#don't mind me i'm just spewing words

[welcometoteyvat]

furina albedo scaramouche all speedrunning the "complex relationship with their creators, humanity, and "godhood" " challenge (with varying degrees of success)

[blackjackkent]

Slowly discovering the freeing power of the words "I know this is bad but I'll fix it in editing."

[tio-trile]

This is about GOS2 but not quite -just wanted to tell you how refreshing (and calming) it is to see someone dislike something, or disagree with something, or someone (Neil, in this case) while being completely polite and respectful to people who do like it (the show, the ship, this season specifically, whatever) and not doing personal attacks or being insulting or downright hostile or aggressive. Just... Liking what you like, not liking what you don't like, and being in your own "bubble" so to speak. I adore the first season, and some moments in this one (not the season in general), and I've had to see and start avoiding absolutely wild stuff since 2019, from haughty superiority from book first fans calling people who liked the show absolute idiots, people directly attacking fanwork creators or even Tennant, Sheen and Gaiman themselves, to even worse stuff I'd rather not think about. As you can probably already imagine, that specific kind of dumpster fire has only gotten worse since the release of S2.

My take on fandom has always been to enjoy what you enjoy and ignore the rest unless it's something serious with real-world implications or consequences. It's always stressed me out how people can get, to the point that for several years I stopped engaging with fandom entirely, and I just wanted to say this, I guess, because it's been a breath of fresh air. I wish more people engaged with fictional material and fandom the way you do. Cheers, hope you have nice day and that this wasn't too weird of a message to get

This is really beautifully put, thank you for the nice message! Yeah all-in-all, these are just a show/a book/content made for people's entertainment, and there's absolutely no reason to get to the point of attacking the cast and crew or fans personally.

[monamipencil]

— choking hazard | h.js

⋆ pairings; joshua x fem! reader ⋆ genre; smut, fluff, humor, friends to lovers (?) ⋆ w.c; 3.7k+ ⋆ warnings; intoxication (liquor), mention of walking in on chan, josh is lovingly annoying, big dick! josh, tipsy sex, oral (m. receiving), face-fucking, unprotected sex (she's on pills), reader can be picked up, rough sex, creampie ⋆ a/n; im thankful for @nonuify, @chwepen, @okiedokrie and @whipped-for-kpop-fics for collectively losing it with me while talking about big dick! josh. without them, this wouldn't have been posted lol. xoxo, enjoy <3

“i don't believe a single shit that you just spewed.”

you scoff at your close friend seated on the camping chair adjacent to yours.

“hey, i'm just saying the truth.” Joshua defends himself with a shrug. his smile looks almost angelic under the glistening cascades of moonlight and the dying campfire.

almost is the key word. because there's a glint of something else lurking underneath his dilated pupils. he takes a sip from the canned beer, and a few drops trickle down his chin. he wipes it off with his sleeve.

“your dick is a choking hazard? and a girl you slept with, told her friends that?”

“yep, that's right.” he hides his smirk behind the beer can. it seems that the liquor in your system is doing tricks on you as you watch his eyes dip down to the exposed skin of your collarbones.

you can’t help but laugh at his affirmation. your cheeks puff up, and your eyes crinkle as you do so. Joshua loves your laughter, and it makes him laugh as well. but he can only tongue his cheek now, watching you keel over with laughter. 

“i’m sorry, Josh. that’s the most out-of-pocket shit someone could say.” you take a breather and try to calm down. “how did we land on the topic of cock, again?” 

it’s almost midnight. most of your friends have fallen asleep or are in their tents, scrolling through their phones. which leaves you and Joshua outside, watching the fire trickle down to embers and drinking the last cans of beer till you both pass out. 

but somehow, the conversation has changed lanes to your friend’s diabolical cock size. 

“because you told me that you walked in on Chan jerking off and didn’t expect him to be ‘oh so huge!’” he mimics your voice, and you slap his shoulder while he laughs. 

“well, i still don’t believe you. so,” you blow a raspberry at him and turn away to look at the sky. you are barely tipsy but feel light-headed because of the long hike and how spent your body is. the last thing you want on your mind is Joshua’s cock. 

but it’s safe to say that you’re intrigued. 

“you don’t have to,” his voice echoes with a strum of his guitar. he must’ve picked it up again. but you don’t look at him. especially not with the way you’re all hot and bothered right now. 

“you just have to see it.” you choke on your saliva and make the mistake of turning your head. he has shifted closer to you, his hair tickles your cheeks, and you see his eyes trained on your lips. 

“calm down, player.” you huff and back off. but it’s you who needs to calm down. joshua appears very calm and collected with his sweet smile and shit. but you’re not buying any of that. 

“player?” his voice raises a pitch before he chuckles with a husky timbre. and his low voice sends shivers down your spine straight to your core. you tighten your thighs and wish that he doesn't notice it. 

“hey, it's not my fault people mistake my kindness for something more.”

“kindness? oh forgive me for not knowing that making out with every girl is an act of kindness.” 

“you sound like you’re jealous.” 

he whispers into your ear. and you notice his closeness only now. his knee presses into yours as he manspreads, and he leans into your frame. the smell of beer and his signature scent hits your nose, forcing you to take a deep breath of fresh air. 

in your moment of silence, Joshua confirms his answer. “so you are jealous.” 

you don’t answer and shift in your chair, trying not to cast your gaze on his thighs. or, more specifically, his cock. which you’re pretty sure would be visible against the tightness of his pants. 

“uhh, i’m going to hit the bed. you should too.” that’s all you offer while walking away as fast as possible.

the path to your cabin is short, and you sigh, feeling stupid. obviously, he’s just playing. you’d have a hard time listing the girls he has not kissed because of the lack of them. maybe dares don’t count, but it’s still a blasphemous amount. 

entering the cabin, you immediately take off your counselor shirt and toss it on your bed. you go through your bag, trying to find a sweatshirt you could wear.  

“woah, no bra?” 

you yelp in surprise and cover yourself with your hands. you don’t need to turn around to figure out who that is. 

“joshua, can you not fucking knock?!” 

“calm down, this is my cabin too.” 

your heart palpitates when he closes the door and walks towards his bed, which is adjacent to yours. you scramble to wear any piece of cloth you can find and lie down on your bed as soon as possible. 

you don’t hear a single sound from his side, so you turn in the bed to look at him. which adds to your fluster as you find him already looking at you. he doesn’t utter a word, continuing to look at you. you hold eye contact, mesmerized by the deep brown of his eyes. 

“what?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. 

“just curious,” he shakes his head, eyes still gazing deep into yours. 

“about?” 

“how you’d look, trying to take my cock in.”

your mouth runs dry and you lick your lips, still not breaking eye contact. a fuzzy warm feeling pools in your stomach and your hard nipples graze against the material of your shirt. you sit up, done with this game of push and pull. 

he follows suit, watching you walk towards him. you offer him no words and kneel on the floor while looking up at him. joshua sucks in a sharp breath, trying to contain himself. his finger grazes against your cheekbones, softly pushing back stray hairs. 

he groans when you press your palm against his boner. he leans back, observing you with a lazy smile. you try not to vocalize your surprise when you confirm that Joshua is not lying. the sheer outline of his cock intimidates you. your nails dig into his thighs, and he snickers at you. 

“scared, honey?” his voice is saccharine, and he looks at you with such adoration. but you know, behind that sweet mask lies something better left undisturbed. 

and you’re treading on the very line that will disturb it. but it doesn’t scare you. it excites you. somehow, the thought of Joshua breaking his demeanor fills your veins with adrenaline. 

more excited than scared. the response lies on the tip of your tongue, and you want to say it. the little liquor in your system gives you a confidence boost. you hook your finger under the waistband of his briefs and pull it down with one smooth pull. 

his cock springs free, and you’re rendered speechless for a second. Joshua’s cock is long and girthy. his pretty pink tip oozes with pearls of precum, and he’s well-groomed. you never thought you’d describe a dick as pretty, but here you are.

you finally find the courage to wrap your hand around his length. you bite your lip, squeezing his cock that lays heavy on your hand. he shudders and sighs at your touch. you lean forward and lick the precum off his tip. 

“fuck,” he curses, carding his hand through his hair. he sounds so hot, and it makes you envy all the girls he’s slept with before. 

you’re still hesitant to wrap your lips around his cock, and he senses it. “want some help?” he offers, and you impatiently nod. 

he chuckles, standing on his feet. you wait patiently on your knees, watching him discard his shirt. 

“you think too much, you know?”

before you can ask him what he means, he slaps his cock on your cheek. any and every thought evaporates from your brain, and you can only focus on how good it feels.

you don't say anything but stare up at him with glassy eyes and an open mouth. he laughs, and a devilish tint lurks behind his irises.

“like getting slapped by my cock?” his other hand holds your nape, and you nod eagerly. you lift your hands to rest them on his thighs and close your eyes.

he tugs your hair, forcing you to look at him. “look at me.”

he slaps his cock on your face again. and again, and again. and again till you're absolutely cock drunk, begging to have him down your throat. he slaps his cock one last time on your face. you whine, digging your nails into his thighs.

he chuckles again, cooing at you. “open your mouth.”

you obey, letting your mouth hang open for him. he teases the tip of his oozing cock by rubbing it on your lower lip. you push out your tongue, causing him to chuckle. he taps his cock on your tongue before pushing the tip in.

you hum in content and suck on his tip, swirling your tongue around it. you tease his slit, tracing it with your tongue. joshua bites his lip, and his eyebrows knit in pleasure.

“fuck,” he groans, a sound that fills your heart with pride.

“gonna go a bit deeper, yeah?” you hum around his cock, and he curses.

he pushes your head down his cock, gently. you open your mouth to accommodate him, but the ache in your jaw stops you. you make a noise, stopping him. he does, waiting for you to adjust to his girth.

his fingers caress the side of your face and your nape, causing you to shiver when he brushes a sensitive spot on your neck. his other hand gently holds back your hair. you look at him, nodding your head.

you feel the ache in your jaw lessen when he pulls out, leaving only the tip in. it's soon taken away as he fills your mouth again. he continues so at a mild pace.

you swirl your tongue around his cock, and suck in your cheeks as much as you can. he goes a bit deeper, and you gag, tears pricking your eyes. he moans shamelessly, his movements a bit lazier now.

he pulls out again, and you gasp for breath. a string of saliva connects your lips to his tip. he slaps his cock on your lip, enjoying the wet feeling and sound. it sends a shiver of pleasure to your core as well, which is now soaking.

your panties stick to your core like a second skin. you're afraid that your arousal would drip down your leg. your cunt clenches around nothing and your hard nipples graze against your shirt. the thought of him fucking you fills you with ecstasy.

with your newfound enthusiasm, you move forward, taking his tip between your lips. you maintain eye contact as you do so. you bob your head up and down, gagging at times as you do so. your nails graze the back of his thighs in a pleasurable manner.

“oh god,” he stops your movements, taking a deep breath to compose himself. his abs strain and a few veins pop up at his neck.

“just—just tap my thighs thrice if it's too much, ok?” you blink and nod at him. you relax your jaw and wait for him.

even though you prepare yourself, it still takes you by surprise. he pushes his cock inside in one go and holds your head. you gag and choke, feeling tears stream down your face and drool down your chin.

his hand grips the back of your head, and you feel him twitch in your mouth. your nose brushes against his pelvis and your lips touch the base of his cock.

he feels heavy in your mouth, and you choke on him again, more tears falling from your eyes. he pulls out with ease, and you cough and breathe as much as you can.

you look like an absolute mess right now, a heavenly mess, Joshua thinks. with tears and drool coating your face, your lips swollen, and god, the fucking way you're looking at him.

“think i'm a choking hazard, yet?”

you laugh, but it's cut off when your throat hurts. he giggles and apologizes sheepishly.

“so? should i cum inside your mouth, or?” he teases.

“fuck me, please.”

he curses under his breath, pulling you up to crash his lips against yours. you fall on his bed with him hovering over you. his lips are gentle at first, but the kiss turns deep. his tongue glides over yours, and he kisses you deeply. the ache between your legs grows as you feel his tongue slide over the places his cock was touching a few seconds ago.

his hand wraps around your neck gently, and he squeezes the side occasionally. he pulls away, gasping for air. his chest is pressed to yours, and you feel his heart hammering the way yours does.

his cock grazes against the skin of your thighs, heightening your arousal. “joshua, please fuck me, already.” you whine, nails scratching his back.

