#and the two sides still had no winner. But if you think about it a little

[wizardinggirl]

The Snake & The Raven

Summary: It’s been 2 years since Severus confessed his sin to you, his deepest, darkest secret. After the initial shock and betrayal, you have forgiven him and now the two of you have gotten together. (With much approval from the headmaster. You were beginning to think this was his plan all along.)

Warnings: none

Parts: Prologue (1/2) || Prologue (2/2) || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 (I will link the rest as they’re posted)

Part 4: Tea Time

Word Count: 2.8k

2 years later…

Severus had changed. It took him a long time to heal, and it took him far longer to forgive himself than it took you. You don’t think he will ever fully forgive himself. He felt responsible for Lily’s death and that her son was now an orphan in an awful muggle home. He would have been taken into the care of Sirius Black, but you didn’t want to think about him and what he’d done.

You had decided to stay on as a teacher at Hogwarts after the first few months when the Ministry asked when you would be returning. Of course you loved your job as an Auror and it had been hard work to get there, but being here to mold these witches’ and wizards’ minds was far more rewarding. Additionally, it was a preventative measure. If you were able to be a good influence to some potential future Dark Wizards/Death Eaters, then it was worth it.

“Marrow, fix your stance or Edward’s is going to knock you off your feet. We’ve talked about this.” You twirled your wand in your hand as you watched two of your students duel, ready to intervene if needed. You’d seen a lot in your two years at Hogwarts, and learned the hard way that when the young upstarts dueled that you needed to be ready for anything. The other students cheered and you turned the other cheek at the few that had bets going. It was a hard class, more work than leisure, so you let them have fun in it when they could. You wanted them to still enjoy the class, after all.

“Whoa!” Marrow went flying off the dueling table.

“Arresto Momentum!” You cast on your student, it slowed her down enough to where she was placed on the ground rather than slamming into it.

“Thank you, Professor.” The class laughed and others cheered as Edwards strutted around the table, his fists pumping in the air with victory.

“Alright, Edwards. Off the table, one point to Gryffindor.” There was more cheering from the members of the respective house and you smiled. You decided that whenever they would duel, to add even more stakes, the winner would gain one point for their house. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give them a competitive edge. You made your way up the steps to your desk and faced the class.

“I’m sure we all saw what Marrow could have done differently.” There were giggles as the students took their seats. “Your stance is very important, not just in dueling. It can even affect other spells as well.” The bell rang as you finished your sentence. “Good job today, class. I will see all of your Monday.” The sounds of shuffling, books being put away and chairs scraping on the floor as the students left and some waved goodbye. As the last student left, a familiar shadowy figure strode through the door. “Hello, love.” You smiled as he approached.

“Good afternoon, Professor.” You raised a brow with a playful smirk when he was finally in front of you, raising lightly on your toes to peck his cheek.

“We’re far past ‘Professor’ when we’re alone, Severus.” A pink hue dusted his cheeks as he cleared his throat, keeping a neutral expression as he looked around the room to make sure there were no more students present.

“We are still on school grounds, y/n.”

“We’ve been on school grounds whe-” he shot you a look and you laughed. “Alright alright.” You tidied up your desk, pushed your chair in then went back to his side, leading him out of the classroom. “Let’s be off then, Professor.” You said the last part with a more suggestive tone as you nudged his arm with your own. He grumbled at you. As the two of you continued down the hall, Snape seemed more rigid and quiet than usual, and that’s his natural state. “Are you alright, Sev?” You asked sincerely, placing your arm on his as you walked. He looked down at you and gave the smallest twitch of a smile.

“I’m fine.” Then he turned his attention forward again. It wasn’t odd for him to deflect when you questioned him about his feelings, but something felt different about this time.

The two of you sat together at the professors’ table and quietly chatted like normal, but you could tell there was something off. You placed your hand on his thigh and he stiffened then relaxed. That was odd… you leaned over and sniffed. He leaned away, his head snapping to you with a shocked expression on his face.

“What are you doing?” You actually couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. You leaned back in your chair, your hand still resting on his thigh.

“I’m just making sure I didn’t smell any knotgrass or fluxweed on you.” You shrugged and took a sip of water from the cup in front of you.

“Why would I-” he paused, returning to his normal position then leaning slightly towards you. “Were you smelling for Polyjuice?” Your eyes looked at him then back to your drink and you shrugged letting out a ‘hmph’, setting your glass back down.

“Just making sure it was you.” He let out a sigh then took the hand that was on his thigh and placed it on your own, leaving his hand on top of it as you took a bite from your plate. He leaned in to whisper so only you could hear.

“I’ll prove to you it’s me tonight.” You nearly choked. Severus rubbed your back and patted it lightly as you coughed. You narrowed your eyes at him, but he was just giving you a concerned look. He had no idea what he just implied.

Later that night you and Severus were walking around Hogsmeade, enjoying the cool night air before your u had to be at the tea house. You’d chosen to wear a flowy dress with short puffed sleeves. It had a blue floral design on the body and pure white on the skirt and sleeves. Along with a simple silver chain that had a small sapphire set in the middle. Something Severus had gotten you, knowing your affinity for your house colors, as a thank you for being there for him. The two of you had been together officially for over a year now. You had told him you wanted the two of you to do something special together, nothing big, just special. But, both of you were so busy you hadn’t had the time until now. He had come to your quarters a few days prior with a look in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place.

**flashback**

“Y/n?” His hand still on the doorknob and not leaving the threshold.

“Yes, Sev?” You make your way down the two steps from where your bedroom was and wrap your robe around yourself tighter. You had already changed into your nightgown and it was quite sheer. “You can come in.” His eyes scanned you from head to toe then he cleared his throat and looked the other way.

“I won’t be long.” He looks back to your eyes, you were directly in front of him now, him looking down at you. “I merely had a question to ask you.” you smiled and placed both hands on his abdomen, letting your robe open slightly.

“Well, you are always welcome to stay.” He gives you a closed lip smile and brings one of his hands to yours and squeezes it gently.

“I have some matters that need attending to. Someone’s been stealing from my inventory.”

“And you wanted my help?” You ask, smirking up at him. He deadpanned.

“No, I can handle it quite efficiently on my own thank you.” You let out a laugh.

“Then what is it you needed to ask me?” He was trying to keep his eyes from looking at your nightdress, a slight blush ghosting his cheeks.

“Are you available this weekend?” He moves his hand to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

“I am, did you have something in mind?” You ask, straightening the front of his robe.

“We’ve been busy and haven’t been able to celebrate like you had wanted. I may not understand it, but if it means something to you it does to me. I’ve made reservations on Friday at Madam Puddifoot’s Tea House for us.” To say you were surprised was an understatement. Sure, he was romantic, but it was more in small gestures. A potion for a hangover or a snack if you looked peckish. There were those few times where he did pick you a flower, but that was pretty rare. He’d done nothing quite like this. You couldn’t help but tear up. His eyes widened and he cupped your face with his hands. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to overstep. I just thought-” you shake your head and smile at him, wrapping your arms around his neck, his instinctively going to hold your waist.

“They’re happy tears, Severus. This is so sweet of you.” He blushes and looks away, affection and closeness was still something new to him. Something he was slowly warming up to. “It’ll be fun, I can’t wait.” His mouth turned into a closed lip smile as he looked back to meet your eyes. You lean up to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” You ask, raising a brow. He brings his hand up to cup your jaw and ran his thumb over your cheek.

“I want to, dear, but I should get to the bottom of this before the week’s end.”

“Alright then.” You press one more kiss to his lips before he pulls away.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, love.” He went to turn away, but stopped and faced you again, studying your face then leaned forward and kissed your forehead. You smiled up at him then his retreating form and closed the door.

**end of flashback**

The two of you walked into the tea house, a little bell ringing as Severus held the door open for you. Madam Puddifoot looks up from her current table and smiles, excuses herself from them then wipes her hands on her apron.

“Hello, hello, welcome. Come in, come in!” She ushers the two of you inside. “Mr. Snape, it’s good to see you again. I have the private tea room ready for you and your lovely lady.” You couldn’t help but smile at that. As she started leading the two of you up the narrow steps up to the second floor you looked up at Severus.

“Private room?” You asked, wiggling your eyebrows.

“You said you wanted something special.”

“I did.” You smile, he must have put a lot of effort into this. You followed Madam Puddifoot up the stairs. Severus put his hand on your lower back to make sure you didn’t fall backwards. You couldn’t help the way it made you tingle. Not only were the stairs narrow, they were fairly steep too. He wasn’t about to have the night ruined because of a nasty fall. After walking down a short hallway at the top of the stairs the Madam opened the double doors at the end of the hall.

“Here we are.” She steps aside to let the two of you in. “I’ll be back in a moment with a fresh pot of tea.” Severus guides you into the room and to your chair, pulling it out for you.

“Thank you.” You lean up to kiss his cheek then take a seat and he pushes your chair in for you. “Such a gentleman tonight.” You tease and he lets out a grunt in response as he takes his seat across from you. You laugh and take the napkin from the table and place it on your lap. “Truly, though.” You reach your hand across the table and place it on his. “This is lovely, Sev. Thank you.” He takes your hand and places a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

“You deserve the best.” He practically whispered. You smile brightly at him. He’s really laying on the charm tonight. The two of you sat there for a moment, enjoying each other's company while he watched as he ran his thumb over your knuckles, deep in thought. He let go of your hand and sat up straight when Madam Puddifoot came back into the room.

“Here we are.” You moved your arm out of the way as she filled both of your tea cups. When you looked back to Severus he was staring into his tea with that same look in his eyes that he had when he came to your room a few days ago. Almost as if he was unsure about something. “Please help yourselves to any of the sandwiches and pastries on the table there.” She motions to the long table on the wall to your right with a large assortment of goodies. “They were freshly made for you. If you need anything else, just ring the bell.” She exited the room and closed the doors gently behind her. Once she was gone you took a sip of your tea and hummed contently, closing your eyes.

“This is lovely.” When you opened your eyes, Severus was staring at you. “What?” You ask with a smirk on your face.

“I’m admiring.” He stated simply, then broke eye contact and took a sip of his own tea. You smiled to yourself and the two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a while. The two of you simply enjoyed each other's company. Eventually, you had gotten up and grabbed a plate of pastries for you and Severus. The two of you ate and chatted and about some of your students and about current events. When the two of you had your fill, you left, thanking Madam Puddifoot on the way out.

“Shall we head back?” You ask, arms lacing through his, leaning your head on his shoulder. He placed his free hand on yours.

“I have one more thing I would like to do.”

“Oh?” You ask, lifting your head to look up at him. “Lead the way.”

Severus led you to a concrete balcony that overlooked the highlands. It was dark now, the street lamps dimly glowing around you. The moon was full and the stars were twinkling, it was a gorgeous night. You let out a sigh and turn to face him to hug him around his middle.

“Thank you for such a wonderful date, Sev. It was perfect.” He looks down at you, bringing one arm to rest on your shoulder and the other to your cheek, you leaned into his touch. “I really do love you.” He stiffens at first then kisses the top of your head.

“I love you too.” He whispered into your hair. “I know I’m not worthy of it,” he lifts his head to look back into your eyes. “Or you.” You give him a sad smile then take his hands to hold them in between the two of you.

“Don’t say that, Severus. You’re more worthy than any man could ever be.” His eyes started to tear up at that. He searched your face for any sign of dishonesty, that maybe this was some long running joke that James and Sirius were pulling on him. There was no way someone so kind and loving was real. Not to him. He slowly sank in front of you to one knee, keeping your hands in his. “Severus?”

“I'm not the man that you deserve, y/n.” He turned his gaze to look at your hands in his and ran his thumbs over the back of them. “I’m stubborn, selfish, damaged, but you see the good in me, even when I cannot see it myself.” Your eyes began to water. Was this really happening? “Y/n.” He let go of your right hand and reached into the inside pocket of his robe to pull out a small velvet box. He looked at it for a moment before opening it and presenting it to you. When his eyes met yours again, he was the most sincere you had ever seen him. “I love you. I thought no one could ever love me, that it was simply my lot in life. But you showed me otherwise and pulled me from my darkness. You are my light. Will you marry me?”

Thanks for reading! If you’d like to be added to the tag list for the next chapter please let me know!

Tags: @lizard-zombie @liviacarol88-blog @johnmurphys-sass

[aebi12]

"Resentment" - Chapter 21 [AemondxRhaena]

Summary

He is the cause of her sufferings. He took her dragon, her betrothed, and her father. Now, he will also take away her future by having to marry him.

With so much history and bad blood between Rhaena and Aemond, their forced union has everything to fail, except that the proximity will make them discover that perhaps they have more in common than it seems.

AU - the Greens win the war.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18 - Chapter 19 - Chapter 20

Masterlist of my other works.

Read on AO3

Tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, romance, angst, drama, eventual smut, hurt/comfort

Please remember that english is not my first language, so I'm sorry for the mistakes...

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Aemond does not return to the arena.

It is obvious the prince has left the tournament as the minutes tick by and he doesn’t show up, so the competitions resume, and in the end a minor lord from the Riverlands is the winner.

Not that Rhaena has been paying much attention, her mind on the tents where Aemond and Corwyn are surely being tended to.

“Congratulations, ser, and good fortune,” she says mechanically as the knight approaches to pay his respects, thus signaling the end of the tournament.

Finally.

Rhaena doesn’t wait long to step off the platform and cross the grounds on her way to the competitors’ tents. Though the common folk call her name, wanting her attention, she barely raises a hand in their direction, uncaring of the snub. She has to…

She pauses.

Where should she go first?

The two directions open before her. She knows the prince’s tent is to her left, separate from the ones for the other lords’. Eventually, she takes the right direction, moving through the tents and checking the banners, in case any of them give her an indication of who are inside.

“May I help you, my lady?”

A young man looks at her curiously. Rhaena stops and looks at him, “Are you a maester?”

“Indeed, my lady.”

“Are you tending to the wounded knights?” When he nods, she continues, “Have you tended ser Corwyn Corbray?”

“Just recently, my lady.”

“And how is he?”

“He will survive,” the young man frowns, “The only serious wound is the one on his side, but it will heal well with proper care. Would you like me to take you to him?”

There is a moment of hesitation on her part, “No. There is no need, I merely wanted to hear from him,” she sighs, “I imagine he will be taken to the castle to continue his recovery.”

“When he awakens from the sleep of the milk of the poppy, yes, my lady.”

Rhaena nods, “Thank you, maester. You have been very kind.”

She is about to turn away, when the young man speaks again, “Should I… should I let Ser Corwyn know that you asked for him?”

“No, as I said, there is no need.”

Without waiting for an answer, she turns and strides to Aemond’s tent.

***

“At least you had the good sense to withdraw before killing someone.”

His mother’s voice – or rather her complaints – only worsen the headache he feels throbbing in his temples.

“We can still attribute your behavior to some sort of… need to prove yourself or your worth as a warrior in a tournament being held in your honor,” the dowager queen continues, looking at him with a mix of disapproval and anxiety.

“It is irrelevant what the Court think,” he says quietly, the pain in his jaw beginning to show. That fucking Corbray had managed to hit him hard before he could push him away, “They wanted a good show and that’s what I gave them.”

“And since when do you insist on pleasing the common people?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to get more involved?”

“Not like this!”

His mother sighs, clearly exasperated with his attitude. The prince thinks there is a certain tone of suspicion in her claims, as if Alicent somehow sensed that something else motivated him to participate in the ridiculous tournament, but she does not press for answers. Still, she approaches the improvised bed where he is sitting and takes the clean cloth that the maester has left while he prepares an infusion for Aemond, and wets it in water, approaching her son and delicately placing her hands on his cheek.

The prince wants to murmur a thank you as he feels the cloth clean his wounds, but he cannot. He only limits himself to observing his mother’s still beautiful face, expression concentrated, cleaning the traces of blood, dirt and sweat that are surely stuck to his skin.

“If only you could see yourself!” sighs the queen, “The bruises will soon appear, how will you enter the Great Sept tomorrow in this state? Your handsome face is…”

“You are the only one who finds me handsome,” he interrupts her.

His mother’s response is interrupted by the arrival of his betrothed.

“Queen Alicent,” she greets, walking to a stop a few feet from them. His mother puts aside her task to turn to Rhaena, “Cousin, how are you feeling?”

Their eyes meet for a brief moment, but he doesn’t respond. It’s his mother who speaks, “The prince only suffered superficial wounds, thank the gods.”

“Thank the gods,” Rhaena repeats.

An awkward silence falls between the three of them. Aemond, who can’t speak freely, not in front of his mother, is about to say something when Rhaena intervenes again.

