not gonna break.” You brought your lips to his ear, the brush of them sending shivers down his spine as you whispered, “been waiting for this for months. Fuck me like you mean it.” You barely had time to draw back before he began to pound into you, his pace unrelenting. The moans leaving your mouth were heavenly, intoxicating. He wanted more. He moved his lips to your throat, biting and sucking the delicate skin. The whine you let out when he nipped you particularly hard had him grinning against your neck. He brought a hand up to your tits, tweaking your nipples like he did earlier on the couch, teasing you. He felt you grip down on him whenever he pulled or pinched especially hard. He was panting, both from the physical excretion as well as the overwhelming pleasure. He could hear how wet you were with each thrust, the noises your body made driving him to thrust a little harder. “You were fuckin’ made for me, sweetheart,” he growled out between breaths. As heat coiled in his stomach, he kept remembering what you had said. How you wanted him to cum inside of you, how you’d wanted him for months. He needed to see it when it happened. Needed to see what you’d look like stuffed full of his cum. His thrusts slowed as he shifted off your neck, his hand leaving your chest as he sat up. He removed your legs from his waist and instead lifted them until they rested on his shoulders. When he leaned back down again, his hands came to rest on either side of your head, essentially folding you in half. He gave a hard thrust into you. The new angle made him sink deeper, his cock brushing against your g-spot with each stroke. Even though you felt tight before, now every move he made had you squeezing him. He knew he couldn’t possibly last much longer but he had to make you cum before he did. Had to give you a reason to do this again. You were letting out a steady stream of curses each time he pounded into you. Your hands gripping the sheets, bunching them tightly in your fists. Your eyes were black with lust and your mouth hung open, sweat shone on your forehead and chest. You looked like a fucking angel. John couldn’t help the praise that dripped from his lips. “You’re such a good girl for me, ain’tcha. Taking me so fuckin’ well.” He moved one of his hands to your clit, rubbing it in tight circles. “Wanted you since I first saw ya. Wanted to take ya right on the porch.” “John,” you let out a breathy whine. He kept going, “that day you came over in that stupid sundress. Looked so sweet in it. All dolled up. Wanted to bend you over. Wanted to fuck you until you were screaming my name.” He gave a particularly hard thrust, emphasizing his words. “W-wore it for you,” you managed to get out around harsh moans. He could barely think through the fog of pleasure that permeated his brain. “That’s my girl,” he grunted. His hair was sticking to his forehead, his chest flushed red, sweat beading on his skin. He was so fucking close, for the second time that night. You’d made a mess of him. “Fuck,” your body seemed to be almost shaking with pleasure. “J-John, I’m gonna cum. P-please don’t stop, feels so good.” He kept his pace and seconds later you were clamping down on him like a vice. Your body shook with the waves of pleasure that washed over you. The sensation of you squeezing around him sent him right to the brink of his orgasm. His thrusts became sloppy as he chased his high, his balls drawing up, his pants becoming harsher. “C-cum inside me, John. please,” your worn voice all but begged as your eyes met his. Those words were the final push that threw him over the edge. He thrust once, twice, three more times before spilling inside you. His vision was overtaken by white. He rocked into you as the waves overtook him. He could feel the tingling sensation in his fingertips, in his toes. When he seemingly came back into himself, the sight that greeted him was heavenly. You were spread below him, chest still heaving, bottom lip swollen from kisses and bites. Your hands which had been gripping the sheets now ran up and down his sides, helping bring him back down from the mind-blowing orgasm. He lowered your legs from his shoulders, pulling out of you with a soft grunt. He couldn’t help but watch as his seed leaked from your hole. His fingers moved without thought to stuff his spend back inside you. He only stopped when you let out a slightly pained moan, igniting a feeling of worry in his chest. “I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to hurt ya.” You smiled and chuckled weakly, “s’okay, just sensitive right now.” He wanted to press a gentle kiss to your temple but couldn’t muster up the courage. He stood up from the bed with a small groan. “I’ll be right back sweetheart, gonna clean up.” He stumbled off towards the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and wiping himself down before tossing it into the hamper. He grabbed another cloth, making sure the water wasn’t too hot or too cold before he wrung it out and returned to the bedroom. You were in the same position as you’d been when he left, but now your legs were closed. He knelt before you on the bed. “You okay with me cleanin’ you up?” you nodded sweetly, your eyes closing as he gently swiped the rag over you. When he was done, he tossed the rag to the side, letting it join the pile of clothes already on the floor. He didn’t want your time together to end, but he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable either and the doubts were beginning to creep in on the edge of his mind. “You, uh, you don’t have to sleep here, with me, if you don’t want,” he started, staring at his hands. “The other room’s still free if you'd like.” When he brought his gaze to yours he was met with something he could only describe as affection. “I’m not going anywhere if that’s alright with you,” your voice was kind as you smiled at him. “Now come to bed, I’m getting cold here all alone.” He couldn’t contain the grin that broke out on his face. He laid down on his back, his arm outstretched, inviting you in. You curled right into his side, your head coming to rest on his chest and he wrapped his arms around you in return, holding you close. Despite just being inside you, the gentle cuddling had him blushing harder than he had all night. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for tonight, under a sky of dark clouds, and the steady pounding of rain on the roof, you were his and he was yours. And that was good enough.

I know this was super long for a one-shot smut fic but if you made it all the way through, I hope you enjoyed it! This was my first time writing smut from a man's perspective so I'm sorry if anything was weird. I just love John Marston very much <3 Comments/criticisms are always welcome! Crossposted on AO3 @holyratrimony​ <3333

Taglist: @cowboydisaster​

This fic was inspired by this post by @butchdutch

[mathiwrites]

warmth // an elain x lucien smut one-shot

This was written as a response to @lainalit's request for a specific Elucien scenario 😉

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I've never written Elain before, and this fic turned out way more delicate than I expected! Hope you all enjoy it.

SUMMARY: Elain loves her husband, but as the emissary of the Spring Court, Lucien is always busy. She decides to set a time limit; he can work as long as he can resist her.

Read on AO3 or under the cut (tw: explicit content).

The earth feels cool on her long slender fingers; it feels like home. Old memories of their hovel drift into her mind as she pokes little burrows for the water to seep more deeply into the ground, and perhaps if she's lucky, wild little flowers will find a home to grow in.

Her work is purposeful, though humble. On one end of the garden, roses bloom, watching the centuries go by despite their creator's absence. She sings to them, and tells them stories of their son, the current High Lord of this magical, blossoming place.

"Your sprout is doing well," she whispers to the spirit of Tamlin's mother who has lived here for an eternity and a half. "But you already knew that."

The plot right beside the yellow flowers are a little hoard of alpine lotuses. They breathe with scent of crisp night, but their hearts are as bright as spring itself. Elain tends to them too; the flowers—they speak to each other. She may not be privy to their conversations, but they all seem to mirror one another.

Elain picks up her basket and adjusts her sunhat, moving from eternal flower to eternal flower. She knows each of them like old friends, some of whom their magic is familiar and others, a welcomed stranger into her life.

It was her idea to sow this garden; it was her mission to create a place of peace and safety for all those who wanted to protect what matters most to them. Faeries and humans alike would come here and plant their love, either a single grain of everything they have, or grand gestures of adoration. When Tamlin had told her to make herself at home, this was her only request. A place for all to love freely.

The High Lord had not only granted her wish, but he extended his protection over all which bloomed in his soils, no matter their origins.

Her first and last stop is always the bright orange emberflowers at the edge of her garden. When the breeze blows, their petals crackle like a warm fire on a cool summer's eve. Their song welcomes her as she approaches, and they sway at the sight of her smile—happy little children at the sight of their beloved mother.

"Hello, my darlings," she hums.

Their petals are soft, and she remembers only to touch the edges where the colour errs on the shades of fall. She had made the mistake of touching the bright ringlets of blue at their cores, and it had burned her terribly.

It was her mistake for thinking something so soft and comforting would be without its own edges. Lucien had told her their flowers hold the ferocity with which he would protect their love, but Elain knew that she would protect what they have twice as hard.

When every member of the garden has been cared for, Elain retreats to the Lord's manor. She skips past Alis and the gaggle of new handmaidens. She introduces herself briefly, quickly brushing her soiled hands across the white apron over her dress, before excusing herself. The basket of gardening tools is left on the first floor while she searches for her dutiful half, but not before washing her hands clean with lilac water.

Though she knows exactly where he is, Elain still makes a game out of it, wondering if she'll ever catch her husband in one of the many other rooms in the manor. Their room, though full of flowers and beloved paintings, is empty. The library is still a mess—a chaos that can only be attributed to guests enjoying the company of their home—but without its Lord Emissary.

She breezes through the long hallways, past the prim white walls and golden trims of intricate moldings. Her life on the other side of the wall had been years ago, and yet, she still cannot believe the opulence of a High Lord's home.

"Miss Elain, Miss Elain!" A tiny pixie buzzes beside her, crystaline wings fluttering wildly to keep up with Elain's long strides. "I did it! I did it!"

"I told you," Elain reprimands, voice light like a chime. "Elain is just fine." She holds her hands out to cup the little creature as it stands stark naked, hands on her little hips. "How did it go?"

"I told them! I told them that just because I was little, they couldn't push me around. It's not very springy of them," the pixie nods, her pointed tuft of hair bouncing with the movement. "And that the Lady of our Court would be very disappointed."

"And what did they say?"

"Um," the pixie gets shy. "Well, they said that Spring Court doesn't have a Lady, so I kicked them in the butt real hard."

Elain laughs. There are those who have yet to acclimate to her role in the Spring Court. Her husband, for all intents and purposes, is the Lord Emissary of Spring and in the absence of the Court's High Lord, the decisions fall to Lucien. She takes none of it to heart.

"I can't say I endorse the violence," Elain says firmly, but she looks around to see if anyone is around to eavesdrop. "Good job standing up for yourself." She smiles and presses a gentle kiss on the pixie's forehead. "I heard there's honey tarts in the kitchens. You should go reward yourself. Tell Aed that I, the not-Lady of the Court, sent you."

"Thank you, Miss Elain! I couldn't'a done it without you!"

The pixie flies off, excitedly doing loop-de-loops in the air, as Elain waves her goodbye.

Onwards towards my husband, Elain muses, a soft smile on her delicate features.

Five rhythmic knocks signal her arrival. Lucien lifts his head, and her heart flutters at the sight of him. Her spirits had been light already, but being with him makes her soul soar.