“so impatient,” he smiles, kissing your forehead.

he helps remove your shirt and groans at the sight of your hardened nipples. his hands fly to your chest to fondle and squeeze your breasts. he rolls the bud between his fingers and flicks them gently.

he glides his hand down your waist till he finds the hem of your shorts and pulls it down. you relax on his bed with a sigh. it feels so erotic to spread your legs in front of someone you deem a good friend. not to mention that you were choking on said friend's cock a few minutes ago.

you don't miss the smirk that plays on his lips as he observes your stained panties. and it makes you shy, causing you to close your legs, but he stops you. his hands resting on your inner thigh to spread your legs out.

he slowly removes the only clothing left on your body. the arousal sticks to your panty as he peels it off you. he tosses the cloth away and massages your inner thighs, slowly working up his way to your folds.

his fingers prod between your folds, rubbing them up and down and feeling the wetness of your soaking cunt. his thumb brushes your clit, and you fold your legs, bringing them closer to your chest.

he circles your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body. he leans down to kiss your cunt, and lick the arousal dripping down it.

“not now,” you push his head away, way too eager to take his cock. he kisses your folds before finally pulling away. he looks up at you, smiling softly, but you don’t miss the mischief swirling in his eyes. he kisses your lips again, hands wandering down your body. 

his cock presses on your thighs, and you whimper, almost begging for him. “we don’t have condoms, though. is that fine?”

“yes, i’m on pills.” you say in a nasal tone, your own hands discovering his body. 

“and as long as you don’t have any virus, i’m fine.” you finish, looking at him dead in the eye. he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “i kiss, ok? i don’t get dirty as often.” 

“if you say so,” you sing, pulling him closer and pressing your chest to his. 

“fuck.” he whispers, slotting his lips on yours.  

he breaks the kiss and rubs your thighs. he adores you with his eyes before moving away to align himself to your entrance. he rubs his tip on your folds, and you gasp. “this is gonna hurt a bit,”

and god does it fucking hurt. you have seen guys with his length before, but the girth takes your breath away. you moan with a moan to your eyes and curl to your toes. joshua rubs your nub to distract you from the pain. his other hand strokes your thigh and stomach gently. 

when you seem accommodated enough, he pushes in further. and he does so till he’s deep inside you. it takes everything in him not to push it in one go. the wet warmth of your walls makes him lose his mind, and your clenching doesn’t help either. 

he takes a firm hold of your hips and presses his hand flat on your tummy. he feels his cock through you, and it makes him moan with a bite to his lips. he rests his hand on either side of your head. “wrap your legs around me,” you quickly obey. 

who knew you’d become such a mindless slut for Joshua’s cock? and who could even blame you? his cock stretches your walls with a delicious pain. and you can’t help but clench around him, sucking him in further and further. your hole flutters around his cock, and you’re more than pleased to see the effect you have on him. 

you play with your nipples as he prepares to pull away. he looks at your hands before slapping them away, “tch, bad girl.” 

he pulls out, except for his tip, and you immediately feel empty. he guides his cock inside you again, and you moan when he stretches you out again. he sighs before pulling out again. this time, he snaps his hips to yours in a quick motion. 

he pauses to observe your reaction. “fuck!” you yell, your abdomen fluttering with the deep breaths you take. he takes it as a sign to continue. he snaps his hips again with a vigor he hasn’t shown previously. his moans sync with yours as he continues to thrust in and out of your cunt.

your hands fly to wrap around his strong shoulders as the bed beneath you trembles with his thrusts. his cock drives into your cunt, filling you to the brim. but he’s careful to not hurt you, ending up using only half of his length. 

he undoes your legs around him and shifts to stand on the floor. he pulls you with him, and you yelp. “shh, don’t want them to find out what we’re doing, do you?” he places his forefinger on your lips and caresses your cheek. 

“don’t care,” you whisper, and it takes him by surprise. the change in your behavior fuels him to only fuck you harder. he grips your hips, using them to maneuver your movements. he eases in, filling you entirely, and pulls out, only to slam his cock back in. 

“fuck, see that?” he asks, interrupting your moans and whines. you lift your head, looking at his cock stretch you out. but that’s not what he’s talking about. he slams back in, and you see a bulge in your stomach. you gasp, your walls fluttering at the sight of the bulge. 

joshua fucks you harder, focusing his eyes on the bulge, and your clenching drives him over the edge. he looks up to find you focusing on the bulge as well. one of his hands finds your face, squeezing your cheeks together. 

he leans in, kissing your puckered lips harshly. his thrust only turns rougher with each passing second. the sound of skin slapping, your whimpers mixed in with his moans, and the distinct creak of the bed serve as a drug for Joshua. he picks you up, and you wrap your arms and legs around him in instinct.

you cling to him as he fucks you in the air. you don’t even have time to be impressed by his strength because his cock occupies every space in your mind. his cock screws into your cunt, harder and harder each time. you whine, nails digging into his shoulders. 

his thrusts turn erratic, hips stuttering desperately to meet yours. he gasps, and his cock twitches with the need to release. fuck, he needs to come inside you. the mere idea of it drives him to fuck you with more strength. 

your moans get louder, surely to catch the attention of bypassers outside the cabin. his gasps and moans make you look at him. his head is thrown back, and he fucks you mindlessly. his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, and you’re overcome with the need to mark it. a sheen of sweat coats his body, and the light shimmers off it, making him look heavenly. 

he pulls you closer, pressing his chest to yours. he shifts one of his hands to hold your weight, grabbing your ass, and the other wraps around your upper back. you grind your hips, chasing some friction. he groans, tongue darting out to meet yours. 

you eagerly welcome his tongue, tilting your head to kiss him deeply. your moans are swallowed by him, and both his hands now grip your ass. he kneads them in his hands, fucking you faster each time you clench around him. 

“fuck! fuck!” he curses, hips stuttering to meet yours. your toes curl, and you scratch his back, biting his shoulder to quiet down your screams. you clench around him one last time and climax on his cock. 

with a final thrust, he succumbs to his pleasure, releasing his load inside of you. you moan in unison, and he rushes to place you on the bed. he falls on top of you, cock still planted deep inside your cunt. he twitches, releasing the last of his load inside of you. 

he doesn’t pull out, opting to stay inside you as he rests his forehead on yours. your legs tremble, and you take frequent breaths to calm down from the high.

“believe me, now?” your eyes are closed, but you can feel his smirk. you kiss him to shut him up, not wanting to hear his bragging.

with a kiss on your forehead, he pulls out. you hiss, your cunt feels empty, and you almost whine for him to put it back in. he falls to your side on the bed. you both lay breathless and stare up at the ceiling.

your legs and your core feel sore. a sigh leaves your lips, knowing you can't walk tomorrow without looking like a duckling.

“i'm calling in sick, tomorrow.” you inform your—what is he to you now, anyway?

his hand caresses your legs and sides as he cuddles up next to you. you snuggle into his warmth, slumber filling your veins.

“that bad?” you're too tired to retort his teasing.

“yeah. turns out your cock isn't just a choking hazard, it's also a health hazard.”

his laughter echoes through the walls of your cabin, and he hugs you tighter. you fall asleep with a smile on your face.

tags; @seungkwanschicken @aaa-sia @dokyeomkyeom @bangantokchy

@asyre @armycarat2612 @bewoyewo @gyuguys @embrace-themagic

@aaniag @nurihihi (send an ask to be on the taglist!)

[gothicprep]

i've been meaning to write something for a while now about how misinformation is not a partisan issue, it's just an issue in general. i was mulling over writing something about how infowars waterboards statistics into saying whatever alex jones wants – i'll still probably do that in the future – but it's not something that exactly supports my thesis here.

but, lucky me, i had a perfect example fall into my lap this week.

so, was andrew tate taken into custody over twitter beef with greta thunberg? the short answer is "no" but i'll elaborate.

here's the primary romanian news report about the cops taking the tate brothers into custody. the way that this has been reported in US news media has basically been that a pizza box in andrew tate's video response to thunberg helped romanian authorities confirm his location. here's a daily beast article that insinuates this:

In a video rant he uploaded to Twitter, in which he smoked a cigar and tried to brush off the online spat, he unwittingly displayed a pizza box from a local pizza chain—alerting authorities looking for him to his presence in the country.

here's the problem with that, though – none of the romanian journalists who reported on this story said anything about the pizza box thing. there's also a huge problem with these stories just... citing each other.

if you dig through the citation loop long enough, you end on this daily star article that cites tweets (jurnelism!) from, of course, alejandra caraballo

According to Alejandra Caraballo, a writer and clinical instructor posting on Twitter: “Romanian authorities needed proof that Andrew Tate was in the country so they reportedly used his social media posts.

(as an aside, if you follow her on twt, i'd heavily recommend against doing that. she spews bullshit like her life depends on it and i think this is inexcusable.)

these are caraballo's tweets in question:

the source for this is the romanian article i linked to earlier in this post. it doesn't say any of this. at least, the english translated version of it doesn't. for what it's worth, i'm not a romanian speaker, and i don't have any benchmark for judging if google's translation service is missing linguistic nuances. here's what it actually says:

Sources close to the investigation stated, for Gândul , that shortly after the completion of the computer expertise, the authorities waited for the right moment to catch the Tate brothers, who were always out of the country.

After seeing, including on social networks, that they were together in Romania, the DIICOT prosecutors mobilized the special troops of the Gendarmerie and descended, by force, on their villa in Pipera, but also on other addresses.

it's also probably worth pointing out that tate's villa was previously searched in april. while the article does say that social media was used to help confirm their location, it doesn't say anything about pizza boxes. and, like, given that tate is a prolific social media poster and was tweeting out videos of romania on sunday, i think it's safe to assume they had a wealth of other information to go off.

and if you don't want to take my word for it, nyt and wapo both reported that the spokesperson for the romanian prosecutor presiding over the case denied the pizza box thing:

Speculation online centered on whether a distinctive pizza box featured in one of Mr. Tate’s tweets to Ms. Thunberg had helped lead the authorities to him, but Ramona Bolla, a spokeswoman for the Directorate for the Investigation of Organized Crime and Terrorism, told The New York Times on Friday that that was not the case.

anyway, ain't it funny how caraballo's made the fuck up pizza tweet got 76 million views, 97k retweets, and 525k likes, while her appended correction got 78k views, 100 retweets, and 820 likes. her initial "source: my mind" tweet is still up. ain't. it. funny.

[dixonsbrat]

𖥔 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𖥔

summary ; you make coriolanus feel like he's losing control.

pairing ; peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x district!reader

notes ; nothing just a whole bunch of fluff honestly. and i'm not even going to lie... i loved writing this one. i don't think i've written anything as fast as i wrote this bc it truly just flew out of me. this man really has me acting up and i am so here for it.

do not transfer, translate or share my work to any other sites.

coriolanus snow was never one to let himself be vulnerable in the eyes of another, and for as long as you had known him there was one thing you were always certain of, he had to be in control. he depended on it. craved it. the thought alone, of everything slipping from his grasp and not going to plan, made his head swirl and his skin crawl. 

so when he met you, he began to question himself. question everything he had been working for, everything he had been fighting for, as you slowly wiggled your way into his heart. he was taken by you, and that scared him. 

you were a breath of fresh air in his carefully curated world, a burst of colour amidst the struggles of his life. your spontaneity and liveliness enchanted him, capturing his attention and leaving him craving more. he had never felt this way about anything before. 

as you sat there in the beauty of the meadow, a gentle breeze brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of the wildflowers. the sunlight streamed through the canopy of leaves above, painting a warm hue across everything it touched. the tranquillity of it all enveloped you, filling your heart with a sense of contentment.

you and coriolanus were close together on an old picnic blanket you had found, not needing any words to communicate as you took in the peacefulness. his presence alone was enough to make you feel safe and at ease.

you watch on as his fingers trail through the grass, stopping when he comes across a dandelion, and plucks it from its root, “it certainly doesn’t compare to the roses grandma’am grows.”

“some people think of them as weeds, but not me. i think they’re beautiful all the same,” you add, bringing a smile to each of your faces, and take the flower from his hands. “in some ways, i feel just like them; a weed in a world where i should be seen as more.”

coriolanus observes you as you take a closer look at the small flower, appreciating its simple beauty. the yellow, though not as vibrant as a rose, held its own charm. you don’t hold it for long before he takes it back, twirling it with his thumb and forefinger. 

he stares at the flower for a moment before reaching to brush the stem behind your ear, his fingers then lingering as he trails them along the line of your jaw, sending a surge of emotions down your spine. you smile at him, it’s all you could do. if you spoke you weren’t sure what jumbled mess was sure to spew out. 

you bring your hand up to meet his, intertwining your fingers as you lean into his touch. his eyes bore into you, taking you in, appreciating your features under the sunlight. 