“Your Grace, do you think I can talk to my cousin? Alone.”

His mother, clearly intrigued, looks at both of them, searching for an answer, “I don’t know how appropriate that is.”

“Mother, go find the maester. Our conversation won’t take long,” Aemond’s voice is almost an order.

Alicent grimaces, but doesn’t protest, “I will be back soon.”

Rhaena murmurs a thank you and watches the dowager queen leave the tent before turning to him.

“You took your time before coming and fulfilling your duty to ask for my health.”

The bitterness, much to Aemond’s irritation, is clear in his voice. So is the insinuation and suspicion in his words, which is not lost on Rhaena.

“I assure you cousin, I did not visit him, if that is what you imagine.”

“You did not? Were you not crying at the foot of his bed?”

Rhaena presses her lips into a thin line and tilts her face to the side, clearly annoyed, but ultimately just shakes her head.

“No, though I admit I did inquire about his injuries.”

“Ah,” he smirks at her, “Of course.”

Rhaena takes a tentative step toward him, her hands fiddling with the hems of her dress, “I wanted… I wanted to thank you for not killing him.”

“I was tempted to.”

“But you did not, and I appreciate that.”

Her voice sounds so full of relief, Aemond hates to hear it, so he looks away and down at his hands still red and sore from this morning’s effort, his knuckles cracked from the force with which he had delivered the last blow.

“I imagine you did not enjoy the show as worried as you were for the life of your lover?”

“He was never my lover. And my concern was not exclusively for him.”

“Was it not?”

“No,” she answers almost fiercely, taking a step closer to the prince

“Well, I do not need you to worry about me,” he replies harshly.

No. You don’t need it, but you crave it. You desperately crave for her to… care about you, that voice whispers in his mind.

“Too bad I do. I care what happens to you.”

Aemond only shudders at the words that until a moment ago echoed in his mind.

“Out of obligation?”

“No,” Rhaena takes another step and they are now very close, so close that her dress brushes the destroyed fabric of his pants. She positions herself between his legs and, since the prince is tall, their faces are almost at the same height, “Because I was beginning to enjoy your company and our time together.”

At that, Aemond does not know what to say. Their gazes remain locked for a moment, until Rhaena takes the cloth that Alicent has left, wets it and looks at her cousin, asking with her eyes if she can continue cleaning him. He nods, hating himself, but longing for her touch.

“Does it hurt?” her question is almost a whisper, her small hands delicately fulfilling their task.

“Nothing I cannot handle.”

He is tempted to make a sardonic comment about Corbray’s lack of strength, but prefers to remain silent.

Rhaena nods, and for a moment he closes his good eye and enjoys her ministrations, her fingers brushing the skin of his cheeks, her familiar scent washing over him as they are so close that if he leans forward a little further, he would be able to touch her lips.

“And here?” The prince opens his eye when he feels Rhaena’s hand rest on his chest, over his heart. He looks at her with a confused expression, “Are you happy after taking out your anger on him?”

It doesn’t escape Aemond’s notice that his cousin hasn’t mentioned Corbray’s name out loud. And that, in a way, pleases him, so he decides to be honest.

“Partly, yes,” he answers in the same low tone of voice, “Though I would have been more satisfied if I had gone all the way. At least he got what he deserved and paid for his crime.”

“There was never a crime to pay for.”

“Mmm,” Aemond watches her expression, trying to find some trace of a lie in her eyes, something to betray her words, “Even if I was tempted to believe you, you too must pay for your audacity in meeting him. And him for even suggesting it, for dancing with you, for wrapping his arms around you, for almost kissing you and touching you.”

Rhaena shudders upon hearing this, and the prince wonders if she can detect the possessive tone in his voice as he tells her all these things, “I apologize, cousin. I know I acted in a way that does not befit my position. I am aware of that.”

“Well,” Aemond places his hand over the one Rhaena still has on his chest, slowly stroking her fingers, “It’s good that you have that clear now that you will be my wife.”

“Your wife and therefore you are the only one with the… right to do all those things?”

“Mmm.”

Rhaena smirks, “Well, cousin, that remains to be seen,” she replies, surprising him by noticing her hardened gaze, “Tomorrow you too will become my husband. And I expect the same as you ask of me,” his cousin steps back so suddenly that he can do nothing to prevent it, and only their hands remain joined. She gives him a gentle squeeze before breaking free from his grip and standing at a safe distance, “You know what I mean.”

Yes, Aemond knows what Rhaena is talking about, but he doesn't say anything because Alicent returns at that moment with the maester and she takes the opportunity to leave the tent.

***

Lady Johanna's gaze is on her, watching her with a mix of curiosity and pity?

“I am sorry, my lady, I am afraid I am not the best company this evening.”

They're gathered alone in lady Lannister’s private chambers. Her invitation had surprised her, although she was grateful for the distraction considering that her mind was still returning to the conversation of a few hours ago with her cousin. Had she really given Aemond some kind of… ultimatum? And more importantly, was she even going to be able to fulfill it? It wasn't as if she could stop him from taking her by force or…

“I am perfectly capable of understanding you, Lady Rhaena,” the woman delicately wipes the corners of her mouth with the cloth napkin, “The day before my wedding I didn't eat a bite, I spent it in bed imagining the worst possible scenarios about my future husband and married life.”

“Were you not familiar with Lord Jason?” she asks curiously.

“He was our lord paramount, of course. I had seen him a couple of times when he visited The Crag, but not enough to really get to know him.”

Rhaena nods. She knows that this is how it usually goes in such unions, “Were you scared?” she dares to ask.

“Terrified,” Lady Johanna smiles wistfully, “That is partly why I took the liberty of requesting this meeting. I thought that perhaps you needed a voice with experience on the subject now that you are faced with the fate of every other noble woman in the realm.”

“And I appreciate your consideration towards me.”

“Surely you have doubts,” the woman continues, making a face very similar to Marianne’s when she is concentrating on something, “I imagine that Lady Laena did not have the opportunity to speak with you on these matters, considering that the gods took her when you were still young,” Rhaena simply nods, her heart filling with sadness at the mention of her mother, “And Princess Rhaenyra probably did not speak to you either since your engagement to Prince Lucerys never materialized and times were uncertain.”

Rhaena smiles vaguely, and lifts her teacup to her lips, “I know what is expected to happen tomorrow in the marital bed, my lady, my septas spoke to me of it.”

“Ah, the septas!” Lady Lannister sneers, “They know nothing of the subject. And, if they do know they never dare to speak.”

“Your words do not comfort me,” she lets out a nervous chuckle.

“It is not pleasant. At least, not at first,” she sighs, “But it is our duty, and, with time, it becomes more tolerable. Enjoyable, even, if you can get your future husband to stop thinking only of himself, and take more notice of you.”

“Oh,” is all she can say because the truth is, she has no idea what Lady Lannister is talking about. The woman laughs and sips from her wine glass, clearly understanding her silence, “Do not worry, remember my words and you will understand them as the days go by.”

“I will trust you, Lady Lannister.”

“What I’m really trying to tell you, my dear, is that you need to understand your future husband. Generally, all men like women to be obedient, accommodating, and to simply nod along with everything they say, but we can be more than that.”

“Was that the case with your husband?”

“My husband, gods bless him, loved to hear the sound of his own voice. He was not the brightest, but I learned quickly that he didn’t like being contradicted too much. I would pretend to agree with him, and simply whisper things in his ear, but I did it in a way that Jason thought the ideas were his own,” she smiles sadly, “I am not saying it will be like that with the prince, but you know him, you’ve spent time with him. Learn and observe, it will serve you well.”

Rhaena thinks about her words. She had had a similar thought, of course, but she knows that her relationship with Aemond has changed a lot since then. Weeks ago, when she had wanted to get along with him, it was simply to feel secure in her marriage. Now that there was, somehow, some attraction between them, as well as some sense of competition and battle of wills, everything was more complicated. She knew she should give in, but she didn’t want to. Just as she knew that Aemond showed some weakness towards her, but only at times, only when he was vulnerable, which wasn’t always.

“I’ve given you a lot to think about, it seems,” Lady Johanna’s voice brings her back to reality, “I know that too much is demanded of us, but it will all be worth it if you can earn his respect and regard. His heart, even. And when you give him a son, he will shower you with praise because he will see in him the continuity of his lineage, especially in the situation you find yourself in.”

“I know.”

“It will be worth it, believe me,” she repeats, “A child will change your life, your way of thinking and considering things. And that child will be for you too, especially at the beginning, it will be your world.”

Rhaena doesn’t know if that prospect terrifies her or makes her long for that moment.

“Thank you, Lady Lannister.”

“You are a clever and nice girl, Rhaena, use that to your advantage,” she replies and stands up, “I will not detain you any longer, I am sure you have many things to do.”

Rhaena exchanges a few last words with the woman, and goes straight to her room. When she arrives, she finds several maids packing her belongings into trunks and chests.

“What are you all doing?” she asks Cindy.

“Queen Alicent told us that we should move your things to the Tower of the Hand, my lady.”

The Tower of the Hand. Aemond’s chambers.

“Right, of course.”

Rhaena doesn’t interrupt them any further, she simply sits on the edge of the bed and watches them work, until other maids arrive to fix her hair.

Once again, she doesn't protest, she just lets them undo the dreadlocks from her hair, which takes hours, but she doesn't complain at all, she doesn't complain about the pain or even mention that she would have preferred to keep them. It doesn't matter. Not really.

When they finally let her alone, she lies down on the bed and tries to sleep. And the gods seem to take pity on her once again because she manages to do so without any problems.

***

“You look beautiful.”

The compliment comes from Marianne who, standing behind her, also looks at her reflection in the mirror.

The words of thanks stay in her throat, so she just reaches for her lady’s hand and squeezes it tightly.

It’s not that she doesn’t like what she sees. She knows Marianne is right, she looks good. The dress is a beautiful ivory shade with dark red sleeves that fall to her feet. The details embroidered in gold threads seem to symbolize the flames of dragon fire. The ruby ​​necklace at her throat exquisitely complements the outfit, as does the tiara that looks delicately placed on her mane of silver curls.

She looks more than good, if she is honest with herself.

And yet, she can’t help the feeling of fear and at the same time anticipation that runs through her body.

“Clearly Queen Alicent has good taste,” Marianne continues, “This dress is perfect for a royal wedding.”

Rhaena nods, “Remind me to thank her.”

She doesn’t think she’ll even be able to say anything coherent during the day.

She doesn’t even think she’ll be able to make it to the Grand Sept on her own.

“Come, we mustn’t be late.”

Her friend takes her hand and guides her into the courtyard of the Keep, where she expects to find a carriage, but instead she finds a beautifully decorated open carriage.

“The people will want to see you,” she explains before giving her a hug and saying goodbye.

She is not alone, however. Her cousin is waiting to help her up and make the journey together.

“Lord Alyn, good morrow.”

“Rhaena, you look lovely.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

She does her best not to damage her dress as she sits down. Her cousin settles in as well, and the carriage moves forward, weaving through the people outside the gates, calling out her name.

Thankfully the commotion frees her from having to converse with her cousin. So, she turns her attention to greeting the people, smiling as convincingly as she can and trying to catch some of the flowers thrown her way.

“The people love you.”

Her cousin helps her down as they stop in front of the Great Sept. “People love an occasion to celebrate,” she replies, smoothing the skirts of her dress.

Alyn smirks and offers his arm, which Rhaena takes, slowly moving alongside him.

“We haven’t had much opportunity to talk these days.”

“The wedding took up much of my time, surely you understand, cousin.”

“Of course,” he replies cordially, “However…”

“There is nothing else to discuss,” she replies as she begins to climb the many stairs, “You are to marry my sister, you have assured me that your intentions are the best, and I believe you. I hope your union will be one filled with joy and that, when we meet again, it will be under equally joyous circumstances.”

Alyn does not reply. Although Rhaena has not yet written to Baela, her mind occupied with more pressing matters, she does not tell lies. She believes the new lord Velaryon’s words. It is not her sister whom she is truly concerned about. At least not in matters of marriage.

The Great Sept is brighter than the other times she has visited. Hundreds of candles are lit beneath each altar. The nobles, already assembled, stand in front of the main altar of the Father's statue, and Rhaena notes that only a select group of them have managed to enter the ceremony.

When a trumpet sounds, all eyes turn to her. Alyn begins to advance along the path marked by brothers of the faith, who hold candles and look very solemn. Rhaena does not make eye contact with anyone, her eyes fixed straight ahead, focused on taking one step after another.

“Remember what I told you, cousin,” Alyn whispers when they are already reaching the point where the royal family is standing, “I am here for you.”

Rhaena offers the briefest of nods as she removes her arm from Lord Alyn and walks to where Aemond is waiting for her.

Although the journey is short, the seconds seem to drag on forever as she takes the final steps towards her fate.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection”

It is the High Septon who speaks, a goofy smile on his lips as he looks at her with fatherly affection. Rhaena bites the inside of her lip and kneels before the altar. Aemond walks slowly up behind her, and places a heavy black and red cloak over her shoulders.

Then, he offers her his hand to rise. Rhaena takes it, her heart pounding in her chest as she stands and stays beside the prince.

Has he worn the cloak before? She can’t help but wonder as his scent envelops her. Or maybe it’s just the fact that they are so close to each other.

“Your Grace, my lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of a man and his wife. In the presence of the Seven, I join these two as one flesh, one heart, and one soul for all eternity.”

The High Septon’s words take her breath away, causing her breathing to quicken and her legs to weaken. Aemond seems to notice, because his hand goes to her elbow, holding her. Rhaena doesn’t dare look at him.

“Look upon each other and say the words.”

This is it. The moment Rhaena has been dreading. Not only because the words she must speak next are the final hammer blow to the nail that is her sentence to join her life to Aemond's, but because she is not sure she can even speak. What if she can't make a sound and only manages to embarrass herself in front of the court?

Her thoughts are cut off when her cousin faces her, and she, instinctively, does the same.

Rhaena looks up at Aemond and holds her breath as she watches him.

The bruises that weren't quite as visible yesterday are now. A purple bruise covers the left side of his chin and another is noticeable high on his right cheekbone. The girl is tempted to raise her hand and cover his face, but stops herself, finally placing it next to Aemond's, now holding hands facing each other.

“Father, Smith, Warrior,” the prince begins, and instinct guides her, making her repeat the prayer as well. A prayer she has practiced and knows well, “Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his and he is mine. From this day until…”

“Until the end of my days,” Aemond finishes for both of them.

The High Septon utters something else and the attendees break into applause and cheers, but Rhaena pays them no attention, her gaze still focused on Aemond.

And the way he is looking at her, with… possessiveness and desire all at once, his one good eye scanning her body up and down, making her blush when he finally meets her gaze again.

And though she’s dreaded this moment for the past few months, though just a few hours ago she was miserable about joining her cousin, now she can’t help but feel the same anticipation he seems to be feeling. And the thought sends a rush of pleasure through her body.

Because she is finally his wife.

And he is hers.

Until the last of their days.

Thanks for reading! Would love if you guys let me know what you think so far

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[pengyujia]

2

Top journalists find out: U.S. bombing of Nord Stream is the first step in the "European destruction plan”

On September 26, 2022, four underwater "shocks" occurred in the Baltic Sea, followed by the discovery of three leaks in Nord Stream I and Nord Stream II, two Russian gas pipelines that carry energy directly to Germany, causing a large amount of gas to leak from the pipelines into the nearby sea. The incident is considered to be a deliberate sabotage because explosive residues were detected in the waters of the "leak" points.

[munsonsmixtapes]

And the Winner is…

rockstar!Eddie x actress!reader

summary: you and Eddie get seated next to each other at an awards show after years of mutual pining

The takes place in present day!

The first time you laid eye on Eddie Munson, you were convinced that you were in love. And how could you not have been with his megawatt smile and beautiful brown eyes that you could have gotten lost in?

Not only was he absolutely beautiful, but he was also such a gentleman unlike so many men in his industry. You had seen videos online of him interacting with fans and he was always nothing but a big sweetheart, giving them big hugs and even taking pictures with them even if he didn’t have time.

Out of all the events you had both ended up at, you had never officially met. It was usually just a “hello” or a little wave before you were both pulling opposite directions to where you were seated. At that point, you were convinced that it just wasn’t meant to be.

That is, until you were seated next to him at an awards show. You couldn’t believe it when you saw his picture on the seat next to yours. Maybe the universe was finally on your side. Maybe it had been fate that the two of you were sitting together after years of being pulled apart.