"My love," he greets smoothly.

"My dutiful emissary," she reprimands with a grin. "How long have you been here?"

Lucien sets his quill down, and waves away the other three that were scribbling away by the grace of his magic. "Not that long."

"Since the first crow of the cock, at least, and it is nearly noon." The grin that slithers on his face is made of mischief. Elain ignores the implications, skirting into the room. "When I married you, I thought I would have more of you."

"So did I, but our High Lord seems to have developed an aversion to paperwork. It's fatal, he says."

"Mhm, and that is why he is galavanting in Night Court?"

"He, and I quote, brought the honey — where else will he find the moon but in the Night Court?"

"Clever."

With a single finger (and his help), she coaxes his chair backwards. Elain climbs into her lap, and when he leans to press a kiss to her lips, she turns to focus on work. That is his preference, is it not? Instead, his kiss lands on the tops of her pointed ears.

"What's this?"

Elain's eyes dance across the page. It is a draft with words crossed out haphazardly and more scribbles above. She finds many things in the discarded—words of love and adoration, a plea for celebration, and a hundred other soft sentiments.

"You're still doing this?"

Lucien rests his chin on her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist securely as he reads along with her. "Mhm."

"Lucien," she breathes. "You don't need to."

He promised—he promised he would love her in every which way, including professing his love to her in the languages of the Seven Courts of Prythian. On their fingers, they wear the shadows of the Night Court, a promise to always hold one another. In their eyes, flickers of brown dot Lucien's russet, and vice versa for Elain—the magic of Dawn sealed their promise to always see one another through glamour, magic and the storm of emotions. Both Autumn and Spring bargains are sealed here in the garden, their very own fire contained in their eternal flowers.

In his newest letter, he entreats the Winter Court to allow them into their territory for the Midwinter Festival where the two of them can bring life to a snowmite through the magic of their bargain. High Lord Kallias is not his father, but since Amarantha's invasion, Lucien has always tread carefully with Winter.

"I do. I love you to the ends of this Earth and back."

"I know that, you foolish male. I don't need grand gestures."

"And yet, you will recieve them anyway," Lucien grins.

"Even at the cost of spending time with my husband?"

"I'm almost done, my darling."

Oh, this will not do. Even if Lucien says he's almost done, Elain knows that this is the lie that plagues him the most. She presses a gentle kiss to his lips. "Not good enough. Aed has prepared new recipes for us to try. The food will get cold."

She knows if she truly asked him to stop working, he would. There is nothing Lucien would deny her. Instead, an idea flutters into her mind. The kind of idea that brings a deep flush to her cheeks. Mother above, it's so unlike her, Elain doubts if she can execute it properly. She would ask her sisters were they here, but they too have taken to galavanting across Prythian now that the threat of death no longer looms above them. Not for years now.

How much is too much? She would ask them.

A few years ago, we had nothing. Nothing is too much, Feyre would surely say while grazing on a tamelon with her feet up on the ornate couch and her boots still on.

Who cares? Nesta would snap. Do what makes you happy, El. He's a male, he will be happy with whatever you give him.

It's true, Feyre would agree.

It's a wonder how things have changed—how three sisters who could not be more different are now in sync. Their family, once fractured, feels whole again.

"You will have a time limit."

Lucien's auburn brows perk. "Oh? And how much time will I have?"

"That depends," Elain says, getting up and adjusting her skirts. She feigns looking for something under her desk.

"On what? What are you looking for down there?" Rather than answer, she pulls his chair closer, effectively trapping her beneath the desk, between his legs. "Elain?"

Never in her years has she thought of doing something like this. She has always watched the others; how freely they express their adoration for their partners. Her shyness has always overwhelmed her. If not, the propriety he mother taught her always took precedence. Her duty as the wife of an emissary is to represent him well. What use is there for her to do such things?

Only one way to find out.

Arousal pools in her belly before she even begins, warmth settling between her legs. She bites her lip, fascinated by the magic of her own mind. She hasn't done anything, and yet her body knows.

Elain's slender fingers smooth over Lucien's thighs. Beneanth the tailored fabric, she can feel the strength of his lean muscles. His style has always been a choice, projecting elegance and flair, all while hiding the power beneath. (Power that she knows well.)

She kisses his knee, a loving gesture he has done to her time and time again—one that she is happy to reciprocate. Her touch wanders to his hips, and his ass without lingering too long.

"Elain." Lucien's voice is a shuddered breath. "What are you doing?"

"Entertaining myself while you finish your work."

"Elain," he outright moans, a single-word complaint.

A smile dances on her lips as her hand explores the blooming erection between his legs. Elain laughs softly, but its drowned out by Lucien's groan. He spreads himself as much as he can, trapped between the walls of the desk. He could shatter the desk, but that would defy the point of her game.

Button by button, Elain takes her sweet time in freeing her husband's cock from the confines of his tailored trousers. It springs free, tall, proud and glistening, even in the dim light under the desk. She takes it in his hand, stroking the soft skin and toying with the folds of his tip.

"Ah, ah, Elain."

He speaks her name like a prayer, like salvation wrapped up in a single sound. His hips rise, looking for more friction, and the attempt makes her pull back. She is in charge, not him. Lucien groans, sitting up properly. He sighs, and above her, the quills begin to scribble once more.

He's getting it, she hums to herself, amused.

Elain leans forward, kissing the root of his erection. Her warm breath curls over his skin. She presses her lips along its length until she reaches the top and tongues beneath the skin to taste the salty-sweet of his precome. She lingers there for a bit, listening to the heavy breaths of her husband as he reigns in his desire. Then, when she's satisfied, she trails back down towards his balls. Each one is taken whole in her mouth, sucked lovingly. She nips at the skin; she gets to enjoy him in a new way today, entirely at her own pace and without his distractions.

Her husband is an impatient man, and a giving man, which means that she cannot have him on display like this—which means that she has never had him at her mercy. He squirms when the cool air hits his saliva-slicked balls.

"Keep playing with them," he pleads, but he is not in control here. The only thing Elain cares to hear is whether or not he is enjoying himself.

"Elain, you will be the death of me." He pauses, and she can hear the smile in his voice. "You give me life."

Another kiss graces Lucien's tip. Then, Elain spreads her lips to take him into her mouth. She cannot take him whole, not on the first try, and her throat seizes around him. She has to pull back.

"Fuck," he growls.

Elain tries again.

His cock slides into the warmth of her throat, and she holds him there. Just a little more. She just has to figure out how to take a little more of him. Thinking about it doesn't help, but she knows she has to measure her breath. She knows that she has to simply enjoy this.

Her fingers slip between her legs, feeling the moist patch at the centre of her undergarments. Outside the pink fabric, Elain applies pressure. A soft pulsing rhythm to distract her. The more she toys with herself, the more willing she is to open her mouth, to coax that fluttering muscle at the back of her mouth to yield for her husband's thick length.

"Are you playing with yourself?" He asks from above. "I can smell you, my sweet flower."

"Mhm."

"Fuck. I can just see it, my love. I could come on the very thought of you fingering yourself for me, so you can take me deeper."

Elain stops, wincing her eyes shut. She could come on the words spilling from that damned mouth of his and he isn't trying. (She has come on his words alone.) Breath heavy, she swallows him to the root.

And then, she simply stays there.

"I want to fuck your mouth," Lucien complains. "I want to fuck your mouth. Fuck. You feel so good." His fingers curl into the desk, scraping at the wood. There is a long moment where he seems at war with himself, debating whether to give into his desire for this beautiful, wonderful woman at his feet, but he proves himself to be the better male.

Lucien gets to work. Elain remains between his legs, warming his cock with her mouth. She stops toying with herself. Instead, she leans her cheek against his thigh and waits. Occasionally, his fingers would reach down to caress her hair—to toy with her ear affectionally—before he finishes what he was writing. Whenever he touches her, Elain's eyes would flutter shut in sheer comfort.

Her eyes flutter shut. Occasionally, Elain will shift her tongue and even the slightest bit of friction will have him hardening once more. Her jaw begins to ache; like magic, he reaches down to massage the tense muscle. His hand trails down her neck, then to her shoulder for a gentle, grateful squeeze.

She hears him without him neeeding to say anything—

What have I done to deserve you?

It's why he will anchor their love in every Court, in every single one of their love languages. For her.

"I'm done," his voice rouses her from her comfortable lull, despite her mouth full of his cock. "Do you—"

Elain sits straighter, gripping his hip with one hand and withdrawing herself from him ever so slightly. She wraps her slender fingers around the base and begins bobbing her head, filling the room with wet, slurping sounds. She hollows her cheeks, sucking her husband's cock to the best of her ability.

"Hnng, my love."

Strands of her hair fall into her face, and before she can pause to tuck them behind her ear, Lucien's already there, gathering her hair in one hand and pulling slightly.

"You'll let me know if I get too rough?"

Elain nods.

Lucien starts to move against her, gently at first. Each thrust into her warm, wet, welcome mouth strikes at her chore. Wetness pools between her legs; she swears that she is ruining the soft carpet beneath her knees, but she has no regrets. None.

She tugs on the hem of his shirt. More, she asks, politely.

The bond nudges at her mind gently. Elain closes her eyes while Lucien fucks her mouth, letting the full��breadth of their mating enter her.

She can feel it. Goddesses, she can feel him. She can feel the way her mouth encapsulates the length of his cock—the way her throat flutters around his tip. Each clench sends waves of ecstacy through Lucien, and he fights the urge to grip her hair and properly fuck her.

Oh, that is most definitely a problem.

Elain shifts gears. Using Lucien's thighs as leverage, she ups the pace, bobbing her head on him with fierce determination.

"Elain, ahhhh, Elain. I'm going to come."

Each time she spears herself upon him, the thrust is felt at her core like—like he's fucking both her mouth and her cunt at once. It pulls at her mind in every which way, wearing at her focus. She cannot decide between the high of worshipping Lucien with her mouth or being ridden.

"Let me," Lucien breathes, coaxing her to let him take control with a gentle touch along her jaw.

Elain nods.

His angle shifts, and he cups both her cheeks while driving himself into her. Her pussy clenches, as if trying to grab hold of something that isn't there, but she feels him. Elain slackens her jaw, the only way to take him at this pace. Although he truly, properly fucks her mouth, he's still careful. He never passes the threshold of her throat, never dares choke her; he is delicate in his use of her.