“look what you’ve done to me,” he whispers, as if it were some unspoken secret. which, in your case, it was. 

intrigued by his statement, you perk up, “and what exactly is it that i’ve done to you, coriolanus snow?” 

you watch him intently as he opens his mouth to speak, a thought lingering in his mind before he stops and lets his head fall between his shoulders instead. his silence is heavy, lingering in the air between you. you can almost feel the weight of the unspoken words pressing against your skin. 

you reach out tentatively, your hand hovering just inches from his, wanting desperately to bridge the distance but afraid of intruding. the two of you have always shared a deep connection, but something feels different today. something is weighing him down, and you yearn to understand. 

as he continues to fiddle absentmindedly with a blade of grass, you can see that his mind is working overtime. thoughts and feelings swirl like a whirlwind, causing his brow to furrow and his grip on the grass to tighten. 

eventually, he looks up, his eyes filled with a mixture of vulnerability and uncertainty. two things coriolanus liked to keep to himself. 

it’s then that you decide to break the silence. “what’s wrong, my love?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “whatever it is, you don’t have to face it alone, you know.”

he looks at you, gratitude mingling with a wisp of fear in his eyes. whatever it was bothering him, you could see that it was taking its toll, and you simply wanted to take him in your arms and kiss it all away, but you knew that that wouldn’t help. 

“i don’t know what i’m doing anymore,” he finally answers. “i feel like i’m losing track of who i am and what i want, what i’ve always wanted, the longer i’m out here.”

“things can change, coriolanus, and you don’t always have to live up to others' expectations of you. especially, your own. so long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters.” his gaze falls from yours once again, but you refuse to let him suffer in silence anymore. so you reach for him, gathering his face between your fingers and pull him back towards you. “is it really such a bad thing? you get to be here with me.”

“that’s exactly the problem,” he admits, and your breath hitches momentarily as you wait for him to elaborate. “you make me feel like i’m losing control.”

for so long coriolanus had been bound by societal expectations and concerned with maintaining a pristine reputation. he had become so accustomed to a life ruled by rigid schedules and strict rules, never allowing himself to deviate from the norm. 

but with you, everything changed. 

you were afraid to ask, but you knew you had to, for your own piece of mind. “is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”

he reaches to touch your face this time, your hands falling from his, and he pulls you closer towards him until your faces were merely a couple inches apart. “i have never felt so free, and yet, so scared in my life.”

“is that a good thing, or a bad thing?” you ask the question a second time, this time with more hesitancy as your voice shakes slightly. 

“it’s the best thing.” tears well up in your eyes as his words sink in. you never imagined that you could have such a profound impact on someone’s life, let alone someone as lost and conflicted as he was. “you’re my wildflower, and while i might not have been looking for you, i certainly found you where i least expected it.”

he smiles, his hands caressing your cheeks, as your heart thrums loudly in your chest, overjoyed and so full of love. leaning forward, you close the space between you, pressing a tender kiss to his lips, so full of passion that it almost envelopes you completely. 

you had brought coriolanus a sense of newfound freedom, showing him the beauty of embracing life’s uncertainties and every unpredictable moment. your spirit was infectious, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to your untamed soul. 

as he fell deeper in love with you, he realised that his heart yearned for the wildness and unpredictability you offered. he saw the vibrant world through your eyes, letting go of his inhibitions and stepping out of his comfort zone. 

you became his wildflower, a symbol of untamed beauty and unapologetic love. 

as you hold each other close, only pulling away to catch your breath, but not daring to pull away too far, coriolanus runs his thumb across your bottom lip. then, with his voice filled with tenderness and newfound appreciation, he whispers, “my wildflower.”

[catsushizz]

Let Time Pass - S.R

Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Summary: you reminisce about the time when you met Spencer Reid at college and had a night of adventure that you'll never forget, but after that, you never spoke, until Penelope Garcia found your unsent letters and decided to play the savior of your undying love.

Genre: mutual pining, angst if you squint, but mostly fluff

WC: 3.2k

Warning: kissing, cursing, invading private property

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this, actually, guess the rom-com that inspired me to write this. I'll give you a hint, the first movie has "sunrise" in the title and the second movie includes unsent letters with addresses hehe.

---

Summer rain has always been your favorite accompanied by the sound of the patter of the raindrops. You looked outside your window with a faraway look, your glasses now above your hair as you took a break from reading the unsent letters.

Unsent letters you wrote when you were in college, being in love with someone for so long who you're not sure still remembers you can be draining, you've loved him since the first time he acknowledged your presence during class and when he took you out of campus when it was just the two of you.

Love comes in forms and somehow Spencer's was when he first spewed those few words to you when you were talking to your friends but they weren't paying attention so you stopped and just sat there embarrassed.

"Wasn't Centralia a town that is still burning to this day?" He had asked and your eyes held the universe at his question. You got his name, Spencer Reid and that name hasn't left your mind ever since then.

Love comes in forms and yours are letters.

After that night, you never spoke again, he got his Ph.Ds and life got in the way. You're pretty sure he doesn't remember you, and you're sure he's got his way with life now, maybe he settled down and you're still pining for a man who you're not sure still remembers you.

You remembered how the night went with him, you actually talked until sunrise. At first, you walked around campus and then explored the city together. He told you about his mom, his goals, everything he hasn't said to anyone, and you told him about everything, your secrets that you haven't said to your best friend yet.

You sighed as you shook yourself out of your reverie, you looked down at your letter and traced the dust off from your neatly written letter.

the letter was a year old, you used to write letters every day when you first met him but when you graduated you never stopped but it became less frequent as time passed. Now you write one letter every year and put it inside a box but this time you decide to stop, finally stop chasing your fantasies and let life slap you in the face.

You laughed at your ridiculousness then you heard the door creek and your gaze landed on your best friend. "Hi Pen" you smiled at her.

Penelope's gaze landed on the box in your hand "What's that?" She asked.

You rolled your eyes and stood up from your couch engulfing her in a tight hug "Stop being nosy and when did you arrive?"

She groaned at the contact "50 minutes ago" you laughed and let go of her.

"were you stuck in a conversation with Mom?" She nodded and let her gaze drift off to the box again.

"Seriously, is that your box from college? You never let me touch it and can you please let me see it, I'm older than you, in case you forgot" she insisted as she made the gesture of getting it out of your grasp.

You smacked her in her arms and hissed "No, and you'll never touch this, I don't care how old you are" You glared at her but it held no threat.

"Fine, dinner is ready your Mom asked me to get you" she grumbled and you let out a huff of amusement.

Penelope was never nosy when it came to you but it's been years since you've ever been with someone and she had a hunch that the box had something to do with it.

"Go on ahead I'm going to change in the bathroom," Penelope said straight up lying in front of your face. You didn't question it as it seems believable, perks of working with profilers.

You only hummed and you made a mistake by putting the box inside your closet without locking it. As soon as you left Penelope got out of the bathroom and searched for your box which wasn't hard to find.

She made sure you were completely out of sight before opening it, she didn't know what she expected but surely it wasn't this. Her jaw went slack as she read through your letters from when you were in college until last year, some were long and some were short, with dates in the corner of each letter.

Spencer Reid, her Mighty professor, Her boy genius.

You stopped, why did you stop? She thought while she read through the recent content. She had to do something about it, she had to help you.

Penelope breathed in, fixed her hair in the mirror, and got out of the room, pretending as if she hadn't shoved a box inside her bag and invaded her best friend's privacy, she's doing it for you so it can't be that bad right?

You were laughing at something your dad said but stopped when you saw how unsettled Penelope was "Pen what's wrong?" You asked, your voice laced with concern.

Now she felt guilty, she felt like throwing up but this was for you. "Nothing, I- I just uh, need to go I feel like I forgot something at home" she stammered as she made her way to the door.

"What? Let me drive you home" You stood up from your seat, your mom and dad looking between you two with suspicion in their eyes.

"No!" Penelope abruptly exclaimed, her hand flailing around for you to stop, making you and your parents flinch at the volume of her voice.

She cleared her throat and pushed her bag away from sight which didn't go unnoticed by you "I can drive myself and besides I got something to drop off at a friend's house" she chuckled awkwardly.

You hesitantly sat back down and nodded "Okay... Call me when you get home" You smiled at her and she nodded. She didn't change her clothes but you thought none of it, maybe that was the thing that she forgot.

---

Spencer was lounging on his couch when he heard the loudest knock he had ever heard in his entire life. His brows knitted together as he peeped at the peephole of his door before opening it.

"Garcia?" He mumbled while looking at the frantic girl in front of him, if he didn't know any better she would've murdered someone but that was just a silly thought.

Penelope pushed Spencer inside urgently and pushed a box against his chest, he had to balance himself at the force.

"What's this?" He asked, confusion evident on his face. Penelope sighed and she sat down on the couch with her hand on her face.

"Do you remember a girl in college?" She muttered, her voice barely visible but he heard her.

"You need to be more specific than that, Penelope" Spencer said and pursed his lips as he put the box on the table and sat down beside her.

Penelope frowned as she looked at Spencer "A girl who you spoke to once and never heard from ever again" she said, her body fully facing him.

She noticed his expression doesn't change and she groaned "For a person who has an eidetic memory, you're shit at remembering" she grumbled.

Spencer looked offended "What?! You're the one talking about a girl without context, do you know how many people I spoke to at college? 80% of those people-" Penelope clicked her tongue and signaled for him to stop.

She took the box from the table and pushed it back to his chest which made him glare at her, she ignored him.

"Open it" she demanded. Spencer studied her tense figure and the way she was trying to hug herself to make herself feel better.

"I feel like you stole something that isn't yours-" he said but found himself being cut off by Penelope's hissed.

"Stop profiling me and open the damn box" she whined as she stood up from the couch and paced around his apartment.

Spencer shook his head as he finally opened the box. He looked at Penelope in confusion and when he saw it was a bunch of old letters.

"Whose this for?" He questioned.

"For you, obviously! I wouldn't have brought it to you if it weren't addressed to you" she exclaimed.

"But there isn't any address on these" he shuffled through the letters, they were still in the envelopes.

"Just read it!"

"Garcia, you do know you just invaded someone's privacy right?"

"I know, just read it. Please?"

Spencer sighed and nodded his head. He started on the first letter that was technically open and he let his gaze back to Garcia who was now sweating in guilt.

When he opened it, he felt his heart beginning to thump. Garcia watched him carefully as she noticed his expression gradually changed.

Dear, Spencer Reid

Do you remember when you first talked to me? I remember thinking that you're the kind of man I'm willing to put my life at risk for. I'm sure you endured me rambling about the burning town (that is still burning to this day apparently and it's been 7 years since we last spoke)

But what I'm trying to say is, I'm still in love with you, pathetic I know. But I just can't seem to let you go, you're like impossible not to remember and each day I try to forget about you and move past my ability to love so deeply but I can't.

Do you remember when you talked to me about your mom? I was so proud of you for coming up that far for your mom, and when we sneaked in on a bar and actually stole a bottle of wine? I couldn't stop laughing that time. God, I keep recalling that memory.

I shared all of my thoughts with you, spilled all my secrets to you, and at some point we held hands and I was so shocked because you told me you had a thing with germs. Honestly, it made me feel special.

I'm scared that if I see you again you'll think I'm weird and obsessive, which I'm not! I can stomach a rejection and I'll completely leave you alone if you ask me to. I'm just really bad at letting people go you know?

But I won't drag this on for long, you're not gonna see this anyway, and one last thing, I hope you have the best life the universe has to offer. I'll talk to them face to face if they are mean to you.

This will be my last letter, I'm letting you go now. I've been so in love with you that I feel like I'll be stuck in a loophole where life is trying to berate me every time for not saying anything to you, for not congratulating you when you graduated because I was feeling too shy to approach you that day. I wish I had, then maybe we could've talked more and had the time of our lives and maybe a repeat of what we did when we first met.

I'm just hoping life is a little bit gentler with you this time.

Yours truly

The girl who you talked to until sunrise

When he finished reading the letter he was silent for a good 3 minutes, and then he started shuffling through the letters and read them all like a madman. Penelope had to stop herself from stopping him.

God did he remember you, fucking hell he remembers you. You've been on his mind for 8 years. He even found himself in tears, he didn't expect someone to love him this much. Yearn for him like he yearns for you.

Spencer wasn't the type of guy who got over things easily and he had come to accept it as a part of him, the pair of you spoke once yet he can't deny the spark he felt while talking to you. If it were anybody else he would've found a way to get out of the conversation but your voice was addicting and so was your ramble about the old town.