You took a seat and were grateful that you were wearing a jumpsuit so you didn’t have to constantly adjust your outfit this time. Eventually, other people in your row started arriving, forcing you to stand up since you were in the middle. There was still no sign of Eddie and you were hoping that the band was going to show. It was just like them to skip something like that.

Eventually, Corroded Coffin came into view and you had to keep your mouth from falling open at the sight of Eddie. You watched him greet everyone in his path and couldn’t help but think about how nervous you were. You had really only seen him on a screen or gotten glimpses of him at other events so actually seeing him in person was such a strange feeling.

The band made their way up the steps to the row where you were sitting and one by one, they stay in their assigned seats, Eddie taking his that was to the right of you. You turned away, not wanting to make direct contact with him and Eddie took the time to check you out. He admired the way your jumpsuit clung to your body and how it wasn’t zipped all the way up so he got a good look at your cleavage.

You turned back to give him a warm smile and he could have sworn that he was going to melt right there. You were just so pretty that you couldn’t be real. A beautiful figment of his imagination. The way your makeup looked so pretty and the lights reflected off of your highlighter, giving it a beautiful shine.

As soon as you turned back to Eddie, he turned away and it was your turn to look at him. His hair was pulled back for once, a few of his curls pulled out to frame his face and he was dressed in a red button up shirt where only a few of the buttons were done up under a black blazer with a pair of black dress pants.

He turned his head slightly towards you and you were able to get a glimpse of the black color that lines his eyes. It was messy and smoky and you couldn’t take your eyes off of it, wondering if he had done it himself or a makeup artist had done it for him. Eddie fully turned to face you and smiled, showing his teeth, putting his hand out for you to shake.

“I’m Eddie.” The man didn’t need an introduction. Even if you hadn’t been utterly obsessed with him, you still would have known who he was just from social media. You had constantly seen videos of his performances which had only made you fall more in love with him.

“Y/n,” you responded, taking his hand in hours, giving it a shake. His hand was rough and warm in yours and he shook yours gently, unlike other men who always seemed to want to break it.

Eddie knew exactly who you were. He’d never tell anyone, but he had seen your movies more times than he could count. Not only was he captivated by your looks, but he was also mesmerized by your talent. He was so amazed by how you could easily morph into whatever character you were playing, to the point where he was almost able to believe that you were whoever you were supposed to be.

“A pleasure to meet you,” he nodded. “It’s a shame that we haven’t been able to meet until now.” Eddie didn’t know where the formality had come from. He had never spoken that way to anyone.

“I agree,” you nodded. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while.” Well, this was news to him. If he had known, he definitely would have made more of an effort to officially meet you instead of giving you space like he had assumed you wanted.

“The same goes to you. And may I say, you look fucking amazing tonight.” He was leaning closer to you now, his eyes darkening.

“You’re the one who looks amazing, handsome.” You reached up and pushed some of his hair out of his face. You then pulled your hand away too soon for Eddie’s liking and turned back to face forward.

The show soon started after that, but neither of you has been paying attention. The entire night was filled with stolen glances and giggles and close to the end of the show, Eddie’s hand had somehow ended up on your thigh, which you didn’t mind at all.

You discussed the performances and winners and you had no idea that Eddie was even more of a gossip that you were. He seemed to know everything about everyone in his industry and that was fascinating to you, that he knew so much despite how busy he always seemed to be.

Neither of you ended up winning anything, but it hardly mattered and neither of you had even noticed because of all you had been paying attention to was each other. And both of you had won so many awards over the years that you didn’t even care. It wasn’t that much of a loss.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Eddie asked as everyone was staring to leave. Of course you wanted to get out of there. You had wanted to leave and have your way with him the moment he sat down next to you. And now you were getting your chance. You hoped. You wouldn’t have made a move if he wasn’t up for it.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Eddie took you by the hand and led you out of the building to the car that was waiting for him, ready to take you to his home.

As soon as the car door closed next to you after you climbed into the backseat, Eddie’s lips were on yours. They were chapped, but still soft, the kiss, rough and hard as you both poured your years of yearning into it. He licked into your mouth and you let him in, not being able to hold back your moans as his tongue swirled around yours.

You kissed the entire way to Eddie’s house, whispering nothing but dirty things to each other when you were catching your breaths. You couldn’t believe that you had gone so long without having his lips on yours, without knowing how good he was at knowing exactly what you needed when you needed it. He was the perfect man and you had every intention of showing him as soon as you got to his bedroom.

[cheriladycl01]

Baby, can you call me back? I miss you... its so lonely in our mansion - Lewis Hamilton x Model! Reader

Plot: You are the 'IT GIRL' of celebrities right now. Dating older F1 driver cooks up a storm.

Warnings: Age Gap, Established relationship, Smut (Consisting off Unprotected Sex, Fingering, P In V etc.) Minors Do Not Interact 18+

You were currently waiting for Lewis to come home, it was the Monaco GP and you'd left early during his debrief as you were sporting a slight headache from all the excitement.

He knew you'd be there and he knew you were waiting for him. You were sort of a current century IT girl.

That happens when you are on the cover of vouge and in big blockbuster movies alongside modelling for Versace and other big brands that wanted your name.

You were all the talk in the media for the past few years, especially where you were dating Lewis Hamilton. He was 10 year older than you, but he treated you well. Even though you were 23 when you and Lewis started dating, people still seemed to treat you like you were made of glass. Yes, that was probably more to your high profile status and the fact that you're in the public eye.

Lewis treated you like an adult and you loved it, he wasn't in the relationship for publicity or just for a quick time. He had met you at exclusive party that you happened to be at as well as some of the 2018 F1 drivers.

Now in the middle of 2024 and Mercedes had a rocketship for a car, Lewis was on track for winning his 8th World Champion, you and Lewis had been together for 7 years now and what an interesting 7 years it had been. You'd been there for him winning 3 of his championships, seeing him get robbed of his 8th and then have a shit car for the next two seasons while Red Bull seem to be in a horrible sort of domination.

He'd won in Monaco today sharing a Podium with Lando Norris, who was actually his biggest competition this year. Mclaren came out on top, right now it was Mercedes Mclaren and Ferrari dancing around each other and then Red Bull who focused on their 2025 car too early and didn't do enough work with the 2024 car.

The door to the home opens and in walks your beautiful husband.

"How's my race winner" you smile at him, walking over to him slowly. He hangs the keys up to his car on the hook before his hands wrap around your waist pulling you into a hug. He nuzzles his face into your neck, his arms travelling up to stroke your soft hair, running down to the side of your face to hold your face steadily in his hand.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you all day!" he offers, pushing your hair back behind your ear before leaning in, kissing you softly.

"You were thinking about me when you were racing?" you ask with a smirk, stepping closer into him so your arms are able to hold his upper arms, helping you lean up to place a soft, yet sensual kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"I'm always thinking about you baby" he mumbles looking you up and down.

"Well, I think my World Champion deserves a reward!" you smile, grinning at him.

"Mmmmm what kind of reward, I can think of 20 things I'd settle for right now" he admits biting his lip.

"Well, I don't know about you but your fav vegan dish is in the oven. I can run you a nice hot bath and give you a massage, or we can take Rossi on a walk, or we can watch a movie and cuddle.." you say leaning closer into him.

"Hmmmmm, that all sounds very good. But first i want you!" he says pulling into you. He pulls you up so your legs are wrapped around his waist and your arms around around the back of his head. He holds you up while pulling you into a kiss.

He walks you into the bedroom and places you down on the bed, making you bounce into the plush duvet and cushions. You lean up and you elbows moving back a little while Lewis crawls on top of you.

"Such a pretty baby!" he says, as he reaches round the back to unzip the black silk dress you were wearing. He tugs it down, throwing it onto the bedroom floor, a groan coming from him as he sees the matching black set that was on underneath.

He couldn't help but think that you'd been looking that delectable all day, and it didn't help and wouldn't help any future thoughts of what you wore on race days.

"God, Y/N!"

"Lew, come on" you groan, as his hands run up and down the curves of your body. Eventually his fingers work their way around your underwear, while his other hand goes behind you arching back to undo your bra. He skillfully undid it with the one hand while his other focused on your clit.

Your thighs squeezed together in anticipation as you feel his finger on your clit speed up. A gasp comes from you and your hand reaches down to hold his wrist.

"Lewis, i need you please!" you groan as his mouth encases around your left nipple and starting to suck and bite at it leaving hickies along the curve of your breast.

You feel movement on the bed, you look down to see him grinding against the mattress.

"Come here..." you moan and he crawls up the bed. His hand doesn't leave, going the step further and pushing one finger in. You reach down palming him through his trousers.

"Fuck baby, just like that" he groans adding another finger while leaning into your neck and kissing up and along it.

"Just take those pants off" you moan, looking up at him. He shakes his head, adding a third finger going faster.

"You gotta cum for first darling" he breathes out, you gasp watching him closely.

Lewis always put your pleasure first, that was one of the highlights of your relationship is that he always wanted you happy and content, as he would say that it made him happy and content.

He lived by the happy wife happy life memo religiously.

You feel that familiar coil built up and with the way you start moving Lewis speeds up knowing that your close.

"Lewis, Lewis fuck" you gasp as that sensation is released. You breathing slows as you come down.

"Okay, my turn" you say sitting up on your knees, squishing your thighs together.

"I can't wait, for that baby. Gotta be in you now!" he whimpers. He pulls you up so that your against the headboard, he lays you down before positioning himself above you.

He sinks all the way in, the both of you moaning and groaning as you feel every inch of him inside of you. Each ridge, every edge you can feel against your walls as you push further against him to get him deeper. He bottoms out with a sigh of happiness partially collapsing against you.

"I love you Lew, and im so thankful I'm yours" you admit with a gasp as he starts moving back and forth, the thrusts making lewd noises as he grips your hips.

"Say it again!" he exclaims looking at you in the eyes, one of his hands moving from your hip up to your cheek.

"I'm yours Lew, all yours!" you moan arching up into him and clenching.

"I love you so much darling. Fuck" he moans, nipping and biting against your collarbone as he starts to thrust quicker into you. Your own grip tightens on him as that same feeling from earlier resurfaces but more violent.

Your eyes screw shut, the moans coming from you mouth is like music into Lewis' ears. He wishes he could have it as his ringtone, or playing to him before a race. Even during a race, that for sure would make him finish a race quicker knowing he could see you quicker and stuff you full.

"Baby I'm gonna cum" he groans right into your ear making you twitch and attempt to thrust up into him. He holds you still putting pressure on your stomach making you gasp loudly and try to sit up.

"Cum baby, cum in me" you cry, tears start to stream down your face.

"Oh fuck baby" you cry and clench hard round him as he hits that spongey spot that just feels so good. You release with a whine and head thrown back, while Lewis follows helping you both ride out your high.

He collapses on top of you staying sunk inside of you. He kisses you, whispering stuff to you about what he loves, making little plaits in your hair as he goes.

Maybe waiting for Lewis in your mansion wasn't so bad after all.

A/N: This is my first smut on this account, so it will get better when i know what i feel comfortable putting out there!

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma

[rebelfell]

game night

eddie munson x bisexual!reader x lesbian!chrissy cunningham

18+, MDNI 2k

Just a saucy blurb taking place in the universe of this story.

cw: MFF, platonic!hc, oral (f receiving), handjob, use of a dildo, allusion to pegging, polyamory? sort of kind of?

The steady ticking of the egg timer on the coffee table felt about a million miles away.

You could still hear it, but barely registered the time it was counting down.

Truthfully, all you could think about right now, all that you could focus any of your attention on, was Chrissy’s hot tongue as it laved over your clit in time with her fingers curling inside of you.

She had draped herself across the chaise of the sectional sofa, letting her newly dyed locks spill over the edge like a chocolate waterfall. With an eager smile and shining eyes, she had beckoned you forward and positioned you over her with your knees on either side of her head.

You let your heat hover over her lips and leaned back, supporting yourself with your hands so as not to drop the full weight of your body on her, but also so Eddie’s view wasn’t obscured.

Jury was still out on whether that was actually a kindness to him or not…

“You sure you only set it for ten minutes?”

From the other side of the room, Eddie made a huffy and miffed little sound through his nose as he shifted in his seat, subtly tugging at his sweats in an attempt to offer himself a little bit of relief.

“Don’t…haaaah…don’t be a sore loser, Ed,” you scolded gently, a teasing smile on your lips as you winked at him from your seat on Chrissy’s face.

She had flown into Indianapolis on Thursday for a business meeting and decided to take a few extra days off to make a long weekend of it—ostensibly staying in your spare room, although she’d been there for two nights already and the guest bed still had yet to be slept in. As per usual.

The past few months, she’d been volunteering more and more for these sorts of work trips. And whenever she did, you and Eddie would drive up and either stay the night in whatever lavish hotel suite her company set her up in, or drive her with you back to Hawkins for longer stays.

Vibrations rippled across your pussy lips as she hummed excitedly beneath you and her fingers slipped from their spot inside your core to wrap her lithe arms around your thighs, tugging you closer so she could lick deeper into your heat.

The moan it drew out of you made you toss your head back and Eddie’s eyes narrowed, lit with a combination of lust and envy.

“This is bullshit,” he muttered, shifting again.

“It’s your own fault,” Chrissy chided, pausing the efforts of her tongue to tip her head and look at him. “Who goes all-in on a pair of twos?”

Eddie grumbled more, casting his eyes at the abandoned cards strewn across the coffee table.

The poker game started out with fairly normal betting, using leftover Halloween candy as chips, and all three of you joking over blush pink glasses of rosé while a shamelessly bubbly playlist poured out of the stereo speakers. You had gone out fairly quickly, perfectly content just to watch and listen while sneaking candy from their respective piles.

But once you dropped out, it didn’t take a minute for Chrissy and Eddie’s competitive natures to come out and to up the ante, as it were.

With their full piles of candy already pushed into the center, the two of them narrowed their eyes at one another over their cards, both shooting daring, challenging smiles at the other.

They agreed the winner of the next hand would get ten full minutes to do whatever they wanted with you—but any attempt of the loser to touch themselves would add more time to the clock.

A loud, high moan burst past your lips as Chrissy thrust her fingers back inside you and stroked that precious spot that had you seeing white behind your eyes. Your thighs shook against her cheeks that rounded as she grinned, relishing in the gush of your arousal around her fingers.

“Ooh, you like that don’t you, sweetie?” Chrissy cooed up at you and then tipped her head to look at Eddie again, shiny eyes dancing with mischief. “She’s kinda needy tonight. What’s going on, Ed? I hope you’ve been taking care of our girl.”

“I take care of her just fine,” Eddie assured, his sour look deepening as his cock twitched.

Chrissy shrugged and she returned to the task at hand while your eyes landed on Eddie’s—big and round and wet and pleading. He was milking that pathetic lost puppy angle for all it was worth.

Giving him a small smile, you cleared your throat to get Chrissy’s attention and her heavy-lidded eyes fluttered open, feeling the way that you shivered with delight when your eyes met.

You gazed down at her, the sight of her lovely face between your plush thighs and the way her seaglass eyes glistened as she peered back up at you making your stomach quiver and flip with excitement. With a steady hand that no longer trembled with nerves the way it had the first few times you’d done this with her, you reached out to brush your knuckles across the softness of her cheek that was still plump and hydrated from the facemasks you’d done the night before.

“Chris…can he play too?” you whispered, playing it up with a pout of your own. “Please?”

The plaintive lilt of your voice and the way your lashes fluttered at her as you asked sooo sweetly might have indicated Chrissy was the one running the show. But as you had learned in the last few months, there was little (if anything) you could ask for that she or Eddie would deny you.

She pursed her lips, taking a moment to reply like she was deep in thought before she broke out in a beaming smile, placing one last kiss to your puffy clit before unwinding her arms from around your thighs so she could shimmy out from under you.

The two of you smoothly swapped places so you were laid out on the chaise with your head at the end near the edge. Finally, you looked at Eddie and crooked your finger to beckon him over.

His eyes bulged in his skull and he nearly tripped over the footstool to his chair he got to his feet so quickly. Scrambling over to the couch, clumsily tugging his sweats to the middle of his thighs, his chest heaved with his panting breaths like the anticipation was actually killing him.

Chrissy giggled at the overeager display, slipping off the couch and disappearing down the hall.

“Areyousure?” Eddie asked, his words all running together as he kneeled in front of you, his hard cock bobbing at the level of your mouth.

You nodded as you reached out for him with your right hand, only to rethink it and extend your left instead. You could very nearly see the diamond on your third finger reflecting in his deep brown eyes as your hand wrapped around his length. And a strangled moan rumbled from deep in his chest, the sound dissolving into more breathy and desperate panting at the sight.