"I'm close, are you—are you sure you don't want me too —ah!"

Her fingers curl around his balls, fondling him. Her touch slips further back towards his perineum, and then, and then—does she dare? Elain presses the pad of one finger against his asshole.

"Elain."

Lucien's reaction is immediate, bucking into her mouth. Warmth floods her, and she has the bitter-sweet taste of his come on her tongue. He pumps into her a couple of more times, hips rolling from the high of ecstacy. When he pulls back, a dribble of saliva and cum escape her lips. She dabs at it, and swallows.

Elain blinks up at him, nothing the expression of surprise on her husband's face. Every time they've made love, he has been the one to take the lead. The fingering trick, that was his that she turned against him and it worked in her absolute favour. She ducks her head, sheepish.

"Don't look at me like that," Lucien grins. He picks her up, carefully placing his hand on her head to protect her from bumping it on the underside of the desk. "It's time for me to return the favour."

"We'll be late for lunch," she says with a deep flush on her cheeks.

"That's not very fair, is it? You've had your fill." Lucien pulls her close, leaning in to breathe into her ear. "Shall I save you for dessert then?" He squeezes her hands as he nips the lobe of her ear, just below the pretty fox earrings her sisters had gotten her for her last birthday. "Next time, don't swallow. I want to taste us." Lucien kisses her anyway.

Oh, oh, her face burns.

"Lucien!"

She smacks his shoulder, but takes a note for next time. There is much opportunity to explore herself and her husband. Some would say, there is an eternity ahead of them.

[haesunflower]

to hell with the stars | royalty au with ricky and zhanghao

(written in the stars chapter 3)

✩ chapter 1, chapter 2 ✩

genre: romance, angst

pairing: reader x ricky, queen oc x zhang hao

about/tags: you're back in astoria where you feel love bloom again. among other things, the queen of mariposa's relationship with king hao worsens. (4k+ words)

y/n is a princess, infidelity, cursing, mentions of death, slight slutshaming, these characters live such hard lives

The sky is a beautiful orange, with pinks blendings purples to welcome the impending setting of the sun. Celeste and Citrine are busy drinking from the water trough after a long day of riding. Ricky tosses you an apple meant for the horses, but you don’t have much of an appetite. 

“I hear you’re leaving tomorrow.” The prince takes a bite into the red fruit, as he sits down next to you under the tree where you’ve been planted for the past twenty minutes. Your mind was all over the place, thinking about your sister – how you and her husband, the king, spent over an hour crying and getting closure, how you eventually shared a kiss with him. 

That would have been enough reason to leave the following day anyway. So when you received a letter from your parents in Astoria asking you to come home, you were a little bit relieved. It saves you the agony of coming up with an excuse to tell your sister. 

In true avoidance, you spent the whole day riding. You rushed to the stables that morning, without even letting Chaehyun know. Everyone was looking for you the moment they realized you disappeared with your horse. Which is exactly why they sent Prince Quanrui to look for you, and he successfully found you crying by the pond. 

With no one in sight, he hugged you, arms embracing your torso as you sobbed into his chest. His head rests atop yours, as he soothes your back trying to get you to calm down. Even in your misery, a part of him is glad that he gets to hold you like this. 

You don't want to return just yet. So again, there you were sitting under the tree. Just thinking. You haven’t said much to Ricky at all, he didn’t pry. Instead you both moved in silence. Grateful for his perceptiveness to your emotions, he deserved a decent conversation. “Yes, tomorrow morning. The King and Queen have summoned me.”

Ricky nods slowly, but he’s undecided on whether or not he wants to believe that answer. He sets the apple down, and sighs loudly. “Since you’ll be gone, I have no purpose staying here any longer than you are. I’ll leave tomorrow as well.” he says matter-of-factly. 

You can’t say you’re not surprised. In fact, you’ve suspected that he favors you more than any other royal because he likes you to some degree. And you like Ricky too, how could you not? 

You spent every year of childhood playing with him around the castle, he was your favorite guest at your tea parties, he was your escort for your first royal ball, he taught you how to paint, and he made you laugh. And you once overheard both your mothers joke around, saying perhaps their children will marry each other one day. You weren’t sure if that meant you. But if it did, you wouldn’t mind. Ricky is a friend above all things, a really good friend – who is also a welcome distraction from your thoughts. 

“You spent almost all of Spring here in Mariposa, did you not tire of my company?” you playfully nudge him, and the tip of his ears turn a little red. He breaks into a smile as he turns to you, eyes locking “it wasn’t dreadful”, he jokes back.  

“I knew it. So you do like me a little bit, Prince Quanrui?” you tease. 

“Love. I do love you Princess Y/N.”

There is no more joking undertone, just a declaration. He says it confidently, his voice unwavering. He looks to your lips, then to your eyes before he looks away – staring at the sky instead, “but I can wait, however long you need, Y/N.”

You think about what he just said, and you’re scared to ask “Ricky, you know something, don’t you?”

“Well…” he begins. “I knew there must have been a good reason as to why you didn’t come to Solaria when I invited you, perhaps you were occupied with royal matters too. And because I was at your sister’s wedding, I figured you weren’t in attendance. Perhaps you were sick, as there was no way you would have missed an event that involved your family. I also know that you were trying to get away from that dumbass King after your dance with him –” he wants to continue, but he glances in your direction. 

Your head is down, ashamed. So he was right, it is about the King. 

“I’m a horrible person. Yesterday, I kissed him.” you whisper the confession, barely audible. You check on Ricky, who is no longer watching the sky, and is instead gazing at you.  He seems unphased. 

“Do you see me differently now?” you ask, feeling hopeful that maybe he doesn’t think you’re a disgrace, a slut, a traitor. He one ups your expectations when he responds with “I see you exactly as you are. The same from when we were kids. Beautiful, terribly unfunny, but fresh like air. Nothing you do changes my love for you.”

For confirmation, you ask once again – “you love me?”

“In every way imaginable, Y/N”. You smile as you realize how easy it was for Ricky to answer that question, and compare it to how difficult it was for you to answer Hao the night before.

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—--

When you leave the next day, Ricky is the one that brings you to your carriage, opening the door for you. He tells you that he’ll visit Astoria after he gets his political affairs in order. He removes the glove that you had on, and kisses the back of your hand sweetly. It’s intimate, sweet, and in Solaria – reserved for only husband and wife. 

You want to tease him, but you don’t. Instead, you remove your necklace, a golden chain with a sun and star on it, and place it on his palm. You enclose his fingers around it gently, and your hands stay in that position for a while. You’re afraid this is the last time you’ll see each other as just Crown Prince Ricky and Princess Y/N. 

“Don’t keep waiting for me, okay? Thank you for the past few weeks”. You place your hand on his cheek, and swipe your thumb comfortingly. 

Those are the last words you speak to him before the carriage door is closed. Ricky is watching as the carriage smalls to the distance. The necklace is safely nested in his clasped hands, afraid he’ll lose the precious item you gave him. Rather, afraid he’ll lose you entirely. 

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-- 

When you return to Astoria, the first thing that you are alerted to is that the crown prince’s condition has worsened. Crown Prince Hanbin has been sick since the middle of winter, and everyone had assumed he would eventually get better. He always does. But an entire season has passed, and his condition has only worsened. 

You enter his room, and he’s laying in his bed. Your mother and father, the queen and king of Astoria, are seated on chairs by the side of his bed. For both of them to be here at the same time, it must be really grave, you think.

You close the door gently and walk to your brother to take his hand. He’s coughing but he manages to smile when he sees you. “What took you so long, sister?” he asks, his voice is hoarse. 

“Don’t speak, I am here now brother.” You place your hand on his head, feeling his temperature and wiping away the layer of sweat that rests on his skin. “What do the doctors say, mother?” But she doesn’t respond to your query. 

“Y/N, let’s speak outside....” Your father commands.

Hanbin interrupts, “no, let me be the one to tell her.”

You’re looking at both of the men in the room, waiting for them. “Sister, listen –” a roar of coughs erupts before he gets the rest of the sentence out  “– you know that if anything were to happen to me, you’ll be queen regent right?” You’re nodding, “starting tomorrow, your official title will be crown princess.”

Your world spins, and you think you might faint. You were right, that was going to be the last time you would be seeing Ricky as just, princess y/n. Tomorrow, you duties begin as crown princess, the next in line to the throne.

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—--

In Solaria, Prince Quanrui’s mother asks how his trip to Mariposa was. And if he has already proposed to you, like he said you would. He shakes his head, and tells her that it isn’t the right time. 

“I always knew that both of you would end up together,” she says quaintly. “You begged to visit Astoria almost every year, even when we didn’t need the diplomatic meetings anymore. You studied her interests, her country, and you know the Astoria government more than anyone in our parliament. Son, you even painted a portrait for her,” she scoffs “you’ve never even painted for your own mother. And remember when you were devastated when she didn’t visit us last year?” The current queen of Solaria pauses to take a sip from her wine, watching the expression on her son’s face. “Am I right to believe you’ve loved her ever since?” 

When the prince nods, she nags at him, "then why are you in Solaria and not Astoria?"

He has a small smile on his face, and he thinks of you as he touches the gift you left him, currently clad on his neck. 

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-- 

A letter from Solaria announcing Prince Quanrui’s intent to visit Astoria arrives a week late. Now, the palace staff are in visible panic, making last minute preparations. You haven’t seen them make this much haste since the last time a crown prince stayed in Astoria. 

It’s a bright day, and the gardens are littered with fully bloomed stargazer lilies this time around. As if timed perfectly, a carriage slows down the moment you leave the palace doors. A footman opens the vehicle, and Prince Quanrui steps out dressed in all black. On his right hand, a dozen red roses. 

As you walk down the stairs to greet him, he bows at you. And out of habit, you curtsy back. “Your favorite, Princess Y/N”, he hands you the flowers. Roses don’t grow well on Astoria soil, so Ricky has made it a tradition to gift you a dozen every time he visits. They’re usually yellow or white. You wonder if these red ones hold any special meaning, and you decide to read on it later. 

“They’re beautiful as always, Prince Quanrui.” He takes your ungloved hand, and plants a delicate kiss from his lips. It feels familiar, it feels sincere, it feels nice. 

“I hope the King and Queen are not too offended about my sudden desire to visit the Astoria palace.” You’re walking side by side, back to the grand doors. “Don’t be silly Ricky, they’re elated that you’ve come here again.” 