He even went as far as to pretend not to know about the things that happened within that town just so he could hear your voice a little while longer. Your conversation shifted as time passed and Spencer found himself talking about anything really, he even made jokes that you found funny and he couldn't ignore the flutter in his stomach when he saw you smile.

When he saw you under the first light of the day, he felt himself fall in love, even if the time was fleeting his love wasn't, it never was.

Every time he was on death's door, you were always the subject of his memories. He keeps recalling the night when he felt like the universe was in his favor only for it to laugh at his face when he didn't see you again.

"I can help you, she's at the bar right now, she texted me," Penelope said, snapping him back down on earth.

He wiped a stray tear and sniffled "No, it's too late, she stopped writing like a year ago" he muttered and Penelope noticed the pain in his voice.

"Don't be ridiculous, I know her, she could be writing a letter right now as we speak" Penelope laughed.

"At a bar?"

"It was a joke, Spencer. Now let's go get your girl, Prince Charming!" She grinned as she dug through her bag for her keys.

"I don't know... I feel like I'm just digging my own grave, Garcia. I can't bear to hear her say that she doesn't feel the same way anymore" He whispered, his voice small as he avoided Penelope's disapproving look.

"That girl watches rom-coms, Spence. Do you think she'll brush off her feelings that easily? Try watching Serendipity and come back to me and try again but right now we need to hurry" She grabbed his arms and dragged him out of his apartment.

She stopped when they got into her car "Promise me you won't tell her I gave you the letter" she said sternly.

"But how am I supposed to explain why I'm there?" He asked confused.

"You're a genius, figure it out," she said as she buckled her seatbelt.

---

You were sitting in a booth with your friends. After having dinner with your parents, your friends invited you to a bar where you felt inclined to come, but you didn't know how to decline.

The air was suffocating so you excused yourself and got out of the bar. You sigh as your gaze shifts to the sky, Spencer would've pointed you to the constellation that was present right now.

"The one you're looking at right now is Aquila" You whipped your head to the familiar voice and you heard yourself gasp.

Spencer smiled when your eyes met "The brightest star in the constellation is Altair" he said as he began walking towards you.

"There is a story of an old Chinese legend about two stars, Altair and Vega, In the story two people met and fell in love but were separated by the stars" he was now in front of you, his hands in his pajama pocket, he turned red as he realized what he was wearing.

"What are you doing here?" You said, at a loss for words. He looked different but not in a bad way. He looked good. Hot even.

Spencer chuckled awkwardly, he always knew you were beautiful but God, you are gorgeous now.

You averted your gaze when you noticed a figure in the distance then your blood ran cold when you saw Penelope, Spencer noticed.

"Don't be mad at her, she helped me find you" he defended urgently as he grabbed your arms. You knitted your brows together.

"How d- did you two meet?" You stammered.

"We worked together" he rubbed his nape, a nervous tick that you notice.

Spencer was so sure he knew what to say to you but now that you're actually in front of him, he was left speechless.

"I never told her about you- did you read the letters?!" You exclaimed, your hand flying to your mouth in shock.

Spencer looked guilty as he averted his gaze to the ground "Yes..." He trailed off.

"God, you must think I'm crazy" you grumbled as you kept fiddling with the hem of your t-shirt.

"Hey, I don't think you're crazy" he whispered as he cupped your face with his hand "I actually find it endearing that you still think of me to this day, and just so you know you haven't left my mind either" he softly said, his face was so close you could feel his breath hitting your cheeks.

He tucks a stray hair out of your face, his eyes holding adoration as he meets your eyes again "Really?" You whispered.

His eyes darted to your lips and he felt himself subconsciously lick his lips "Yeah" he muttered.

He brushed his lips against yours as if testing the waters and when you fluttered your eyes shut, he kissed you as if he was going to devour you.

He breathed in as he kissed you, a certain longing lingered in the air. He pulled away to take a breath but then you surged forward and connected your lips against him for the second time, his hand on your waist as he pushed you closer against him, your hand snaking its way to the hair on his nape as you tugged him closer making him groaned in the kiss.

He tugged on your bottom lip asking for permission which you granted and he slid his tongue in, you tasted so sweet he found himself starting to get addicted. You were a panting mess when both of you separated, his forehead resting against yours, your eyes still closed as you took deep breaths.

Spencer rubbed his nose against yours affectionately and you giggled "You know you'll be stuck with me for a long time right?" You muttered.

"Make it forever" he grins, he connects his lips back to you but this time it is softer than the first, you kiss him back as you both fall in a rhythm.

When you pulled back he chased your lips and that made you chuckle "I'm still mad at her for stealing my letters" you muttered.

"Don't be, please. She's the reason I get to see you again" he said as he pulled you in a hug, your head resting against his chest as he pressed a kiss on the crown of your head.

"And I can't believe you were about to give up on me" Spencer joked lightly and you poked him on his hip making him jolt in surprise.

"Hey! Not fair, what was I supposed to do?" You whined and he laughed.

"to make it seem fair" he looks down on you as you meet his gaze, still in his warm embrace "I wrote about you in my journal, all my journals are full of you" he smiled.

You gasp "what? Let me read it please? you've read my letters" you pleaded.

He hummed "Nope, come on Penelope's waiting in the car" he said as he leads you to Penelope's car with his hand on your back.

"That's totally unfair, but I will snoop around"

"No, you won't"

"You snooped on my letters without my permission, so it's right that I should too," you said smugly.

"Shouldn't you be doing that to Penelope?"

"Oh yeah, let's do it"

-----

Please interact and reblog my post if you like it, it makes me happy hehe :D

The divider is from @cafekitsune :)

[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

[alastor-simp]

Special Guest🎙🎵 - Alastor x Singer Reader

Whoosh!~ A cool breeze was blowing, giving you goosebumps. Your body was sitting on the railing of your bedroom porch. Just one more inch and you would tumble down. You were gazing at the sky, admiring the crimson red and the black stared orb. Peaceful moments like this were relaxing to you, despite the mast amount of pollution in the air. Heaving a sigh, you continued to gaze at the stars, humming out a song. That humming eventually turned into lyric, and you sang them outloud to yourself:

🎵If you weren't born with it You can buy a couple ornaments Just be sure to read the warning, kids 'Cause pretty soon you'll be bored of it Sexual, hey girl if you wanna feel sexual You can always call up a professional They stick pins in you like a vegetable

Kids forever, kids forever Baby soft skin turns into leather Don't be dramatic it's only some plastic No one will love you if you're unattractive

Oh Mrs. Potato Head tell me Is it true that pain is beauty? Does a new face come with a warranty? Will a pretty face make it better? Oh Mr. Potato Head tell me How did you afford her surgery? Do you swear you'll stay forever Even if her face don't stay together Even if her face don't stay together...🎵

(Song/Lyrics Credit - "Mrs Potato Head" - Melanie Martinez)

As you continued to belt out the lyrics, an ominous shadow appeared behind you, watching you. Soon your song drew to an end. A sound of clapping hands appeared from behind you, making you yelp it fright. Turning your head back, you realized it was Alastor. He was smiling widely like a kid in a candy store. "Bravo, my dear!! What an amazing voice you have!" His feet carried him over to you, standing very close to the railing where you sat. Blushing, you casted your head down: "I'm not that good Al." Hands were placed on your face, pulling it back towards Al. "Don't be harsh on yourself, my dear! That was the best performance I have ever listened to! Why have you been hiding this secret from me?" Alastors hands continued to pinch your cheeks, his crimson eyes gazing at you with excitement. Pushing him back a bit, to leave your cheeks alone, you turned back towards the view. "I always had a fondness for music growing up. It was quite a shock to me when I realized that I could sing. I honestly suspected to sound like nails on a chalkboard when I first tried it out." Chuckling to yourself, you looked back at Al, who was laughing along with you at your explanation. "I imagined later on in my life I would make a career out of it, but I just never got around to doing it."

Alastor continued to gaze at your melancholic expression. He admired how passionate you were about singing. He himself adore music and he could sing as well. It pained him a bit that you never got to pursue your dreams. Leaning his body down, crossing his arms on the railing, he gazed at you, eyes flashing crimson. "Well I must say my dear, I'm already an instant fan! I wouldn't mind you showing off your talent during one of my broadcasts!" Almost falling off the railing in shock, you caught yourself. HE WANTED YOU TO SING DURING HIS RADIO BROADCASTS!!! "Y-you joking right?" Waiting for him to admit that he was joking. He laughed outloud. "Yes Indeedy! The wayward souls in hell would enjoy it very much, including myself!" His words were sincere, no distrust was spewing from his mouth. Twirling your hair with your finger, you looked down. "O-okay, if its alright with you." Alastor jumped back into his normal height, and wrapped his arm around your back, giving you a brief hug. "Excellent my dear! My broadcast starts at 11:00 AM, on the dot! Try to give some thought on what song you wish to perform. See you tomorrow, darling!" He was practically beaming, when he was talking to you. He soon disappeared, melding into a shadow.

It took you a bit to figure out what just happened. Alastor really wanted you to sing at his radio tower. You knew how much he valued his radio broadcasts, so you knew you needed to prepare yourself. Last thing you wanted was ruining the broadcast and upsetting Al. After that interaction with Al, you searched for what song you wanted to sing. Memorizing the lyrics and singing some parts out, making sure your vocal cords could handle it. You went to bed that night, nervous and excited for tomorrow.

**Tomorrow Morning, at 10:50 AM**

Sitting on a chair, you gazed around, taking in every little detail. Both you and Al were inside his radio tower, attached to the hotel. It was a cozy little studio. There was a giant window, looking down at the city. There was a desk and chair adorned with dear horns. A large stag head was mounted on the wall. On top of the large desk, was a set of microphones and buttons. Alastor was pressing a bunch of buttons, making sure everything was set for today's show. It still felt like a dream that you were in this situation right now. Maybe Alastor is a bit of a softie behind that evil radio demon status he holds. Settling down in his chair, he set his microphone cane in front of him, and adjusting yours at the same time. "Its showtime!" he says, smiling like the joker.

"Salutations! Ladies and Gentleman. What a good day to be on the air!" he started his introduction, causing you to smile. "Today's broadcast is a very special one indeed! Today I have a very talented sinner performing for all you people listening in! Allow me to introduce, Y/N!" His hand extended to you, like he was in a play. An applause soundtrack played as well. "U-um Hello everyone!" you stuttered in your speech, mentally cursing yourself for doing so. "HAHAHA! They are a little shy, but don't be fooled. They have a voice so incredible it will knock your socks off! Ready, my dear?" His eyes glanced over to you, making sure you were ok to start. Nodding yes, you took a deep breath, attempting to calm your nerves. Then you started to sing.

(Credit to Annapantsu. Check out her covers. Shes amazing!!!)

🎵Birds flying high You know how I feel Sun in the sky You know how I feel Breeze driftin' on by You know how I feel

It's a new dawn It's a new day It's a new life For me And I'm feeling good I'm feeling good

Fish in the sea You know how I feel River running free You know how I feel Blossom on a tree You know how I feel

It's a new dawn It's a new day It's a new life For me And I'm feeling good

Dragonfly out in the sun, you know what I mean, don't you know Butterflies all havin' fun, you know what I mean Sleep in peace when day is done, that's what I mean And this old world is a new world And a bold world For me For me

Stars when you shine You know how I feel Scent of the pine You know how I feel Oh, freedom is mine And I know how I feel

It's a new dawn It's a new day It's a new life

It's a new dawn It's a new day It's a new life It's a new dawn It's a new day It's a new life It's a new life For me

And I'm feeling good I'm feeling good I feel so good I feel so good🎵

During your whole performance, Alastor was staring at you in shock. Your voice was heavenly!!! Not only did you sound spectacular, but you were singing his favorite genre of music, JAZZ!! Oh how delightful!!! Catching him staring at you, you gave a small wink. Radio screech! His heart starting beating out of his chest at your little action. Getting back into singing, you failed to notice the slight pink in his cheeks after you did that. Soon your performance came to end. "I hope you all enjoyed it." You said into the mic. Looking back at Alastor, you noticed he look slightly off. He was staring at you like a deer in headlights literally. Waving your hand in his face managed to alert him. "Heavens! What an amazing performance that was! Encore! Encore!" His radio staff began to play another applause, causing you to blush. "We will be right back! In the meantime, please enjoy this incredible song, Lets Misbehave by Irving Aaronson!" Alastor pressed a button, letting the song play, and also pressed another to mute his and your mic.