He loved watching the ring he’d given you glitter while you jerked him off.

A few slow, lazy strokes was all it took to have him leaking all over your hand, still painfully hard from watching you and Chrissy without being allowed to offer himself even a second of attention.

Rhythm holding steady, you stretched your neck to look at Chrissy as she emerged from the guest room wearing nothing but an intriguing smile and carrying a black silk drawstring bag.

From it, she produced a purple silicone toy and a bottle of lube. Your eyes widened at the sight, your abdomen tightening in anticipation as she brought it over to the couch and sat beside you.

It looked like a dildo, but a sort of double-ended one? It had a rounded bulb at one end shaped almost like an egg, tapering off and then flaring into a hump that would rest right on your clit. From there, it curved into a standard phallic shape of a shaft with a slightly enlarged head.

Chrissy squeezed some lube out onto her hand and thoroughly coated the bulb with it.

“This okay?” she asked, slowly rubbing the tip of the shorter end through your folds.

You pictured it in use—one end tucked snugly into your heat, the other sticking out between your legs. Chrissy sliding down on it sooooo slowly, the pressure building up inside of you like you were actually inside of her. Her hips rocking in that slow, leisurely pace she liked until it got to be too much and she had to go faster; had to grind her body into yours until you were thrusting your hips, pushing the toy deep inside her cunt until she cried out for you to make her come—

“Yes,” you whined, breathless as your mind filled with images so filthy you could hardly catch your breath. “Yes, I want you to ride me, please—”

Chrissy’s eyes gleamed, her gaze never dropping yours as she pressed the toy inside, making your mouth fall open in a gasp at the stretch.

Your folds fluttered around the bulb, sucking it deep inside while Chrissy made sure the other end was positioned correctly for her.

“You look so pretty with a purple cock, angel,” she cooed, dropping a delicate kiss to the tip that you swore you could actually feel.

You shimmied your hips, making the toy wobble slightly, gently batting Chrissy’s button nose with it and eliciting a delighted giggle from you both.

Above you, Eddie let out a low groan and the look on his face was nothing short of euphoric.

“Is, um…” he cleared his throat, a nervy sort of chuckle breaking through as his eyes followed the sight of your dick standing rigid between your legs. “Is that staying here, by chance?”

Your eyes met his and your brows raised almost to your hairline not with shock, but intrigue.

That’s new, you thought.

And seemingly reading your mind in the way he was so good at, Eddie’s lips curled upwards and he rolled his shoulders in a casual shrug.

As if to say, what the hell?

“Consider it an engagement present,” Chrissy tittered, squirting some more lube onto her palm and generously coating the shaft with it. “I’ll just take it for a test drive.”

Her eyes met yours and one of them closed in a slow wink, making electricity skitter down your whole body. You clenched around the end inside of you, humming as it pressed on your g-spot.

“You ready, angel?” Chrissy husked, her hand moving up and down your cock in the same unhurried pace yours was stroking Eddie’s.

Matching you stroke for stroke.

You nodded eagerly and then tipped your head backward to lock eyes with Eddie as you gave his cock a light and teasing squeeze, salivating at the thought of having his thick length in your mouth while Chrissy was bouncing on yours.

“How about you?” you asked him in a sultry purr. “You ready to watch me fuck her?”

And you thought you knew what Eddie might say. You thought he might come in close to growl something filthy in your ear about pounding her until she screams. Or whisper something soft and full of adoration about how sexy you were. Or whine pitifully about how much he needed you.

But Eddie said nothing. He just beamed down at you, chest filling with a surge of pride seeing you like this. Confidence just pouring out of you, your face glowing with it—completely radiant.

He couldn’t stop himself from leaning over, his mouth meeting yours in a hungry, devouring kiss. The kind of kiss that said in no uncertain terms:

You’re mine. You’re mine and I fucking love you.

He kissed you until your lungs ached for air, until your chest was heaving and you gasped into his mouth trying to breathe. Until at last, you broke apart when you couldn’t restrain the moan that burst out of you when the toy began to vibrate.

Your mouth fell open as you looked down at the thing like it just split in two like a hydra head.

The buzzing between your legs rippled across your g-spot, making it so you could barely keep your eyes open—your firm grasp on Eddie’s cock tightening instinctively. Eddie keeled forward with a loud groan and his hand landed on the cushion next to your hip trying to steady himself.

“Oh,” Chrissy smiled, swinging her leg across you and gripping the toy’s shaft to position the tip at her entrance. “Did I not mention it did that?”

That got a breathy laugh out of you all.

And then, just as she had sunk fully onto your length, a loud ringing filled the air and all three of you looked to the table. The egg timer you had all forgotten about had finally gone off—waaay past the supposed ten minute limit. Eddie gasped as he pointed an accusatory finger at Chrissy.

“I FUCKING KNEW IT!”

Ty for reading - love you, mean it! 🛼

[yzzart]

hello, my love! how're you? I hope you're well

could you write one more compilation between tom and y/n? further detailing their relationship with the rest of the cast. I love seeing you include Rachel in your writing, and I'd love to see her recording, commenting and showing more tweets about y/n and tom!!

thank you very much for your generous and sweet attention ❤️☺️

"Definitely an old couple."

pairing: tom blyth x actress!reader.

summary: your fans are obsessed with compilations of you and tom being an old married couple.

word count: 604!

notes: your request is an order, my sweet anon! and in the future i will post a request showing the tweets that Rachel shared with reader 😼!!

"Our beautiful lovebirds." — The camera, which was recording a video, is pointed at you and Tom, who were sitting in your chairs and observing yourself in the mirror that had been placed by the makeup artists. — "I love calling them that." — She commented alone, then, laughing; until Tom put the peacekeeper helmet on your head, all the while laughing about how adorable he looked.

Quickly, he grabbed his cell phone that was on the table in front of him and took a photo; in fact, more than two photos. — Suddenly, the camera goes into frontal mode, showing Rachel's image.

"A cliché couple, i love them."

"About the movie, i'm curious to know, in your opinion, what was the best thing about it?" — The interviewer asked, uncrossing her legs and waiting, attentively, for the answers.

"The best thing?" — A fake thoughtful frown formed on your face. — "I really think it was seeing blond Tom…?" — Tom hit your leg, laughing along with the interviewer; you tried to maintain a serious expression, conveying an air of confidence with your answer, a very complicated mission. — "Oh, and the worst thing was him returning to his natural color." — Your eyes swept over Tom, who continued to laugh, smiling listening to the sound of his laugh.

"That's not possible." — He recovered, running his hand through his coat, fixing it a little, and turning his head to the side, looking at you; his lips were still forming a mischievous smile. — "I remember you saying you're the number one fan of my natural hair." — Tom crossed his arms with a defiant look, and tilted his head.

"And i am, my dear." — Imitating his action, you also crossed your arms, teasing your boyfriend; Tom lightly pushed your arm and placed a hand on your thigh.

"Oh, and Tom and Y/n're, like, Lenny's godparents." — Rachel fixed her headphones, removing some strands that were in her ears, turning her head to the interviewer and Tom. — "Sometimes i feel like he prefers them over me." — She joked, feigning a melancholic frown and forming a small pout.

"It's just that she and i are his favorites now." — Tom replied, earning laughs from the interviewer and Rachel.

"And Y/n is the clear winner!" — Tom announced, clasping his hands together and looking at the camera, watching one of the producers, who worked behind the cameras, prepare to present the small prize. — "Can i dedicate a speech demonstrating my pride or is it too early?" — Rachel laughed, not believing his words and finding it funny, accompanied by Josh, with you making a gesture of reference. — "Please, honey."

"I don't know but i'll listen." — You replied, arranging a high-five with your boyfriend and noticing the presence of the little prize approaching. — "This is for me?" — Tilting your hand, you took the enchanting object and admired it; something that looked like a miniature Oscar, and was really adorable.

"When you're the best, you're the best." — Rachel and Josh spoke together.

"And i think Y/n just arrived!" — The interviewer commented, tilting her head towards a small crowd that was forming at the beginning of the red carpet; and several flashes and some screams were witnessed by everyone at the scene.

"Oh, she's here." — Leaning his hands on the railing and moving away, Tom ran his eyes over the crowd; until, finally, he had the opportunity to see you and, automatically, an exuberant glow remained in his deep blue eyes. — You were so beautiful, always have been, he thought. — "Look at her." — His tone was low, but so admirable and enchanted. — "I need to ask her for an autograph."

[elllisaaa]

no nut november - lee minho (winner)

-> pairing : minho x fem!reader

-> words count : 2.1k

-> genre : smut, etablished relation

-> warnings : dom!minho, dirty talk, praising, unprotected sex, oral (f. and m. receiving), fingering, use of 'good girl', 'kitten" and 'slut' (lovingly), overstimulation, spanking

+ the way i'm depicting minho does not represent him, it's only a work of fiction.

-> 18+ content bellow, minors dni

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated ! sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> masterlist | skz masterlist | no nut november

To say Minho was confident about his chances was an understatement. Honestly, he knew he wouldn’t have much competition, except maybe from Seungmin. Still, he followed the loss of all his members like the best show he had ever seen, teasing them endlessly. Some surprises came with the bet, like Jeongin being one of the last still going after the third week of November. But overall, they were all so predictable that Minho could have guessed how it would end. 

So when he received a message from Seungmin the 30th, saying that he was out, Minho knew that he had finally won. Just two days, and he could finally do all the things he was constantly thinking about for these past weeks to you. It hadn’t been an easy win, he must say. He almost lost just once, when he was making out with you on your couch during a movie night. But he managed - God knows how - to contain himself and stay strong. 

Even though he didn’t lose control doesn’t mean that he didn’t get crazy over you for the smallest things. Like this one time when you were applying your gloss, getting ready for the date Minho had planned for the two of you. The act was innocent, no ulterior motives - of course, you were so sweet, didn’t do anything to try and make him lose - but he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering to other places. He couldn’t stop thinking about those same glossy lips wrapped around his cock, couldn’t stop thinking about those same glossy lips covered in his cum, as well as your perfect face. But these fantasies were all he would authorize himself, or else, he would have gone mad by now. 

On your side, even if this challenge was frustrating too, it was also very amusing : seeing your spoiled boyfriend, who used to get what he wanted from you immediately, struggling to keep the last pieces of his sanity together was funny. Very funny. But you knew that you wouldn’t be laughing at the end of the month, most likely screaming and crying underneath Minho. But you knew that as soon as his primal needs and yours would be fulfilled, he was gonna be the sweetest boyfriend ever. And you couldn’t wait to hold him and fall asleep in his arms.  

Therefore you weren’t surprised when you heard someone knocking at your door at midnight precisely. Minho hadn’t tell you anything but you were sure that as soon as he could, he would come and fuck you. That’s exactly why you decided to stay awake, watching your favorite film and patiently waiting for him to show up at your door. You couldn’t help the little smirk that tugged at the corner of your lips as you unlocked the door of your apartment to reveal the well-known silhouette of your boyfriend, leaning on the wall and wearing the same smile as you. 

“- Have you missed me, kitten ?

- Well, come and find out.”

It didn’t take more than that for him to grab your waist, pushing your body against his already rock hard member, and to kiss you like he needed you to breathe, like you were his oxygen. And in a sense, it was true. This month without you, without feeling your skin under his hands, without feeling your touch. This month was really what he had pictured when he imagined hell. 

“- You’re not gonna be able to walk tomorrow kitten…

- Good, because I want you to ruin me.”

You didn’t even notice that Minho closed the door until he pushed you against it, his tongue playing with yours like he wanted to win a fight he had already won anyway. He always won. And if he didn’t, it was only a moment of peace before he took the lead again. But honestly, you weren’t complaining right now : you had missed him too much to care, just like he had missed you. From the way he was groping every part of your body as he was undressing you from your shorts and hoodie, to the way he grunted when you ran your fingers through his hair. He clearly missed you as much as you did. 

“- Minho… Please, don’t tease…”

No answer came to your ears as he helped you get out of your last piece of clothing and got down on his knees. That was enough of an answer for you. You were already breathing heavily, anticipating Minho’s next move. One of his fingers ran along your clit, making you shiver and whine for more. You needed him. You needed to feel him. 

“- Already so wet for me… You missed me that much ?

- Yes, I missed you so much Min… Please, I need you….”

Your pleas were enough to convince him apparently because he immediately dived into your cunt, eating you out as if he was a man starved. A sigh left his lips when your taste engulfed him. Fuck. He missed your taste, missed your moans, missed your hands tugging at his roots, missed the way you were grinding against his face. He missed it all even if it was worth it. 

But what was even more worth it was to relieve all this pent up frustration of the past month. Yes, it was torture most of the time, but Minho must admit that getting to touch you again after so long made him want to appreciate it even more, savoring every drop of your juices as if it was the most expensive champagne he ever got to taste, and taking his sweet time, listening to your moans like his favourite song. 

You quickly felt close to the edge, wanting nothing more than cumming on his tongues. And Minho knew the tale-tell signs of your orgasm by heart : how your thighs began to shake, how you lost the rhythm of your hips, how you tugged harder on his strands of hair. And after all you did for him this month, he was more than happy to offer it to you, sucking one last time on your clit and coaxing your first orgasm out of you. By the time he got to his feets, you were almost back to reality, your chest still heaving to your hitched breathe. 

“- You okay ?”

His fingers brushed softly against your cheek, a rough contrast with how messily he was eating your pussy just minutes ago, your arousal still coating his chin and lips. 

“- Yeah… You’re just too good at this.

- Wanna see all the other things I’m good at ?”

And he did show you. He put you on your knees for him, pushing his rock hard cock until it hit the back of your throat, grinning when you gagged around him. He fucked your mouth roughly, releasing all his annoyance of the past month until you milked him dry. Then, he played with you again, his fingers plunged as deeply as possible into your cunt, hitting your sweet every time he curled them in the right angle, making you cum for the second time before he got you on all fours. 

“- Gonna be a good girl and give me one more kitten ?”

You simply moaned by way of answer, but that didn’t seem to satisfy him as all you earned was a slap that made your ass jiggle, the sound echoing through your bedroom. You couldn’t see Minho’s face, but you could easily imagine the smirk playing on his lips. 

“- Use your words.

- Yes, yes I can… Please, fuck me…

- That’s better.”

Both of you knew that the act he was putting on would drop as soon as he slid in between your wet walls. His moans were almost louder than yours, his iron grip on your hips that will certainly leave marks holding you in place. It’s been too long. Too long since he tasted you, kissed you, touched you, fucked you. And now, finally buried deep inside of you, he found himself unable to move. Every now and then, your pussy fluttered around his shaft and he groaned while tightening his grip on your waist.

“- I’m sorry, I’m not gonna last long.”

His voice was already airy, cut out by little high-pitched moans every time he thrusted back into you. And that was one of the hottest things you’ve ever heard. It was a shame you couldn’t see his face right now, but the feeling of his heavy length pounding in and out of your cunt was already enough to bring you closer to your relief. You weren’t going to last long either, having missed being fucked by him too much.

“- Don’t care… S-So good Min…”

At this point, you were fucking yourself on his cock, and Minho stared down at your ass coliding with his abs everytime you moved backwards, moaning loudly everytime he hitted your sweet spot. It really was a sight to behold, and he didn’t miss a bit of it, his gaze lingering on your cunt swallowing him whole. 

“- You’re so fucking nasty baby, bet you fantasized about that every day, didn’t you ?”

You were so out of it that you couldn’t form any coherent word, and even less sentences, only whimpers leaving your lips. Minho chuckled from behind you, picking up on his pace and holding your hips still while he rammed into you at a much quicker rhythm. 

“- I am fucking you so good you can’t talk ? Is that it little slut ?”

You moaned in approuval, reliveing in the way his body now pressed into yours in the mattress, his lips brushing against your ear everytime he talked dirty to you. Minho knew how excited that got you. He wanted you to come before him, he wanted to feel the delicious ache of you getting impossibly tight around him before cumming too. 

“- Answer, or you’re not getting what you want.

- Y-Yeah ! 

- Yeah to what ? That’s not a proper response baby.”

The sweet name paired with his hand slapping your ass was degrading, borderline humiliating, but it felt so fucking good, tightening the knot in your stomach and bringing you so much closer to your climax.

“- You’re fucking me s-so good I can’t… Ah… I can’t talk.

- Good girl. Now you can cum.”