Ricky is glad to hear that he’s still in your parents’ good graces. Because he plans to ask for their blessing for your hand in marriage soon.

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-- 

The palace staff are instructed to not speak anything about Prince Hanbin’s debilitating condition, nor are they allowed to address Y/N by her new Crown Princess title around guests. They have not made the royal decree public, and they only plan to do so once things have been made final. Everyone hopes that it doesn’t have to come to that point. 

Silently, you’ve been preparing to take over. Hanbin’s responsibilities have been passed on to you, along with additional education from his royal tutors. It’s exhausting to be a ruler. Thankfully, all of that takes a backseat for the first few days of Ricky’s visit. 

At first, you enjoyed your usual activities. Strolling by the garden, painting together, visiting the new museum artifacts, riding Celeste and Citrine, having meals together. You threw a tea party for fun, and he willingly participated, joking about how you must have no better company because he’s the only one present. “I’m in disbelief that your idea of fun is throwing tea parties and rotting away at the library.” 

Faking offense, “excuse me, that is no way to talk to your host.” He laughs, uninhibited, gums showing. Your favorite. He often puts on a cool and cold demeanor around strangers, but you know who he is. So in rare moments where he allows himself to genuinely laugh, even with palace staff around – you treasure it, tucking a memory of this moment.

“Let’s do something that’s actually fun. I’ll come get you later this evening.”

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-- 

“Are you certain about this?” you ask Ricky, as he tucks the rest of your hair into your cloak. Underneath, both of you are sporting commoner clothes that you rarely use. 

“Unfortunately, I’m not taking no for an answer. Come on.” He grips your waist tightly and hoists you up the palace walls, the ones near the staff entrance where it’s much, much shorter. And therefore, very climbable. Ricky follows after you, and you’re both giggling at the excitement of sneaking out past curfew. 

The stars are littered throughout the sky, acting as a soft source of light. You mount your horses, and ride towards the central area of Astoria. The night market at the town square feels so alive. There’s a weekend festival that the tavern owners like to host, and you hear old men as they clink their mugs and cheer for the free drinks. Children are still up, enjoying the Astoria delicacies being sold by vendors. At the center, near the fountain, a traditional square dance ensues. It’s mostly old couples and young teenagers. Ricky drags you in, and you’re both welcomed into the chaos of music, laughter, and sweaty bodies. As he dances with an old lady, you can’t help but stare at his beauty that surely rivals your own. He’s holding both her hands, encouraging her to go along with the beat. He’s smiling wide, as he teaches her the steps. That damn smile that you love so much. 

You’re walking down the food vendor lanes when you buy Ricky an Astorian strawberry delicacy. To put it simply, cow’s milk that’s been pasteurized with strawberries. “Try this, you’ll like it.” you excitedly bring the cup to his mouth, and he takes a sip. He says it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. 

You try a lot of new things. There’s a sketch artist that offers to draw the ‘lovely couple’ in charcoal, and you both pose on the chair attempting to keep your laughs at a minimum. He buys you a little doll made by a local toymaker, saying it looked like you when you were younger. Both of you even try winning a game of hopscotch against the children. He doesn’t want to, but when you tell him to lose on purpose to make them happy, he obliges.

You’re walking back where you came from when you tell him “your idea of fun is certainly better than mine.” You slow your steps, and decide to go to the railing of the bridge overlooking the lake. There are fireflies dancing around the swans. 

“Thank you. For taking me out of the palace today”. Your hands are glued to the railing, but you’re looking up at him. Ricky’s gaze is heart-stopping, and you struggle to maintain eye contact with him.

Meanwhile, he thinks that you shine the brightest at nights, with the moon illuminating your face – like you’re the only thing that matters. To him, it holds true.  He doesn’t know if it’s because he missed you, or if it’s purely from the way you’re looking at him. But he places his hand atop yours on the railing. You don’t move, not because you’re frozen, or nervous, but because it feels – natural. You look to his hand, safely enclosing yours when you notice the necklace you’ve given him, now repurposed as a bracelet that he’s wrapped thrice around his wrist. “You kept it…” 

“I treasure it as it’s from you.” And there’s an increased fondness that grows in your heart for the boy that loves you. You regret the words that you uttered to him when you gave it to him. 

“Ricky, I take back what I said.” He looks confused, “about you not needing to wait for me. I take it back. You’ll keep waiting, right?” You look up at him, desperate and glassy eyed. Ricky thinks your eyes look like they’re sparkling, but he knows it’s because you’re on the verge of tears. 

“I didn’t plan on stopping anyways.” To assure you the only way he knows how, he moves your hands from the railing to wrap it around his shoulders. As if letting you know that it’s okay to rely on him. Then, he inches down closer to you, so that your noses touch. Your lips are merely milimeters away. He searches your eyes, and asks “may I?”

You give a tiny nod, and he places his lips on yours. It’s not as gentle, it’s unlike what you’re used to. But you find it exciting, and there’s an electricity that you’ve never felt before. He swipes his tongue against your lower lip, and you slightly open your mouth to let him kiss you more fervently. Your stomach drops and you hold on to him tighter. You’re both out of breath.

And as you stand there at the bridge overlooking the lake of fireflies, you feel that you’re just Y/N and Ricky. Two people, no titles. 

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-- 

It’s a rude awakening, to get yelled at by your mother for disappearing into the night. Work piled up over the last few days, and you’re struggling to catch up. Prince Quanrui sends you little letters or drawings that he slips under your study. Cute, you think. You start to feel terrible that you haven’t been seeing much of him anymore, so you invite him to join you in your royal duties. 

You’re in the middle of studying the star patterns, something you did weekly as a requirement in your crown princess education. Previously, you did this as a hobby. It's a sudden whiplash to start viewing your favorite activity as duty. It’s burdensome.

Ricky is surprisingly very willing and interested to participate. He’s quick to be useful, though you’ve only taught him once at thirteen years old. He seems to have taken notice of your change in demeanor though, he knows something is troubling you. So when it’s just the two of you, he asks “I’ll speak candidly, Y/N. Is something wrong?”

He’s standing by the telescope when you retract yourself from the eyepiece. You look at him, and he seems genuinely worried. His brows are furrowed, and he’s slightly biting his lip anxiously waiting for an answer from you. Ricky is never nervous. But nowadays, you have been the exception. Ricky fears you're actively avoiding him, thinking he’s scared you with a confession of love, or if he’s come on too strong since he’s arrived at Astoria. Maybe it was the kiss you shared. Or perhaps you’re still in love with Hao. 

“Can I tell you when I’m ready, is that okay? It’s not anything you did, I promise.” It’s like you read his mind. So he nods, and decides to patiently wait until you are ready to confide in him. To wait, just like you asked him to. 

This time, you’re the one that steps closer towards him to rest your head on his chest. He wraps his arms around your back, and you feel safe. You don’t want to tell him anything just yet. You’d rather stay in his arms, an ignorant state of bliss.

Because you feel that if you tell him, you’ll speak it to existence, some sort of manifestation. It scares you. Because you might be Queen of Astoria, and Ricky is meant to be King of Solaria – thus, you aren’t free to love him either. The damn stars, even at a second chance of love, there is no hope for fruition. 

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-- 

In Mariposa, things are more dreary. Hao smells like whiskey, and the alcohol’s scent follows him as he barges into the queen’s quarters. It’s been several months since Y/N left, meaning it’s been several months where the king spends his evenings drowning himself in liquor.  

The queen has been holed up in her room since she found Hao and her sister in the second floor library. She didn’t even say goodbye to her when she left, making up an excuse about pregnancy pains. It’s been a few months, and she’s since given birth to a daughter, Yeseo. 

Amidst motherly responsibilities, Knight Jiwoong has been a distraction for her. In Astoria, he swore under oath to protect her with his life. It helps that they’ve known each other forever, and that comfort of having someone know you equally, or maybe even more than yourself has been saving grace for her. So when the queen found her husband and her sister that night, the first thing she did was run to Jiwoong. She cried, and cried, and cried – and he silently listened. 

The palace talks, and word must have gotten around about the Queen’s secret rendezvous with the Astoria Knight that guards her door. When there is a change of the guards, Jiwoong makes sure to come back outside right before anyone catches them. Sometimes, his uniform is in disarray. 

It’s unsurprising, yet terrifying when Hao makes a beeline at the Knight who is currently standing by the Queen’s window. His hands are grasping at his armored collar, in an attempt to intimidate him. “How long have you been fucking the queen?”

“Hao! Let him go.” The queen rushes to the two men, and pushes the King away. Jiwoong is silent, and he kneels down before his King, but doesn’t respond. “I demand an answer, knight Kim Jiwoong. How long has this been going on behind my back!” his eyes are fueled with rage, as he stares down at the man that’s knelt before him. 

“Do not answer him Jiwoong.” The queen puts a finger up towards him. “Hao, if you want to play ‘timelines’ we can. So now I’ll ask you – how long have you been in love with my sister?”

This time, Hao is silenced, but he breathes heavily.

“Is this,” gesturing to you and Jiwoong “the reason why you were okay with all of that? Even asking me to dance with her. Were you pushing me towards her so that you could enjoy your little play thing? You knew this whole time?” Hao is visibly angry at the story that unfolds in his head. An angry King Hao, it’s a sight that is rare to even the oldest of staff in the castle. His chest is huffed out, and his eyes are wide. 

The queen, luckily, is not one to back down. “I know that you kissed my sister while you are still married to me.” The queen walks past Hao and takes a seat by the fireplace. She’s staring at the fire when she says  “I know that you do not love me. I know that ever since we’ve left Astoria you’ve been different.”

“Do not guilt trip me. I am devoted to you, I chose you!” he’s yelling. 

There’s venom in the queen’s voice when she says “you are devoted to me but you do not love me. You are devoted to the country, you are devoted to your children. And yes, you will choose me each time because I, as queen, am also Mariposa. But you do not love me.”

He walks up behind the chair of the queen, and accusingly he says “you speak of the children, but are they even mine? – Yujin & Yeseo, are they even Mariposa blood?” His anger blends into sorrow, the thought of not being the father of his supposed heirs is more heartbreaking than anything else. 

It is only then that the knight speaks. “Your Majesty, I am impotent. There is no doubt that the young heirs are Your Majesty’s”

And just like that, Knight Jiwoong’s secret is out. Hao pours two glasses of whiskey and takes a seat next to the queen. 