He didn't say a word after he did that. Oh no, did you mess up? He didn't appear upset when you were singing. Your thoughts were interrupted when a set of strong hands grabbed you. It took you a moment to realize that Alastor had brought you into a hug, a tight one at that. "Astonishing performance my dear! You did such an amazing job!!" His arms continued to squeeze you, rocking you back in forth in excitement. Giggling at his actions you returned his hug. The hug lasted longer then you suspected, especially knowing Alastors physical contact condition. "Um Al? You can let go now." Jumping at that, Alastor released you. "Y-yes my dear! Apologies! I had gotten overexcited!" You told him it was fine. Straightening his suit and fixing his hair, he looked back at you again. "Given that adorable smile on your face, I take it you are very satisfied as well!"

Smiling you nodded: "I admit I was very nervous in the beginning, but those feelings went away the minute I started singing. Thank you Alastor!" His eyes were tender, looking back at you. One of his hands grabbed yours, giving it a squeeze. "I'm glad my dear! Would you be opposed to becoming a part of my business? I would very much like to have you as partner during my shows! I can also put in a good word for Mimzy to have you perform at her club! What do you think?" His enthusiasm was exploding like fireworks, it was honestly adorable how giddy he was. Not even wasting a second to think, you squeezed his hand back. "Seems like we got a deal, Alastor!"

~END~

Tagging:

@pepperycookie , @yourdoorisunlocked, @ghostdoodlen , @aceofcards0-0 , @jyoongim , @saturnhas82moons , @unholycheesesnack, @luujjvi, @forbidden-sunlight , @pinkcrystal44 , @veethewriter , @rains-sleeping , @danveration , @demoarah , @cookiekyo , @iiotic , @delectableworm , @91062854-ka , @alastorsgoldie

[ncis-nerd]

Desperate Bunny

Note- Did not proofread. I think I called Nat daddy once but Wanda is daddy, Nat is mommy and Carol is captain.

Ship: Carol Danvers x Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanov x GN!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Degradation, small use of feminine pet names, aftercare, fluff. Reader has a uterus.

About: What happens when y/n is needy and tries to be slick about it? Wanda teaches them a lesson. Fluff and aftercare after!!

Wanda smiled as her fingers brushed along y/n's face. "Awe, is our dumb little puppy needy?" The redhead cooed. Y/n whimpered in response. Carol and Nat huffed. "Of course they are, look how they're just rutting themself on my boot. So pathetic" Carol growled. Y/n desperately rode Carol's once shiny boots, now covered in her sticky wetness. "They're definitely cleaning this later" Carol mumbled to Nat. Carol lifted her boot, causing it to hit y/n's clit. They gasp softly and plead. "Please Carol, please. I need it, please captain-" they spew out. Carol smirks "Captain?" Y/n began to blush in embarrassment, their face turnt tomato red. "Awe our dumb little slut gets flustered so easily" Wanda murmured. "Stupid mutt doesn't even know what they're begging for." Nat hissed.

Y/n continued chasing their high, attempting to get off before anyone could notice. Unfortunately, their act was not subtle and was put to a stop immediately "The dumb whore thinks they can do whatever they please, get off whenever they want. They don't know their body belongs to us and we're the only ones that can bring it pleasure." Nat growled.

Wanda snaked her arms around y/n, lifting up, to her level. "Ladies I think we need to teach our puppy a lesson." Wanda purred, caressing y/n's body. Her arms light as a feather, enough to leave y/n squirming in their place. "Oh yeah? What did you have in mind, baby?" Carol inquired. Pressing a soft kiss against Wanda's lips. Wanda pulled away, and glanced towards Nat, motioning for her to get closer. "I think..." Wanda whispered, dragging the two closer, all y/n could hear were a bunch of hushed voices, they whined, not liking being excluded. "it's okay detka" one of the woman's voices said in a comforting tone. Nat left the room, y/n looked at Wanda confused, scrambling their brain to figure out what the three were planning.

Nat returned with rope and a vibrator in her hands, Carol began to move y/n to the bed. Nat started to tie up y/n and moved closer to their eye. Whispering "if you need to stop at anytime, you can call your safewords. Remind me what they are, my love?" Nat asked, her words tickling against y/n's ear. Y/n, stuck in their thoughts, neglects to hear Nat. "Honey?" Nat pulled away, looked at y/n concerned. This caught y/n's attention, "yes mommy?" Y/n squeaked. "Angel, I asked to hear your safewords." Nat said. "Red if I want to stop completely, Yellow to slow down and green means I'm okay." Y/n spoke. "You're doing great baby, if you need to stop then call red, detka." Nat praised.

Once Nat finished tying up y/n, Wanda turned on the vibrator that was between their legs all the way up. Y/n jerked immediately, squirming and moving all over the bed. "So responsive, so sensitive" Carol noticed. "What's the matter baby, thought you wanted more? Didn't you wanna cum, puppy?" Wanda pouted with fake sympathy and teasing y/n. They nodded in response, "p-please daddy, please- can i cum- gonna cum.." they exclaimed. "Oh..don't worry little one, your daddy decided that since you want to get off so badly, you can cum as much as you want baby." Nat smirked.

A few orgasms later, y/n was realizing what Wanda's true plan was. To make them cum as until they're begging her to stop. Until it's too much. "Have you had enough yet, puppy?" Wanda cooed, going over to y/n and admiring the tears dripping down their face. "So wet, is that for us detka?" Carol mumbled, her hands running all around y/n's soft body. "Of course it is, the whore loves this." Nat purred, latching onto y/n's nipple. Biting it softly and tugging on it. Her tongue circled their breast, coating it in saliva. Nat moved away and flicked the bud with her finger. Y/n groaned softly, arching they back and moving towards their daddy's touch. Nat smirked in response, noticing y/n's little show.

"Did you learn your lesson puppy?" Wanda spoke, moving the vibrator and putting it directly on their clit. Y/n squealed "Daddy, too much!!" They exhaled in a shakily breathe. Wanda continued, for one final orgasm. They felt that rush come over them and whined they still felt the vibrator on them. Wanda let them ride out their high, then turned off the vibrator.

Y/n laid spaced out, sprawled all over the bed. "God look at our little slut." Carol admired. "So pretty, only we can make you this way. Isn't that right baby?" Wanda cooed, not expecting a response as you were entering subspace. Nat began to loosen y/n and left little kisses on her wrists and legs that were previously tied up. Carol went to get water and lotion for their wrists, Wanda put the toys away, to be cleaned up at a later time.

A cold washcloth touched y/n's skin, they whimpered and tried to move away from the cold piece of cloth. "Shh.. it's okay detka. You did so good my love. Let mommy clean you up, hm? No more playing, all done." Wanda whispered, looking at y/n. Admiring the mess they made out of their angel, before cleaning them up. The cloth dragged through y/n's folds, they continued to whine but no longer protested and allowed Wanda to clean them up.

Carol walked in with the water and lotion. She joined y/n on the bed, pulling them into her lap after putting the lotion on them. She held the opened bottle to their mouth "Drink, baby." She murmured. Y/n took large sips. "'M so proud of you my love, ya know that?" Carol praised.

The three woman cuddled y/n. Y/n was in the middle of Wanda and Nat, their head pressed against Wanda's chest, legs intertwined with the redheads' legs. Hands drawing shapes on Wanda's unclothed stomach. Wanda smirked. Carol held Nat, and the four fell asleep.

"Still feeling floaty babes?" Carol spoke in nothing louder than a whisper. Y/n hummed in response, looking around. The bed felt lighter, Wanda and Nat were nowhere to be found. "They went to food babes." Carol spoke, noticing the way y/n was searching the room, scanning their eyes for the pair that were gone. "Wanna watch a movie in the living room, baby?" Y/n nodded against Carol's chest. As Carol stood up, she nodded y/n still laying in the bed. "Cmon babes, get up." Carol spoke. Y/n whined and did grabby hands, reaching for Carol. "Oh? Want me to carry you, bunny?" Carol questioned. Y/n nodded. Carol bent down and lifted y/n, they wrapped their legs around Carol, laying their head on Carol's head. They signed in contempt. "Oh is this more comfortable, bunny?" Carol smirked, carrying them to the living room. Carol put them down on the couch, they whined in response, from the loss of touch. "I'll be right there detka, let me just grab the remote" Carol promised, seeing y/n's distress.

"Want popcorn babes?" Carol spoke, turning on the television. Y/n shook their head and whined, they just wanted Carol. The captain laughed in response and joined them on the cough. "My clingy baby, so cuddly. Like a koala." Carol teased. Y/n hid their face in embarrassment. "Hey, hey. No need to be shy, bunny. Let me see your pretty face. Hm?" Carol cooed, removing y/n's hands from their face. "Ah! There you are, my gorgeous little bunny. What to you wanna watch baby?" Carol asked, scrolling though the list of movies. When scrolling, y/n's favorite movie comes up. Immediately, they point at the screen "Tangled!!" They exclaimed. Carol laughed at this "Oh, so you can speak now? Hmm.. are you pointing at Tom and Jerry? I can't quite tell what you're pointing at. Can you repeat that, bunny? Carol teased, wanting to hear more of their voice. "I said-" They were cut off, being attacked with tickles by Carol. They squealed. "Carol!!", squirming, breathlessly.

Wanda and Nat walked into the house with a brown baggie filled with Chinese takeout. The redhead met the eyes of the green eyed spy and smiled when they heard the voice of y/n laughing. Wanda dropped the baggie on the counter and they went to investigate. They were greeted with the sight of Carol on top of y/n, trapping them beneath her and tickling them. "So this is what you did while we were gone?" Nat teased Carol. "Hey, what could I say? They are just so tickleable!" Carol exclaimed. Wanda sat next to them on the couch "Tickleable? Huh.. Don't think that's a word detka." Wanda spoke, leaving a kiss on the captain's forehead and latching onto y/n's hand. "Hm, how is our bunny doing? You still light or out for subspace, honey?" Nat asked, sitting next to the others. Carol got off of y/n. Giving them some space to answer. "I'm here, I'm back. Still feel a little light though, more cuddly though." Y/n spoke, as their tummy growled. Suddenly, they noticed the smell of low mein and shrimp wontons. "Mm that smells so good.. you got my favorite!" Y/n spoke, happily. "Mhm, only the best for our bunny." Wanda hummed, leading them to the kitchen. The movie long forgotten about.

A/N: If you liked the fic then heart, reblog and comment!! This is not apart of my series inspired by song titles au.

[yelenasdiary]

How about the story of Nat realizing she's pregnant and dealing with it all. Then the day to day life of Nat and her babygirl

Wondering

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Daughter! Reader

Summary: With help from her best friend, Clint, Natasha escapes the control of the Red Room and prepares for a whole new life.

Angst, Comfort.

Warnings: Mentions of Red Room, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Talk, Childbirth | 1.7K

Translations: милый (darling), я люблю тебя, солнышко (I love you, sunshine)

AC: I think this is the perfect request for the first fic of the AU! Thank you for sending this x I hope this helps set a little backstory for Nat.

A Widow’s Sunshine Masterlist

Natasha had been nothing but quiet for the last four days since staying with Clint at his farmhouse. It was a big house for a man who lived alone, Clint assumed that his friend was worried that the widows of the Red Room would find her and take her back but the look in Natasha's eyes told him that was far from her worries.

"Alright, tell me what's going on" Clint spoke as he sat down next to Nat on the sofa. His friend looked at him and sighed lightly, "Nat, come on, you can tell me" he added. Natasha knew the time would come and she would have to talk somewhat about her time in the Red Room. She and Clint have been on the run since she met him, although this was not the first time, she was able to escape, this time was the only time they haven't found her and brought her back. 

"Remember how I was telling you about the graduation ceremony?" Natasha replied, Clint nodded. "Well, I didn't tell you all the stages before it. Before the graduation and after you've completed the program, you're to hav-" Natasha paused, the trauma of her life catching up to her, although she was still young, in her early 20s, she felt she had already lived a lifetime of trauma. Clint placed his hand on top of hers for comfort, "whatever it is Nat, we'll get through it" he assured her. 

"I'm pregnant" the words spewed out. Nat could see the questions flying around Clint's mind and deserved to answer them before he asked. "It's Dreykov's way of getting more widows without getting caught, they inseminate you, you give birth, they take the baby, and you go to what they call recovery which is just them brainwashing you until you have completely forgotten the last 9 months. After that, you go through the graduation ceremony and…well the rest is what you already know" she explained. 