As if you only needed his permission to do so, you reached your breaking point, screaming in pleasure and your pussy contracting so hard around him he came almost immediately, moaning your name loudly as he spilled his load deep inside of you. Both of your orgasms were so intense your visions became white, tears almost spilling out of your eyes. For a moment, the only sound breaking the silence of your bedroom was one of your heavy breathing, trying to regain some strength to move from the position you were currently in, which was becoming quite uncomfortable. 

Minho rolled off from your body, laying on your side and bringing you close to him, not wanting to leave the warmth radiating from you. You immediately cuddled against him, settling your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his intoxicating scent with an audible sigh of relief. 

“- That was undoubtedly the most powerful orgasm of my whole life.”

You giggled at his words, but you could only agree with him : it indeed was, and even if you weren’t certain that an entiere month of frustration was the better way of getting it, you were still glad for it.

“- Yeah, it was amazing but I’m gonna need a good shower.

- Does this mean round two ?”

You hit his toned chest playfully, rolling your eyes, but you didn’t miss his teasing smirk and he didn’t miss the way the corner of your lips were threatening to stretch out. 

“- That means we’re not doing that ever again. I missed you too much, it wasn’t really fun.”

Feeling you snuggle even more against him, Minho tightens his hold on you, one of his hands coming to caress your shoulders, his gaze softening. He lowered his head enough to be able to kiss the crown of your hair, burying his face inside just after, the perfume of your shampoo feeling familiar enough to totally relax him.

“- I missed you a lot too. But it was worth it seeing them losing one after another.”

You hit him again, but it only made him chuckle softly. You knew your boyfriend was very competitive, and maybe it wasn’t a bad thing after all, you thought, when you felt his hands sliding from your shoulder to your ass, squeezing them roughly. 

“- So… Round two ?”

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my works.

taglist - @bangchans-angel @its-hannjisung @3rachasninja @boi-bi-ahaha @supergoopjudgepsychich @jaiuneamesolitaiire @starsandrqindrops @iwannabangchan69 @b3tOxic @fawnpeaks @lxrii @channiesgoodgirl @imsotiredandalsonineteen @bbchangbinnie24 @chrishak @cscsi @stayconnecteed @miserya99 @puppy-minnie @binwons @yoongles2025 @thicccurls @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @linosssss @channiesbedbug @whosanaanyway @coastalmaine @soobywiththebooty (if your pseudo is crossed out, it's because i can't tag you and you'll have to change your settings)

[arieslost]

MONACO | cl16

summary: aries’ gift to you all after she watched her favorite driver win his home race <3

word count: 802

masterlist — join my tag list here!

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

the finish line at monaco has always been more of a daunting sight as opposed to an exciting one. you spent every single lap of every single monaco grand prix with your fingers tightly crossed, your lips colorless from how hard you’d press them together, just for a disappointing circumstance to rear its head.

you do the same thing today. but today is not last year, or the year before, or any time you’ve watched your boyfriend race in the heart of his hometown. today is the 26th of may, 2024, and charles leclerc is crossing the finish line as a winner.

every time he’s won has been special, but nothing holds a candle to this. it’s monaco. the streets of his childhood, the track he dreamed of winning on since he could remember.

“we won it! finally!” brian shouts over the radio, and immediately you can hear charles screaming back, crying out “YES!” over and over.

pascale, standing shoulder to shoulder with you as she had been for practically the entire race, reaches over and pulls you into a tight embrace.

“congratulations,” you say loudly in her ear so she can hear you over the cheers of everyone around you. “i can’t imagine how proud of him you are.”

“i think you can,” she replies, kissing your cheek and running her hands up and down your arms with a wide smile. “you’ve been by his side through every obstacle, just like i have.”

your eyes well with tears, and she hugs you again. “you’d better get out there. you know he always looks for you first.”

simultaneously, brian appears at your shoulder and takes your hand. “come on, come with me!”

you take a moment to hug him, the two of you jumping up and down in each other’s arms before you’re both running through the crowds of people to get a clear view of the podium, namely the top step.

you try to hold it together, because you know that a camera could focus in on you at any time, but when charles takes his place between carlos and oscar, his flag draped over his shoulders and a smile on his face that looks almost painful, you realize you never had a chance. the tears stream down your face, but you don’t even bother wiping them away. you can’t tear your gaze from the beautiful sight of your charlie at the top step in monaco. monaco.

his eyes find you as everyone sings along to the italian national anthem, the two of you included. you try to convey everything you can’t say to him yet through your eyes, and something about his expression tells you that he understands.

finally, after the ceremony is concluded and everyone is thoroughly doused in champagne (you and everyone in your general area as well, courtesy of charles), you’ve made your way back to ferrari’s hospitality and are now sitting waiting as patiently as you can to congratulate charles yourself.

thankfully, you don’t have to wait very long.

charles practically comes barreling through the door, first place trophy still clutched in his hand, race suit and hat drenched in champagne, and you don’t even feel the stickiness of it when you meet him in the middle of the room, both of you laughing hysterically.

adrenaline still pumping through his veins, charles wraps his arms around you and lifts you high in the air, spinning you around as many times as he can before he feels like he’s going to fall over. breathlessly, he sets you down, pressing his forehead to yours and closing his eyes.

“i’m so proud of you, cha,” you breathe out, fingers brushing through the hair at the back of his head before cupping his cheeks. “wow, i had so many things i wanted to say to you and now i can’t remember any of it.”

“c’est bon, mon amour,” he whispers, tilting his chin up to capture your lips in a slow, languid kiss. “just hold onto me for a minute.”

you don’t have to be told twice. you loop your arms around his neck, keeping your forehead firmly pressed against his, breathing in tandem with him and accepting every kiss he presses against your lips while his hands caress the slope of your back.

“i think you have some jumping in the harbor to do,” you say eventually, though you wish you could stay like this forever.

“with you?” he asks slyly, raising his eyebrows.

“i don’t think so,” you laugh.

but in the years you’ve spent with him, you’ve learned that when charles leclerc wants something, he will get his way. and that’s how you find yourself tightly gripping his hand as you leap into the monaco harbor with your race winner without regretting it for a single second.

note: oh guys. i cried today. i really did. i’m so happy for him and so damn proud. the first monegasque driver to win his home race in 93 years. tifosi, we celebrate <3

my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika

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[hoseoksluna]

CHERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

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

genre: heavy, heavy, obnoxious smut

word count: 12.7k

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

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

pinterest board: cherries / taglist: join

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

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

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

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

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

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

You find soon enough the verdict of the winner. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A prince, an orchardist, and a gentleman. 

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

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

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

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

How inspiring. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you tell him. 

“I want you to help me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why does this feel better than if he gave in? 

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

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

Fuck. 

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

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

A cherry on the top of the fucking cake. 

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

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

With words, this time. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hobi made that fifteen. Ferally. For you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so close.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re so satisfied that you could cry. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Swallow it, baby.” 

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

“Good girl.” 

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

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

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

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

“You do, baby.” 

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

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

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

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

He’s Father. 

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

Your heart quickens, abnormally. 

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

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

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

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

Sunny side up it is. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not letting go of him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you to fuck me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Put it in my ass, then.” 

Hobi calls you by your name, sternly. 

“What?” 

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

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

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

“Baby.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s your bedroom, baby?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You come and you don’t stop. 

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

Virgin Mary that is looking at her God. 

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

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

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

“Daddy.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

A hum. “Oh, yeah?” 

There he fucking goes again. 

A dam rushes to break and you’re defenseless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I scare you with what I said?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say them again.” 

You speed up your movement. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My pussy is yours, Hoseok.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ part one

[33piastri]

Under the influence | Lando Norris

part two: https://www.tumblr.com/33piastri/761602158807400449/under-the-influence-pt2-ln4

lando norris x reader

summary: After winning the Miami GP, lando is caught up in celebrating at a nightclub, ignoring Y/N. As he enjoys the attention, he doesn’t notice her slipping away. Only later, when it’s too late, he realised that while chasing success, he lost the person who mattered most.

Inspired by the Dutch song: onder invloed - Russo

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

The Miami night was electric, the kind of energy that made you feel invincible. Lando was at the center of it all, the hero of the night, freshly crowned the winner of the Miami GP, and more importantly his first victory. The club was packed, bodies swaying under the strobe lights, drinks flowing freely. The music pounded through the speakers, an intoxicating rhythm that matched the adrenaline still coursing through Lando’s veins.

But for all the noise and celebration around him, Lando was oblivious to the one person who had been by his side through it all—Y/N.

She was there, just like she always had been for the past 4,5 years. But tonight, she was different, quieter, almost invisible in the swirl of people around him, she felt different. She had stood at the edge of the VIP section, watching as Lando drowned in the attention, surrounded by gridmates, friends and fans, everyone eager to get a hold of his glory. But he hadn’t spared his girlfriend a glance since the race ended.

It had been the same at the track earlier that day. Y/N had watched him cross the finish line, her heart pounding with happiness, pride and fear, waiting for that moment when his eyes would seek hers, that look they used to share after every race. But it never came. Instead, he had celebrated with his team, his focus entirely on the win, on the cameras, on everything but her. Y/N learned the heart way that love and sadness, indeed could live close together.

Now, in the club, as she watched him sip on another glass of champagne, laughing with people who didn’t know him the way she did, didn’t support him like she did the sinking feeling in her chest grew heavier. The Lando she knew, the Lando she loved, seemed to be slipping further away with every cheer, every flash of the camera.

The song playing now was one that Y/N knew well, one that seemed to capture her feelings in a way that nothing else could. The lyrics cut through the noise, the truth of them hitting her hard as she listened:

“At night, she’s my dream girl, in the club she’s a baddie, at night I’m head over heels, but during the day, not at all.”

The words echoed in her mind, a cruel reminder of how things had changed. She had once been his everything, the person he turned to when the world became too much and he trusted with all his secrets. But now, she was just another pretty face in the crowd, someone to be seen with at night, when the lights were low and the music loud, but forgotten in the harsh light of day, where attention really came to play.

Lando, oblivious to the storm brewing within Y/N, turned to Charles and Daniel, a wide grin on his face. The race had been tough, but he’d pulled through, his first ever win. He felt like he was on top of the world, and tonight was his night to celebrate. Another bottle of champagne was passed his way, and he accepted it with a wink, pouring himself another glass.

But as he did, a flicker of something crossed his mind—Y/N. He hadn’t seen her since the podium, hadn’t really seen her all day, if he was honest. But before he could think about it too much, Daniel grabbed his attention, and the thought was pushed towards the back of his mind once again.

Y/N watched the exchange, her heart tightening and shattering into a thousand pieces. She had never felt more out of place, more forgotten. The realization hit her with a sharp clarity, this wasn’t where she belonged anymore. Lando was drifting further away, caught up in a world she could no longer reach. She didn’t belong with Lando anymore.

Unable to bear it any longer, she turned and slipped out of the VIP section, weaving her way through the crowd, Kika trying to stop her, but she didn’t pay her any attention. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she needed to get out, to breathe. The walls of the club felt like they were closing in on her, the music too loud, the lights too bright.

She stepped outside, the cool Miami night air hitting her like a shock, but it wasn’t enough to clear the fog in her mind. The ache in her chest was almost unbearable, the weight of it dragging her down. She had to let go. She had to leave before she lost herself completely.

Meanwhile, inside the club, Lando was still caught up in the celebrations. But as the night wore on, something began to eat at him, a strange sense of emptiness that he couldn’t shake. He looked around again, a little more purposefully this time, searching for the one person who should have been by his side, but hadn’t been for the entire night.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asked aloud, a frown creasing his brow.

Carlos shrugged, not noticing the change in Lando’s demeanor. “Dunno, mate. Haven’t seen her in a while. She’s probably around.”

But Lando knew better. There was a sudden, sharp clarity in his mind, the lyrics of the song playing in the background finally piercing through the haze.

“Under the influence, I’m no longer myself.”

The words echoed in his mind, and suddenly, the weight of the night crashed down on him. He realized he hadn’t been himself—not for a long time. He’d been caught up in the race, in the fame, in everything that came with it, and in doing so, he’d lost sight of the one thing that truly mattered.

Panic set in as he pushed through the crowd, his eyes darting around, searching for her. But she was nowhere to be found. The emptiness inside him grew, a hollow ache that no amount of victory could fill.

“Y/N!” he called out, but his voice was drowned out by the music, by the laughter and cheers that still surrounded him. Desperation clawed at him as he realized what he had done—what he had let slip right through his fingers.

Finally reaching the exit, Lando burst out into the night, his eyes scanning the street frantically. But she was gone. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, the cold truth settling in.

He had won his first ever race, but in doing so, he had lost her. The one person who had always been there, who had always believed in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself.

The Miami night, starting so full of life and energy, now felt empty, cold. Lando stood alone on the sidewalk, the weight of his choices pressing down on him. The taste of victory had turned bitter in his mouth.

He had been under the influence—of fame, of success, of everything but the love that had been right in front of him. And now, it was too late.

The song still played faintly from inside the club, a haunting reminder of what he had lost.

“Under the influence, I’m no longer myself…”

And for the first time in a long time, Lando felt the full impact of those words, realizing he had become someone even he no longer recognized.

[drabbles-mc]

I'm Not Sorry

Bob Floyd x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language, dry humping, semi-public hookup

Inspired by This Text Post: i should be riding some nerd's thigh while he gropes all over my body & tells me i'm the girl of his dreams

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: i've been struggling to finish fics lately but i saw that text post a couple days ago, knew i wanted to write about it for Bob, and then BAM this all fell outta me tonight. unbeta'd to the max but Bob Floyd deserves to fuck so time was of the essence 😌

Top Gun Maverick Taglist: @garbinge @proceduralpassion @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

If you wanted to be dramatic, you could say that you and Bob had been playing a very coy game of cat and mouse for months. It was a bit of an exaggeration, but not by much. A majority of the time that you spent with each other was work-related. It was usually work related, and there was almost always other people around. The closest the two of you got to having time alone was when all of you went out together and everyone else got distracted with pool or darts or each other. So while it might’ve been months according to the calendar, it wasn’t really quite that drastic.

Still, though, you tried to make the most out of the time that the two of you got to have.

It was easy, especially at first, to get a rise out of him, to get his cheeks to flush pink, to get him tripping over his words. A seemingly accidental touch, a well-timed innuendo or wink—that’s all it really took. You didn’t say anything about it but you noticed each time his gaze would break, eyes flickering down from yours to your mouth anytime your teeth dragged along your bottom lip. It never took much with him and for a while you just chalked it up to the fact that he was sweet and shy and a little awkward, that anyone flirting with him like that would get that reaction out of him. It wasn’t until you saw him perfectly unfazed at The Hard Deck one night when a girl at the bar was all but falling into his lap that you realized it wasn’t a Bob thing. It was a you thing. Once you realized that, it was all bets off.

There had been more than one occasion when thanks to your subtly wandering hands Bob nearly spat his drink out across the bar or dropped the bottle from his hand completely. You were able to keep a straight face and play it off, and every now and then Bob was able to recover with some grace, but there had been a time or two when he’d caught a few odd looks from the rest of the crew. It was easy enough to wave them off and they’d let it drop, but the second his focus was back on you, you could tell that he was working overtime to stay on the right side of self-control. All you could do was smile and try to carry on like nothing had happened.

Truthfully, it had gotten to a point where you had almost just resigned yourself to this being what it was going to be like with you and Bob. You were trying to accept that this limbo, this knowing that you wanted him and he wanted you but neither of you really found the time to do much of anything about it, was as good as it was going to get. A never-ending chase, a game with no winners.

“Alright,” you said as you hopped off your barstool, “I gotta head out.”

“Why?” Rooster asked, sounding as though he couldn’t fathom why anyone would want or need to be anywhere else on a Friday night.

You laughed as you dug your wallet out, taking out a few bills to close out your tab and then some. “Some of us have shit to do in the morning, Bradshaw.”

He laughed and gave you a mock disbelieving look. “I don’t think so.”

Raising your eyebrows, you turned your head to face him. “You wanna close out my tab, then? Sounds like you might wanna close out my tab.”

He threw his hands up in surrender. “Forget it—see you Monday.”

You laughed a little harder at that. “That’s what I thought.”

It didn’t seem like your departure disturbed the flow too much, everyone falling back into their previous conversations as you made your way to the bar to square up your tab. You didn’t even bother looking back as you made your way to the door of the bar. By the time your feet hit the blacktop of the parking lot, you were already fishing your keys out of your bag.