—--⋆⋆☆⋆⋆—-- final chapter here

✩ chapter 1, chapter 2 ✩ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

A/N: these chapters just keep getting longer and longer also i'm sorry i made you impotent jiwoong TT

taglist: @en-ct @honghongbri @beomibeom @jiaant11 (and tagging other people that left comments on other chapters @cherriegyu @annoyingbitch83 @missuszabini @aleinasstuff @wtfhyuck @zhanghrt @flwrinn @xiaoting999 @xmxcris @seokmthw @kyrjnie @dimplewonie @leoonoa) @kflixnet

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[synthetickitsune]

Vanishing Act ✧ y.jh

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x gn!reader Genre: angst Summary: He's a coward. Knowing he's doing the right thing means little when he's doing it in the worst way possible - but it's the only way that Jeonghan's able to do it. Word count: 2.3k Warnings: abandonment, running away before the wedding A/N: On today's episode of why am i doing this to myself... ♫ Prásknu Bičem - Štěpán Kozub, Jiří Kohut ♫ What Could Have Been - Sting, Ray Chen

The morning mocks him.

Since when is it this bright this early?

Must be the ending spring. The season is slowly coming to an end and the blossoms fall, the colors step back to make room for the lively green. The animals will raise their young now.

He feels his heart in his throat. No, not his heart. More like a lump of something that's long since died and went cold. On a second thought, though, isn’t that what his heart is? Isn’t that what it feels like? Perhaps not entirely, but things would be easier if that was how it is.

His palms are sweaty, he's all sticky and disgusting with cold sweat. His own heartbeat is rushing in his ears. He can't hear anything. Everything he sees is a blur. Then again, that one is his own fault as he madly, almost hysterically keeps shaking his head and frantically looks around the room for anything that he could grab. Just one thing would be good enough.

He’d do anything to avoid looking at you but you’re all he can see.

The car will be here in about ten minutes. 

He needs to get a move on, but then he would need to focus and all he can focus on is you - still fast asleep and unaware. Right up to the last moment.

He went to great lengths to ensure it would stay that way.

He knows it’s cruel. He hopes it will make you hate him enough to forget everything.

He spots the note on your bedside table. The pieces of paper torn from his journal; the couple pages that he wanted to fill with words but that ended up empty, safe for a pathetic i'm sorry.

His hand still itches to reach for the papers, for pen, to write and to explain. He doesn't let himself give in. He knows the words would continue to evade him even if he tried. It’d be impossible to write anything that would justify the annihilation he's about to cause if he was the greatest poet to ever live.

Asking for forgiveness would be pointless and the greatest sin.

He doesn’t want you to hate him. He truly doesn’t. But he sees no other way this could end, and he understands. He’s not stupid. So he doesn’t ask for you to forgive him, yet even just those three lonely words seem like cowardice.

Because he is a coward.

A pathetic, no good coward that can't even look at you.

He knows if he did he wouldn't see you - not only you.

He would see the venue. 

The beautiful flowers you've spent weeks picking come to mind first. You’ve never fought, it was always you two having conversations and discussions that he wouldn't hesitate to call downright study sessions. It felt like going back in time to when you were students as you've set over books upon books on flower language. You both wanted the blossoms to be meaningful. 

Going through the final list in his head now, he has to bite down on his own fist to avoid screaming, to muffle the choked and broken sob tearing itself from his throat.

There are so many eternities, confessions of the purest forms of love, hopes and promises - all of them now empty. Or that's how you will see them, and maybe that's for the best.

Looking at you, he would also see the simple yet elegant white decor of the venue. The white that will turn into the color of sadness that it is. He will never get to see it filled with guests. And you will never get to wear the beautiful surprise he has to see - that he won't get to see for he’s not a masochist enough to look into the other room where it lies hidden. He won’t do that to himself. Though he supposes if it’s white you’ve decided to wear, it still might, appropriately, serve function as a mourning gown.

Will you choose to hurt yourself more? Not on purpose. He knows you won’t be able to help your curiosity. You won’t resist the dread. There, of course, will be no reason to trust him anymore, or he might’ve added to the poor imitation of a goodbye letter to not look for him, to stay away from the venue altogether. 

Why would you try to search for him, though? Isn’t his i’m sorry telling enough? Will you think he’s only teasing? He hopes not. He would never be so cruel as to joke about this. Even if he supposes it will look like this - your relationship, the next step you were supposed to take - was all a joke to him.

It wasn’t.

He wants you to know that, but he knows even if he tried telling you, you wouldn’t believe him. Not after what he’ll have done.

Every new thought feels like a punch to the gut and it makes him nearly double over. Will you walk down the aisle? Will you be crying? Of course you will, and it makes his heart shrivel up thinking about you looking for him, uselessly, with tears streaming down your cheeks. Will your parents be there? Will they hold you so you don't fall apart instead of guiding you forward to entrust you to him?

What will they think? Will they curse the man who hurt their baby? They should. They should curse him. Burn all the memories of him - the photos, gifts, all that he’s bound to forget or simply leave behind because he physically can't remove everything that’s his or that will remind you of him but oh, he would if he only could.

Your parents should finish the job if he can't. For once, they should ignore your cries and just do it.

Let him burn and turn to ashes for breaking your heart, for causing hurt so deep and irreparable that he knows you’ll never fully recover from it.

Jeonghan will carry the scar too, deep on his heart and soul.

How can he do this to you?

He can't think about it. He can't. He will lose his mind.

His fingers are pulling on the roots of his hair and he barely feels a thing even as some give way.

He’ll hurt you so bad.

He knows.

He wishes he didn't but he knows. He knows how much it will hurt. He’s suffering too, he’s hurting too.

But he has no right to hope for relief or to complain.

Knowing he's doing the right thing brings no comfort when he's doing it in the worst way possible. It's the only way he can do it, though.

He's been living in despair, he's driven himself crazy thinking about how to do this - how to hurt you as little as possible. There's no such way; nothing he can do to make this anything but destructive. And there's no other way to do it that he could pull off either. No other way he could go through with this without backing out.

How pathetic is he?

Sitting, collapsed, in the corner with both hands covering his mouth so that he doesn't wake you up, choking on his own sobs. He can't see through tears, and he has no right to, yet all he wants is to see you one final time.

He wants to see you so much. His heart can’t break any more. 

He needs to see you. 

Even though it means seeing all that will never come to be, all that he will regret not being able to give you.

Jeonghan knows what everyone is going to say about him - that he’s heartless, a sadist, and an asshole the world would be better off without.

He knows.

And they will all be right.

Then again, however, wouldn't the alternative be equally as cruel?

Because Jeonghan also knows that he could go through with the wedding. He could stay, he could live with you, could spend the rest of his life with you - and he’s helpless because he wants it so much it hurts.

He wants to keep waking up with you, he wants to keep coming home to you, wants to keep holding you, wants to feel your fingers in his hair.

He wants all of that, forever.

And perhaps that’s the problem.

No matter how much he wants it, he doesn’t feel it. Perhaps he just wants to be able to stay complacent in the life that seems like it’s been all laid out for him. The one route he could take and never have to worry again.

He wants it - for heaven’s sake he wants it so much, he wants it but it’s like he’s forcing himself to walk on burning embers. And that’s not what he wants. He wants it to be like before, for everything to flow naturally, not like he’s forcing it down his own throat only to satisfy everyone but himself.

He can do it for long enough, but he can’t do that for the rest of his life. 

His heart breaks, and he breaks, and his damn tears won't stop so he could look at you.

He wants so much.

But Jeonghan is anything but selfish.

As cold as the nights without you will be, they won't be as bad as the dread and the sinking feeling in his stomach that he got every time you’d talk about the future.

He doesn’t know where it came from, nor is he sure when it started.

All he knows is that he can't give you what you want.

Maybe it's just that the concept of marriage, all that it’s supposed to mean and be, is putting too much pressure on him. Maybe he's just not ready.

He doesn't know - he wishes he did, he wants to know what's wrong so bad that it’s killing him. Because if he knew, then he could solve it. He could ask for more time to work it out but while he wants you, imagining the married life makes his heartbeat race in a way that makes him nauseous and his throat closes up. He panics so bad that he can’t feel his limbs and gets paralyzed. All he can think of is running away somewhere; somewhere home where he will be isolated from time and the world.

Perhaps it's just that he only loves the idea of ‘you’. Someone familiar, loving, safe.

When did it all go wrong?

He wants to go back to when his love for you was bright and warm, not anxiety- and nausea-inducing.

He tried to change how he feels but he is only a flawed, imperfect human and some things are just beyond his control. If he thought about it deeply enough, he could figure out the pieces and recreate the bigger picture of how it all came to this. He could, it’d be so easy - but he's not strong enough.

He can't do anything but swallow whimper after whimper because his vision finally focused for long enough to see you.

You, who’s still sleeping so peacefully, relaxed and happy and satisfied. You’re almost glowing. Will you be able to ever lit up like that again? In your dreams, you must be married to him already. He must avoid robbing you of that as well.

He’s already taken, taking, so much.

Watching you, the list gets longer and his eyes overflow again.

You've always talked about having a family. 

Who's going to give it to you now?

It's nonsense but his eyes that are barely able to make out shapes through tears drift to the empty spot between your chest and your arm. A baby, a cat, a puppy - you’ve never decided properly - would fit there so nicely and snuggly. It would feel your warmth and the reassuring safety your embrace provides. He’d know.

It's just another thing he can't give you.

Another reason he needs to leave. To disappear.

You need to move on and forget him.

You need to hate him so much that you will make your life the best one out of pure spite.

He knows that's not how it works but he needs to pretend.

As the final act of self-preservation he needs to persuade himself you can be fine without him even if it will take a while. 

And he truly wants to believe that.

He can’t live in a world where he broke you without any hope of you ever getting better.

His phone starts buzzing in his back pocket and he wipes his face furiously before grabbing his backpack and the couple bags he’s packed and bolting out the door without looking back. If he turns back to steal one last look, he knows he will stay and doom both of you.

He only allows himself a second to close the front door gingerly, leaning his forehead against the wood for another second.

He will miss the home you've had.

It was a good one - the best one he’s had, actually.

He doesn't meet Seungcheol’s or Joshua's eyes once he gets into the car.

It's obvious from the tense silence that greets him that they want to yell at him some more, try to make him talk to you about it like the one extra scolding would make a difference. 