Clint took a moment to process the news he was just told, "do you" He paused unsure if his question would offend his best friend, but it was something he needed to know to be able to help, "do you want to keep the baby?" He asked. Natasha nodded as a soft smile tugged at her lips, "I've done enough bad in the world, and I'll be damned if I let them do the same to my baby. I know this isn't what you expected so I don't expect you keep me here, but I do need a little time to work something out" she replied. 

"Don't be stupid Nat. You can stay here as long as you and the baby need, you're safe here, I promise" Clint spoke sternly, assuring his words got through to his best friend. Natasha hugged him tightly, thanking him for his understanding and kindness and for a moment any worries she currently had were no more. 

----

Pregnancy for Natasha was a whole new chapter that she wasn't prepared for, but she loved every single moment of it. It gave her a sense of normality; she spent her days learning new things that would help her for when her baby would enter the world. Clint helped her along the way, he even began building a small homestead for Natasha to have a little more privacy when her baby was born. It was only a few months into her pregnancy that Clint met Laura. 

Each night Natasha would read you stories from a children's book she would buy from the thrift shop, even though you weren't born yet, the little actions she did while pregnant gave her great comfort and made her even more excited to finally hold you in her arms. She would talk to you about anything she was doing, baking cookies for Clint and Laura? She would be talking you through each step and even asking you questions as if you could actually answer her, sometimes you would kick, and she would take that as an answer. 

Even through all the happiness, joy and excitement there was still worries and fears growing with each day. She was suspicious as to why she'd gone almost her entire pregnancy without even a sighting or feeling that Dreykov was after her. Clint assured her that his farm was a safe place and even offered for Natasha to join the Avengers after you were born, and she felt ready. It was an idea that she spent time thinking about but at the end of the day all she wanted to do was make sure you were happy, healthy and safe.

"Woah there милый" Natasha chuckled, rubbing her hand over her bump, "this isn't the world cup" she added. 

"Kicking a lot today?" Clint asked, taking a sip of his afternoon coffee.

"She hasn't stopped" Nat replied. Clint looked up at her with wide eyes, "she? When did you find out" he asked with a hint of excitement in his voice. Natasha couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips while her hand naturally rubbed her seven-month pregnant stomach, "I didn't need to find out" she replied, "She was always going to be a little girl" she added but she didn't let the faint memory of the Red Room bring out the happiness she had been having with each day you grew. 

Clint got up and hugged Natasha and congratulated her, he could see the sparkle in her eyes for the first time ever, he'd never seen her so happy in the few short years that he had known her. "I wanna show you something" he said, taking her by the hand and walking her out to the small homestead that he had just finished and was waiting until the next day to give her the key. 

"I was going to wait until tomorrow but given the news, maybe you want to start planning out the nursery" Clint smiled. Tears built up in Nat's eyes, "what do you think baby girl?" Natasha whispered as she looked around the empty room, "you can paint it, do whatever you like with it, this is all yours" Clint said.

"You've done so much for us, I can't thank you enough" Natasha turned on her heels and hugged him, "thank you" she whispered. 

Over the last couple months of pregnancy, Natasha was preparing for you to enter this world. She and Clint painted the nursery in a soft pastel green color, she hung a photo from her first ultrasound on the wall above your changing table, baby animal décor stickers were also put on the walls. Clint helped up together all the future and placed it wherever Natasha thought would be best and once the nursery was complete, she couldn't wait to rock you to sleep in her arms in the rocking chair or watch you play with your toys on the purple rug when you would get a little older. 

You entered the big wide world at 5:23am on a Thursday morning, healthy and a little smile that made everybody melt. Natasha didn't want to let you go, she could barely take her eyes off you, even when Clint and Laura came to bring the two of you home, she was nervous as anything when Clint held you. 

"Do we have a name yet for the little one?" a nurse asked, "we really need to get the birth certificate done today" she added. 

Natasha nodded, "Y/n Melina Romanoff" she replied with a soft smile. 

"Melina?" Clint questioned, "I'll tell you later, now give me my baby" the red head replied with a soft smile and arms wide open. 

"A beautiful name, I'll finalise the certificate" the nurse smiled, writing your name on a piece of paper. 

----

Natasha was loving every moment of motherhood, even when she felt like she was going to fall asleep while feeding you and when sometimes she thought it was going to be another sleepless night on the cards but being your mother was the only thing she wanted to do every single day. When you slept, she slept and often Clint would find her asleep in the rocking chair by your crib when he came to check on things. Clint and Laura helped as much as they could, but of course, your mother was head strong and said she was fine with looking after you on her own.

"You look exhausted" Clint said as he placed a small bag of groceries on the counter for Nat. "She just didn't want to sleep last night" she replied, pouring herself a mug of hot coffee and sitting down at the small table in her kitchen. "Why don't Laura and I take her for the night so you can get a decent sleep for once" Clint offered but Natasha shook her head, "it's not that I don't want that, I just hate the idea of not being with her" Nat admitted.

"She'll just be up at house, you need some sleep Nat, you can't keep being supermom on coffee and 3 hours of sleep each day" Clint spoke, worried for his best friend. "Besides, how else am I going to show her how great of an uncle I am if you don't let me do that" he added to lighten the mood. Natasha cocked a brow as she took a sip of her coffee, deep down she knew she had to eventually let her guard down just a little and allow others to help. She just wanted the best for you.

"One night" Natasha replied. 

Clint smiled, "you've got it" 

As the weeks turned to months, things got easier for the new mother, each day you had her in awe. Nat eventually did allow for Clint and Laura to spend more time with you while she had a little me time and caught up on sleep. She loved taking you for walks around the property in your pusher, she loved bath time and hearing your little giggles and of course capturing your sweet smile whenever she played peek-a-boo. 

At night when she would pop her head into your room to check on you, she found herself watching you for minutes on end. Her mind wondering about what life was going to bring for the two of you, what tomorrow would bring. She often wondered what your first words would be, when you would take your first steps and what all your favorite things would be but for now, she wanted nothing more than to just enjoy these early years and learn everything she possibly could about you.

"я люблю тебя, солнышко" your mother whispered as she placed the soft kiss on your forehead.

Taglist: @koinsss | @liloandstitchstan | @marcia-maximoff | @skittlebum | @katethewritersblog | @taliiiaasteria | @nova-kyle | 

If you want to be on the taglist for this series, please see the masterlist. It's linked at the top of this post.

[storywriter007]

You'll Remember Me - Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader

summary: in which y/n suffers the consequences of her and percy's tragic tale

warnings: cursing, heartbreak, character death, betrayal

genre: angst

word count: 869

-> heroes of olympus masterlist

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

send me requests here! (these are my guidelines)

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

as y/n killed the monster, she felt herself get cut on the gut. she fell backwards and placed her hand on her stomach. she stood up shakily, lifting her sword. they were in the middle of a battle, she couldn't die now. she tried to swing, but her attempts were weak. she tried to walk, but her feet dragged. she fell to her knees, clutching her stomach. she looked at the cut that had grazed her abdomen, and realized it wasn't from any blade, it was from a poisonous spike on the monster. she'd been poisoned. she desperately searched the perimeter for someone who could help.

she saw her best friend, swinging rapidly and summoning hurricanes.

"percy!" she yelled.

he looked over, concern washing over his face, but he made no attempt to come her way. annabeth ran up and grabbed his arm.

"percy, this place is falling apart! we need to leave, now!" she yelled.

pieces of the ceiling began to fall as flames erupted. percy stayed in his spot. annabeth said something to him. y/n couldn't figure out what it was, but his gaze softened as he nodded his head. the two of them ran towards the exit. y/n laid on her side as the temperature rose. exhaustion took her over.

he had left her. her best friend, for six years, had left her to die. where was his loyalty now, when she needed it?

but y/n understood he had shown his loyalty. just not to her, to his girlfriend. to annabeth. and now she'd die, because his loyalty was her betrayal.

y/n felt blood spew out of her mouth. she was going out the way she had always wanted to, guns blazing in the middle of a fight that made a difference. it wasn't an unsatisfactory death. suddenly, y/n heard a voice.

"y/n!" the familiar voice called out. "don't give up on me!"

somebody desperately tried to drag her out of the burning building. she felt the concrete graze against her skin as the weak force tried to save her. he pulled her out and laid her in front of the broken building. she was barely alive.

"she doesn't have much time left!" he panicked. "c'mon y/n, just give me five minutes, we're going to get you to the ship and everthing's going to be okay!"

she knew the voice. she knew who it was. it was the boy she'd befriended when he was young. she'd practically been his sister. she knew it was nico di'angelo. he had come back for her. she felt another person kneel down by her. she could she his raven black hair and his sea green eyes.

"what the fuck percy!" nico yelled. "how could you do this! it was just the three of you!"

"i had no choice nico!" he defended.

"liar!" he screamed. "you told me the same thing when my sister died! and, now, now, i'm going to lose the only person who has ever cared about me because of you!"

y/n could tell nico was on the verge of tears.

"please, y/n, don't leave me now." percy pleaded.

"i've loved you a long time, percy. ever since you and i went on our first quest when we were eleven." she said, using her remaining energy to give a confession she should've given a long time ago. "it broke me to see you with annabeth. it still does."

"y/n.."

"you'll live a long time, percy. years without me." she continued. "you'll find camp half-blood strangely void, because when you come to find me, i won't be there."

he looked at her with tears in his sea green eyes. oh, those beautiful eyes.

"you'll remember me. when you see the stars, when you look at our photos, when you see friendship bracelets, when you talk to your mother and she'll ask, 'why don't we go visit y/n? she's only a block away.' always, your heart will be yearning for me." she paused. "and your mind will give you the unconvincing comfort that you had no choice." she spat, bitterly.

he kneeled besides her, speechless.

"nico." she said, lifting her hand up to hold his. she felt weak. "i'm sorry you have to see me like this."

tears fell from his eyes.

"but, i want you to know that i believe in you. i have faith in you. i always have, and i always will." she paused, knowing these were her last words. "you are a hero."

she felt her eyes shut.

"y/n!" nico shook her. "y/n!"

she didn't awake, she felt herself drifting.

"you destroy everything that matters to me!" nico screamed at percy. "you're a fucking monster!"

she felt at peace. she felt as if she was above the cruel world of unfair gods and tortured children.

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

percy sat next to annabeth in his home. the war was over. the demi-gods had won. but at what cost?

"percy." sally called.

"yeah?" he responded.

"why don't we go visit y/n? she's only a block away." sally asked, placing cookies in a box for the first real friend her son had ever made.

✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒✧.⭒

hope you guys liked it :) just had to remind you guys that i am an angst writer

yes i did reference dangerously yours

[eddiemunsons-missingnipple]

It's not so bad? | EM

Pairing: Eddie munson x reader

Summary: You and Eddie have your first very big fight.

Warnings: angst, mention of sex but nothing happens. Slight hurt/comfort towards the end. Mean!Eddie, Eddie calls the reader a bitch and it's alluded that he says worse things, but it's not described. Toxic relationship.

Word count: 1.1k

A/n: probably a little shorter than I wanted. I haven't written anything in over a month, so I'm trying to get back into it again. Divider made by me.

Not proofread 18+ no minors

The trailer was quiet now except for the low hum of Eddie's a/c in the window. You were curled up on his side with your head on his chest. He was fast asleep now, but you couldn't.

Not after what transpired just a few hours ago. Your eyes still burned, and your heart still ached a little. You both said your sorrys, but there was something still lingering inside of you. Even though he was the main one apologizing since you truly did nothing wrong.

The way he screamed at you and got in your face. You never said a word back. You just let him unleash what he had pent up inside him. You tried to walk away, but he just followed you. Spewing hurtful things again and again.

You kept telling yourself it was the alcohol mixed with anger that made him this way. Even though in the back of your mind, it felt like he had been waiting for this opportunity to tell you how he really felt.

The moment his voice kept raising octave after octave and his face flushed red with anger. You knew there was no point in fighting back, so you just took it. Hoping he'd give up and leave you alone. You guys have fought before, but it was nothing like this. You've never been scared of him.

Until he backed you up into a corner and just laid into you. You shrunk down desperately, trying to make yourself as small as possible. The smell of various types of alcohol on his breath filled your nose.

He called you all sorts of names "bitch", "dumb" and various other hurtful insults. He grabbed you roughly by the arm to stop you from leaving and so you were forced to listen to him berate you. Any moment now, you were waiting for the cops to show up. You were sure the neighbors could hear him and would call them.

You didn't know accepting a free drink from a guy at the bar Eddie was performing in would set him off. Apparently, the guy is a long-time rival of his. Someone Eddie seriously hates, and Eddie doesn't usually hate anyone. He dislikes people, yes, but he doesn't hate them.