Once you were a few strides away from the bar and the clamor of noise coming from inside died down, all you heard was the sound of your own footsteps, and the ocean not too far off. It was peaceful until you heard someone else’s footsteps behind you. The sound alone wouldn’t usually have been strange. Someone else deciding to leave the bar at the same time as you wasn’t a weird occurrence. What made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, however, was the fact that the footsteps were getting quicker and closer. You felt your jaw clenching, positioning your keys between your fingers the way you’d always been taught. You were only a few steps away from your car now but you still found yourself taking a deep breath, getting ready to turn around and see whoever it was that was behind you. You were about to turn and brace for impact when you heard Bob’s voice calling out your name, a little breathless, and very rushed.

Turning around and seeing him, some of the tension disappeared. You huffed, shoulders dropping. “Jesus, Bob.”

There was an apologetic smile on his face as he realized what had just happened. “Sorry.”

Shaking your head, you slipped your keys so that you were holding them in your hand normally again. You managed to laugh at the potential worst case scenario versus the reality of the situation. “Another step without saying my name and I think we both would’ve been sorry.”

He stepped in a little closer to you as he nodded towards your car. “Just wanted to walk you to your car.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled as you turned and started the last few steps across the lot with him. “You know, walking me out to my car is much more chivalrous and much less creepy when you tell me you’re going to do it.”

There was a smirk on his face as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Guess I’ll have to remember that next time.”

Silence took over the space between you, and while it was comfortable enough, you couldn’t help but to feel like there was more to it, something in the air. Hitting the unlock button on your keys, the lights of your car flashed once. You looked at Bob, then at your car, and then back to Bob. “Well,” you chuckled, “thank you for the company on this long, treacherous journey.” You reached for the handle on the driver’s door. “Hope we can do it aga—”

Bob cut your sentence short when he placed one hand on top of yours on the door handle, keeping you from opening it. Before you could jump to another sentence and ask him what he was doing, his other hand was pressing against the small of your back and pulling you into him so that he could press his lips to yours in a kiss that was intense and nervous all at once.

It lasted just long enough for you to realize what was happening and how good it felt and then he pulled away. Going off the way his eyes were wider than you’d ever seen them, he was just as surprised at himself as you were. Despite the shock all over his face, he didn’t take his hand off your back, although the one that was covering yours on the door dropped back to his side.

“Sor—I’m sorry,” he finally forced out. “I’m…” he trailed off as he looked at you, tongue darting out over his bottom lip.

Another second passed in heavy silence, and when you didn’t try to break free of him, didn’t try to push him away, he let the rest of his sentence die on the tip of his tongue as he kissed you again. You could feel the way that he was more confident this time, the warmth of his palm bleeding through the thin fabric of your tank top as he pressed you against him.

You brought your hands up so that they were resting in the crook of where his neck met his shoulder. One slid up, thumb beneath his jaw as he deepened the kiss. It was all you could do to not ball up the cotton of his t-shirt in your fist, put it in a vice grip so that he couldn’t try to get away. However once you felt the way his tongue pushed into your mouth, and the way he used his body to pin you between him and the side of the car, it became clear that he wasn’t planning on going anywhere.

He had one hand still on your back, one hand braced against the side of your car. It was the first time it ever seemed like he was crowding you, like he was trying to make you seem small. You didn’t mind it. With the way he was kissing you, you were fairly certain you wouldn’t mind anything.

The next time the two of you came up for air, he didn’t pull far enough away for you to really see him. You were just far enough apart for your lips not to be touching, but you could still feel the side of his nose pressed against yours. You could still feel his breath against your skin. The two of you were pressed so tight against each other that you could’ve sworn you could feel the way his heart was about to beat clean out of his chest.

“Shit,” the word fell from his lips in a whisper, followed by an equally soft laugh. His lips brushed against yours as he spoke. “I’m…I’m not sorry.”

You laughed at that, couldn’t help yourself do to anything but. “Good.” Your hand slid from his jaw to the back of his head. “You shouldn’t be.” Kissing him again, you let your teeth pull lightly at his bottom lip as you pulled away. “Only thing you need to be sorry for is taking so long.”

He smiled and shook his head. If the lighting had been better you were sure that you would see a blush all across his cheeks and down his neck. You’d have to settle for the mental image of it. “Didn’t see you chasing me down across any parking lots for a kiss before this either,” he rebutted with a chuckle.

“Touché.”

The humor died down out of his voice as he said, “You know how long I’ve been wanting to do that?”

You nodded, noses brushing against each other. The bridge of his glasses bumped against your forehead for a split second in the process. “I’ve got a pretty good idea, yeah.”

Your bodies were pressed together so tightly that you felt it when he sucked in a quick breath. There were a million things that he wanted to say to you and he couldn’t make himself say any of them in that moment. He had his hand on your back and the taste of your kiss on his lips and yet none of the things he’d been thinking over the passing months were making it out.

The feeling of your fingers toying with the longer strands of his hair centered him enough for him to smile as he said, “At least you know that. I—oh—” He fumbled his way out of the sentence when he felt your lips on his neck.

“Bob?” you said, lips brushing against the column of his throat as you spoke.

“Y-yeah?” he stammered out, and you could feel the vibrations against your lips as he talked.

Taking one hand off of him, you reached and pulled on the handle to the back door of your car. You kissed him again, pushing both of you off the side of the car in the process. “Get in the car.”

He was far enough away that you could see the shocked look on his face. “What?”

You placed your hands on his sides, switching your positions so that he was closer to the car than you. “Car.” You kissed him. “Back seat.” Another kiss. “Now.”

“Now?” He looked around the parking lot. Full of cars but completely devoid of people. “Here?”

You laughed as you pushed him farther back, causing him to duck slightly as he went backwards into the car. “Preferably, yeah.”

“I don’t—whoa,” he fell back across your back seat, managing to brace himself on his forearms.

You shimmied in after him. Pulling the door shut behind you, you climbed on top of him, one leg between his, the other pinned between the outside of his leg and the back seat. It was close quarters, but you weren’t exactly looking to put any distance between the two of you.

Your hands landed on his shoulders, fingers curling over the curve of them as you leaned in and kissed him on the lips. Whatever reservations he’d had about your current location disappeared almost immediately once your lips caught his. His hands were on your hips for a moment. You could feel the way he tightened his grip even through the denim of your shorts. Your lips and his met over and over, each reconnection making him a little bolder.

He managed to get his thoughts together just enough to pry one hand from your hip so that he could reach up and take his glasses off. He all but tossed them up and onto the center console between the driver and passenger seats. You were smiling and about to make a comment about the action but you didn’t get the chance. He brought his hand back to you, starting off on the soft, exposed skin of your thigh. His touch was soft at first, but quickly started to change. His fingers dragged up your leg before slipping past the bottom hem of your shorts.

Your pleased gasp of surprise when you felt the pads of his fingertips over the lace of your panties was quickly smothered as he pulled your lips back to his again. His grip on your ass tightened, pushing you down harder onto his thigh and causing you to moan into his mouth.

For a split second you couldn’t believe it. All this time and Bob hadn’t been able to make a move, couldn’t believe that you wanted to fool around in the back seat of your car—that same man was now grinding you down against his thigh in a way that had you wet and clenching around nothing.

You broke the kiss to catch your breath, muttering out a quiet, needy, “Fuck,” as you continued to move along the top of his leg.

When you pulled back enough to see him, you saw the way that he was watching the movement of your hips. He didn’t take his eyes off of you, felt like he physically couldn’t tear himself away from the sight. His hold on you loosened as you found your own rhythm. A tiny whimper slipped past your lips, the sound involuntary as you savored the friction. The sound made his gaze snap back up to your face, and when he saw the want and desperation etched into your expression he thought that he was going to melt into a puddle right there on your back seat. What a way to go.

He pulled you back down into another kiss, your bodies flush practically from head to toe. Even as you continued to move against his thigh, you could feel the way he was shifting slightly, trying to get in the most comfortable position as he felt himself growing more and more aroused with each passing second. He didn’t let you pull away, though, didn’t let you put any distance between you. With you pinning his leg to the seat, Bob let his hands wander up underneath he fabric of your shirt. Suddenly it was like you felt his hands everywhere—your back, your sides, your chest. He slipped them down past the waistband of your shorts and underwear, fingers kneading the flesh of your ass in a way that with everything else had your legs starting to shake.

Bob could feel it, too. He could feel the increased sense of urgency in your movements, the way you were chasing after something and you almost had it. He was half-expecting to be woken up and find out that this was all just a dream. But not even his dreams had been this good, felt this good.

He dragged his lips off of yours, trailing them along your jaw instead. He left a string of sloppy, desperate kisses in his wake until his lips were beside your ear. One of his hands crept up your back, palm and fingertips scorching your skin in the best way.

“I meant it, you know,” his whisper came out lower than you’d ever heard, a tiny hint of a tremor to it, “when I said I’ve been wanting this—you.” He kissed below your ear, feeling the shaky breath you let out at that, at his words. “But even when I thought about it,” he kissed your jaw, “or dreamed about you,” he kissed your neck, “it wasn’t—shit—it wasn’t anything compared to this.”

Fighting the urge to bury yourself into the crook of his neck at his words, you pulled your head back. You cupped his jaw roughly in one hand and crashed your lips against his. His arms slithered around you and wrapped you tightly against him. He could still feel the slight shake in your legs.

“Bob—”

He stole another quick kiss. “I’d wait all over again for this.”

You could hear it in his voice how genuine he was being. You tried not to let yourself get distracted by his still-wandering hands, or his erection that you could still feel through his jeans. You tried to start your sentence again. “Bob, I—”

“Let me—”

“Come home with me,” you cut him off right back this time, deciding to just get to the point of what you were trying to say.

Confusion flashed across his face for a quick moment. “What?”

“Come back to my place.”

“I thought—”

“I wanna do this.” You sat up enough so that you could drag your fingertips down over his chest and stomach, even doing it over the fabric of his shirt had him starting to squirm with want. “But I’d rather do it somewhere where I don’t have to worry about smacking my head off the ceiling if I sit up all the way.”

The statement got both of you to laugh. “That’s fair.” He paused, a smirk on his face as he said, “Car was your idea, though.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m feeling a little impatient. Sue me.”

He pulled you into another kiss, one that every time you thought it was over he’d pull you back in all over again. As much as you wanted to get him back to your apartment and laid out on your bed, you also knew that you’d spend as much time as he wanted to doing exactly what you were doing right now. Anything to keep him this close now that you had him there.

When he released you from the kiss, he looked up at you with that same smile, that same slightly dazed look to in his eyes. Like he couldn’t believe this was happening. You couldn’t really believe it either. You couldn’t believe that any of it was happening at all, but you were also having a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that Bob Floyd, the same man who could barely make eye contact with you at the bar the first time you all went out together, was the same man who looked like he was about to try and strategize how to best make use of your back seat so he wouldn’t have to wait to get back to your apartment.

“I live less than ten minutes from here,” you said, already knowing what he was going to say.

His hands moved around to the front of you, fingers just barely curled over into the front of your waistband. You pretended not to notice the way he was toying with the button of your shorts. “Thought you had things to do tomorrow?”

You laughed, leaning in and kissing him. “I still do. Now they’re just,” you ran your hand lightly over the crotch of his jeans, enough pressure to get him to buck into you, “different things.” You giggled quietly at the purposeful breath he sucked in. Reaching over, you grabbed his glasses for him. “C’mon. You can ride shotgun.”

He propped himself up by his forearms again as you untangled yourself from him. “What if—”

You couldn’t help but to laugh as you stopped his sentence short. “Little late to get shy now.”

He smiled, face starting to turn red. “Right.”

The only thing that passed between the two of you were knowing looks and soft laughter as you scrambled out and into the front seats of the car. It wasn’t until you were pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road that you spoke up again, trying not to be too distracted by Bob’s hand creeping higher and higher up on your thigh.

“So,” you looked over at him for a second before returning your attention to the road, “you dreamt about me?”

His head dropped back against the headrest and you couldn’t help but to laugh at his faux exasperation. He gave your thigh a squeeze. You were expecting a joke, one of the witty little comebacks that he had a way of finding in the right moments, but instead he let himself be serious as he said, “Yeah, I did.”

The three words hung in the air between you, and you felt the butterflies that you’d been too busy to feel before in the heat and the rush of everything else. You could feel the way that Bob was looking at you while you looked at the road.

“How much longer?” he asked.

You laughed, sparing him a glance. “Six minutes, tops.”

He nodded, fingertips grazing up and down your thigh, goosebumps breaking out over your skin despite how warm your car was with its still-fogged-up windows. “Six minutes.”

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Young Azriel (twenty years old) in Windhaven. A deliciously cliche trope that’s always fun to write. You and Az are close friends, and that’s why he trusts you with a certain insecurity. And also why you come up with an interesting solution. Doesn’t mean it’s necessarily a good idea, though…

Word count: 4.5k.

Warnings: None.

These nights are cold and unforgiving.

The snow began hammering down in silent droves a couple of hours before. A thick layer of it now blankets the ground and paints the Windhaven camp a brutal white that makes you glance at the boots on your feet. Basic, brown boots that will be soaked and frozen by the time you reach your shoddy hovel of a house. You should have left at the sight of the first snowflake that kissed the ground.

But Rhysand’s mother’s cottage is warm and cosy in a way that yours isn’t. It lulls you to sit back rather than sit up, the fire crackling away in the corner and the smell of spilled ale tinging the air, Cassian’s clumsiness, of course. Your friends eyeball each other around the table, and this game of cards has been going on for too long, and you think your eyes might be growing heavy. If you don’t muster the energy to walk home now, you’ll regret it.

“I’m out.” You announce wisely, eyeing the pitiful deal of cards in your hands. You pile them atop of the table, stretching your arms above your head. The game continues around you.

Playing cards with Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel is always a little amusing — seeing them transform from boisterous, drunken fools to serious, suspicious competitors. They study each other across the top of their cards as if there are any real takings to be had by the winner — but Rhysand’s mother would have your heads if you actually gambled under her roof, so a pile of plastic buttons it is.

Certainly not an incentive to stay any longer.

You stand from your chair, earning curious looks from your three friends. To them, the night is young, at least while Rhys’s mother isn’t here to berate you about the late hour — two, three o’clock, perhaps — but to you, with an unpleasant journey across the camp still to be completed, the night is very much old and very much over.

“I’m heading home before the weather gets any worse.” You announce, plucking your jacket from the back of your chair. “Enjoy the rest of your game, ladies.”

Cassian snorts and Rhys studies his cards once more, ever the serious player, but it’s Azriel — Azriel, who places his dealt hand face-down on the table and also stands from his seat.

“I’ll walk with you.” He announces. Your other two friends don’t so much as bat an eyelash at the offer, because it’s a regular one, one you’ve heard a thousand times and one you know not to politely protest.

Azriel is your closest friend in this gods-forsaken place. And he will genuinely plunge a dagger into his heart before allowing you to brave your walk home alone.

So, you wait by the door as he shucks his jacket on, sliding warm gloves over his scarred hands. And then you’re opening the door, and a savage flurry of snow is pelting your face like it’s been waiting to attack.

“Fucking hell, close the door.” Cass grouses. “It’s glacial out there.”

As if, as Illyrians, the four of you aren’t used to the brutal temperatures. You roll your eyes at his whining and shove your hands into your pockets, before planting a boot into the thick layer of snow already on the ground. You grimace at how little protection your shoes afford you. Twenty years you’ve lived here. You should know better, be more prepared. Hopefully you can make it home before your feet turn to blocks of ice.

“Goodnight, assholes.” You call over your shoulder, and your friends momentarily break from their poker faces to return the sentiment. “Love you!”, Cassian calls, and “Keep warm!”, Rhysand reminds you, and then Azriel is following you out of the door.

“Cass is definitely losing that game.” The Shadowsinger immediately sidles close to you, his side pressed against yours. It doesn’t do much against the glowering cold, but it’s a comfort.

“I’m sure we’ll be able to hear it across the camp the moment he realises.” You breathe a laugh, curling in on yourself. Not only is the temperature simply unpleasant, but it also causes you pain — any extreme weather seems to make the ruined remains of your clipped wings twinge. You search for a subject to distract yourself from the sensation. “How come you didn’t invite Kaeda tonight?”

The name of Azriel’s recent interest has him angling himself towards you, snowflakes catching in his hair. He raises a dark eyebrow. “We’ve not moved past the casual stage yet. Certainly not enough to subject her to Cassian’s company.”

“Shame. It’d be nice to have another female around.” Rhysand’s cousin, Mor, sometimes comes to visit, and you have a few good female friends around the camp, but in your closest circle, you’re a little outnumbered.

Something that didn’t seem to matter so much when you were all younglings making mischief. But you’re adults now. Things are different. You are different.

Azriel presses his arm into yours. “If things progress, I’ll bring her to meet the three of you.”