And to be perfectly honest Jeonghan isn't sure he could stand his ground in his current state - but that's precisely the reason why his friends keep their mouth shut.

They only share a concerned look.

For as tough and determined as Jeonghan seemed telling them about it and asking for their help - because he couldn't trust anyone with his life like he could these two - he is a mess now it all came to a head.

Seungcheol turns the key and starts the car without a word.

The engine roars to life and as they drive away, Jeonghan can see the window to your bedroom getting smaller and smaller, the sun reflected in it dying with each meter.

But that's okay.

Something inside him is dying too.

[saturdaynightghostclub]

Donnie MacClain, Wizard of Time

Summer in Chicago is a complete beast. A sprawling, sweating, heaving beast that sits on your chest and laughs if you so much as try to breathe. Really, the air is so thick you swear to god you could cut it with a knife. Why does anyone live here?

Such are your thoughts as you trudge home from the grocery store, where you foolishly thought it would be a good idea to walk at the peak of this July afternoon. Okay, so maybe it was less of a “choice” and more of a “completely preventable car malfunction” that led you here, but whatever. Next time you let your gas tank fall below empty, you’ll remember this—the unbearable heat, the humidity—I mean, god, you look like you could give Axl Rose a run for his money. Are there really women whose hair stays perfectly styled in this kind of weather? If there are, you’d like to meet them. To congratulate them or take them down in a fist fight, you haven’t decided.

Your backpack, filled to the brim with cold beer and produce, provides a little relief against your flushed skin as you approach your apartment building. You shudder at the prospect of climbing the five flights of stairs to your place; the landlord has been dragging his feet about fixing the elevator for six months, and while it wasn’t so bad in the spring, the old building’s lack of airflow makes it damn near unbearable any time the temperature outside reaches above 80°. So you sit. Just for a minute, on the bottom step. Just until that feverish misery fades. Donnie will be home by now, singing in the shower after photographing the Cubs’ day game against the Brewers. Probably Breakfast at Tiffany’s, if you had to guess; he heard it on the radio three weeks ago and has proceeded to butcher the lyrics any time the opportunity has presented itself since. You think he does it just to see you scrunch up your nose and pretend to be annoyed. And who are you to deny him that simple pleasure? You stand, too stiff for your twenty-odd years, and begin the steep climb up to the apartment you share.

Approaching your door, you notice that the air is noticeably lacking a certain tone-deaf performance. Maybe you’ve beat him home, you think briefly, turning your key in the lock with what feels like the last of your strength. You really need to be better about putting gas in your car. You stumble over something—a dirty white sneaker, men’s size 11.5–before you’re able to set down your groceries. Donnie’s not exactly a neat freak, but he’s usually kind enough not to leave a trail of destruction in his wake. You look around as you begin putting your dinner ingredients in order; he’s not in the main living space, and you don’t hear the shower running. So what, he was just raptured out of his shoes? You sigh in exasperation, knowing your annoyance will evaporate as soon as he locks those big brown eyes on you.

Six pack in the fridge, ice cream in the freezer (you couldn’t resist), bread on the counter, boyfriend nowhere to be seen. You hum softly to yourself—Breakfast at Tiffany’s, what else?—and begin chopping vegetables for a salad, accompanied only by the geriatric whirr of the box fan Donnie haphazardly installed in your living room window. It’s held to the windowsill with bungee cords, which gives you heart palpitations if you think about it for too long; you can practically hear Donnie placating you, relax, baby, your man’s a pro, and you smile to yourself in spite of the spiking anxiety in your chest. You’ve been threatening to call his father roughly once a week to fix it, but you both know you won’t. Really, the thing could come down any day now.

Lost in thought, you hardly register Donnie’s footsteps behind you. If it wasn’t for that one creaky floorboard—it’s bent up on one end and prone to tripping unsuspecting guests—you might not have heard him at all.

“Did you even untie those shoes before you kicked them into the doorway?” You ask without turning, a smile in your voice. In response, Donnie slides one arm around your waist, his chest rising and falling against your back. His free hand lifts your hair from the back of your neck, exposing your skin for him to press his lips against. You breathe in, reveling in the scent of his skin. Heat, sunscreen, and the aftershave he insists on buying despite the fact that he can’t grow a beard. You let one hand wander behind you, behind him, into his hair as he lowers his forehead onto your shoulder. He exhales, breath shuddering ever so slightly, and pulls you closer against him.

“Hi, angel,” he murmurs into your skin. His voice is exhausted. Disregarding the fact that he didn’t answer your question, you dislodge yourself gently from his arms to turn and face him. Donnie’s smiling, but without his usual energy the effect is more unnerving than anything. You place your hands on his face, raising an eyebrow as if to ask what’s wrong. Like a magnet, the boy has re-attached himself to you, hands sliding from your hips to your back. He shakes his head, his hair brushing your face gently as he lowers his gaze to yours. “I’m alright,” he says, “long day. I missed you.”

“It’s been, like, six hours,” you tease, smiling up at him so that your lips nearly touch.

“Five and a half,” he says, “just complete agony. How in god’s name did we do this before we lived together?”

A light breeze pours through the open window then, and you gasp at the fleeting relief it provides you. “I don’t know,” you reply before kissing him sweetly on the lips, “it must have been harder than I remember.”

“Mhmm,” he hums, pulling you into a bear hug, “you were worth it, though.”

“Cornball.”

“You chose this.”

“You’ve got me there.”

You stand like that for a moment longer, letting the heat of his body envelop you until you can’t take it anymore. When you pull away, you think for a split second that you know exactly what Donnie will look like in forty years, when his smile lines have deepened and his hair has gone gray. You know with absolute certainty that he’ll always hold you like this, this tightly, age and frailty be damned. It makes your heart ache, and you remind yourself that neither of you is even thirty. It’s hard not to resent the job he loves so much, the one that turns him into a little kid again, for keeping him from you for days at a time. But then, there’s that love. You can’t begrudge him that love, not when he bounds through the door after a week away and takes you in his arms so tightly you think you might pass out, not when he slides into your bed in the little hours with whispered apologies and feather-light kisses, and certainly not now, when his exhaustion renders him all but speechless and his soft eyes bore into yours with an expression that makes you seasick.

“Donnie, I love you,” you say suddenly. You say it often, with varying degrees of intensity, but you’ve seldom felt so utterly compelled to make your feelings known as you do now, in your kitchen, over the drone of the box fan.

“I know, baby,” he grins—there it is—“I love you too.”

Good, you think, now he knows. Now I can chop vegetables in peace. You nod toward the kitchen counter, indicating for Donnie to sit at one of your thrifted bar stools while you cook. He shakes his head, still grinning. You think one of your boyfriend’s greatest pleasures in life might be getting in your way when you’re trying to cook. Second only to cooking meals himself, which is somehow an even more chaotic affair. Somehow his chaos brings you comfort, though, so you shrug and say “Suit yourself. Stay away from my knife, though.”

Sometimes you get vertigo when you look at Donnie. It’s hard to believe you’ve only been together two years; he has a way of bending time to his will. Each time he takes your sleeve between his fingers, kisses you goodbye, rests his head on your shoulder, you’re two years younger and lit up with butterflies. Then, in the next moment, he’s pulling you into his chest in the dark and you know instinctively that his soul and yours have been in conversation for a long, long time. Now, standing beside him with your hip pressed against his, you’re exactly as you are: young and dumb and in love.

[bookworm-with-coffee]

Stories . . .

( Thorin Oakenshield x Child!Reader)

(A/N); Hello, readers!! Happy to present this fic as the sequel to "Excuses" ! I finally thought it was time!!

Pairings; Thorin x Reader (Platonic)

Plot: Thorin returns to the Shire not just to see Bilbo...

Warnings; None, cavity creating fluff

Part One

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It was high morning in the Shire, the sun reaching its peak and spring in full bloom. To the day, it has been 3 years since the quest to reclaim Erebor was completed and Bilbo Baggins had saw fit to return home. He never expected guests of any kind, especially after the quest business. Save for one inquisitive little Hobbit...

Thorin Oakenshield, now King Under the Mountain, had left late by the standard of years. He had intended to visit the Shire again sooner, but establishing peace in the Dwarven colonies had taken longer than first anticipated. He had left from Erebor weeks ago, leaving Fili in charge of the runnings. The young Dwarf had done much to impress his uncle in the quest for Erebor and Thorin had no doubt that the kingdom would run smoothly in his absence with Fili in charge. Yet now, he needed some days of peace, away from home. He had seen much, too much, of war and politics in the last few years. His people were finally at peace, helping rebuild homes of their own and that of the people of Laketown. Thorin, with great difficulty, had also established good relations with Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm. There was peace, a hard-earned peace. And finally, he could rest.

With a smile, he pulled encouragingly at the reins of his pony. "Come on", he murmured. "We're here now". The grasses and trees of the forest had at last pulled away, to reveal stone and dirt paths into the small Shire city of Hobbiton. Ever prosperous and oblivious to such things beyond their borders, there was an element of serenity that allowed Thorin to sigh and relax at last. Of course, the Padfoot— no. Padfeet family were not impressed with the new face entering their domain. The King had come armed to the teeth with baggage for a week's stay. This was not a welcome sign to them, nor to the prudish Hobbits that also avoided him. He cared not, however. His mind was fixated on an old friend.

Thorin slipped down from the saddle of his pony, gently caressing her face. "Well done", he whispered with a grin. "And thank you". Giving the animal a well deserved pat and apple, he turned at last to the nearby Hobbit holes. He remembered after all this time which one it had been where his young friend had lived. It had been over three years since she had last seen him. Three years since she'd given him the coin which he wore as a royal pendant around his neck. A sign of luck that he'd carried with him over so many distances. He wondered if she'd forgotten him after so long? Children grow and many things end up being forgotten, after all.

His ocean orbs spied a woman that was familiar to him, tending the gardens of her home with love and care. "Fair morning to you!".

The King's greeting startled the woman at first, but her eyes lit up at the sight of the familiar Dwarf. "Mr Oakenshield!", she exclaimed, throwing aside her tools and gloves to open the gate between them. Without hesitation, she hugged the larger Dwarf. "What a welcome surprise it is to have you here!". Thorin returned the embrace with a few gentle pats to the maternal woman's back. (Y/n)'s mother was a kind individual, always fussing over others. She pulled away in a flurry, smiling in a sudden bout of excitement. "I have a person who would love to see you!".