You noticed something was up when we marched over to you and downed the drink himself. You didn't get a chance to take a small sip of it. He barely even looked your way when he did it. Then the next thing you remember is being pulled to the van, and that's when the shouting started. Each word that came from his mouth was laced with so much venom.

"You're really fucking dumb you know that."

"You're such a bitch I don't even know why I give you the time of day."

"You're lucky someone like me even looked twice at someone like you."

Those lines still rang in your head even now as you're curled up next to him. He did eventually calm down. You guessed once the last bit of alcohol wore off, and he sobered up. Maybe when his voice became horse and he couldn't scream anymore is when he decided to stop.

The moment he was done, his face immediately softened. He wasn't mad anymore, but you were still upset. You still wondered if his voice didn't give out, would he still be yelling at you right now. He tried to pull you to him at first but you resisted.

He shushed you as he rubbed your back, and you eventually caved and melted into his arms. You cried in his chest as he hugged you to him tighter. When you noticed, his body was lightly shaking. You pulled back to see tears streaming down his face.

His voice croaked. "I'm so sorry, baby."

"You know I didn't mean any of that stuff," i said, right?" His voice is soft, and his touch is gentle.

You gave a weak smile "yeah I know you didn't it's okay."

You both stood there in the hallway by his room in eachothers arms for what felt like hours. Neither one of you said a word too tired to even talk it out yet.

You just wanted to sleep, and you wanted to be okay. He always made everything okay, and now it's feels different. You feel embarrassed, and you feel as though something is still lingering in the air.

Like there is more to say, but you're too afraid to ask. Eventually, you both somehow make it to bed. Your mind is groggy, and your anxiety is still high. You can't even remember getting undressed and into bed with him.

You tossed and turned all night long while Eddie was fast asleep. His arm draped around you, keeping you locked in close to him. You remember him wanting to have sex but you rejected him opting to just cuddle instead.

Eddie was fine with that. He seemed a little hurt, but he's never pressured you to do something you didn't want to. You felt guilty for rejecting him. There was just something there that stopped you. This lingering presence that you can't even describe.

You were hoping it would be gone by morning, but you're still sensing it. Maybe it was the lack of communication you were so used to having with him. Maybe it was the mean things he said that somehow confirmed your insecurities. Eddie told you he didn't mean them, but you just couldn't shake that,"What if?"

Now you're just laying here on his chest, counting his heartbeats. The feeling of sadness still consuming you. You want him to wake up and have everything back to normal again. You also don't want him to wake up because you're too embarrassed to face him.

Eddie stirs a bit in his sleep, but he doesn't move away from you. Instead, he manages to pull you closer to him. You can feel him squeeze your hip and give it a light little tap. His eyes slowly open as you pretend to still be sleeping.

You heard him groan a bit and cough, probably from the pain in his throat now. He stretches out, and you can hear the little pops his toes make when he cracks them.

You notice tell he's trying his best not to disturb your sleep. Each movement he makes is thought out and careful as he does it. He's trying his best not to startle you awake. He feels bad about how he treated you earlier tonight, but he's not as remorseful as you think. He loves you so much and didn't ever want to hurt you like this. But he couldn't control his temper with you any longer. The alcohol in his system didn't help either.

Does he regret how he went about it? Yes. Did he feel like this fight was a long time coming? He sure did. Next time, he might try to go about it differently if he ever caught you doing something like that again. He knows he can't control his emotions well, and sadly, this time, you were on the receiving end of his anger.

"I love you so much." Eddie spoke in a very raspy horse whipser. He kissed your temple and very slowly got out of bed. He didn't want to wake you at all.

That little moment is enough reassurance you needed. He does still love you. He didn't mean what he said to you last night. You hear the shower turn on and his muffled voice humming through the thin walls. Slowly but surely, everything felt normal again. Even if you haven't spoken yet.

That uneasy feeling you had before was gone immediately. Well, that's what you're trying to convince yourself anyway. His cracked voice singing from the bathroom as he showers calms your mind. Eventually, sleep finally takes over you, and you know everything is going to be okay.

But maybe not.

The shower turning off grabs your attention. You could hear him slowly creeping back into the bedroom, trying not to wake you up. You're in and out one minute you're calm the next you're not. You think you're fine but are you really? Eddie got right back into bed and pulled you in close again. His arm holding you tight against his chest.

He leans forward, pressing yet another kiss to your temple before whispering, "Stop being sad, sweetheart. You love me, and I love you more."

[heartfullofleeches]

Loser Reader and Melan, my Girlfailer Jester Gal Yan. Loser Reader could give less of a damn about Melan's clumsiness or the bodies that pile up as a result of her blunders and doing what she must to keep her biggest fan around. Their brain kinda short circuits seeing this tall ass jester monster girl and as the established monster fucker in my stories, Loser Reader will let Melan do whatever she pleases as long as she answers the age old question for them.

-

"I-I'm really really sorry about your friend! I was just doing knife practice again and I saw you both walk by and I started to panic and the blade just slipped from my hands and-"

As the freakishly tall woman rambles on, your eyes briefly flicker from the bells dangling from her collar down to the lifeless body of your coworker. Blood drains from hole in his back roughly the length and width of a small throwing dagger seeping the lining of your sneakers. It has to be the saddest part of this ordeal - you really needed those shoes for work tomorrow.

You're more worried about this odd woman than him. It's his own fault for spending the gas money you gave him on cigarettes again. If she keeps on apologizing without paying to take a breath, you'll have two dead bodies to deal with. Does she even need to breathe? She doesn't exactly look all that human now that you've gotten a better look at her.... Some type of clown....or jester. It's probably nothing, but her appearance coupled with her height leads you to believe otherwise. Did you genuinely happen to stumble across a jester girl throwing daggers at a wall past midnight? Your thoughts begin to wander away as you stand there. A process some unfamiliar with your way of being might find troubling if they happen to catch ear of what your mind spews out.

"Do they....honk?..."

In the midst of tripping over her own words, the sudden slip of your tongue nearly sends the woman tumbling over oversized ends of her sleeves. She stands upright, balancing her weight on trembling legs as she mutters a meek. "Does..what honk?"

Crap, did you say that outloud? "Hm? Oh, nothing... I was just thinking of some thing I heard about clowns. I can see you're more of a jester, but that falls under the same number right?"

The woman stares down at her shoes. You think so, anyway - it's hard to tell where she's looking with her hat blocking fourty percent of her face. "I...I guess? If you're talking about my nose then uh it does... sometimes"

"I was talking about your chest."

You could've sworn she popped a blood vessel from how her pale face turned tomato red.

"You.... HUH?"

You raise your hands in defense, however your guilt ends there. "Sorry! My brain has a mind of its own. If it makes you feel better, I say dumb shit all the time. If it clears up my mistake entirely, you were pretty sharp with that knife throwing."

The blush of her face dims. Less fiery and more...warm. "You .. you really think so?"

"Yeah. You could probably even avoid casualties if you lift that hat off your eyes.... Listen, I really don't want to be around when people find this guy and I'm not a snitch either so you don't have to worry about me ratting on you. He's your problem now. See y'all!"

Squeezing past the jester, you sprint off into the direction of your apartment - meticulously dodging the glow of street lifes to keep your bloody shoe prints unnoticed till dawn. Alone in the alleyway, Melan reflects on the events that just occurred. She... just killed someone. That alone should terrified her, but every thought in her mind cycles back to you. You're strange. A bit perverse, but you spoke your mind about her.. Was everything you said to her true too?

Dragging the body behind a dumpster, Melan wishes that just maybe you'd become another one of her problems.

One that would follow her through her improvement as a performer.

[sonolynn]

What the Fates Allow-C1

summary | You were used to your routine. Tending to drunk men and then the drunken prince, but what happens when he comes to you with an offer.

pairing | Aegon Targaryen x Bastard!Reader

tags | mentions of overconsumption, drunkenness, talks of "whores", not proof read

w.c | 2.0 k

note(s) | I don't think I've mentioned this, but I'm definitely making this out of cannon.

____________________________________________

You stood aimlessly behind the bar, humming softly to yourself as you cleaned the dirty pints in front of you. This was how you spent most of your mornings; cleaning the dirty cups, trays, tables, pints etc etc, only to fill them up later and throw them in the hands of extremely intoxicated men. But, every night came with the same routine. 

Drunk men. 

Filling and empty pints.

Cleaning tables. 

Aegon. 

That was the order in which your night always seemed to go. And you always looked forward to when the drunken prince would stumble his way into the brothel and make his way over to her. There were times when Aegon would find himself in the bed of one of the ladies, but he would always make a point to walk his way over to the bar, sit down, and have a “pint”.

In truth the pint was just water, because you did not wish for him to get sick. 

And, in truth, Aegon knew this, but he indulged you nonetheless. 

“A moment of your time?” Aegon asked softly, a goofy smile on his face as he slid two dragon coins over to you. You rolled your eyes, accepting the coins. 

“And what would you like to discuss today, my prince?” You smiled at him, leaning over the edge of the bar, tilting your head slightly in Aegon’s direction. You had always found him captivating. The premise of how someone could look like they washed their hair in straight olive oil and yet look devilishly handsome always made the gears turn inside of your head. 

“Well…My mother is a raging cunt,” Aegon frowned gently, shrugging as he reached over the bar and grabbed himself a full pint, “and she seems to not like it when I have fun.” 

“You do spend half of the Targaryen wealth on this particular brothel, my prince.” You smiled softly as he drank the pint, knowing you were in for a long night. 

“I do not understand her. She says I ought to be in the library. Studying.” At his words, your eyebrows furrowed. Aegon? With his head inside of some books? That was like asking him to stay sober for more than three hours at a time. 

“For what exactly?” 

“That,” Aegon said while pointing his pint straight at you, “Is exactly what I said. She wants me to study, and yet she will not tell me why. She wants me in the training yard for a war that has not happened in a decade, she wants this, she wants that! It is sickening how much she expects of me, really.” You listened carefully as Aegon spoke. It was often that he would come in and spew his disheartening thoughts about his mother. You had grown to expect it honestly; if it was a day in which Aegon did not come in and rant about his mother, then perhaps it was a good day. 

“She is your mother, my prince-” 

“Aegon.” He corrected. He had a habit of doing such-correcting you in the middle of your thoughts. 

“Aegon,” You spoke teasingly, before bending down and grabbing a dirty tray. “And you are her firstborn. Such things are natural for a mother.”

“And you would know?” Aegon spoke with annoyance, but his face softened slightly as he realized what he said. “Fuck. I’m sorry I-”

“I’m not offended, Aegon. You are right; I do not know what it is like to have a real mother,” You leaned forward, your eyes gazing into his own as you smiled softly. “But what is common knowledge is the fact that mother’s only wish the best for their children. Hence, perhaps, why she has such high standards for you.” 

Aegon went silent at that. He didn’t wish to correct you. You did not know Alicent like he did, obviously; She was his mother, and he lived with her. Yet, it never felt like she had his best in mind. More so, he thought quietly to himself whenever you would say such things, or when his mother would berate him, that she only had survival on her mind; Only thinking of her best, no one else's. 

“Sometimes, I think these standards are too high.” 

“What if you are just not reaching far enough?” 

“Everytime I try to grab at or even meet her standards it is like she raises them!” Aegon angrily slams his drink on the table, his face now slightly flushed. “She does not let me get to these standards of hers. And I do not think I ever will.” His voice faltered, and when you looked up, you noticed the glossy nature of his eyes. You frowned softly and you placed your hand over his, a comforting gesture that wasn’t remotely comforting in a situation like this. 

“Aegon-” “Dont.” He spoke more harshly than he meant to, but you didn’t take offense. You never did. 

“I did not mean to hurt you.” You spoke softly, as if a slight infliction or raise in your tone would set the gates flooding open. 

“You didn’t. You never do.” 

___________________________________________

Aegon sat in his chambers later that evening, his mind reeling with the words you had spoken. He thought to himself over and over again about the way your words felt. 

“What if you are just not reaching far enough?” 

In truth the words stung, they hurt like hell and even though he knew them to be true, he never once thought that they would come from you. 

As he sat, and pondered, he made a silent promise to himself.

He would make everyone around him proud. He would reach as far as he could, strive to be the best. If at all to make you recant your words. Or, he would give up entirely, perhaps run away and sail as far as he could. 

In Aegon’s mind, he seemed to enjoy the latter. The idea of running away and starting a new life with a new name in a new place was seducing beyond comprehension. But, how would he do it? 