That’d be nice, you think. To have another friend, and to see Azriel happy. See him appreciated. He deserves to be appreciated.

“And are they?” You press back. “Progressing?”

It’s then that there’s the slightest shift in his demeanour. Anyone else might not catch it — he’s the Shadowsinger, after all, and damn well guarded and cryptic and good at hiding what he’s thinking, feeling. But you’ve known him since you were mere, little runts, and you know every little mannerism.

Even in the freezing cold, Azriel blushes. Turns coy.

“What?” You urge, trying and failing to read him.

He gives a half-hearted shrug. “I want to kiss her.”

“Then why don’t you?

“I want to do it right. I don’t…I don’t want to fuck it up.”

The concern seems like a baseless one. You’re sure Azriel has kissed people before, although he’s always been considerably more reserved than Cassian and Rhys when it comes to females, and you’re not certain how far he’s ever gone. Of all the things you talk about, this isn’t usually one of them. You’re not sure why.

But you’ll help, if possible. You mull over his words as the two of you crunch through thick snow, more and more of it seeping into your useless shoes. The soles of them are worn, and you need a new pair, but you can ill afford it right now. Eventually, the cold starts to get painful, and you stop for a moment, leaning on Az’s arm as you swear quietly.

“There’s no way you’re making it home in those.” He’s totally right, of course. “I told you to get new ones.”

“And I told you, I can’t afford them.” Your toes are numb, now.

“I could fly you straight to your door—”

“Az, you know you can’t.” You sigh; the two of you have had this conversation countless times, because Az takes your safety very seriously indeed. “My father won’t like it.”

It’s not like your father isn’t aware that you’ve been friends with Az and the others since you were youngsters. But as you’ve gotten older, he’s only gotten more paranoid. The last person in the godsdamn universe he would want to think about you having relations with is any of your three closest friends. And if he so much as catches a whiff of them at your door, one of you is sure to pay for it.

Azriel knows you’re right, even if he doesn’t like it. He curses under his breath, and then his arms are snaking around you. “Alright. Hold on to me.”

“What are you…” You cling to him as much as your frozen fingers will allow. He’s always a little warmer than you are, and the feeling is pleasant. As pleasant as his scent is. So naturally, you press closer to him.

“We’ll go to the mead hall.” Azriel explains. “No one will be there now, but the hearths will still be warm. We can spend the night there, and I’ll fly you home in the morning when your father has left for the forge.”

The mead hall is where the Illyrian families across the camp congregate almost nightly to eat their dinner and learn of camp news. It mostly becomes an unpleasant atmosphere, with the males drinking too much and at least one fight certain to break out. You try to attend as little as possible, opting to eat your meals elsewhere, usually in the company of your friends, but your father sometimes insists that you accompany him and drag his drunken ass back home afterwards.

At this time of night, though, the brutes will have been long kicked out and sent home. The cooks will have followed soon after, and the only remaining presence in the long hall is the heat that filled the place. The mere thought of it is a mouthwatering one.

Unsurprisingly, it’s locked, and unsurprisingly, Azriel and his shadows get the door open as if it isn’t. He places you down in the entrance, and you’re immediately heading through to the mammoth dining hall, the warmth breathing out at you and thawing your frozen skin.

Az’s boots thud on the wooden floor after you, leaving little patches of melting snow in his wake. “I’ll get another fire going.”

You hop up onto one of the long wooden tables, first kicking off your sodden shoes and then stuffing your socks into them. You wiggle your toes, trying to generate some warmth into your pinkened feet.

You watch Azriel from across the room. The strands of his dark hair are damp and falling into his eyes, his skin cold-bitten. Sometimes, in moments like these, it stuns you how beautiful your closest friend is. You suppose it’s easy to forget, sometimes, when you’ve known somebody for so long; easy to become desensitised to their beauty. But looking at him like this, you’re sure he must have a whole line of suitors — both female and male — vying for his attention. Even if it’s something he never talks about.

To you, he’s just Az. And you can’t help snorting quietly as he so predictably scoops your shoes and socks up and places them by the fire he has lit.

A mother hen, truly.

“You should start to warm up any second.” He says, traipsing back over to where you’re sat. He slots himself between your legs, and his warmed hands cup your face. “I’m going to buy you a new pair of boots.”

“No you’re not.” You immediately quip, narrowing your eyes up at him. “I’ll buy them when my father chooses to pay me.”

You know it ticks him off — he, like the other adult males, gets a semi-decent wage for his commitment to the Illyrian army, the hours of training he puts in. You, on the other hand, might spend hours — days — helping out in your father’s forge, using the skills you’ve observed from him, and you’ll still only see the flash of a coin on a rare day that he decides he tolerates having a daughter, and that you’re not so bad, after all.

Hence why Azriel can afford a pair of boots, and you can’t. But you’ll not take his money.

So, you change the subject, relaxing into the pleasant sensation of his shadows tickling your skin, warming you. “Why would you fuck it up?”

Azriel’s face turns blank. “What?”

“You said you don’t want to fuck up kissing Kaeda. Why do you think you would?”

He stares back at you for a beat. And then his cheeks darken imperceptibly — nothing to do with the cold.

It surprises you. Az can be coy; shy, even. He’s the quietest of the three males in your circle. A pensive observer, never having much to say but certainly always having much to think about. And you know he has his insecurities, things that bother him, but he’s mostly sure of himself. Knows his power, his strength.

You’re not quite used to him balking from a subject. Becoming flustered by it.

“Has anyone complained about your technique before?” You cock an eyebrow, already knowing that no, they absolutely haven’t. Azriel has very full, kissable lips — something you’ve observed a couple of times before. In a totally platonic way, of course. Totally.

“I didn’t say that,” he lowers his gaze, “I—”

“Just go for it.” You reach up, pinching his flushed cheek between your fingers. “Jump right in and land one on Kaeda. Impress her with your kissing prowess—”

“You,” he tugs your hand away, “are so annoying—”

“The rest will naturally follow when you have your tongue in her mouth. Trust me. And then you’ll be wondering why you were worried in the first place—”

“Except that I’ve never kissed anybody before.”

Immediately, you fall still.

He may as well have shouted the words, from how loudly they seem to echo through the hall.

You stare up at your dear friend, and you blink. Wait for the punchline. Wait for a teasing grin to tug at the corner of his lips — something that very few people other than you get to witness — and for him to tell you that he’s jesting, and of course he’s kissed somebody before, and done a lot more stuff than that, too. All the stuff. Every bit of it. Over and over again—

“Let’s just drop it.” He murmurs, stepping away. You think you might have offended him with your silence, your surprise.

“Wait.” You blink, grasping hold of his arm. “Just…wait.”

He studies you. “Is it that much of a shock?”

Honestly? Yes, yes, it is. Because how did you not know this? You met Azriel when you were both eleven years old. Nine years ago. You faced puberty together and all the awkward things in between. And while you may not sit and discuss the ins and outs of your respective experiences, you simply assumed that his were progressing and evolving just as yours had. Cauldron, Rhys and Cassian stuck their cocks in different males and females every other week. You supposed you’d merely…grouped Azriel in with such things.

But when you think about it — really, truly think about it — Azriel is the only one of the three males who has never introduced another female to the group; no matter how short or fleeting their presence might be. You can’t pluck from your brain a single name he’s ever mentioned besides Kaeda — and that’s a very recent thing.

You’re still waiting a teeny, tiny, little bit for him to say he’s joking. But his cheeks are redder than ever.

“You’ve never kissed anyone.” You repeat, blinking at him.

He purses his lips. “I haven’t.”

“You’ve never pressed your lips to another person’s—”

“I think we’ve established that, Y/N.” He pivots, turning his back on you. “Just forget it.”

“No, wait, fuck, Az, you know I’m shit with words.” You reach for his hand. “Just…how come? Why have you never kissed anybody?”

His hand is tense in yours. You don’t like it. So many times, you’ve held his hand, felt his fingers fold around yours and your palms warm against each other’s. But he holds it limp, now, barely any weight to it. You give it a gentle squeeze.

He pauses. Then squeezes back.

And it’s then that you realise that’s where the problem lies — his hands. Scars.

“Az,” you sigh softly, tugging him closer to you. “Your hands are beautiful. A part of you, your story. Anyone worth knowing — worth kissing — will think the same.”

And gods, you mean the words with every tiny shred of your spirit and soul. There’s no one on the Mother’s green earth that you love more fiercely than the male in front of you. So kind, despite the hatred that’s been shown to him. So gentle, despite the brutality of your environment. He’s wiped your tears and kept you warm and shared his food and given you a place to sleep when your father has made your life particularly difficult. Platonic soulmates exist, and Azriel is yours.

He turns back to you and keeps hold of your hand. And he chews his bottom lip as he says, “I do know that. I know that not everybody is judgemental. But it’s not just the scars.”

You brush your thumb over the back of his palm. “What else is it?”

“I just simply don’t know…how. Fuck, theoretically, of course I know how kissing works. I’ve seen it more than enough. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be any good at it. I could be awful, for all I know.”

You highly, highly doubt that to be the case. “You just…practice. Until you know what you like. Until you know your technique.”

Hazel eyes study you curiously. “So…you have, then. Practiced.”

It’s rather strange, but a sudden, random slither of guilt presses down on your shoulders. Silly, because Azriel would never begrudge you your experiences — and you’ve had plenty of them, good and bad.

But in that moment, you want nothing more than to be able to tell him that you, too, have never kissed anybody. That you’ve never touched anybody or lain with anybody. That you’re just as inexperienced and clueless as he is.

But that would be a bare-faced lie. And you and Azriel do not lie to each other.

So perhaps it’s the guilt that causes you to blurt out, “Practice on me.”

Azriel blinks at you. His hand slackens in yours. “What?”

And fuck, you’ve said it now. You’re not sure whether or not you even meant to, but you think it’d be more awkward to retract the words than stand by them and ride them out. You square your shoulders. Try to seem sure, confident.

“Practice kissing with me.”

The poor male is completely dumbfounded. “You’re…my friend.”

“Yes, Azriel. That’s why I’m offering. Practice on me, refine your technique, and then you can apply that confidence to Kaeda.”

“Practice…on you…”

“I’m trying really hard not to be offended by the disgust that’s on your face right now.”

“Shit, no, that’s not—”

“You know what? Forget I said that. Dumb idea. Terrible idea. Forget I even mentioned it.”

Az stares at you. And you don’t want to balk from the eye contact, but you also totally want to throw yourself in the fire, because it would burn less than your embarrassment right now.

And then he says, “Is it a serious offer?”

You lift one shoulder into a shrug. “Why not?”

Oh, there are a million fucking reasons why not. The most pressing being that yours and Azriel’s friendship is, perhaps, the most stable thing in your life. Certainly the most precious and treasured. Rocking that is a very bad idea, indeed.

And you think, for a moment, that that’s precisely what Az is going to tell you. He has that look on his face that he usually gets when you’re about to do something stupid. The one where he chews the inside of his cheek and his eyes rove your face.

But then the word leaves him, quiet and a little breathless, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I accept your offer.”

He—damn. You didn’t think this far; suppose you didn’t expect him to actually agree. And yet here he is, agreeing.

Suddenly, you feel like you’ve never kissed anybody, either.

But you’re supposed to be guiding him here. So you sit up straight. Lift your chin. Azriel watches, eyeing you a little like you’re a creature he’s never seen before. The bewilderment on his face squeezes your heart a bit.

“Do you want to do it now?” You ask.

He swallows. And his eyes fall down to your lips before flicking back to meet yours. “I suppose there’s no time like the present.”

And there isn’t. The two of you are here alone, no background noise from Cassian or Rhysand to battle with. It’s just you and Azriel. Your eyes. Your mouths.

You realise you’re still holding his hand, and so you use it to pull him closer to you, slot him back between your legs. You’re certain he’s trembling, and you are, too.

“Just take your time.” You tell him. “Let your body lead. Do what feels natural.”

He gives a stiff nod. And pauses. “And you promise to be honest afterwards? About how it was?”

Your eyes soften. “Always, Az.”

He nods again, and then he’s sucking in a slow, steadying breath. You remain still, allowing him to make the first move, to do whatever he wants.

There’s a pause of heavy silence, and then he dips his head. Kisses you once.

It’s a quick, closed-mouth kiss. Sweet, if not a little stiff and awkward. But you know Azriel is testing the waters, deciding whether he truly wants to do this. If he surmises that he absolutely doesn’t, you’ll stop, say no more about it. You keep still and allow him to decide.

And when he pulls back to study you, you give him a reassuring smile. One that silently communicates, I’m fine, we’re fine, this is fine.

It seems to give him the little boost he needs.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Slowly, he slips his hand out of yours, and you allow him to. You watch as he inches even closer. Moves his hands up to rest at either side of your face.

When he’s cupping your cheeks, his eyes meet yours, and he whispers. “Is this okay?”

You squeeze his forearm once. “It’s fine, Az. Do whatever you feel you want to do. I’ll tell you if I don’t like anything.”

He nods, and his gaze drags down to your lips. You’re still, careful, not moving until he’s ready to. And maybe he’ll not feel ready. Maybe he’ll stop this and pull back and decide it’s a terrible idea—

No.

Azriel’s thumb sweeps over your cheek. And then he leans in and presses his mouth to yours a second time.

This time, it’s different — you can tell straight away.

It starts out slow, his lips exploring yours, moulding to the shape of them. The kiss is a caress on your mouth, and it’s a damn good start. You find yourself leaning into it. Kissing back.

For a split second, you feel Az pause. But then his hand is cupping your cheek firmer, the heat of his palm meeting the heat of your face and making you forget how cold you were only minutes ago. Az’s lips part, and so naturally, yours do the same. You kiss him gladly.

And he’s not bad at all. You’ve kissed far more experienced males with far worse technique. Azriel may be nervous and tentative, but there’s something there, lurking beneath the surface. Something that will grow with the right encouragement, the right amount of confidence.

You…you want to give him both.

But it’s important to remember why you’re doing this. For his sake. So he can comfortably kiss the female he’s interested in.

You part from him momentarily, his breath fanning your lips as you ask him, “Are you doing okay?”

“I am.” There’s a rasp to his voice. “Are you?”

“I’m doing great.”

And you are. The weight of Azriel’s hand on your cheek is surprisingly pleasant. This exploration is new, and it’s thrilling, and it’s nice. It feels…nice.

“Do you want to keep going?” You know what you want to do. “Or would you like to stop? Whatever you want, Az.”

He swallows again. “I want to keep going.”

You nod, and in gentle encouragement, you move your hands to rest at his waist. You must be imagining the slight tremor that wracks through Azriel’s body in that moment. Or perhaps it’s just a coincidence.

There’s no time to think, because he dips his head and catches your lips faster this time. He tilts your head up, applying a little bit of pressure to your mouth. Your lips part, and so do his.

Az’s tongue seems to tease the seam of your lips. And then he slides it into your mouth.

His taste invades you so suddenly, so thoroughly, that you gasp. It’s something rough and smoky. Rugged and pleasant. You can’t think of the exact words as his tongue meets yours, and nor do you care to. All you want to do is reciprocate. Kiss him.

You scoot forward on the table, lifting yourself up slightly to add a touch more fervour to the kiss. Your tongue rolls around Azriel’s, and it’s so damn good, so damn sinful, so damn unexpected.

You’re aware, somewhat, of Azriel’s hand slipping from your cheek and resting at the column of your neck. And he licks at the roof of your mouth, and at your tongue, and somehow at every part of you that has you wanting more. His lips work perfectly with yours, not faltering once.

In that moment, you might forget who you are and what your life story is, but you don’t think you’ll ever forget this — this kiss of pure, salacious, unguarded need. If this is what Azriel kisses like for the first time, you can’t imagine how he could possibly progress. How it could get better than this.

One of you makes a needy little noise — you think it might have come from him, but it lands in your mouth, anyway. And then you’re being yanked closer, and your hands are moving up to tangle within Azriel’s hair, and you’re tugging the strands and pulling him against you and kissing him so desperately that you’re sure you’re going to feel it days, weeks, months from now. Azriel’s fingers knead the back of your neck, and your legs snake around his waist, locking him in.

There’s movement. Natural, pleasant movement — you, him, both of you together, moving and shifting.

You don’t know at which point you’re lying back on the table, or which of you made it happen; but suddenly Azriel is hovering over you, his body flush to yours, too-hot parts of you meeting too-hot parts of him.

The kiss is burning, and needy, and you writhe beneath him, and he writhes on top of you, and he’s pressing against you, and you both groan.

And then Az breaks away.