"Where is she??". He had the eagerness alike to a father wishing to see his daughter after being away. Knowing this, the Hobbit excitedly shouted for her daughter who had gone to play in the streets. Within moments, little footsteps made their way up the path.

Before the King could turn to meet them, a smaller figure had knocked into him, attempting a tight embrace. He laughed whilst his younger counterpart happily cried out, "Mr Thorin!!".

"Look at you!!", he mused, enthusiastically lifting her from him and into the air above his head. "You're so big and tall now! I hardly recognised you!". (Y/n) giggled,

"It's also because of my teeth!". At her proclaimation, she pointed to the few gaps she had with the now adult-looking teeth.

"Most definitely". He laughed, finally holding her like he did many years ago. He even bumped her head with his own - a Dwarven custom to friends and family. One he still practiced with his nephews...

"I just knew you'd come back!". To his amusement, the smaller Hobbit grinned, grabbing at his braids and chestplate scales restlessly.

"Of course! I told you that I would try, didn't I?".

"Did you get back your home??", she pressed with the greatest curiosity.

"Yes, dear one, at great cost. I have a great many stories to share with you of my travels".

"Did you fight monsters? Did you–".

"(Y/n)! Calm down, he's only just gotten here, Love!", her mother chided with a chuckle. "My apologies, Mr Oakenshield".

"It's no trouble", he grinned allowing the small girl to bury her head into the crook of his neck.

"If you're not busy, we were just about to have Luncheon. Would you like to join us?".

"I would hardly like to impose—", he tried to politely downplay the offer.

"Of course he's staying, Mother!! He's hungry!! He's just too polite to say so!". Thorin's brows rose at (Y/n)'s interruption, finding it hard to keep back his laughter at her cheekiness.

"It looks as if I'm staying", the statement came out more like a question, but he offered a polite bow of gratitude to (Y/n)'s mother. The young Hobbit hollered for joy as the raven-haired King followed her mother into their home. Nowhere near as big as Bilbo's house in Bag End, but it was beautifully set out and open. The smells of freshly cooked food and the security of home lingered in the air. And it was that fair noon that Thorin Oakenshield truly found himself at peace, joyfully recounting the various stories of his company to (Y/n) and her mother.

The young Hobbit with her pointed ears had never listened more intently. Thorin's voice was no longer kingly in nature, but soft and playful. He let every different story be an enigma; (Y/n)'s eagerness greatly reminding him of the late nights he shared in the Blue Mountains, storytelling to his nephews. He missed those days and greatly wished that in his younger years that he had settled to have children of his own. Despite this, he was grateful for his two nephews and the young Hobbit he had befriended for life.

His gorgeous blue orbs shimmered as he told the girl of his time in Rivendell and the chase that lead them there. He told her of mountains that could move and fight! Of Goblins, Orcs and Wargs. Of Eagles and Beorn with his monstrously huge house. Of the city on the Lake and the evil Dragon who had taken his home before burning down theirs. He told her that many fought for his home in Erebor and that there had been five different armies.

"I am now King of Erebor, young one", he spoke to her gently. "It is why I have taken so long to return. And why I may not visit as much as I'd like". Her mouth fell open in wonder,

"If you're the King, are you not allowed to leave??".

"I can leave. As long as I leave my nephew, Fili, in charge. He will be King after I am gone".

"That will never happen!", (Y/n) protested to amusement, snuggling into his side. "You'll live forever and ever and I can come and visit you!".

"When you're old enough, dear one", he assured. "I pray that someday you will venture to Erebor to look upon the halls of my great home. To perhaps meet those of my house, as I have come to know yours; and be welcomed as kin".

"I will one day! I'll go to Erebor! I'll visit you, I promise!!". Thorin smiled fondly, softly rustling the (h/c) curls on the little Halfling's head. "And be welcomed as kin! Whatever that is".

"It means family, (Y/n). You, Master Baggins, my people. All of us are part of each other. You will come to understand it all one day. And I will be a proud Dwarf to see that day come".

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

"Uncle!", Kili bounded into the throne room with his usual spirit. Thorin bowed his head in greeting to his second nephew. Much had changed for Kili. He had finally grown a small beard and his royal duties had increased tenfold. Alike to Fili, he had truly made the mountain King proud.

"Kili. I trust you bring good news?".

"I do", the younger Dwarf grinned. "We have guests". Thorin's brows rose, his hand lifting in approval.

"By all means, let them in!". The King found himself dumbfounded as Bilbo strayed in, however, it was not him that Thorin's eye had caught. He stood, agape at the Halfling who now followed the first into the room. Although many years had passed, his older eyes would still know her face. She grinned up at him with (e/c) eyes shining with wonder and familiarity. Kili stayed if only to watch the joy meet his uncle's eyes.

"I'm here, Mr Thorin. I kept my promise".

The End. . . .

____________________________________________

Thank you to any and all of you who have taken read these two short fics and support me!! Again, I hope you enjoyed!!

As always, let me know what you think! Any and all feedback is welcome!! ❤🥰

And if any of you wish to be a part of my taglist for any other posts I may or may not make in future, let me know below!! (Just note!! - I am multifandom, so specify which posts to be specifically tagged in!) ❤

___________________________________________

TAGLIST; @fizzyxcustard

[frodo-with-glasses]

More Reading Thoughts: The Shadow of the Past

"The blame was mostly laid on Gandalf." Whatever you did, you've been officially labeled a Disturber of the Peace...

Something about "but the growth of hobbit-sense was not very noticeable" cracks me up

I love the fact that Frodo kept throwing birthday parties for Bilbo after he left. It's so sweet.

I would much rather go to Frodo’s Hundred-weight Feast than Bilbo’s Party of Special Magnificence, actually; twenty guests and several meals “at which it snowed food and rained drink” sounds much more my speed X-D

“Bilbo isn’t dead.” “Where is he then?” “🤷‍♂️”

F in the chat for Folco Boffin, who was mentioned like once in this chapter and never comes into the story again

"Merry and Pippin suspected that [Frodo] visited the Elves at times, as Bilbo had done." TEA???

Frodo's wandering in the autumn has such an evocative and melancholy feeling to it. So much so that I wrote a poem about it last year...

Part Two of me wishing the movies could have shown the Dwarves passing through the Shire on their way to the Blue Mountains

Sam be like "Dragons and Ents are real, I tell you!" and Ted Sandyman like "press X to doubt"

Our first glimpse of Sam's unassailable trust in Frodo and his wisdom 💚

And now! Exposition dumping, with Gandalf.

I hate the fact that I can't see or hear the word Eregion without getting war flashbacks to Amazon's Rings of Poopy

Ooh, remind me to write an essay about the invisibility power of the Ring(s)...

"[Bilbo] would certainly never have passed on to you anything that he thought would be a danger." Oh boy, would you look at the time, it's Crying About Adoptive Relationships O'clock

"'There wasn't any permanent harm done, was there?' asked Frodo anxiously. 'He would get all right in time, wouldn't he? Be able to rest in peace, I mean.'" OH BOY, WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE TIME—

Literally Gandalf: "Hobbits are my special interest"

"It is quite cool." It sure is, Gandalf. Wicked. Radical, even.

Low-hanging fruit, I know, but I had to 🤣

Speaking of low-hanging fruit, here's a joke I made two years ago about the "until Spring had passed into Winter" line:

He threw a luau barbecue one breezy summer night/Invited all his turtle pals to come and have a wiki bite/The turtles started walkin' there as Lance began to swing/The one that lived across the street arrived there in the spring...!

"I wish it need not have happened in my time." "So do I, and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us." Still a line that goes so, so hard, right in the middle of this exposition dump.

I like how in Gandalf's story, he makes Deagol talk normally, but Smeagol still has all those verbal idiosyncrasies that are iconic to Gollum.

I'm still trying to remember who it was that pointed out that the last syllable of Smeagol is the first syllable of Gollum. Blew my mind when I saw that, I tell ya.

"I can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker. In which case you also were meant to have it. And that may be an encouraging thought." "It is not." 🤣🤣🤣

The thought of Gollum creeping through a window to snatch a baby from a cradle and eat it is at least seventeen different kinds of Not Fun. Thanks, Tolkien.

I have very little to say about Gandalf's retelling of the Ring's story—and Frodo's frightened and naive questions—except that it's almost as hard to tear your eyes away from the book as it is for Frodo to throw the Ring into the fire.

"I do really wish to destroy it! Or, well, to have it destroyed. I am not made for perilous quests." Oh, Frodo, bby...

I love how Sam's spying is so artfully foreshadowed here X-D You just go whistling away down that path, buddy! Nobody suspects a thing!

All Frodo has to say is "I suppose I'll have to go running into danger alone to keep everything and everyone I love safe, even if it means never coming home again; it's a pity, but I'll do it" and Gandalf is like "Frodo have I mentioned lately how much I love you and hobbits in general". Which. Mood! Big mood!

SUDDENLY, SAMWISE GAMGEE!

Good gracious did I need Sam and his comic relief after this heavy chapter X-D Bless you, Sam, you loveable dummy

I wonder what hobbit idiom Tolkien "translated" into "Lor bless you, sir". I'm not sure the hobbits have a concept of Eru Illuvatar as a benevolent God who hands out blessings; and if they do, I somehow doubt they'd have quaint little figures of speech like this. But I'm just nitpicking at this point because it's fun.

"There ain't no eaves at Bag End, and that's a fact." SAM 🤣🤣

"Mr. Frodo, sir! Don't let him hurt me, sir! Don't let him turn me into anything unnatural! My old dad would take on so." Have I mentioned that I love the heck out of Sam?

Frodo is "hardly able to keep from laughing", which, MOOD!

Sam heard that Mr. Frodo was going away and audibly choked. GAH I love him so much

Frodo sure knows how to threaten Sam LOL

"If you even breathe a word of what you've heard here, then I hope Gandalf will turn you into a spotted toad and fill the garden full of grass-snakes." 🤣🤣

"'Me, sir!' cried Sam, springing up like a dog invited for a walk. 'Me go and see Elves and all! Hooray!' he shouted, and then burst into tears." Oh, Sam. I love you.

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.115 House Tour

Hello! It's me, Jess, and we're back! Luca and Sophia have furnished and decorated the house and got it looking lived in. Let's take a look around, shall we? As always, these pics were shot a while ago, and some things have changed already.