___________________________________________

Eat, clean, wash, repeat. You told yourself. You were ready for another boring, dull day. One just like the others, and only continuing the next day. As you were cleaning, Aegon walked in, a set determination on his features. You had never seen him look so determined in the multitude of years that you had been by his side. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and you opened your mouth to speak but Aegon shook his head. 

“I have a proposition for you.” He spoke hurriedly. That's when you noticed his attire. The hood around his face, and the shitty clothes that he wore. You had never seen Aegon so dressed down, and never had you expected to see it. 

“A proposition?” You spoke softly, cleaning the mug carefully as you eyed him. His determined face didn’t falter, and before you knew it, Aegon grabbed your hand, and dragged you towards an empty room. Once inside the room you stumbled back, giving him a look. 

“Aegon what is this about? You cannot just drag me away from-” “Run away with me.” He spoke hurriedly, like time was chasing him, which, in truth, it very well could be.  You stared at him for a while, your mind refusing to actually comprehend the fact that a Taragryen Prince just asked you, a barmaid, to run away with him. 

“You jest-”

“Maybe before but not now.” Aegon walked closer to you, gently taking your arms in his calloused hands as he stared you down. “What you said yesterday made me realize that I would never be enough. Not for my father, nor my mother, nor anyone. But you..” He trailed off, staring into your eyes. His heart skipped a beat, at least he thought. He did not know truly. 

“But me..?” The words that came from Aegon’s lips confused you like none other. He had many drunken rants before, but this, even though a “sober” thought, was hard for your mind to comprehend. 

“You think me better than what I was made for.” His voice dropped, and he placed his hands on your face, cupping your jaw with the utmost tenderness. “You are my one true friend.” 

“I do not see how this correlates-” 

“It does! I swear to you it does.” His voice dropped, a pleading and pathetic sound. You didn’t seem convinced. 

“Aegon you’re drunk-” You moved to get away from him, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you close to him. 

“Not this time.” He spoke, his eyes piercing into yours. “You’ve always said your life, as it is now, is just as strenuous as it is boring. It needn't be! Not anymore!” “Aegon, this is ridiculous! You speak nonsense-”

“I have enough money to pay for a ship, or-or a carte ride! One that will take us as far as Winterfell or as far as Dorne.” “The..North? Dorne? Aegon this is madness! You speak of giving up your luxuries, your pleasures-” 

“Pleasures and luxuries be damned, I wish to be free!” He raised his voice slightly, but only a bit. He whispered your name, his eyes softening and his hands itching to touch you. “Free, y/n. Just as you do! If we run away we would never need to know boredom again.” 

You listened to his words, because oh did they sound tempting. Running away with your one friend to a new land and masking new identities. It was thrilling, and it was risky beyond comprehension but you couldn’t shake the feeling of excitement that laced through your veins with every word that he spoke. But, even with the excitement came logical reasoning. 

“Money and coin do not last forever, Aegon.” “ I am a prince. I can get us enough coin to be comfortable for the first couple months. Then, well, then we may work, and trade, just as the common folk do.” 

“You? Work? That is more unbelievable than the notion of running away.” 

“Do not jest with me! Now is not the time for you to jest!” He stared at you, watching you as you mentally went through all the downsides and upsides to running away with him. But, the longer you took the more restless he got. “I am leaving tonight, late in the evening around the twenty-third hour. I will be waiting at the docks. If you come you come, but if you don’t, we will never see each other again.” 

And with that, Aegon gave you one more look over before he rushed himself away, clear on his intentions. 

You stood, absolutely shocked. How dare he? He comes to you whilst you are working and demands that you make a decision in less than a mere few hours? This was a life altering decision, one that very well could get you killed if you were found.  

Maybe it was the adrenaline of getting caught, or the idea of living a life of comfort with your dear friend. Perhaps the latter, perhaps both. But which ever it was, caused you to start packing your bag, taking a few changes of clothes and a necklace, the nicest thing you owned. 

You gave yourself a once over as you threw the hood over your head, staring at the mark on your chin. You ran your finger over it for a moment before you turned, grabbed your bag and left your brothel room for the final time. 

___________________________________________

Aegon stood at the dock, placing two gold coins in the crewmate's palm. The crewmate bowed, a small “thank you, my prince”, before he rushed off. The hour was almost at the twenty fourth, and with a reluctant sigh Aegon tried to mentally prepare himself for the trip alone. But, then he heard your voice. He immediately turned, smiling widely as he saw you. 

You ran up the dock, panting softly as you stood in front of him. 

“I cannot possibly let you drink yourself to death. At least, not alone.”

___________________________________________

AHHHH I have so many fun ideas for this now 🤭

[shaisuki]

Hi there, Shai !!

I'm like literally hooked to ur works!! THAY ARE AWESOME

Sooo I wanted to ask for something crazyyy (if u don't mind)

Can I get a chubby darling x yandere (pls put gojo and toji there) who get angry upon reader's escape plan being successful and when they find reader...they degrade reader + any smut u want

This is deranged. I'm sorry

Anyway, thanks for reading this( and I hope this doesn't bother u in any way)

(^-^)/

RUN AND YOU WILL FIND ME IN YOUR ARMS AGAIN

♱ featuring gojo satoru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji, Geto suguru

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ content warnings degradation, noncon, name calling, fingering, missionary, backshot, blowjob, dacryphilia, spitting, cum eating, babytrapping, edging. dead dove do not eat.

once it happened and they punished you like it's going to be your last.

GOJO SATORU

the vows haunted you. that no matter where you are, he will find you. throughout the heavens and earth and even in hell. you were free at last but never in the clutches of him. gojo, the strongest sorcerer of the modern times have you shivering even in the midst of summer.

“i will find you.”

that was the words he told you repeatedly plays in your mind. he says it everytime when you're with him. holding you closer, afraid that you'll leave him and he would be nothing without you. “you're the strongest, you are even without me.” you told him and he shakes his head. he knows it true and he only uses it to keep him grounded. he's not heartless and he's not cold and you made him feel warm but such warmth costs you your freedom just to let him feel those feelings.

“i told you, i will find you.”

you could pretend it was your imagination but it not, not when you feel him touching you. the desperation and need are evident and your eyes speaks for it.

the bed creaks and you're afraid that it will break but you hope so you can have a chance of escaping him again. however the grip he have on your wrists are tight and his large cock is nestled deeply inside your pussy. hitting your cervix multiple times that it made you weak but it doesn't stop from fighting him. the fresh scratches are evident in arms, back and chest. the skin pink staining his pale skin.

“you're one mean bitch.” he started. the blues of his eyes glimmering like crystals. “you think i'll let you have your freedom, you're wrong (y/n). you're always going to belong with me until the end of time.” he says. slamming his cock deep inside that it made him shiver from how tight your velvet walls squeeze around him. the impact of his hips to your upper body have your fat jiggling. your round stomach ripples and bulges. you breasts bouncing and gojo thinks how he can never let you go.

“you. are. mine.” the sharp thrusts of his hip are getting rougher as he spoke those three words. each syllable syncing with the slam of his hips and is harder and rougher than the last.

“you belong to me.” he repeatedly chant like a ritual. a ritual that will bind you forever to him. looking at you with his bright blue eyes. his white hair fluffed up and he never stops. he kisses you rough as he feels him nearing towards his end. his cock throbbing and he knows you are close to him from the way your pussy tightens around him.

and the knot in your stomach comes loose. you cried at the sensation of your pussy spasming around him. muffled by his lips and with a hard thrust, making sure that he's buried deeply inside you, he came. pumping you full of his cum. your legs trembling from it and he kisses the tears staining in your round cheeks. he's still cumming deep inside you like he remained celibate for the time you were gone and only to spill his load he have stored for the time he could not fucked you.

“feel that, my sweet wife. you're not going to leave me again. now that i've put my baby in you.”

NANAMI KENTO

“brats don't get to cum.” his words were awful and nanami isn't the one to spew and use vulgar words on you. he's always delicate with you and sings praises on you in the daily. it's a habit for him to tell how much he loves you and you will always matter to him.

the nanami kento you knew isn't like that for today or maybe the next days to come. he got you laying on your stomach. he's behind you. surveying the body of his brat of a wife whom he have committed another crime but it is a crime to take what's rightfully yours?

nanami takes pride on his restraint no matter how many times you have disobeyed him. you were not still acclimated to the life he introduced you to since he took you away from the world and force to live in his but leaving in the world he built for you, it's another story and it's time for you to learn.

he's been at it for long. you forgot to count the time how he got your ass sore from the spanking and shoving his cock to your sopping cunt. dripping wet as he pistons himself deep inside you. his pelvis hitting your ass as he drives himself into you. putting you in a torturous place where he got your wide hips being held by his large calloused palm keeping you in place. the sheets were stained by your tears while you cry out. begging him to stop and maybe let you cum.

“i-i'm sorry, ken. won't do it—ahhhh—gain. please l-let me c-cum.” you whined. your hips are moving on its own trying to match his pace. showing that you're good to him and maybe he'll let you cum but you've been really bad for escaping him and maybe you shouldn't begged but it was starting to get painful from how he was denying you of release.

“i'm sorry, darling. you need to learn from your mistakes.” and with that he keeps fucking you until you can't think of escaping him again.

FUSHIGURO TOJI

emerald eyes belonging to the man of your living nightmare studied you. forcing you on your knees and the scar on his lip twitches. relishing to the delight of your tear-stained round cheeks. he holds the shaft of his cock. bringing the sensitive glans to your lips before smearing it with his precum. beading in the tip of his cock and it was your makeshift lipstick. highlighting your lip color with his white cum.

“lick it, you whore.” your lips wobble. swiping the cum in your lips, you cringe slightly at the bitter taste of his cum assaulting your taste buds. “that's right, you fucking slut. i bet you missed the taste of my cum, you're a hungry bitch who loves to eat his man's cum.” his fingers digs your scalp forcing you to look at him and he's ordering you to open your mouth and although you don't want to, you're doing it. afraid he'll get worse after this and you welcomed the thick glob of his spit. swallowing it eagerly and opening your mouth to show that you've swallowed. it earns a deep laugh from him.

“do i love to mess this pretty face of yours, princess. that's good considering you love my punishments, hah, tell me, princess.” slapping you with his cock to your cheek and you obediently say the words that he knows he likes to hear.

“i'm a bad girl. i deserve to be punished.” you told him and his grin got wider.

he's big. painfully huge that your jaw is starting to go slack but you fought through it. breathing through your nose and relaxing your jaw to take more of him and it appears that he's pleased. you began to flick your tongue in his length before swirling the tip of his cock with your tongue. he began to move and when he did. it hits the back of your throat. tears appearing in your eyes.

“s-shit, that's it. take more of my cock, you bitch.” following, you take more of him until you used your hand to stroke his aching cock that wasn't able to fit in your mouth. a muffled moan came slipping when toji began to drive his cock to your mouth. holding your head with his firm grip. ruthless when he fucks your mouth. rolling his hips with such want and the instinct to fuck.

“fuck! fuck! f-fuck!” cursing at the sensation of your warm mouth. “i'm going to cum in this mouth of yours and you're not going to waste a single drop.” he halted before shoving his cock deeply inside your mouth and releasing his load. you almost choke from it. saliva connects to your lip and to the tip of his cock when he pulled out. some of his cum dripping from your mouth and you catch it with your hands. licking his cum from your hands and swallowing all of it and he seems pleased with what you've done.

“look at you, you can still obey and yet, you go running away from me. punishment's not over. get on all fours and spread your cheeks, i'm going to fuck this tight hole of yours.” his fingers came stretching your other hole and you never felt fear the same way again after that day.

GETO SUGURU

the thing with suguru is, he never turns a blind eye to your wrongdoings. there's always a reprimanding that comes to it next. he's never been weak to your puppy eyes even it glistens with tears. looking at him with pleading eyes. it simply doesn't work on him.

“pathetic, you can't make yourself cum and you dare leave.” his fingers making your cunt squelch. stretching your hole with his thick fingers while your legs are hooked to his arms. “-m sorry, i won't do it again.” a sob coming from you as you meet his fingers trying to get them deeper inside you. “i know you won't, you pathetic slut.” his fingers curling inside your gummy walls and your responds in such a lewd way. sucking his fingers in and suguru chuckles at you. “you slut, you like being called slut, hmm. sucking my fingers in like a slut you are.”

whining, you can't help it. not when it's so good when his thick fingers are deep inside you and you're near to cumming. grinding your pussy to his fingers. your brain singing for more to shove his fingers faster. your high getting nearer and just when you're about to cum, he stops. geto tuts. “i'll let you cum when i want, not when you want it.” his hard on pressing in the back of your ass.

“maybe, i'll let you after you've earned it.”