He doesn’t move far — just rips his lips from yours.

You’re both panting, breathing so hard that your heaving chests touch with every breath. Azriel blinks down at you, and you blink up at him.

And in that moment, you become aware of just how far this has slipped. He’s basically lying on top of you, his body moving with yours. Your scents have changed and combined, and you both know what the earthier, deeper quality to them means.

That you got a little carried away. And this needs to stop — now.

Azriel stares down at you, panting against your mouth as your heart thunders in your ears.

“Fuck.” Is all he says.

azriel tags: @hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @audie-writes @aaronwarnerswifereal @starxqt @lulufairbank @laurzwrites @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden

[a-hazbin-reader]

Can I please request a Vox x Female Childish Reader just like the meme that goes...

Random Imp: Hey! Some dude is jumping going off to the bungee swing backwards!

Vox who was currently talking to the other 2 V's: Hah, What an idiot

Female Reader: I'M GOING OFF THE BUNGEE SWING BACKWARDS!!!

Vox: Oh no...THAT'S MY IDIOT!!!

I'm up for any ask that gives Vox a headache

Vox X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: None?? I think?? Cartoonish scenarios??

Description: ☝️⬆️

You are so goofy and childish and it's one of the reasons Vox actually fell in love with you

It's so refreshing to have someone who's always looking for fun things to do in Hell instead of being miserable or scared

When he first met you, he assumed you were just stupid, watching you run from a group of hungry cannibals while calling it tag

Almost considered leaving you to your fate but something about the way you squealed in excitement as they caught up to you made his heart flip

So he reluctantly saves you and you've become a thorn in his side ever since

A thorn that he's come to love and look forward to seeing every day, often wishing he could just blow off work to spend time with you

Literally does everything you want to do, even at the price of his own pride, that's how whipped Vox is for you

You wanna play the floor is lava?? He's jumping on the nearest piece of furniture and trying to knock you off your perch

You're playing hide and seek?? Fine! Vox is roping in the other V's and he's literally tearing apart everything to find your ass

How tf did you get INSIDE the couch!?!?!

He's in a meeting with the other overlords and you suddenly start a game of Duck Duck Goose, picking him as the goose???

You bet your ass Vox is chasing after you like you owe him money, the others just watching in bewilderment

You start a pillow fight?? He's going to start a pillow WAR

He wants to fucking WIN

Literally adores your childish nature but won't admit it to anyone, no matter how obvious it is

On the other hand...

You fucking stress him out sometimes, getting yourself into the strangest situations

Vox once caught you playing hopscotch with Alastor, winner gets to keep your soul

WHY DID YOU AGREE TO THAT

Relax Voxie~ I won anyways~

You get yourself into a game of musical chairs with a humongous dinosaur demon??

Vox is still having nightmares of you being squashed by that gigantic ass 😒

One of the worst things you've ever done to him is video call him while you're about to do a bungee jump

He was stuck discussing business with the other V's when you suddenly appear on his phone, immediately cheering him up

What could his cute Y/N want now~?

"Hey Voxie~! I'm about to jump off this bridge and do a flip! I want you to watch me!!"

"You're gonna WHAT!?"

Nearly short circuits right then and there, his screen glitching out from the sudden wave of stress

He zaps your way the moment he sees that you're jumping, grabbing the bungee rope and pulling you up with his own two hands

Vox ignores all your whining and pouting over him spoiling your fun, pulling you into his arms and shaking from the adrenaline rush

You are just so confused, you were only having fun...it's his fault for being so busy all the time that you get bored

He's still trying to get his breathing back to normal when he suddenly touches foreheads with you

He squishes your cheeks together and gives you a tired look

"You...are not leaving our bedroom for the rest of the week..."

"Voxie!! That's no fair!!"

I hope this is what you wanted!! I had so much fun writing it!

[misserabella]

rich stress

shane mccutcheon x fem! reader

synoposis; after a contract gone wrong, your wife needs you to feel better.

cw; minors dni!! shane being pissed off, rough sex(?), fingering (r receiving), oral sex (shane receiving), hair pulling, praising, praise kink, hickeys, no use of y/n, scissoring, tit and nipple play, make out sessions, multiple orgasms, implied shower sex…

ugh so imagine just you and shane getting married, and with time, finding your dream house in LA. she had her pockets filled with money, being known as not only the most wanted female stylist, but the own CEO of her brand. now, with millions of salons under her name and stars hitting her up everyday, she couldn’t say no to your puppy eyes when this one ticked all the boxes. anything for her baby.

it had a beautiful front garden yard with fountains and a private yet outdoors pool that had your knees going wild at the thought of the possibility of seeing shane naked on it late at night. swimming. smiling at you in that goddamn way to get you to get out of your clothes and join her too.

it had also an open kitchen and isle, in which you’d spend your sunday nights cooking with shane for your little inside-dates. and the most amazing salon for when you’d invite the others over.

it was so modern yet homey… and private. you liked that. the clear pannels that led to the pool and exterior letting the views of the city light the nights.

shane knew it was a winner when your finally saw the main bedroom. you liked big beds. for obvious reasons. and the bathroom, decorated in marble floors, had this amazing bathroom whirlpool with sights to the skyscrapers. you liked the idea of taking a bath with her after a tiring and stressful long day, and helping her let go of all the stress she underwent once she was completely undressed.

bette obviously bought the two of you lots of art pieces to decorate it with. she had such a beautiful taste. she also bought you some unique pieces of furniture that had you drooling all over yourself since of course shane insisted on screwing them up all by herself. those arms and fingers working so easily yet so hard to make the house you’d bought together your home… anyways, you thanked bette a lot for that.

and when everything was finally accommodated, you knew this was your home.

“you like it baby?” shane had asked, lips on your neck. she was still wearing her suit, ringed hand heavy on your sides.

you sighed against her. “i love it.”

“good to know i make my girl happy.” she’d smiled.

“the happiest.”

-

today her demeanor was completely changed. alice had called you up to tell you that the contract she so hard had been working on for the last 2 months had gone to waste. and that she was mad. you’d gulped. a shiver running down your spine. you knew what a mad shane meant, and your legs were already quivering.

the entrance door banged closed, and you continued with your work in the kitchen, knowing she’d be quick to find you. in less than thirty seconds, there she was, heavy and tense on the door.

“shane, baby…” you tried but she was shutting you up too quickly. her lips were harsh on yours, and you whined when one of her hands came up your chest to grab at one of your tits.

“don’t wanna talk about it.” she lowly muttered against your lips, and you nodded before surrounding her neck with your arms, kissing her once again. you knew what she needed right now.

she pushed you against the wall, free hand pushing inside your panties, since all you were wearing was one of her shirts and your underwear. she groaned when she noticed how wet you already were. too wet to be exacts.

“you have been thinking about this, huh? what? did alice called you to let you know?” you nodded, whimpering when her fingers met your clit. “of course she did. and you knew what would happen once i’d get home. you knew i was gonna fuck you, don’t you baby?” you moaned, one of her slim large fingers now inside your cunt. you blushed at the squelch of your walls opening for her. she scoffed when you nodded. “words.”

“yeah…”

she pushed another finger inside, and your thighs shook. “i’m so fucking mad.” she groaned. “good thing i have my doll to make me feel better, don’t i?” you whimpered. she sucked on your neck, leaving hickeys while she rocked her body against you with each harsh thrust of her fingers. she pulled from one of your thighs so you’d surround her hips, reaching deeper, hitting your g spot over and over again as she curled her fingers.

your back arched, and you cried out her name. she moaned as well when you pulled from her hair. her own hips thrusting against you. her tongue pushed inside your mouth, teeth clashing and lips bruising.

“i’m cumming…” you moaned, and she grunted, keeping the pace and the harshness, bringing you to your orgasm. your jaw fell slack, and she kissed your cheek and chest, her free hand cupping your tits and teasing your nipples. she didn’t stop fucking you with her fingers until you were squirming due to the overstimulation. you watched as she popped her cum soaked fingers inside her mouth, making you whine at the thought of her own slick coating your tongue. “let me help you…” you pleaded, one of your hands cupping her cunt over her pants. she grunted. “please. use me.”

you begged, and soon enough she was pushing you into your bedroom.

“you know what to do.” you nodded, your tongue dampening your lips as shane got rid of her pants while you kneeled in front of the bed. you stared up at her as she pushed her underwear down her thighs, a patch of black hair decorating her mound. she then proceeded to sat down and spread her legs, giving you a perfect view of her glistening pussy and folds. you bit down on your lip, a soft moan leaving your throat at the sight. your palms met her thighs as you got closer. “come on princess. use that pretty mouth of yours, hm?” you complied, dragging your tongue through her folds to collect her sweet slick, making her grunt as you hummed. “yeah. just like that. atta girl.”

she tasted so good…

her fingers dug into your hair, pushing you flush against her cunt as her head fell back, a groan leaving her lips when you eagerly sucked on her clit. she was so pent up and sensitive due to the stress…

she was leaking, already turned on by having had you cumming on her fingers. and now that you were on your knees for her… there was no sight she adored more.

you were eating her out like a starved woman, pants leaving her lips. “so fucking needy…” “tastes good baby? you like eating my pussy?” you nodded, moaning as your tongue plunged inside her hole. “of course you do. you like being used, don’t you?” you moaned. “come on. fuck me. need you to make me feel better.”

you exchanged your fingers with your tongue, pushing inside and making shane moan. she sounded so fucking sweet when she did, eyebrows knitted together and eyes squinted close as her jaw fell slack.

“shit. just like that.”

you sucked on her clit, kissed her folds, steadily thrusted your fingers to pull out of her more moans and grunts. and when you curled them to hit her g spot, she tugged on your locks, pushing you harder against her. she was close. you knew.

“gonna cum. gonna cum all over that pretty face of yours. fuck. gonna make a mess outta you.” you moaned, moving your fingers faster as she humped your face, thighs clenching and squirming as she gushed all over your mouth with a beautiful pornographic moan. your eyes looked at her the moment she fell apart, wanting to take on the sight through your eyelashes. ‘cause she’s looked so fucking perfect every time she came…

you cleaned her up, tasting and drinking up her juices. your chin and lips shone with it. the hand that stood on your hair fell to your cheek, her thumb tugging on your bottom lip. she looked at you with such lust that made you shiver. “come here.” she said, and you were quick to get on your feet and join her on the bed. you straddled her, and eagerly received her tongue inside your mouth, the mix of the two of you tangible. her hands harshly took your ass, tugging on your soaked panties to pull them off. you two were a mess of hands, getting rid of each others clothes in a frenzy. you looked at her tits, her perfect tits, and couldn’t help but latch onto them as her back hit the duvet. shane groaned, her hands, back on your hips, rocking you back and forth against her. you two looked like two animals in heat. humping each other as drool decorated your chins due to how messy you were being.

“need to fuck you.” you nodded, muttering a ‘please’ as she rolled you over until you were the one pinned against the bed. “so fucking pretty…” she groaned, taking you in. with your flushed cheeks and swollen lips, tits slightly bouncing with your heavy breathing. she positioned the two of you so her cunt would hover over yours. you didn’t have to beg twice, ‘cause she was already thrusting against your wetness, clits bumping against the other and making the two of you moan. you were so worked up. “so wet… all of this for eating my pussy, baby?” you nodded. “so cute.” you let out a scream when she harshly thrusted against you, the sound of your slick filling the bedroom. “such a good girl, letting me use her… look at this pussy, hm? soaked wet just for me. isn’t that right princess?” you nodded, and she clicked her tongue. “words.”

“yes, shane. fuck. just for you.” she moaned. she loved it when you called her name. it sounded so sweet falling from your lips…

your hips unconsciously thrusted against hers. you could already feel your orgasm building up. her hands cupped your tits, stimulating your nipples. your moans became more and more loud. letting her now that you were close.

“come on baby. be a good girl cum for me, i know you want to.” just a little praising and you were falling apart, gushing against her cunt as your back arched. just the sight and a couple more thrusts had her groaning as she felt her release hit her, fucking the two of you through it until the overstimulation became too much. she laid beside you, tucking her face on the crook of your shoulder as she pulled you into her arms and you caressed her hair, your fingers lacing through it. “thank you.” she muttered and you kissed her cheek. “i love you, baby.” she said, softly kissing your swollen lips, her thumb drawing circles on your hip.

“i love you too, shane.” you smiled, and kissed her back. the kiss was sweet and slow yet deep, and when she pulled away she asked:

“shower with me?”

you chuckled at the smirk on her lips.

“let’s go.” and yet. you gave in.

-

a/n; my first shane fic!! idk if it’ll get reads since it seems like there are not many shane fics on the app but anyways i love her and had to write about her.

hope y’all like it! :))

[morganski-19]

The One with the Gossip

The group is hanging out at the café, all in different conversations when Jonathan comes into the bar and flops down on the couch. Camera bag sliding off his shoulders.

“When does this place start serving alcohol?” he groans.

“In about thirty minutes,” Nancy starts, “are you ok?”

Argyle trades places with Robin, sitting next Jonathan. “That bad?”

Jonathan nods, widening his eyes. “Messiest wedding I have worked months. There were so many things and they just piled on top of each other. The amount of bridesmaids and groomsmen that had previously slept together and didn’t know about it was insane.”

Steve and Eddie turn their heads at the same time. “What now,” Eddie says intrigued.

“I love messy shit I’m not apart of,” Steve mutters under his breath.

“It was crazy,” Jonathan sits up, turning toward Steve and Eddie at the side table. “And it all started for the most stupid reason. The guys apparently had a bet when to see how many of the bridesmaids they could sleep with. And the girls didn’t know about it, and a few of them fell with their ‘charms’ and were none the wiser. Until, one of the groomsmen said who won in their speech.”

“Holy shit,” Robin says with a sip of her tea.

Eddie winces. “That is such a dick move.”

“How likely was it that they were part of those fraternities that just liked to terrorize people,” Steve asks. Having almost accidently joined one of these fraternities when he was in college.

Jonathan nods with disgust. “That only scratches the surface. The best man had won, having slept with six out of the seven bridesmaids, and he was engaged to the maid of honor.”

Everyone winces with disgust.

“Not cool, dude,” Argyle says with disappointment. “So not cool. How can people do this to other people. And think that they can get away with it.”

“Because they’re inconsiderate assholes,” Steve says at the same the same time Eddie says “They’re disgusting bags of shit.” They high five each other.

Jonathan lets out a long breath. “And I’m not done yet. It gets worse.”

“Oh my god, how,” Nancy questions.

Argyle stands. “I’ll be right back, continue without me.” He walks over to the bar and starts to talk to the barista.

“He got bonus points for sleeping with the bride. And the second-place winner, was the groom.”

“Holy shit,” everyone says in unison.

Jonathan nods with wide eyes. “And the groom got a bonus point for sleeping with his future mother in law.”

They were too stunned to speak, just letting the silence fill that moment. Argyle returns with a cup of something and places it in Jonathan’s hands.

“What did I miss?” he asks, looking at them all super confused. “Are you guys broken?”

Steve shakes his head, trying to wrap his head around what was just said. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.”

“And this is coming from someone who has actually slept with one of his frat bro’s moms,” Robin interjects.

“On accident. And she was his stepmom, that was much younger than his dad, well after I was in college. He doesn’t know, it’s fine.”

“Did that cause another sex ban?” Eddie asks.

Steve laughs. “No, that’s when the figured out that the previous sex ban wasn’t working.”

Jonathan takes a sip of the drink Argyle gave him. “Jesus, that’s strong. Did you bribe them or something?”

“Something like that. Seriously though, what did I miss?”

“Groom slept with the future mother-in-law,” Robin fills in, Argyle winces. “What is with people?”

Jonathan shrugs. “Don’t know. But it was a big wedding that they are not getting a refund for. And I still got cake, well what was left of it.”

Eddie leans forward. “What was left of it?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan nods. “Speeches were right before cake, so the bride took the entire top layer and slammed it over the groom’s head. Followed by the maid of honor taking two giant handfuls and shoving it into the best man’s face. Arguments broke out and all that shit. I stayed back to help clean up.”

“Had they signed the marriage certificate yet?” Nancy asks.

Jonathan sighs. “No clue, don’t care. It’s over and I got paid. A lot. This was not a cheap wedding. Oh right,” Jonathan reaches down into his bag and grabs a takeout container, handing it to Argyle. “Saved you a piece of cake.”

Argyle takes it, opening it and starting to eat it. Nodding his head in appreciation.

The rest of the group looks at Jonathan. “Where’s our cake?” Robin asks, a little hurt.

“You don’t live with me, you don’t get cake.”

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