Despite its deceivingly large exterior, the rooms in this house are tiny, making it hard to take decent pictures. I hope I don't have regrets trying to get shots for the story in here lol. Let's start in the front at the door. The foyer is small, but it's a proper enclosed foyer. Access to the main bathroom is in there.

Next, let's go through to the living room. As you'll see, grandma has already been shopping lol.

Next is the dining room, the biggest room in the house. Behind it is the office. Pardon the awkward configuration in there. The Elegato media center mod is still broken, so he can't make videos at his computer anymore, and there's no room for the media station, so this will have to do for now.

The kitchen! If I ever come into some money, or get really serious about my savings, this is the color scheme I want in my real kitchen, except I want butcher block countertops. Also? Can we just stop and applaud how far I've come with the clutter??

The stair landing was the perfect and only place the dogs could go, so I had to dress it up a little for them lol. I'm wondering if there's a routing error though because they both sleep on the couch instead when they usually sleep in their beds.

As you can see, throughout the house we have empty picture frames. I'm saving space for pics of the babies! Also I thought having a portrait of a spot in Oasis Springs would be something they'd enjoy to remind them of their start.

You can tell Luca and Sophia are enjoying and taking advantage of having more space in the bedroom lol. He's enjoying not living out of a suitcase anymore, and she loves having easy access to all her essentials. I didn't realize that bassinet was deco, so it's gone now.

Y'all know Emmy is coming lol. Like...we all know this, right? I'm not sure if she'll move in, or if Luca will ask her, but y'all know she's gonna all but live over there lol. There are four tiny bedrooms, and of course one is the nursery. They're not sure how many kids they're going to have, but with birthdays around the corner, and fertility drama, they're thinking not as many as they thought. They decided to make the smaller of the two rooms Emmy's the guest room. The other will remain empty for now until they know how their family is going to change.

Finally, the nursery and upstairs bathroom.

[reeseaisance]

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: LIBERICA ┊K.NANAMI X BLACK!FEM!READER

࿐ A rare and exotic type of coffee bean, with a woody and smoky flavour and a floral aroma.

The air was crisp. A subtle sign that Spring was near and every living thing was slowly coming back to life. Yet the sky was painted a deep blue as the streets were filled with a bustle of life, from the pattering of feet against the concrete ground to the chatter of many filling the breeze. Yet here he sat at the corner booth, sipping on his regular order from the popular jazz club, Sensuous, a club that’s been open for many years thriving from its regulars and the artists that wander along the streets of the city. The longer he sat, waiting, the stupider the man felt about the whole ordeal. Was he the only one who took the deal seriously? Was he stupid enough to have believed she would remember a deal that was made over 20 years ago? Maybe he was being optimistic about the whole thing, which was out of character for him especially, considering the man was as stoic as a brick wall, but a piece of him had hope that she wouldn’t have forgotten him. Forgotten them. Taking another sip at the hot liquid that filled his mug, a young man with long, raven-like hair pulled up into a messy bun appeared on stage, “Again, welcome to Sensuous if this is your first time gracing the club and welcome back to the regulars who we love so much. As we all know, tonight is open mic night, but if you’ve been a recurring guest for the last couple of years, you may all know this voice. It’s been a while since we’ve seen this beauty around these parts…” the man paused, glancing at the woman with pure admiration, “Please give her a warm welcome back, Dove.”

The moment that voice rang through the walls, Nanami could feel his heartbeat intensify by the minute. His eyes shot up to be blessed with the sight of her. The woman who has danced through his mind without a care in the world for 2 decades. Her voice, smooth like honey but a smokeness that had men and women drawn by her allure. She knew how to use her instrument in such a way that can convince anyone to do as she pleased within a blink of an eye. Her thick locs styled up into a bun, a few framing her face, before moving down to the olive green silk dress that hugged at her curves without issue, complimenting her coffee hued skin. She was gorgeous, just as gorgeous as she was when they were 19. Oh how time can bless a woman, a phenomenon Nanami only ever thought could be a lie when he was younger, but here she was again proving him wrong, like always. The way she sang into the mic, her airy notes having everyone enthralled in her presence like she used to but her power was much greater, indeed it was. With age to her instrument, it carried a richer sound, more seasoned. Maybe experience? Nanami couldn’t express what he felt due to him being too deep regarding her ability.

“Y'all are being so kind to me, I appreciate the love.” You cooed into the mic, taking in the crowd as the snaps filled the air, “But I’m going to need a little assistance for my next song…” You spoke, your eyes still fishing through the crowd. Nanami could only hold his breath as your eyes stopped at him, his heart rapidly beating against his chest as that smile graced your plump lips and that devious little twinkle you got in your eye, “ Do we have a trumpet player in the building this evening?” As if she really expected him to have his instrument with him on hand. Letting out a light chuckle, foreseeing this possibly happening, he dug underneath his booth, pulling out his case, opening it up to reveal the brass instrument before he made his way towards the stage. The closer he got, the more he felt he was walking towards the sun. Her energy alone was so bright and radiating, the moment he was in front of her, a red blush tinted his cheek, “Isn’t this perfect, everyone welcome this kind gentleman, yeah?” She smirked, glancing up at Nanami as the crowd snapped some more.

Giving him some time to set up and sipping at the water that waited beside her on the stool, she glanced back at him, sending him a wink before his lips on the mouthpiece, his fingers following suit pressing at the valves of the song they composed and wrote together from their teens. The crowd becomes immersed by the unknown tone in seconds of hearing it. As the song continued and it started to become more intense, that’s when Nanami really started to show off and Y/N just had to match it. Her notes hitting just the same as his, it was as if they were poetically having a conversation. So sensual and sweet just for it to become fiery as if they were fighting. It was beautiful yet terrifying because everyone could just see the energy the two had with one another. Considering the fact that she just happened to pick this random man, but if only they knew the history, then they could understand the underlying passion that rests between the two.

Their performance lasted 8 minutes. Those 8 minutes told the story of their journey with one another but to the crowd, it was one of the greatest performances they ever witnessed. Forgetting the snaps and being flooded with the sounds of claps and whistles, Nanami packed away his trumpet with a slight smile as Y/N waltzed her way over to the bar, Nanami following her lead soon after, “A French 75.” you ordered, gracing the bartender with a kind smile, “A Stinger for me…” A voice from behind ordered, as well as the $35 being slid against the counter. “This is covering her drink as well.” He added before he slid by her side with ease.

“It’s nice seeing you, Nanami.” You smiled as you stared over at the blond, a warmth taking over your body instantly as he stared down at you with those hazel eyes. Oh how you missed those eyes, “ I can say the same, Y/N. It’s been so long.” Nanami quipped, earning an eye roll from you, which only led to a shared laugh between the two of you as you both savored this moment. The bartender made his presence known with both drinks. Thanking him, the two shared a sip as the silence wrapped them up like a blanket. There was so much to say but at the same time, nothing at all. It was as if all the things they thought about, thought they would say, got lost in translation through the music.

“How about we move this somewhere else?” he suggested, which only made you take another sip of your drink before your eyes landed back on his, “Where did you have in mind?”

•••

The moonlight peaked through the curtains of the highrise apartment as the glow kissed at your brown skin beautifully, adding to the glow that coated your body.

“Nami…” You moaned as your hands gripped his shoulder blades, your thick thighs trapping him at the waist as he fed you deep thrust, “Yes, Dove?” he asked breathlessly as he took a moment to admire your current state, locs sprawled against the silk pillows, breast plump and nipples hardened from the cool air, your skin glowing thanks to the sheer layer of sweat. You were gorgeous. Which only led him to him rutting his hips into you. The way your walls clenched around him with ease had the man ready to tap out, but he just couldn’t.

“You’re doing so well for me, Dove.” Nanami praised as he raised from your neck, taking in the precious state you were in right now. Just angelic. Locs sprawled against the silk sheets, breast plump and nippled hardend from the cool air, your skin glowing thanks to the sheer layer of sweat. A sight he didn’t want to forget. Just as he admired you, you did just the same taking in the man in front of you. They usually combed over blond strands in a wild mess that fit him just as well. His tan skin decorated with your brown lip liner and his toned physique that always made you melt. Resting against your elbows, you reached a hand up to his cheek, pulling him down to press a kiss to his soft lips. Taking in his taste, getting access to entangle your tongue with his that only evoked a moan out of him as you switched positions, straddling his lap in an instant as you rocked your hips against him. Skin to skin, tangled in the sheets, this was what you craved, what you needed for all this time. “I missed you so much, Nami.” You whispered against his lips as your almond shaped nails dragged along his chest, “I know, Dove. It’s been so long.” The man sighed as he watched you carefully, your hands going between your thighs as you gripped at his hardened 8 inches, jerking it slightly that caused a hiss to leave his lips.

“You know I didn’t want it this way, right?” You asked him, running his tip along your slick folds as you stared down at him, which only made him thrust into your hand, “Y/N…” He started as you began to sink down onto him, “Nami I promise I didn’t want it to be like this.” You spoke, a moan releasing from you once you sank down onto him fully, A silence filling the room as his hands found your waist, making circles against the meat with his thumbs, “Dove, please.” He groaned as he began to move your hips against his pelvis, his thrust reaching the depths of you as you planted your palms against his chest, “I know but Nami..” you started again only to be hushed with his lips encapsulating yours, such a simple kiss, but a devastating one at the same token. As his hips began to stutter and your lips began to depart, you didn’t even realize the tear that rolled from your eye before he wiped it away with his thumb, “I know you’re sorry, Dove. But what are we supposed to do now?” He questioned as his movements stopped, only pulling you close to him as you wrapped your arms around his neck, the stream flowing from you instantly as he simply rubbed at your back, comforting you as best he could.

It took some hours for you to come down from your moment of vulnerability. From taking you to the warm bath and massaging your sore muscle to retrieving you some tea and finally cuddling in the silk sheets is when you calmed down. Having to come down from such an intimate moment to make a sad one broke Nanami, but he expected it to happen. Considering the circumstances. But here he sat now, in the empty bed at 8 am on the dot, left with only the memory of the night shared between the two of you, wondering how that could have been forever. That could have been your shared reality. If only you didn’t marry him.

࿐ luv letter from reese — this is my first post and i truly hope you enjoyed it because i enjoyed writing this piece!! a little longer then expected for my first piece but i’m still proud of it! please don’t be afraid to give feedback and i hope you love it!!!